I can tell she means it. And something about the honest encouragement in her voice makes me feel more confident. As confident as I used to be when I was young and thought I’d be the queen of Broadway one day.
“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet,” I assure her with a wink, twisting on the faucet and soaping up a sponge. I start scrubbing the plates, growing thoughtful.
“I’m sure you’ll find something. Have you been looking, at least?” Bryn cleans up the place settings and stores them in a kitchen drawer, then she comes up to help me dry the plates.
“I have,” I admit, but I grow thoughtful again, and hear myself admit something I’ve known for a while. “Though I suppose a part of me has given up before trying harder. Almost like my heart couldn’t bear another rejection.”
She dries the wineglasses artfully and then passes me the towel so I can dry my hands. “You shouldn’t decide for the world, Sara. The world is fickle and doesn’t even know what it wants. Isn’t it better to let others reject you than you yourself rejecting possibilities before even exploring them?” She frowns at me in question.
I think about it for a moment and shoot her a dry smile. “You’re right.” I lean back on the counter and regard her with new eyes. There’s so much more to Bryn Heyworth than meets the eye. Sure, she’s sweet and pretty, but she’s actually smart and driven, too. “Wow. You’re a good roomie. I didn’t know I’d have a therapist available twenty-four/seven when I took you in,” I say, nudging her as we head toward our rooms.
“Likewise. And hey, that’s what friends are for. And I do hope that we can be that. Friends,” she says hopefully, as we each turn to our bedroom door.
For some reason, after hearing about the dream start-up company she’s hunting funding for, I’m reminded of my own dreams. When I’m finally back in bed, I can’t seem to sleep. I paint my fingernails and toenails, and while waiting for my toenails to dry, I skim the ads for Broadway auditions on my laptop rather vigorously. Determined to find something.
I may have found the roommate of my dreams. Now if only I could find the job of my dreams, too, I’d be over the moon with happiness.
And if only I could find the guy I’m crushing after…
Don’t be greedy, Sara Davies. You cannot have it all.
But suddenly today a part of me wants to believe that I can.
NOT THE CALL I EXPECTED
Sara
“There’s another Suit, Sara.” Carly nudges me behind the concierge desk.
I glance at the door and watch the tall, blond businessman walk in.
“Nope. Sara likes the dark-haired ones,” Robert chimes in behind me.
“Ugh. You two.” I shake my head and try to ignore them, hating that they’ve noticed me ogling every dark-haired businessman that has walked into the lobby over the past month.
I’m a smart, young, good-looking, independent woman. I don’t need him.
“How’s the new roommate? Does she know about your crazy manhunt?” Carly asks.
“Okay, first of all, I am not holding a manhunt,” I tell Carly determinedly, rolling my eyes. “And she’s fabulous. The stars are definitely smiling down on me.” I wink at them both, feeling positive.
“Did you get the tickets for Wicked for room 511?” Robert asks as the phone rings.
I hand him the envelope with the tickets as he picks up. “Concierge, this is Robert speaking.” There’s silence before he slides his gaze in my direction. “Sara, it’s Walter.” Then Robert hangs up the phone.
“Huh? Walter Walter?” I ask, confused.
Walter never calls for me. I doubt he knows my name. He’s a short little man who likes to gather us all in weekly meetings to tell us how we’re doing and how we can improve our jobs, while he skims his eyes down our skirts. He’s only ever looked, but the girls and I still like to wear pants on the days he schedules the weekly meetings.
“That’s right. Walter, the hotel manager. He wants to talk to you. Now,” Robert adds.
“On my way.” I run my hands down my uniform and head to the private offices in a secluded section of the hotel’s lobby floor.
Honestly, this can’t be good. I’m trembling so hard I need to press my lips together as I rap on Walter’s door. His name—engraved on the plaque—stares ominously back at me before I hear his voice from within the office saying, “Come in.”
My hand twists the doorknob and I force myself to stride inside with confidence.
I spot Walter behind his desk and instantly think, I’m getting fired.
He’s not making eye contact.
He’s not looking at my skirt.
Instead, he stares at a paper as he says, “Take a seat.”
You are so fucking fired, Sara.
Or maybe I’m getting a promotion?
Maybe I’ve done an outstanding job and am getting an employee-of-the-month award.
No, dumbass. You got caught fucking a hotel guest in room 1103 and now you’re doomed.
Well, he was a hot hotel guest! a part of me chirps in.
That is irrelevant, my bitch of a conscience insists. You fucked him at the hotel and you got caught. Now you’ll not only never see the guy again and never know his name—you also won’t have a job.
My whole body feels as taut as a bowstring. I’m so tense, if I move too fast or too brusquely, I might break. God, please don’t let Walter know about room 1103, I think, as I sit down.
“We’re letting you go.”
I swallow.
Fuck.
He really fired me.
He actually just fired me.
I am being let go.
Out of a job.
Completely and utterly… fucked.
Oh… my… God.
It’s hard to respond to him. This is the second time I’ve been fired in my life. And I’ve only had two jobs. What does that say about me?
I suddenly don’t like myself very much. I feel like a worm. A worm who’s scared shitless now that I’m going to be all alone, in a big bad city, job hunting again.
“I… is it something I did?” I wring my hands.
“Not really. More like didn’t do. We don’t feel you’re as passionate as some of your coworkers. We’re also making cuts, and when it came down to it, I believe you’re the weakest member of the team.” He pushes his glasses back up his nose and stares down at my file. “You can finish your shift and pick up your check on your way out.”
Wow. That’s it?
No “Have a good life, Sara.” Or “It was great working with you.”
No “Thanks for the tie you got me for my birthday.” Or, at the very least, “Sara, thanks for bringing us donuts out of the kindness of your heart all those times.”
Wow.
I’m surprised I manage to walk steadily to the door, because it feels as if my world is spinning like a carousel that is going faster and faster by the second. What am I going to do?
I stumble into the ladies’ room and quickly hide myself inside a stall. I exhale a very effusive “Fuck!” and put my hands on my temples and review my conversation with Walter. I’m an absolute wreck. My dad always said I’d turn out this way. My dad, who is divorcing my mom and seems to think we’re no good for him, was right; I’m apparently not good for anything.
Picking dancing as a career would lead me nowhere.
I’d end up with a dead-end job and no “decent” college degree to save me from it.
“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet,” I assure her with a wink, twisting on the faucet and soaping up a sponge. I start scrubbing the plates, growing thoughtful.
“I’m sure you’ll find something. Have you been looking, at least?” Bryn cleans up the place settings and stores them in a kitchen drawer, then she comes up to help me dry the plates.
“I have,” I admit, but I grow thoughtful again, and hear myself admit something I’ve known for a while. “Though I suppose a part of me has given up before trying harder. Almost like my heart couldn’t bear another rejection.”
She dries the wineglasses artfully and then passes me the towel so I can dry my hands. “You shouldn’t decide for the world, Sara. The world is fickle and doesn’t even know what it wants. Isn’t it better to let others reject you than you yourself rejecting possibilities before even exploring them?” She frowns at me in question.
I think about it for a moment and shoot her a dry smile. “You’re right.” I lean back on the counter and regard her with new eyes. There’s so much more to Bryn Heyworth than meets the eye. Sure, she’s sweet and pretty, but she’s actually smart and driven, too. “Wow. You’re a good roomie. I didn’t know I’d have a therapist available twenty-four/seven when I took you in,” I say, nudging her as we head toward our rooms.
“Likewise. And hey, that’s what friends are for. And I do hope that we can be that. Friends,” she says hopefully, as we each turn to our bedroom door.
For some reason, after hearing about the dream start-up company she’s hunting funding for, I’m reminded of my own dreams. When I’m finally back in bed, I can’t seem to sleep. I paint my fingernails and toenails, and while waiting for my toenails to dry, I skim the ads for Broadway auditions on my laptop rather vigorously. Determined to find something.
I may have found the roommate of my dreams. Now if only I could find the job of my dreams, too, I’d be over the moon with happiness.
And if only I could find the guy I’m crushing after…
Don’t be greedy, Sara Davies. You cannot have it all.
But suddenly today a part of me wants to believe that I can.
NOT THE CALL I EXPECTED
Sara
“There’s another Suit, Sara.” Carly nudges me behind the concierge desk.
I glance at the door and watch the tall, blond businessman walk in.
“Nope. Sara likes the dark-haired ones,” Robert chimes in behind me.
“Ugh. You two.” I shake my head and try to ignore them, hating that they’ve noticed me ogling every dark-haired businessman that has walked into the lobby over the past month.
I’m a smart, young, good-looking, independent woman. I don’t need him.
“How’s the new roommate? Does she know about your crazy manhunt?” Carly asks.
“Okay, first of all, I am not holding a manhunt,” I tell Carly determinedly, rolling my eyes. “And she’s fabulous. The stars are definitely smiling down on me.” I wink at them both, feeling positive.
“Did you get the tickets for Wicked for room 511?” Robert asks as the phone rings.
I hand him the envelope with the tickets as he picks up. “Concierge, this is Robert speaking.” There’s silence before he slides his gaze in my direction. “Sara, it’s Walter.” Then Robert hangs up the phone.
“Huh? Walter Walter?” I ask, confused.
Walter never calls for me. I doubt he knows my name. He’s a short little man who likes to gather us all in weekly meetings to tell us how we’re doing and how we can improve our jobs, while he skims his eyes down our skirts. He’s only ever looked, but the girls and I still like to wear pants on the days he schedules the weekly meetings.
“That’s right. Walter, the hotel manager. He wants to talk to you. Now,” Robert adds.
“On my way.” I run my hands down my uniform and head to the private offices in a secluded section of the hotel’s lobby floor.
Honestly, this can’t be good. I’m trembling so hard I need to press my lips together as I rap on Walter’s door. His name—engraved on the plaque—stares ominously back at me before I hear his voice from within the office saying, “Come in.”
My hand twists the doorknob and I force myself to stride inside with confidence.
I spot Walter behind his desk and instantly think, I’m getting fired.
He’s not making eye contact.
He’s not looking at my skirt.
Instead, he stares at a paper as he says, “Take a seat.”
You are so fucking fired, Sara.
Or maybe I’m getting a promotion?
Maybe I’ve done an outstanding job and am getting an employee-of-the-month award.
No, dumbass. You got caught fucking a hotel guest in room 1103 and now you’re doomed.
Well, he was a hot hotel guest! a part of me chirps in.
That is irrelevant, my bitch of a conscience insists. You fucked him at the hotel and you got caught. Now you’ll not only never see the guy again and never know his name—you also won’t have a job.
My whole body feels as taut as a bowstring. I’m so tense, if I move too fast or too brusquely, I might break. God, please don’t let Walter know about room 1103, I think, as I sit down.
“We’re letting you go.”
I swallow.
Fuck.
He really fired me.
He actually just fired me.
I am being let go.
Out of a job.
Completely and utterly… fucked.
Oh… my… God.
It’s hard to respond to him. This is the second time I’ve been fired in my life. And I’ve only had two jobs. What does that say about me?
I suddenly don’t like myself very much. I feel like a worm. A worm who’s scared shitless now that I’m going to be all alone, in a big bad city, job hunting again.
“I… is it something I did?” I wring my hands.
“Not really. More like didn’t do. We don’t feel you’re as passionate as some of your coworkers. We’re also making cuts, and when it came down to it, I believe you’re the weakest member of the team.” He pushes his glasses back up his nose and stares down at my file. “You can finish your shift and pick up your check on your way out.”
Wow. That’s it?
No “Have a good life, Sara.” Or “It was great working with you.”
No “Thanks for the tie you got me for my birthday.” Or, at the very least, “Sara, thanks for bringing us donuts out of the kindness of your heart all those times.”
Wow.
I’m surprised I manage to walk steadily to the door, because it feels as if my world is spinning like a carousel that is going faster and faster by the second. What am I going to do?
I stumble into the ladies’ room and quickly hide myself inside a stall. I exhale a very effusive “Fuck!” and put my hands on my temples and review my conversation with Walter. I’m an absolute wreck. My dad always said I’d turn out this way. My dad, who is divorcing my mom and seems to think we’re no good for him, was right; I’m apparently not good for anything.
Picking dancing as a career would lead me nowhere.
I’d end up with a dead-end job and no “decent” college degree to save me from it.
