Shacking Up(14)

I've heard that lecture so many times I can recite it in my sleep. Until now I thought he was blowing smoke up my rear end. It was after that conversation that I opened my own bank account, secured my own Visa, and the small line of credit. When my paycheck stopped coming in, I opted to raise my credit limit by a few thousand dollars instead of going to him.

If I call him now, I'll have to admit defeat. And I feel as though he may be setting me up for this to happen. It's as if he wants me to fail. If he finds out what's happened, and how I have no other options, he'll definitely send someone for me. Well, he might not send someone. He's more likely to put me on a plane because driving that far isn't on his priority list.

Home is not where I want to be. Home is Rhode Island. Home means I've failed. Home means my dream is dead and my dad was right all along: I'm not good enough for a career on Broadway. Or Off-Broadway. Or anywhere near Broadway.

Admitting failure isn't the worst part. Going home means working for my father's pharmaceutical empire where he deals in penis-hardening drugs. He'll turn me into a corporate drone. I'll have to sit behind a desk and type letters and stamp things and make sure meetings are scheduled in the right rooms. All my creativity will end up in the shredder bin, along with my dignity.

I know there are people out there struggling for a job, any job, and I should be grateful. And while the idea of working at my father's company is not my idea of fun, it's not the end of the world. Working under his new wife would be it's own special kind of hell. I completely disagree with my father that it would be a good way for us to get to know each other and bond. I told him it's a good way for me to end up in prison for murder. He did not appreciate my humor.



       
         
       
        

"He's the reason you don't have a place to live, you don't think he'll feel bad and try and make it right?"

"You heard my landlord, the place is already rented. You know as well as I do he's been waiting for this to happen. He wants me to fail."

"He doesn't want you to fail." I give her a look and she sighs again. "What about your line of credit? Can you pay off some of the rent with that?"

I pull up my account details on my phone. Even if I could raise it by a few more thousand, I can't cover three missed months. I shake my head.

"What about a cash advance on your credit card?"

"There's not a lot of room." I have maybe three hundred dollars left before I hit my max. It's a low max, but adding to my credit card debt seems like a bad idea, especially considering my current circumstances.

"Oh God."

"Yeah."

"I could lend you-"

"Nope. No way." I cut her off before she can finish. "I won't borrow money from you."

"You have to let me do something. I'm not going to let you be homeless. You won't do well in an alley. Cardboard boxes aren't your thing."

She's trying to be funny, but the reality of my situation finally slaps me in the face like a three-day-old dead fish. Amie's right. Unless I can find a new place to live and a decent job that can cover more than just rent I'm going to end up homeless or forced to move back home. Worse, I'll have to live in my dad's house with his horrible slutty wife who's four years older than I am and probably screwing the gardener. Or the pool boy. Or both.

Moving to Alaska, where my mother currently lives, is an absolute no-go. New York winters are long enough. Besides, her cabin in the woods and little to no contact with the outside world is a bit on the extreme side for me. I'm fine to live in a crappy apartment in Harlem, but subzero temperatures and no neighbors is far outside of my comfort zone.

"I'll get a part-time job."

Amie gives me one of her mothering looks. "Okay, sure, but what about a place to live? You're still going to need to save up at least first and last month, right? And pay back what you owe here. That's a lot of money to come up with on your own."

She makes another good point. "I don't have an alternative, Amie. Not unless I want to move back to Rhode Island, which is the absolute last thing I want."

"I can't believe your dad did this. There has to be a way to make this work. What if you stay with me?"

I give Amie a look. "Where would I sleep? Your couch isn't even a pullout." 

Amie purses her lips, considering this. I have a point. Her place is small. Her bedroom is tiny, her queen taking up a good portion of the room. Her living room can't accommodate a full-sized couch because it, too, is small.

"I'll call Armstrong. I'm sure I can stay with him, and then you can have my place while you sort things out." She calls her fiancé and holds up a finger to silence me before I can argue against this plan. "Hi, Armstrong, I have a bit of a favor to ask-" She pauses for a few seconds before she continues. "Do you think it would be possible for me to stay with you for a little while . . . a week or two?" She gives me a questioning look. I shrug and then nod. I doubt two weeks will be enough, but it's better than nothing. "But I-it would just be for . . . right . . . but-" She rolls her eyes and taps her foot.