Page 53 of Positively Pricked
I was hoping that if it was just the two of us, maybe we could discuss the rent situation like two reasonable adults.
Those hopes were squashed like a bug on a windshield.
In less than two minutes, our so-called discussion devolved into a whole lot of name-calling – from Paisley, mostly – which caused Charlotte to barge in and return the favor by calling Paisley, among other things, a deadbeat cake-hog.
From there, it went decidedly downhill.
The confrontation finally ended with Paisley marching back to the living room and yanking the professor off the sofa. As Charlotte and I watched, she dragged him out the front door, hollering over her shoulder that she was tired of living with a total nag.
By then, I was so spent that I had nothing left to say.
As for Charlotte, she had plenty. "Oh yeah?" she hollered back. "Well, maybeshe'stired of living with a pink-haired lumberjack fucker!"
Oh yeah. It was totally one of those days.
After Paisley squealed out of the driveway, I shut the front door and shuffled silently to the sofa. With a sigh, I sank down where the professor had been lounging just a few moments earlier. If nothing else, he'd kept the spot warm. That was something to be thankful for, right?
I reached up to rub my temples. Who was I kidding?
It was sad day when you had to be thankful for the second-hand warmth of your roommate's married boyfriend.
I leaned back and closed my eyes, wondering what on Earth I was going to do now. I still had five months left on my lease, and that wasn't even the worst of it. I had plenty of other expenses, too – student loans, an outstanding car repair bill, and cripes, even a cell phone contract, which really sucked, considering that I had no phone.
For what felt like the millionth time, I heard myself murmur, "It'lleventuallyturn up, right?"
From somewhere in the living room, Charlotte said, "If you're talking about your phone, the answer is no."
I sighed. "No?"
"Sorry," Charlotte said. "It's time to accept it and move on."
Stupidly, I repeated, "Move on?"
"Yeah. Buy a new one."
Like that was so easy. I opened my eyes to look at her. She'd reclaimed her spot in the armchair, and was scrolling through her own cell phone.
It must be nice.
I just had to ask, "And how am I supposed to buy anything without a job?"
"Don't worry," Charlotte assured me, "you'll find one."
I gave her a dubious look. "Just like I found my phone?"
"That's totally different," she said. "Your phone's been missing for what? A week?"
"More or less." I was still convinced that it wasn't truly lost. After all, I was pretty sure I'd misplaced it right here, in this house, on a day I hadn't gone anywhere.
Damn it.The phone might still turn up. Ithadto.
Back when money hadn't been quite so tight, I'd splurged on the latest model, and there was no way on Earth that I could afford to replace itnow.
Charlotte said, "And besides, you'll have a new job before you know it."
I tried to smile. "You really think so?"
"Definitely."
But Charlotte was wrong. Nearly a month later, I was still very much unemployed and getting more desperate with every passing day.
In fact, one Tuesday afternoon, I gotsodesperate that I sold my integrity for pasta primavera and a basket of bread sticks.
