Page 17 of The Biting Bargain

Grandma didn't talk to me for a month when she realized her only granddaughter wasn't going to have a college degree like she'd always hoped.

Instead, I pour beer in seedy bars in New Hamburg's party district, get yelled at on the phone in a call center when a paper order goes wrong, and stack yogurt on supermarket shelves to pay the rent on my 1-bedroom apartment.

And my month's ration of spaghetti and ketchup.

I could move back home, get my act together, help at the restaurant and go to night school, get that degree… but in a more likely scenario, Dad and Grandma and I would be gouging each other's eyes out after a week.

Sigh…

At least now I can eat steak for at least a month. Too bad my refrigerator is microscopic.

Right now I would rather do with some vodka shots and one of Marigold’s delicious cupcakes and a good cry. In that order.

Dimly, I remember our last drunken party night a few weeks ago.

The girls and I swore a sacred oath on a cupcake that from now on we would only have paranormal dicks, since the only thing human dicks are good for is trouble, or something along those lines. I am living proof that this is true. If it wasn't for Patrick I wouldn't be in this stupid situation....

However, I obviously can't handle paranormal dicks very well either.

"Get the fuck away from me!"

I shiver, push away the image of Vincent literally running from me and quicken my steps.

The path to my apartment is poorly lit, as it always is at this time of year, and the darkness seems to creep up around me. It's 1 a.m. and except for me, no one seems to be out and about. A little further away I can hear the humming drone of Twin Pines. The clubs and bars are not far away, and along with them the fun and carefree life I was actually hoping to find here.

Our building is at the end of the street: a brownstone apartment house with red windows, all of them dark by now. I say "our" building because it belongs to Marigold's wealthy aunt, and she rents it out to her niece and her no-good friends at cost. A stroke of luck, because gentrification doesn't actually allow broke people like me to live here, but rather in a cardboard box under the bridge.

Without my girlfriends I would have gone down quite a while ago.

I pull the hood of my coat deeper into my face. The feeling of being followed creeps over me again and my cell phone in my coat pocket hits my leg with every step like a lead weight. (Must be 80 missed calls or something by now).

I look around hurriedly with every third step, scanning the empty street and sidewalk, the entrances of the buildings, the parked cars that line the side of the road, all silent and gleaming dully. But there’s nothing, no one. I'm alone, just me and the shadowy ghosts in my head.

On any other day, I feel safe in Twin Pines. Among other things, Colin, his wife Loribelle, and a few other neighborhood bigwigs and bar owners have made this part of town safe for everyone, especially women and girls. Anyone who steps out of line, assaults someone, attacks or harasses a woman is immediately banned from all clubs, which is much more effective than report them to the police. Twin Pines is the party center of the city, hosting the best events and clubs. Nobody wants to miss out on that.

Of course, the system isn't perfect, but Twin Pines is considered one of the safest places on the continent — at least when you're out on the open street.

Still, for days I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone is following me. After the first visit from DiMartino’s cash collectors, probably not unjustified.

The shadows seem to be closing in around me. I swallow, balance the baskets of steaks in one hand, pull out my cell phone and call Marigold.

She answers immediately.

"Polly? Is everything okay?" My friend Marigold sounds concerned as I take her call. "Gracy told me a pipe burst at the restaurant?"

I sigh with a smile. Our girlfriend alert chain is working smoothly, as usual. Probably the rest of our gang — Mae, Luna, Gracy and Kathy — already know that Polly has another disaster going on.

"I'll be home in a sec," I mutter into my phone. "And no, it’s not a busted pipe but the refrigerator. And yes, I had to help out."

"Can your dad handle it?"

There’s some rustling in the background, like from sheets, and I bite my lip. I probably rang Marigold out of bed. Another Polly classic. I always act before I think, and before I know it, my friends and loved ones bear the consequences.

But hearing her voice immediately calms me down. And in a few minutes I’ll be home and can breathe a sigh of relief as soon as I pull the door shut behind me.

"I hope so." I quicken my steps, struggling with the two baskets dangling from my arms. "The good news is that Grandma packed me enough steaks to feed an entire battalion."

"Sounds awesome." I can literally hear Marigold smile. "I'll pass, though."

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