Sliding his thumb on the screen, he dials Don and waits as the phone rings once, twice, and on the third ring a familiar voice answers.
"Donald Coleman speaking."
"Hey Don! It's Max."
"Max! Great to talk to you. I'm actually on my way home from work, do you want to have drinks later and catch up?"
Max cringes. "That sounds great, but unfortunately I'm actually calling to ask a favor."
The other man laughs. "I figured as much. What can I do for you?"
Max wants to throw up, but he swallows his own pride and just spits out his request. "I'm looking for a job. Do you have any positions open?"
The line goes silent. "Hello?" Max says.
"I'm here. Look, Max, I know you got Tiffany pregnant and you've been living with her. My dad said that yours cut you off, too. I don't know what kind of mess you got yourself into, but I can't be the one to bail you out."
"I know, but," Max starts. Don cuts him off.
"Not only that, Max, but you haven't worked a job in your life and you don't know anything about medical paperwork. You need to go to college for any position worthy of someone in your family. I'm sorry, bud, but I just can't help you."
"Yeah. I get it, Don. Thanks anyway."
"Sorry. But hey, call me back when you're on your feet again, and we'll go out for drinks. I have a hell of a story to tell you about that last girl you introduced to me!"
They say their goodbyes and Don hangs up. The phone defaults back to the contact screen, and there above Don Coleman is the entry for Max's dad. Max bites his lower lip, trying to decide what to do. Finally, he swipes his thumb and the phone dials his dad.
This time, the phone rings once... then twice... then 4 more times before it goes to voice mail. His dad is either in a meeting or is refusing to answer his cell phone. Max is willing to bet it's the latter.
"Fuck," he says, slamming his hand against the steering wheel. He's at an impasse. Anyone he calls is going to react the same was as Don did, and if his dad is telling the whole world about him getting Tiffany pregnant then no one is going to give him a chance.
He's well and truly screwed. The only option is to beg his brother for more money, and there's no way in hell he's doing that. Jared's got too much on his plate. He leans his head back and imagines his soft bed in his own bedroom, and how nice it would be to sleep on that instead of an old couch with a broken spring.
His mind takes him on a tour of his room, exploring how he remembers his bathroom and his TV and his closet. And that's when he gets his idea. He calls up his brother. "Hey, Jared? I need you to bring me that box from the back of my closet and meet me at Joe's ... Yeah, the pawn shop."
Joe's Pawns is the only pawn shop in a town that is generally intolerant of anything that makes it look less than upscale. It's a large, two story building that was built for the purpose of looking classy. The inside is stocked with two large grand pianos, a gold plated harp, hundreds of mounted game heads, guns, knives, jewelry, and so much more than could ever be labeled. They have some of the weirder stuff, too, like glass eyes and fossilized spiders in amber. Everything is displayed in clean glass cases.
The whole building is guarded by armed men, hired to keep the riffraff out and make the good customers feel safe. Jared and Max carry the box of his football memorabilia into the building and set it down on the table next to the register.
A tall woman with blonde hair done up in a 1950s style victory curl greets them. "Welcome to Joe's Pawns, gentlemen. It's good to see you. I take it you're here to sell?"
Max nods, forcing a smile. "I have some signed football memorabilia, plus a few watches."
The woman takes them boxes into her arms. "I'll be right back with our purchasing manager, and you gentlemen can sort this out with him." She carries the boxes with surprising strength, her curvy hips swaying with each step she takes. Before disappearing into a room, she looks back and winks at them.
"She's trying to catch us off guard so they can give us a worse price," Max says. He's not sure how he knows; he never did a lot of business with them, but the observation floats to the surface unbidden.
"Well, she's doing a damn good job of it," Jared replies. He's practically salivating over the sexy woman, watching her as she leaves the room and waves to them before going upstairs to deal with another customer.
Out of the same room comes a tall man, his belly round and his face overpowered by a long mustache and beard. Max thinks he looks like someone out of the 1920s, a circus owner perhaps. The man's face is red and stretched with a wide smile.
"Fine items you have here, my boy!" He says, setting the box down. Max looks in and sees that things are much more organized than they were before. The man sticks out his swollen, fat hand and Max takes it. "The name's Joe, welcome to my pawn shop. What were you thinking for all of these items?"
Max swallows hard. He has no idea how to appraise these things. "I was thinking a thousand for each of the shirts, and probably a thousand total for the rest of it."
"So five thousand total?" Joe runs his hand through his beard, scratching his chin as his gray eyes look to the ceiling. "That's a bit high. I think I could do three thousand for all of it."
Max balks at the thought. "These jerseys have a lot of meaning for me!"
"Not enough meaning to keep them, though. And that nostalgia can't be transferred to other people. That's what these things are worth, my boy, take it or leave it."
Max thinks for a second, running his hand through the box and feeling the soft jersey. "Could you do $3500?"
Joe holds out his hand again, his eyes twinkling. "I think we have a deal."
Max leaves the store unsure about having sold his prized shirts, and even less sure about the money he got for them. Jared looks at his hurting brother and frowns. "I'll tell Dad to call you."
"Don't," Max says, defeated. Jared shakes his head and gets into the car.
Tiffany doesn't expect it when the doorbell rings. She's still fuming, waiting for Max to come home without any of the things she demanded, and she knows she won't be able to turn him down if he does. She is all he has, and damn if she doesn't like being the savior.
Going to the intercom, she presses the button. "Yes?"
"Delivery," the voice says. It's not Max's voice. Her brow furrows as she buzzes the front door.
"Come on up."
The delivery man is followed by Max, who grins as the other man sets down a huge box in the middle of the living room. He tips him before turning to Tiffany. "I bought a crib!"
Tiffany's jaw falls as she turns to the box. It's plain, with no photos showing off what the crib will look like. "Is it cute?"
"The cutest one there?"
"How did you suddenly get the money?"
He expected her to ask, but his stomach still dropped through the floor when he heard it. "I sold a few things. I'm still trying to find a job, and Dad didn't answer his phone. Look," he says, tugging on her arm and pulling her toward him. "I know I'm a monumental fuck up, but all I can do is promise to keep getting better."
Tiffany searches his eyes for any sign of that he's making fun or joking. She finds nothing of the sort. It seems the friend she grew up with has grown up without her even noticing. "Well, I forgive you. For now." She smiles and taps her chin against his chin. "But you still have to look for a job."
He flashes a big, goofy grin. "Of course."
11
Atop yoga mats, in a wide circle surrounding a perky blonde woman with fake breasts and a small waist, fifteen women lean back and breathe deep. Some have their husbands and boyfriends with them. Others are alone. Decorating the room are medical posters detailing the male and female anatomy. Some have the stages of growth for fetuses, which Max examined when they first walked in. Beneath the posters, the walls are a relaxing sea foam green. The floors are covered with a plush carpet.
Sandwiched between a black couple who giggle every time the man touches the woman's stomach and a single mom with short blonde hair wearing a track suit, Max watches everyone else as they practice breathing techniques. The techniques are supposed to calm the mother-to-be down as well as help with pain management, but Max can't imagine it helping much.
Tiffany's belly wiggles as she leans her elbows against the ground, her eyes wandering up to his and watching him, lost in thought. Throughout the last six months, he's alternated between uneasy and excited, sometimes multiple times per day.
"You okay?" She asks. Max clenches his jaw and looks down at her, his lips twitching up into a smile. This is what he does every time she pulls him out of a spiral of self doubt. It's worrying that the man who is supposed to be acting as her rock is instead extremely unsure of himself.