Page 44 of Maid in America

She looked around, watching her breath fog in the air as she took in the horrific sight. The apartment was freezing and, yet, smelled like a frat house. Beer bottles and empty cans lay scattered on the ground. Warped solo cups sat atop a full sink of disgusting dishes. Old pizza boxes sat on cluttered piles of junk. Dirty underwear and drug paraphernalia were piled all around the linoleum, leaving only a grimy path through the place.

Taking a few steps in, she saw what she hoped was only a clump of hair in a corner beside a smattering of empty mini liquor bottles.

On the wall, in Sharpie, were curse words, one-liners, scribbled pentagrams, and various other doodles she couldn’t decipher.

The blinds on the bathroom window sat askew, gnarled into something that resembled a piece of abstract art. A blow-up doll sat half-inflated in the bathtub, the word ’PIG’ written on it in lipstick. The walls were covered in what looked like shaving cream. Something viscous and gelatinous, like petroleum jelly, was smeared onto the small mirror above the sink. The toilet no longer had a lid, and a doll with no hair and one arm poked out of what was likely a bowl of someone’s pungent, dehydrated urine.

In the next room, leaf litter was strewn onto the damp bedroom carpet from an open window, presumably left that way to air out the stench of cigarettes and stale vomit. There were stains of various colors that would require several carpet cleanings.

She was afraid she might have a panic attack at the state of the place. She leaned against a wall and lowered herself to her butt on the scummy floor, breathing rapidly, all too aware that she’d just sunk all the money she had into the shitty little dump before her.

Panic gripped her chest, and she struggled to breathe. She thought back to what she had read about thefour-eight-fourbreathing technique and forced herself to focus.

Four seconds to breathe in.

Hold your breath for eight seconds.

Four seconds to breathe it out.

During her breathing, her phone buzzed, and an opportunity to mentally escape presented itself. She looked at the name.

Marcy H.

Her coworker at the bridal boutique. An acquaintance at best.

Why would she be calling?Had she missed a shift? Chastity wascertainthis was her day off.

Then, her stomach dropped. She hoped Marcy was not calling to tell her that they were letting her go, not after she’d just signed away almost every damn dollar she had.

“Hello?” Chastity sounded timid, fearful that this was not going to be good news.

“Hey, girl!” Marcy sounded jovial, possibly even drunk. At work, the girl hardly ever cracked a smile.

“Marcy? Is… everything alright?”

Marcy giggled for a long time. “Of course! I’m at this… house party. My boyfriend’s friend’sfriendinvited us. You should see this place. It’s freakin’ enormous!” She giggled again. “That’s actually why I’m calling. You should come down! Have some fun! Everyone’s on ‘E,’ and the vibe is sooooo good. We got a keg, too.”

Chastity wanted to say ‘No.’ The thought of socializing with a coworker in a setting with booze and ecstasy felt like a recipe for disaster.

Her eyes drifted around the former trap house she’d found herself renting, and she suddenly felt a desperate need to escape.

“Sounds fun. Can you text me the address?”

“Hell, yeah! I’ll send it right now.” She giggled harder, even though nothing was funny. “Bring a bikini if you want. A bunch of us are playing a make-out game in this old lady’s big ass hot tub!”

17

“Randall Bryant Nussbaum, whatthe hell is this?!” Sherri Nussbaum screamed, motioning to two stripped-down kids in their early twenties making out on her pool table. Beside her, others stood, some in bras or shirtless, covered in stripes of neon body paint, each carrying red plastic cups with a look of horror on their faces. Two more were on the spiral staircase, unwilling to halt their heavy petting long enough to pay her any mind.

“Shut… this party… down!” Sherri howled, her tight, perfect ponytail of salt-and-pepper hair swinging like a pendulum as she whipped her head around. “Everyone… go home! I swear to God, I will call the police! Is that what you want?”

“For what? They’re all over twenty-one, Mom. Justchill,” Randall muttered casually before taking a swig straight out of a bottle of Hennessy.

“Chill? You want me to be fuckingchill?You didn’t work for a goddamned thing in this house. I did!” She poked herself in the bony chest so hard it left a red mark.

Her stormy gray eyes glanced around. “Get out of my house! All of you! Out!”

She stomped the heel of her Manolo Blahnik’s on the marble floor so hard that it snapped off, nearly toppling her over. She caught herself on a Roman pillar, nearly taking it and the thirty-five-thousand-dollar Ming vase atop it to the ground.

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