Desperate Chances
Page 25

I had just resigned myself to the level of discomfort that I continuously felt in his presence. Now it would be so. Much. Worse.
Vivian finally came out of the bathroom and struck a pose in front of the mirror. She ran her hands down her sides while twisting her body left and right as she looked at her reflection.
“Damn Viv, are we hittin’ the clubs before dinner? Do I need to dig out my hoochie gear?” Riley asked blandly.
“Some of us like to look good for our man,” Vivian snipped, fluffing hair.
“And some of us wait to show off our lady bits until after the sun has set,” Riley responded.
“Ladies, ladies. Come on. Let’s just get over to the bar. The guys should be about finished.
“Let’s go then,” I said with pep in my voice.
Riley lifted her eyebrows in surprise. “Wow, someone’s excited to listen to sound check.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh snark, how I’ve missed you.”
I looped my arm with Riley’s and walked out into the hallway, Maysie and Vivian following us.
“How’s the job going?” I asked my friend as the four of us piled into the elevator and headed to the lobby.
“Long hours. Crap pay. It’s great actually,” Riley grinned and she meant it. She had graduated in the spring from grad school and was now working for one of the biggest newspapers in Boston. So yeah, I was a little bit jealous. I was happy for her most of all, but I could admit that I wished it were me working as a cutting edge reporter and not writing about people’s landscapes for a low budget magazine that sat at the back of the rack at the dentist’s office.
Riley and I had both interned at the Bakersville Times during our senior year and when I went off the rails I had pretty much tanked any possibility for a good job in journalism after graduation. So I shouldn’t be complaining about the Southern Gardens gig. It was better than nothing.
“How about you? How are the gardens in the south?” Riley asked.
“Full of flowers,” I replied blandly.
“I’d lose my mind writing about plants all the time,” Vivian added as the elevator doors opened and we piled out into the lobby.
“Eh, it’s not the worst thing in the world. Sure I’d rather be writing for a fashion magazine or be the next Dear Abby, but it’s something to hold me over until I finally land my dream job as a trapeze artist with the circus,” I remarked.
“It’s good to have goals,” Riley replied flippantly.
“I’ve been working on my portfolio, adding stuff to it. So maybe I can actually land myself a decent writing job,” I said with a whole lot of optimism that most days I didn’t feel.
“You know, I could always put in a word for you with Diane. Or if you wanted to, you could come up to Boston. I bet you I could get you a job, no problem. You’re talented. Way too talented to be schlepping it at that monthly rag,” Riley offered.
“Thanks, Ri. I really appreciate it. I do. But I want to get something on my own merit.”
Riley looked at me like I was nuts. “You do realize that in life it’s who you know as much as what you know, right? There’s no shame in me greasing the wheels.”
I gave her another loud, wet kiss on the cheek, which she promptly wiped off with a look of disgust. “If I find myself sucking old guys off in an alleyway for Raman Noodles money I promise to take you up on it. Until then, I’d like to keep doing things my way.”
We walked out of the hotel and waited while Maysie waved for a cab. “Dude, if you start sucking off old dudes in alleyways, you need more than an in for a newspaper job, sicko,” Riley shuddered.
I pulled on my wool gloves and hunched down in my puffy jacket. It was much colder than I thought it would be. Virginia was experiencing an unusually frigid winter with entirely too much snow. And judging by the sky it appeared we were in for another round of wintery weather. I just hoped it wouldn’t impact my escape on Sunday. I figured by then I’d be ready to make a run for it.
“I know it may seem like I’m not moving very fast, but for me, it’s fast enough,” I laughed. “Besides, lately I’ve been pretty busy trying to prove to my mom and dad that I’m capable of taking care of myself. That they no longer need to cut up my meat and read me a story at bedtime,” I sighed as I wedged myself between Maysie and Riley. Vivian sat up front with the driver and was playing with the radio. I could hear the driver telling her to leave it alone but she ignored him, finally leaving it on a pop station.
“Are they still trying to make you move home? They’re relentless,” Vivian piped up from the front seat.
“You betcha. It’s still a regular discussion. Well it’s more of an attempt at dictatorship than a legitimate conversation.”
“They must have gone to the same school of parenting as mine did,” Maysie commiserated.
“I know you guys all have your lives figured out. Riley is going to be the next Christine Amanpour. Vivian is organizing high-end events and Maysie is on her way to becoming the next great thing in band marketing. As for me, I’m cool just not having my mother pick out my clothes every morning,” I shrugged.
“The next Christine Amanpour, huh? I like the sound of that. Though if I can be Christine, you totally can be Barbara Walters,” Riley mused and grinned.
“Totally. Though pre-The View. Just so we’re clear,” I added.
“Absolutely. The View can suck a fat one!” Riley exclaimed.