I groan and lean back against the stall door, blinking my eyes as I fight back tears. Maybe I deserved to be fired. Walter wasn’t wrong: I wasn’t in love with this job. I wanted to love it like I love dancing, but I don’t. It must have shown in my work.
I gather my shit and leave the restroom feeling drained and defeated, and like I’m the biggest loser on the planet. Don’t cry, I tell myself, as I head back to the concierge desk. You can cry all you want when you get back to your apartment. Focus on getting your shit and doing what’s left of your job until your time is up.
“What did Walter want?” Robert asks.
I swallow hard before squeaking out, “He fired me.”
“What? He fired you?” The flare in Robert’s eyes reveals his complete shock.
Carly doesn’t look nearly as surprised, though. “That’s sad… Oh, Sara, I’m so sorry,” she says.
“I know. Who’ll cover for you next time, right?” I snap, my self-defense mechanism bubbling out to hide my hurt.
Carly ignores my attitude. “You know who else got fired? Bert, one of the guys from the front door. Also a shit ton of the cleaning ladies…”
I tune Carly out as I let Robert hug me and tell me he’s there for me if I need anything. I nod, pry free, and scan the concierge desk for any items that might be mine that I’d need to take home with me.
There’s nothing for me to pack. That’s what happens when you’re a concierge. I don’t have drawers full of stuff or pictures on my desk. I go, I work, I leave.
And today it’s really hard to leave. I can’t believe this is my last day. God, I never thought I’d miss being a concierge. Say goodbye, Sara, I think, as I say farewell to my colleagues and return home, with no job, no dream, and without my mystery man’s name.
* * *
“What happened?”
Bryn finds me bawling into a tissue when she arrives at the apartment. I’m so relieved to see her, I begin to cry harder.
I guess it’s like they say. Man plans, and God laughs. Wow, he must be laughing pretty hard right now.
“I got fired. I had no idea they’d start making cuts and I’d be the first to go. What am I going to do?” I blow my nose and toss the tissue aside while Bryn grabs a waste basket, tosses in all the tissue balls and the empty box of tissues, and sets a fresh box before me.
“You’ll get a new job.” She sits down beside me.
God, I knew I shouldn’t have kept looking for dancing gigs. I got my hopes up and my dreams distracted me from my real job. I should’ve stayed focused. “It’s not that easy—”
“You can walk dogs with me,” Bryn interrupts.
“That’s your gig.”
“I’ll split it with you,” Bryn insists. “I won’t be able to dedicate as much time to it as I want to—I’ll be too busy working on the start-up.”
“Really?” I eye her. “How are you so confident you’ll get the money?” I hate being the party pooper, but we need to be realistic here. Honestly, I think it’s a pipe dream. She’s really smart and great at designing clothes, but no matter how much talent you have, I know that to be successful, luck has to somehow play a part as well.
And luck doesn’t seem to like this zip code.
“Because I saw him again tonight, and I’m hoping I can wear him down,” Bryn says optimistically.
Okay, so “him” is Bryn’s equivalent of my Hot Workaholic. His name is Aaric Christos. Manhattan bachelor soon to be wed. Billionaire investor tycoon. How Bryn got a meeting with the man recently is a miracle.
“It’s not wishful thinking?” I ask. Because how many miracles can one girl in Manhattan expect in her life? “Sorry to break it to you, roomie,” I say softly, “but half of the city wants the man’s backing. Everyone thinks they have a genius idea or wants someone who’ll help them make their stupid idea genius.”
“Maybe. But I still mean to wear him down.” Clinging to her positivity, Bryn heads to the kitchen to pour us some tea. “You okay?” she asks with concern as she returns and hands a cup to me.
“I don’t know,” I finally admit, wishing I could feel as positive as Bryn does right now. “I can’t figure out what’s gone wrong with my life.” I pass a crumpled tissue along my nose, wad it up tight, and pull a new one from the box as I recite my failings. “I went to Tisch School of Arts here, in NYU. But I broke my ankle during my first big break. Two years went by, and recovery was a bitch, but even once healed, nothing. No leads, no successful auditions. So I became a concierge, and even then, doing something supposedly easy, I fail.”
“You didn’t fail, Sara. It wasn’t your endgame, it was your in-the-meantime job.”
“Yeah, well.” I think about it for a moment, but that doesn’t make me feel better. Because being a concierge was at least something real. Not some dream. It at least fed me, clothed me, and kept me busy. “I’m starting to wonder if most of us aren’t destined to be stuck in our in-the-meantime.”
“I might agree… but then you see someone, someone who had it worse than anyone, and who made it big. Not because he got lucky—he worked for it. It makes sense that if we work hard enough, we can go somewhere, too.”
“You really like this guy,” I say.
I feel a pang of worry all of a sudden. Aaric Christos is as hard-to-get as hard-to-get can get. And he’s in a relationship with some spoiled society darling. Does Bryn have a death wish or what?
“No. I… I admire him,” she counters. “We were in high school when we met, and I admired his gumption. I suppose I liked him, too,” she admits, “but I could never understand how he made me feel. I guess I liked him enough that it confused me.” As if she’s jinxing herself by admitting that, she quickly shakes her head. “But enough about that. I’m excited about the start-up. If this takes off and you don’t have a job, I’ll hire you.”
“When do I start?” I smirk.
“Who knows? Call God’s number and ask.” She flashes Christos’s card and I try to snatch it out of her hand.
“Give me that,” I say as she pries it away. I need it more than she does.
“Over my dead booty. It’s my golden ticket and I’m not giving it up, even to you. I’ll give you some of my chocolate, though.” She disappears for a second and returns to toss a Godiva chocolate bar in my lap. I groan. Chocolate is my weakness, dammit, and my roommate didn’t take long to figure it out.
“Do we have any ice cream?” I ask.
She brings an ice-cream tub from the freezer and two spoons. “Anything else?”
“Yes. Can I adopt you?” I straighten up in my seat and watch her settle down by me.
“Come on. I’m only two years older than you,” she says as she pries the ice cream open, winking.
“I know what else I’m missing. Confidence. I seem to have lost it somewhere,” I admit to her as I stare at the silent TV across our living room.
I think of Bryn and her start-up dream, still so far out of reach.
I think of myself and my own dreams, the dreams that, no matter how amazing, are still getting in the way of me making a solid foundation with what I currently have to work with.
And I think of my mom and her dreams, and the heartbreak she’s enduring at the hands of my dad. Her biggest dream, that of a loving husband and family, shattered.
I gather my shit and leave the restroom feeling drained and defeated, and like I’m the biggest loser on the planet. Don’t cry, I tell myself, as I head back to the concierge desk. You can cry all you want when you get back to your apartment. Focus on getting your shit and doing what’s left of your job until your time is up.
“What did Walter want?” Robert asks.
I swallow hard before squeaking out, “He fired me.”
“What? He fired you?” The flare in Robert’s eyes reveals his complete shock.
Carly doesn’t look nearly as surprised, though. “That’s sad… Oh, Sara, I’m so sorry,” she says.
“I know. Who’ll cover for you next time, right?” I snap, my self-defense mechanism bubbling out to hide my hurt.
Carly ignores my attitude. “You know who else got fired? Bert, one of the guys from the front door. Also a shit ton of the cleaning ladies…”
I tune Carly out as I let Robert hug me and tell me he’s there for me if I need anything. I nod, pry free, and scan the concierge desk for any items that might be mine that I’d need to take home with me.
There’s nothing for me to pack. That’s what happens when you’re a concierge. I don’t have drawers full of stuff or pictures on my desk. I go, I work, I leave.
And today it’s really hard to leave. I can’t believe this is my last day. God, I never thought I’d miss being a concierge. Say goodbye, Sara, I think, as I say farewell to my colleagues and return home, with no job, no dream, and without my mystery man’s name.
* * *
“What happened?”
Bryn finds me bawling into a tissue when she arrives at the apartment. I’m so relieved to see her, I begin to cry harder.
I guess it’s like they say. Man plans, and God laughs. Wow, he must be laughing pretty hard right now.
“I got fired. I had no idea they’d start making cuts and I’d be the first to go. What am I going to do?” I blow my nose and toss the tissue aside while Bryn grabs a waste basket, tosses in all the tissue balls and the empty box of tissues, and sets a fresh box before me.
“You’ll get a new job.” She sits down beside me.
God, I knew I shouldn’t have kept looking for dancing gigs. I got my hopes up and my dreams distracted me from my real job. I should’ve stayed focused. “It’s not that easy—”
“You can walk dogs with me,” Bryn interrupts.
“That’s your gig.”
“I’ll split it with you,” Bryn insists. “I won’t be able to dedicate as much time to it as I want to—I’ll be too busy working on the start-up.”
“Really?” I eye her. “How are you so confident you’ll get the money?” I hate being the party pooper, but we need to be realistic here. Honestly, I think it’s a pipe dream. She’s really smart and great at designing clothes, but no matter how much talent you have, I know that to be successful, luck has to somehow play a part as well.
And luck doesn’t seem to like this zip code.
“Because I saw him again tonight, and I’m hoping I can wear him down,” Bryn says optimistically.
Okay, so “him” is Bryn’s equivalent of my Hot Workaholic. His name is Aaric Christos. Manhattan bachelor soon to be wed. Billionaire investor tycoon. How Bryn got a meeting with the man recently is a miracle.
“It’s not wishful thinking?” I ask. Because how many miracles can one girl in Manhattan expect in her life? “Sorry to break it to you, roomie,” I say softly, “but half of the city wants the man’s backing. Everyone thinks they have a genius idea or wants someone who’ll help them make their stupid idea genius.”
“Maybe. But I still mean to wear him down.” Clinging to her positivity, Bryn heads to the kitchen to pour us some tea. “You okay?” she asks with concern as she returns and hands a cup to me.
“I don’t know,” I finally admit, wishing I could feel as positive as Bryn does right now. “I can’t figure out what’s gone wrong with my life.” I pass a crumpled tissue along my nose, wad it up tight, and pull a new one from the box as I recite my failings. “I went to Tisch School of Arts here, in NYU. But I broke my ankle during my first big break. Two years went by, and recovery was a bitch, but even once healed, nothing. No leads, no successful auditions. So I became a concierge, and even then, doing something supposedly easy, I fail.”
“You didn’t fail, Sara. It wasn’t your endgame, it was your in-the-meantime job.”
“Yeah, well.” I think about it for a moment, but that doesn’t make me feel better. Because being a concierge was at least something real. Not some dream. It at least fed me, clothed me, and kept me busy. “I’m starting to wonder if most of us aren’t destined to be stuck in our in-the-meantime.”
“I might agree… but then you see someone, someone who had it worse than anyone, and who made it big. Not because he got lucky—he worked for it. It makes sense that if we work hard enough, we can go somewhere, too.”
“You really like this guy,” I say.
I feel a pang of worry all of a sudden. Aaric Christos is as hard-to-get as hard-to-get can get. And he’s in a relationship with some spoiled society darling. Does Bryn have a death wish or what?
“No. I… I admire him,” she counters. “We were in high school when we met, and I admired his gumption. I suppose I liked him, too,” she admits, “but I could never understand how he made me feel. I guess I liked him enough that it confused me.” As if she’s jinxing herself by admitting that, she quickly shakes her head. “But enough about that. I’m excited about the start-up. If this takes off and you don’t have a job, I’ll hire you.”
“When do I start?” I smirk.
“Who knows? Call God’s number and ask.” She flashes Christos’s card and I try to snatch it out of her hand.
“Give me that,” I say as she pries it away. I need it more than she does.
“Over my dead booty. It’s my golden ticket and I’m not giving it up, even to you. I’ll give you some of my chocolate, though.” She disappears for a second and returns to toss a Godiva chocolate bar in my lap. I groan. Chocolate is my weakness, dammit, and my roommate didn’t take long to figure it out.
“Do we have any ice cream?” I ask.
She brings an ice-cream tub from the freezer and two spoons. “Anything else?”
“Yes. Can I adopt you?” I straighten up in my seat and watch her settle down by me.
“Come on. I’m only two years older than you,” she says as she pries the ice cream open, winking.
“I know what else I’m missing. Confidence. I seem to have lost it somewhere,” I admit to her as I stare at the silent TV across our living room.
I think of Bryn and her start-up dream, still so far out of reach.
I think of myself and my own dreams, the dreams that, no matter how amazing, are still getting in the way of me making a solid foundation with what I currently have to work with.
And I think of my mom and her dreams, and the heartbreak she’s enduring at the hands of my dad. Her biggest dream, that of a loving husband and family, shattered.
