Page 7 of Out of the Blue

Fuck. I don’t have access to that kind of money to bail out my sister. No thanks to my lazy-ass mother. “Give me a day, okay? Let me see what I can do.”

“Classes start next week. If my payment isn’t made by then, I’m out. Then what am I going to do? I was counting on getting this degree.”

“I don’t know, Juanita. Maybe get a job and save up?” I snap.

“What do you think I already did?” The line goes dead.

Guilt cloaks me. I know my sister worked hard, saving up since she graduated high school two years ago for the money to pay for the cosmetology school. I close my eyes. Where did she leave the money so Mamá could get it? She probably had it “hidden” in her special spot—a place we all visited often. Deeply rooted feelings of responsibility for my younger sibling rush forward. My need to help her is as reflexive as breathing, no matter the fact I didn’t tell Mamá to go to Atlantic City and put everything down on red. What idiot does that anyway? I open my eyes. Our mother, that’s who.

I pull up Mamá’s contact and send her a nasty text. She never really cared for either one of us, so I’m sure she won’t respond. At least I got my feelings off my chest.

My thoughts revert to my sister. Maybe I can get an advance of my salary to pay her tuition? But that would be well more than two months’ take-home, and what would I live on? I toss my Bic in the air and it bounces on my desk before rolling to the floor. Of course it does. I lean over to retrieve it.

My cell phone rings again. What did Juanita forget to tell me? From my hunched over position, I grasp the pen while simultaneously reaching for my phone. Without checking the caller ID, I bring it to my ear, “What?”

The person on the other end of the phone clears his throat. “Is this Ms. Hernandez? This is Mr. Johnson from Returns Collection Agency, and I’m calling about the debt you owe to Visa. According to our records, your outstanding balance is now twenty-thousand, five-hundred and thirty-seven dollars.”

I bang the top of my head against the underside of the desk as I come to an upright position. At least Apex Hits has solid furniture. “I’m well aware of the amount. Like I told the other person who called, I did not run up the bill. My boy—ex-boyfriend did. Go after him.”

“Well, Ms. Hernandez, this is your credit card, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Then you are the one responsible for it. You need to pay the minimum amount of five-hundred twenty-two dollars by next Thursday. Otherwise, we’ll have no other option but to refer your account to the attorneys.”

“Mr. Johnson, is it?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t care who you send this ludicrous debt to. I didn’t run it up, so I’m not going to pay it.” My stupid fucking ex-boyfriend-asshole did this to me. Not for the first time, I wish rats would overrun his used car dealership. Or at least his lot would be discovered to be on a Superfund site.

A sigh drifts over the phone. “As was previously explained, the fact this debt is on your credit card, and no one else is a signatory, means you indeed are responsible for it. It doesn’t matter whether it was you who purchased all the furniture or not. I’m sure you’re enjoying the leather sofa and end tables, right?”

“As a matter of fact, I amnot.” My ex kicked me out of the apartment four months ago. I hit disconnect. “Suck it, asshole.”

First my mother, then my ex. How much worse could this day get? No sooner does this thought cross my mind than I oust it from my brain. If nothing else, life has taught me that, yes, things can always get worse.

Much worse.

I inhale, then exhale through my mouth. I’ve already cut my budget to its bare bones. No money for going out, barely anything for much-needed cosmetics and lotions. Forget new clothes. And I still only scrimp about two hundred dollars a month to save so I can eventually move off my worthless mother’s sofa—where I ended up when Big Rolls kicked me out. I’m twenty-five and living with my mother and kid sister.

Which brings me back to my more formidable financial problems. How on earth am I going to come up with the money Juanita needsandpay off my Visa bill? Maybe each will accept one hundred dollars apiece? For, like, forever?

My co-worker Rita drops by my cubicle, fussing with the sleeves of her cardigan. I’m sure it was quite stylish a decade or two ago—back when she was in her prime. Yet, today, her twinset still looks cute. “Everything okay?” She settles her butt on the corner of my desk.

Rita’s the first person in my life who’s ever shown an interest in me. A true interest. It’s as if she really does care how I’m doing and where I’m going. Whether I’ve eaten. Her morning presents of bagels or scones sometimes are my only meal of the day. I always tell her I’ll get her the next time, and she invariably offers me a maternal smile. If ever there was a person I could rely on in this miserable world, it would be her.

But everyone I know leaves me in the dust. I’m sure Rita will disappear soon, like everyone else. “Everything’s fine, Rita.” I make an effort to smooth my forehead so no wrinkle lines will form. All I need is another cream.

She picks up the pad I was using to take notes, then tosses it back onto my desk. Score one for my awful penmanship. “I’m stopping by to make sure you got my email about tonight’s concert. It’s a big one.”

God, I want to go and get lost in a big crowd. It’s been well over four months since I’ve gone out. Ever since Big Rolls came home and kicked me out of his apartment because I was being replaced by the stupid Barbie wannabe. Stick thin with bleached blonde hair matching her skin tone, and the IQ of a fruit fly. And that’s an insult to fruit flies. He can have her.

“Who’s playing again?”

Rita smiles. “Hunte. They don’t tour often, so it’s special. Plus, rumor mill has it that something big’s going down tonight. Not sure what, even though I’ve been pestering my boss all week.”

That’s right. I remember now. Anyway, Rita’s been with the company for at least three decades and has worked her way up to being the admin for the record label’s bigwig in charge of the Big Four, as we call them. The four biggest bands signed to Apex, who have been on the roster for ages. Hunte’s the longest-running band with the label, being a major force in the industry since the nineties, if not before. Well before I was born. They’re a cash cow that only gets better with time.

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