Page 121 of Life of the Party

“Okay.” I kissed him again; I just couldn’t help myself.

“How was your weekend?” I asked my friend once we were seated in her car, smoking with the windows cracked only slightly. It was already cold out, and the days were getting colder. I shivered. I was not looking forward to winter.

“It was okay,” Charlie shrugged. “Courtney and I hung out. Did some H. You?”

“About the same.” I downplayed how awesome it had really been, flicking my cigarette, trying not to ash on myself. “You really like heroin, don’t you?”

“I do.” She admitted.

“Me too.” I exhaled a big waft of smoke. “I just wish it weren’t so, you know…addictive. Grey says we can’t do any more for a while, that we should save it for special occasions.”

“That’s probably smart.” Charlie nodded begrudgingly. “But I don’t know if it’s really that bad. I mean, I’m definitely not addicted yet.”

“Me either.” I agreed, but I wondered if that was really true. I didn’t tell Charlie how heroin was my first thought when I woke up, how all morning I’d nearly paced, nervous, desperate, knowing I wasn’t going to get any more for a while.

I shook the topic from my mind. Just thinking about it brought back the craving.

We made it to the restaurant in record time. I was a bit apprehensive about work—I wondered what kind of reception I’d get after ditching my last shift. Charlie had skipped work too, but she’d called in sick with Mark so she was probably off the hook. We walked into the quiet restaurant, calm before the inevitable rush, and went to hang up our coats in the waitress station.

There were already purses and jackets hanging there, taking up the hooks.

We eyed each other curiously as Stacy and Mallory, two part-time girls, came floating in from the top section. They laughed and joked as they returned to the station. Stacy had a bucket full of creamers in her hand, and Mallory carried an empty tray, like they were getting ready to work our shift.

“What are you girls doing here?” Charlie wondered. “Did the schedule change?”

Stacy shrugged, looking just as surprised to see us as we were to see her. “I don’t know. Roger just called me and asked me to work.”

“Yeah, me too.” Mallory nodded. “Why, were you supposed to?”

“We always do.” Charlie’s voice was a little snippy. I bit my lip. I didn’t know what was going on, but it didn’t seem good. Especially if Roger was involved.

The girls just stared at us, wide-eyed and unsure. Charlie sighed and shook her head at them, flipping her wild blonde curls behind her shoulder.

“Whatever. We’ll go talk to someone and get this straightened out.”

“You can talk to me.” Roger strode through the swinging door from the kitchen; his arms crossed against his burly chest, his white eyebrows raised with disapproval. “Let’s have a word, girls, if you don’t mind?”

We filed into his office—it was messy with papers and orders and large silver canisters of Pepsi, smelling vaguely like booze as we stood, waiting while Roger closed the door behind him and walked through the clutter to sit at his desk.

“You’ve probably figured this out, but both of you are fired.” He stated evenly.

My mouth dropped in surprise. I looked up at Charlie in horror, following her lead, not knowing what to do or say to get us out of the situation.

She stared at Roger a moment, her brow furrowing. “Why is that?”

Roger scoffed like the answer was glaringly obvious. “Where should I start? You’re late, you drop things. You’re completely negligent—both of you. The customers have been complaining. And the way you’re dressing lately…not that I mind, but thisisa family restaurant.”

“Couldn’t you just like, give us a warning or something?” Charlie negotiated.

“Maybe I could’ve. If you hadn’t cut work all last week, and if you…” he looked straight at me, making me gulp, “…hadn’t blown off your shift on Friday.”

“I was sick.” Charlie insisted. “So was she.”

“Yeah, right, with what? Cocaine?” Roger scoffed again, his pudgy face leering. “I’m not an idiot, Charlotte. I know what you girls do around here, and I knowyouwere out at the Aurora almost every night last week. Sick? That’s insulting.”

Oh no. I bit my lip, closing my eyes as the situation really sank in.

This wasn’t happening. I had enough money troubles already without losing my job. No, I needed my job. I needed the tips, I needed the money. I needed to get high tonight, as soon as work was over. I needed cigarettes and alcohol and I needed to pay my rent. If Charlie and I were evicted, I’d be forced to move back in with my parents. I cringed at the thought. No, I couldn’t lose my job. I made too much money at it. There was nothing else I knew of in a town this small that could compare.

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