Chapter 5
Flat broke and cramping
Harley
Trying to find a job when you can’t use your last one because even though you were unjustifiably fired, you have no proof, is hell on earth.
For five days of non-stop searches, doors keep closing in my face.
I worked in restaurants, many moons ago, but those experiences don’t count. Grazie Mille is the only reference that has weight.
Thanks for nothing étienne Leveaux. I hope you rot in hell.
As if this day wasn’t already in the toilet, I just started my period.
At least I have an excuse not to hit the pavement today since I’ll be curled up in my bed in pain. Aunt Flo had to visit today.
Even though I don’t want to get up, I have to change. I slide off the lumpy futon, and trail to the bathroom. As I reach the threshold, my eyes land on the wastebasket.
I need to open a new box of pads.
At a snail’s pace, I make my way to the storage cabinet, located next to the half-fridge. I open the cabinet, and freeze.
I don’t own a screwdriver. Why is there one inside my cabinet?
My eyes land on a tampon box, and my heart drops to my feet.
With trembling hands, I open the box.
Panic suffuses me.
The empty box drops from my hands.
Shit, shit, shit.
My stash money.
Someone stole my stash money—
That sleazy superintendent.
It has to be him, but how did he know where I hid my stash money?
Men are allergic to tampon boxes. That was a safe bet.
I don’t have a job.
I don’t have any prospects.
I don’t have any money in the bank.
And now, the hundreds of dollars I accumulated in tips are gone.
How am I going to pay my rent? How am I going to buy groceries? Jesus, I don’t even think I have enough money to buy pads and tampons.
I bang a fist against the cabinet. I slam it so hard, it sends the air freshener the superintendent placed in all the basement apartments to the ground.
Fuck.
The stupid thing is broken. I’m sure the idiot superintendent is going to charge me to replace it.
I narrow my gaze to the wire protruding from the broken pieces.
I lower to my haunches and pick up the shattered air freshener. This isn’t a plug-in air freshener, what’s up with the wire? My gaze travels to another broken piece on the floor. I pick it up, study it, and turn the glass piece in my hands. Is that… a camera lens?
I drop the item on the floor like it’s on fire, rush to my handbag and pull out my phone.
My fingers fly on the screen as I do a quick search.
When a series of results pop up, I gasp.
Air freshener with hidden spy camera? I gawk at the words in shock. “The asshole has been spying on me.”
A frightening thought slams through me.
A shoebox basement studio apartment offers zero privacy.
“He’s seen me… naked?”
My eyes bounce around the space and I spot another air freshener on a shelf. I run to the bathroom and find a third one sitting on top of the mirrored wall-mounted cabinet.
Dear God. The pervert has been watching me?
My breathing is labored as my heart beats out of my chest.
How is it that I always find myself in the shittiest situations?
I exit the bathroom and stand in the middle of my apartment that’s just become an observation room.
What am I going to do?
Despair washes over me and I lose it.
As I wail at my predicament, a knock at the door startles me.