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“You have a second bedroom?” I mumble accusingly.
“Yeah, nothing in there. Just boxes.” His head tilts defensively.
“I knew you were holding out on me.”
He rolls his eyes as he circles around to his seat.
Every time he brushes by me, I catch a sniff of him. He just smells so goddamn good. Wood, like cedar or something, and a hint of tobacco. I catch myself staring as he plops down across from me, setting out two plates with eggs and bacon, toast.
“Wow. Thank you. You didn’t have to cook a feast.”
“I like cooking. And it’s good for you. High stress can kill your appetite. You need food. Too easy to forget when shit’s going south.”
He’s right, and I dig in, taking advantage of the fact that I’m starving today.
As I’m cleaning up from breakfast, he comes back from the garage with a notebook and pencil. After sketching for a few minutes, he slides it across the table for me to inspect. “Shortcut into town. It’s a back way not a lot of people know about. You can take my truck, since they know what you drive. I recommend wearing a hat, a coat. Keep a low profile while you get around. You’re not going to be able to hide for too long, but just in case, it’ll prevent them from keeping close tabs on you.”
“What makes you think they’ll be looking? I have two weeks.”
“And you left your house as soon as they came calling. For all they know, you left town. They’ll want to keep an eye on you.”
“So, what do I do if they threaten me?”
“Text me. I’ll be around town taking care of some things all week. Gotta stock up on supplies.”
And that’s all the planning I get before we head into town, him driving my old Camry and me in his beat-up tan truck. At least it runs better than my car. It may be old, but he keeps it in good condition.
I’m hopeful as I check in with a few businesses, people I know.
Skip ahead a couple of days of this same routine and I’ve got nothing.
Most of my texts and calls go unanswered.
Apparently, nobody wants to work with me since I'm not allowed on campus anymore. Can’t blame them. How can I coordinate anything without being there?
I’m not in the mix. I don’t see people on the way from class and overhear problems that need solving. It’s really hard to write papers or find people to write those papers when I don’t have access to the school library anymore, either. Tutoring. Setting up dates. My whole profile is dead.
In effect… I'm blacklisted from the campus.
That doesn't mean that I don't know a few more people. My beer guy and a few others who have delivered lights, stages, and other equipment all promise to call me if they need a hand. If. Same with my bartender friends. The local bars are always in high demand for talent. Compared to most of the competition, I’m an amateur.
Josh Barnes was one exception, offering me a cocktail waitress position at his strip club.
The thought has my stomach in knots even considering it. The waitresses there barely wear more than the dancers.
Jake, my DJ friend, doesn’t have any better suggestions, other than dancing as a hype girl for an upcoming show of his.
And while I know how to dance, and I’m pretty damn good at it… I’ve never done anything like that before. Desperation might make it a little less intimidating, but I’m not there yet, and the pay won’t put a dent in what I need. Of course, Jake, being the asshole that he is, also suggested that I pop over to the local striptease and sign up to take my clothes off.
Fuck you very much, Jake.
If I hear one more of my male friends suggest that I strip for cash, I’m going to sic Gavin on them.
By the end of the third day, I'm feeling pretty down on my luck when I get a ding on my social media from none other than Ora Clive. I’d forgotten to message her or even look her up.
Maybe she could find me some work?
I’m checking her message when the phone rings in my hand.
