Page 59 of Maid in America

“Oooooh, I love Hamlet. ‘To be, or not to be. That is the question.’”

“Actually, the question is, ‘Are we all good here?’”

She frowned and scribbled something else down. “Yes, we’re all set. You can pay for the suit when you come back for your fitting. We will give you a call when it’s ready.”

“How much is this gonna run me?”

“Suit, shirt, pocket square, and tie…” She turned away, furiously clicking her middle finger against an old-school calculator, tallying up the expenses. “It’ll be $317.83.”

“Jesus Christ, you have it in your book that I’m onlyrentingit, right?”

22

A week of cleaningand painting after work transformed Chastity’s apartment from a hideous meth den to an actual livable space.

She adjusted her position on her new futon, one that served both as a bed for her and a couch for future guests. It was cheap, and she wanted more, but for now, it would have to do if she didn’t want to sleep in a sleeping bag on the floor. She’d even gotten the delivery men to bring it upstairs and unbox the thing for her with some casual flirting and feminine wiles.

On the futon, her laptop, a thin one sporting a bumper sticker from the college she’d recently flunked out of, was open to the streaming season finale ofSummer Love.A crying woman stormed out of the camera’s view, and the show cut to a commercial break.

Chastity leaned back and looked around. She craved an exciting distraction. She wanted to be near fun people. Pretending that everything was okay while socializing made her feel like it actuallywas okay, even if only temporarily.

Something felt off in her body, as though the joy had slowly been draining from her like a tire’s slow leak. The manic high when she was kicked out of her college dorm had faded, and now, something empty and hollow remained.

Somewhere, deep down, she knew it would pass. It always did.The depressive lows would once again be replaced by the manic highs, and everything would feel great again.

No matter how much yoga, deep breathing, andgratitude exercisesher psychiatrist had suggested, nothing evermadethe low subside. It felt like an exercise in futility every time she pulled out her journal to get her thoughts on paper.

Her stomach’s empty growl was followed by her phone’s text notification.

RACHEL: Hey girl! Heard today you were back in town. What the fuck? Why haven’t you hit me up? I’d have bought you a coffee, slut.

She hadn’t heard from Rachel Magnuson in nearly a year. They were ships in the night, always missing each other for various reasons.

In high school, Rachel had always been genuine and fun. She also had a stunning complexion and a honking laugh that was infectious. Over the past half-decade, Rachel had found immense satisfaction in being one of Jackson’s premiere exotic dancers.

Chastity smiled down at her phone.

CHASTITY: Holy shit. Blast from the fuckin’ past. How the hell are you?

RACHEL: Shit’s fire. I’m working down at The Thirsty Rancher now.

CHASTITY: Is that a new gentleman’s club? I feel like college threw me out of the loop on all these new places popping up.

RACHEL: Ain’t no gentlemen there, lemme tell ya. But yeah! Not sure if you heard, butThe Firehoseburned down last year. Bitches overloaded the wiring in the dressing room, and the whole fucking place went up like a tinderbox.

CHASTITY: Oh shit! Did everyone make it out okay?

RACHEL: Everyone’s fine. New joint is way cooler, though. It’s past the Homewood Suites on the way up toward Beaver Creek.

CHASTITY: Hahaha. Beaver Creek. How fitting.

RACHEL: LOL. I love it there. You walk out the door at the end of a shift, and it’s just Tetons for days.

CHASTITY: Sounds pretty! Damn, it’s been forever. We should hang out sometime. I miss you, bitch.

RACHEL: How about now? Bunch of us ladies got invited to a costume party down in South Park. You should throw something on and come. Heard a rumor that it’s gonna be a sausage fest. Pretty girl like you could have your pick of the litter.

RACHEL: It’s an open bar.

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