Streets of New York City 12:36pm
I could feel the rush in my toes as I walked down the street to the store. Purse in hand and shirt in mind. There was a cute one I saw in the window the other day, pink with blue trim, cropped off at the belly-button and a deep neckline. I was going to wear it that night to see Jackson. Most of my “clients” love pink and a deep neckline, I wasn’t so sure about Jackson though. He didn’t seem like the sort of guy who likes pretty pink bimbos.
But the shirt was not just for the boys, I liked to feel pretty, all dolled up in glamour pink. That was part of the rush. When I wear some fancy designer blouse or whatever, I do not feel like the gross friend who’s crashing on someone’s couch. Suddenly, I am that hot blonde bombshell again- just for me. Besides, how was I expected to spend sometime in the city and not blow a bunch of money and fancy clothes?
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I walked to the back of the store and brushed off the workers who tried to greet me with some new summer collection or something as I entered. I wanted to get to the back to count my cash. Money has been tight since I came here.
I never really quit my job, I just stopped going. Everytime I’d get a call or mail about it, I ignored it. I was three hours away now, and I didn’t want to go back to the life I lived with Gryffin in New Jersey. He used to pick me up at that place. I worked at a stupid store in the mall. He’d pick me up in his stupid suzuki outback by the dumpsters. His stupid blonde hair was held back by those stupid sunglasses he always wore.
I thumbed through my cash and spotted the shirt hanging on a rack a few yards out. I wanted to check the price and be discreet about it. This wasn’t the kind of place you went to and worried about the price of anything. No one checked tags or tried anything on. They were above that. They’d just hand off whatever it was they wanted to some employee and tell them to “bag it up.”
I wish I could do that, but right then I was just the couch surfer who just found out that she didn’t have enough money for the shirt she wanted. Shit. I panicked and yanked the shirt off of its hanger and into my own shirt. Shit shit shit. Then, I just held my shirt stuffed chest high, and walked out of that store. No alarms went off or anything. It was almost too easy. I expected some clerk to chase after me, but I guess those snobs were against running too.
I ran down the pavement holding the shirt against my chest, laughing the whole way. I could hear the clack of my cheap knock-off shoes hitting the ground and mocking the irony of my ratty self carrying a designer shirt. Someone had to have seen me steal it, but I guess it someone super lazy, or someone working their on their first day- or their last, or maybe someone who saw my grown out roots and desheveled shirt and thought, “you know what, she needs a win right now.”
Whatever the circumstance, I had my shirt, better yet, I had my shirt for free. Those little knock off shoes carried me up the apartment stairs and straight to the door. I sifted through my purse and produced the key, I flung open the door and tossed myself onto the couch. Even better than the high of shopping, was the high of stealing.
I removed my ratty old shirt and replaced it with this fancy new one. It fit like a glove and hit all the right spots, even with my break-up pudge. I clicked on some randow show on the TV again, and poured myself a glass of Vicky’s dumb fancy wine.
Then, that little pink phone on the end table started jumping around again. It had to be Jackson, no one ever calls this phone except for him and Vicky’s friends from the shop she works at, and of course they wouldn’t be calling while she’s there.
“Hey Jackie boy.” I said with skillful sarcasm.
“Oh hey… How do you always know it's me?” That meak boy squeaked.
“I can just feel your manly presence through the phone.” I said laughing to myself. Sometimes I cannot keep a straight face when I talk to these boys.
“Oh yeah, is that right?” He said gaining a little confidence.
“Oh yeah, ya big strong man.” I leaned myself into the phone. I was intrigued by the new side of this little wall street boy I was seeing.
“Oh wow, wow. Wow okay..” He stumbled on the other side.
I could tell this was his turn on. Exactly what I needed to get that handbag money night with him. I purred and mumbled to him trying to get him really going. Our appointment was still hours away, but maybe a little teaser over the phone would get me a little extra cash.
“Oh wow, see you at eight, Wendy. BYE.” He spoked quickly like he was being rushed, but I was just glad he hung up. I feel strange working for him. The other day he went on a two hour rant about this being his first time, it was all set up by his friends. Jackson’s been scared by the whole concept, really. I know he just wants to plan it all out like a business meeting. Scheduling and all that bureaucracy nerd-work is his forte.
I dropped the pink phone down onto its base and turned my attention back to an episode of Wheel of fortune. I remember watching this show when I was little. One time, I had the flu for a week and stayed home from school. There was nothing to watch but game shows. It’s so strange to think about all that now. Back then, I wanted to be a nurse, and probably also a fairy, but I used to have all these goals for life. I was going to go to medical school, but I took a “gap year”, that turned into three years, and now we’re here. I thought Gryffin would propose and afterwards, I’d enroll, but obviously that never happened because now I sleep on a bitchy alcoholic’s couch and turn dudes on over the phone. What a life I lead.
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