Page 4 of Brutal Promise

It’s another Saturday without a date. I’m not sure which is worse, being alone on a Saturday or being without a job. What screams loser more? It’s a toss-up.

I did not attend the graduation ceremony from the Fashion Institute of Technology. My roommate Alena offered to pay for my cap and gown, but I didn’t want her family’s blood money.

We are best friends and like matching as much as possible when we dress up to go out. We’re the same height, but that’s where the similarities end. She has blond hair and a fair complexion of Eastern European descent. I have the dark hair and olive complexion of a Sicilian. My hair is jet-black and shiny, like a pair of patent leather tuxedo shoes. I’m told it looks blue in the right light. Men turn their heads when we’re together, no doubt, to look at her, not me.

She owns our flat and receives a monthly allowance from her father. She loves to party on the weekends and always gets the man she wants. She’s that pretty. I’m convinced she could apply her makeup in the dark and still have it come out perfect. Even in five-inch heels, she can walk like a runway model, making it look easy. I’d fall like a bowling pin, so I prefer wedged heels.

She swings her narrow hips suggestively and acts like she’s completely unaware of her effect on the men watching. If that’s not enough, she also has huge boobs that defy gravity. I wish I had an ounce of her beauty, poise, and sophistication.

I’ve seen her in action too many times to count. We’ll go into a crowded nightclub, and some guy will immediately surrender his bar stool so she can sit at the bar. The bartender will ask what she’s drinking because some unseen admirer has offered to pay. Cocktail in hand, she’ll swing around, cross her legs, and boldly stare at an attractive man across the room. And not necessarily the man who bought her the drink.

When he returns her gaze, she’ll flip her hair over one shoulder like she’s in a shampoo commercial and curl her index finger to suggest he join her. Without hesitation, the lucky man will make a beeline for her, smiling as if he won the lotto.

She doesn’t need the assistance of a glam squad to look camera ready. I’ve seen her do it using only two products—lipstick and foundation. Somehow, she uses lipstick to make a cheeky color for her high cheekbones. The rest is history.

She’s confident and knows how to use her body to get what she wants from a boyfriend. They never last long, and it always ends in heartache because she has no plans for a long-term commitment.

When it comes to men, we could not be more different. I’m intimidated by most people, gorgeous men. I feel awkward and uncomfortable around them. I never assume anyone is watching me. I like working out at the gym in the building, and I’m shy.

Regarding sex, my experiences are limited to the occasional hookup that typically ends in disappointment. Trust me, nothing worth repeating is going on between my sheets. Passionate sex is something I read about in steamy novels. I’ve given up on flirting with strangers in bars because they take my number but never call. I’m beginning to think I lack sex appeal.

I subscribe to several fashion magazines to prepare for a career in fashion. Before they’re delivered to the newsstands, they’re delivered to my mailbox downstairs. I spend Sundays leisurely flipping the pages and studying the designs. I can’t afford any high-end designer brands, but that doesn’t stop me from dreaming.

Her wardrobe is so extensive that she has things hanging on racks with rollers. Alena makes everything look effortless, from her hair to makeup to fitting in with the girls from elite boarding schools.

My attempts to compete with her look juvenile and end in disaster, like fake eyelashes. When I attempt to glue them on, I end up poking myself in the eyeball or gluing one to my cheek.

I think the men like Alena because she is approachable and can have random sex without falling in love. Even with a hookup, I always wish it were more. I’ve never had a serious boyfriend. At this point, I’m convinced there may not be anyone for me in the city, or anywhere else for that matter.

My mother said Daddy passed before I was born, and the lonely look in her eyes still haunt me. She was broken over losing him and didn’t date anyone seriously until I was five. She was killed in a car accident when I was seven, and my Aunt Emma raised me. We already lived with her in Connecticut, so I didn’t have to move. I still miss my mom, especially when my life is in the dumpster.

When college started, Alena would pull me out of my funk on days when nothing was going to plan. She knows my worst days is at the beginning of every month—when I take money from my student loan account and immediately hyperventilate. When my mood turns black, she talks me off the ledge, literally.

My only family is my Aunt Emma, so I feel fortunate to have Alena in my life. She’s the sister I never had and gives me a sense of family. I wish I could afford to pay more to live here, but I’m up to my eyeballs in bills. And that doesn’t even begin to describe my dire situation. The reality is that I’m drowning in a tsunami of debt because nothing in New York is affordable. It’s days like this when I reconsider every decision I’ve made up to this point and fear I made a huge mistake. I’m reaching for things I can’t afford to support myself.

I met Alena at a mandatory student orientation. We were in sync from the moment I said she looked familiar. I have no clue why I said that. Maybe subconsciously, she reminded me of a childhood friend. We exchanged information, and I wasn’t even sure if a cool girl like her would want to hang out with me. But she called me to grab a coffee, and we’ve been inseparable ever since.

When she said her family was in waste management, I was afraid to be her friend. I might be naïve, but even I knew that meant mafia. I also knew she liked me, and I wasn’t going to risk spoiling our friendship by asking many stupid questions.

While I was still living in a cheap motel room, a lawyer sitting next to me on the train seemed the right person to answer some of my questions. I told him my concerns, and he said that as long as I don’t piss them off, mafia members make good friends.

Alena and I continued to see each other in classes, and when she heard I needed an affordable place to live, she suggested I live with her for next to nothing. Beyond the low rent, there are plenty of other perks. I’ve been to her house for Christmas and Thanksgiving when I couldn’t afford the train fare to see my aunt in Connecticut.

Her father is a large man with a booming voice that commands everyone’s attention. He’s intimidating, and on the rare occasion he visits, I duck into my room to avoid him. Rumor has it he’s high up the food chain in the Russian organization. I never fact-checked this information because I don’t want his name in my web browser’s history. Instead, I’m satisfied with whatever Alena tells me and stick to the rule of keeping my mouth shut and being loyal to them.

I need her generosity because if I don’t get a job in the next few weeks, I’ll have to move home. This means my dreams of making it big in the big city have failed, and I’ll end up working at some shitty mall in Connecticut. I doubt Alena would let me move out over my pride, but they say it goes before the fall.

We live in Greenwich Village. Talk about great luck. The only caveat to this arrangement is that I’m not allowed to invite strangers over or tell anyone she’s my roommate. I initially chuckled, thinking it was a joke.

Then she showed me the gun she carries for personal protection. My jaw dropped, and I agreed to do whatever it took to keep us safe. And so began my foray into the underworld. I only use her first name, and even at that, I only use it when necessary, especially when a slip of the tongue could put her safety in jeopardy. I have no desire to meet the men who are sent to punish traitors.

She doesn’t talk about her home life much. Eventually, she told me her last name was Pasnov. Her father is the right-hand man of the Russian don, Alexsei. I don’t ask for last names. What’s funny is that her father thinks I’m a conservative girl who will tame his daughter’s wicked and wild ways. Little does he know no one will tame her.

Alena is careening through life like a Ferrari speeding along the twists and turns of the Amalfi coast. If anything, she’s changed me. She coaxed me out of my cocoon and opened my eyes to the real world. When she’s not snorting coke in the bathroom or puking in the toilette, she’s showing me how to enjoy the city. It’s a great place to live and party when you have money and connections.

School ended on a sour note when my internship ended in May. The company went into a hiring freeze and could not offer me a job.Great. Can anything go my way?

I want a day where everything goes as planned; a day of cappuccinos topped with a mountain of whipped cream and a cinnamon stick on the side, a stack of fashion magazines, and an email offering me a job withthe locally based Haute couture by Ellis Grant or the New York City Ballet Company.

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