Fourteen
Danica
“You went to dinner with him last week and you’re just telling me this?” Marisa screeches as we sit in our favorite restaurant in Chinatown.
I look around and shush her. “Not so loud.” I tell her about the parking mix-up.
“Well, now, it makes sense why he was parking there.” She shakes her head.
“I felt like a complete idiot. But he wasn’t so bad when I got to know him.”
Marisa’s eyes grow large. But I shake my head. She knows I’m not ready for anything. My college boyfriend broke up with me after graduation, and my cheating father left my mother for her best friend. I came to San Francisco to lick my wounds and get some work experience, not get involved with the first guy I meet.
“Well, that’s quite a story,” Marisa says when our food has arrived and I’ve unloaded the whole thing. “But guess what?” Her eyes are alight with mischief as she slides an envelope across the table toward me.
I eye her skeptically, wary of her surprises. They can be either amazing or terrifying. I agreed to go out with her this evening without knowing what we were going to do. But when I see the logo of The Fillmore stamped on the front of the paper, a surge of excitement washes over me. “No way,” I breathe, my fingers trembling slightly as they open the envelope to look inside.
“Way,” Marisa confirms with a grin.
The tickets I find are adorned with the swirling, psychedelic colors Velvet Anomaly is known for. My heart races. “Velvet Anomaly? But I heard they’re—”
“They’re taking a break. Yeah.” She nods solemnly. “Which means this concert is basically a farewell show. We can’t miss it.”
“Marisa, this is incredible.” I launch myself across the table to give her a hug, nearly knocking over my water in the process. After the week I’ve had—hell, after the year I’ve had—this is exactly the kind of escape I need.
“Only the best for my girl,” she says, squeezing me back before we settle into our seats again.
We clink glasses, and the tang of red wine is sharp against my tongue. It tastes like celebration, a hint of freedom.
“So, spill it. You’ve heard about me. What’s the latest from the belly of the beast?” I ask, eager to dive into Marisa’s world, a place teeming with more drama than any soap opera.
“City Hall is a circus, as usual.” Her lips curl into a knowing smile. “But get this—I had a bit of an encounter with one of the city supervisors.”
“Scandalous!” I tease, leaning in closer. This is classic Marisa, always in the thick of things.
“Very,” she agrees, eyes twinkling. “We’ve been flirting for months. He’s a looker, all right. But let’s just say, the man does not live up to expectations.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Shortcomings, if you catch my drift.” She gives a delicate, dismissive wave of her hand. “Pretty face, empty briefs.”
“Ouch.” I wince, imagining the ego bruising that must’ve ensued.
“Tell me about it.” Marisa sighs dramatically. “It’s like unwrapping a giant gift box to find a pair of socks.”
“Hopefully not used ones,” I quip, and we both burst into laughter.
“Definitely something left wanting,” she concludes, sipping her wine with disdain.
“Sounds like City Hall needs a bit more…substance,” I suggest, and we clink glasses once more, relishing in the unspoken agreement that life—and men—should never be short on delivery.
The laughter fades as my gaze drifts toward the window, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. Marisa follows my line of sight, her eyebrows knitting together in concern.
“Hey.” She leans forward, resting her chin on laced fingers. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
I let out a heavy sigh. “Red Rabbit,” I murmur, the name like a stone in my chest. “We’re bleeding employees, and the funding is… Well, it’s drying up.”
“Still no luck finding a new funder?” Her voice is soft, tinged with sympathy.
“Nothing. And every morning there’s a new resignation letter on my desk. It’s like watching a ship slowly sink, and all I can do is bail water with a teacup.”
Marisa shakes her head. “You’ve been shouldering this for too long, Danica. When are you going to jump ship?”
“Jump ship?” I laugh without humor. “Marisa, I haven’t even packed my life vest. I mean, I should be looking for something else, but…” I trail off, my mind circling the drain. I’ve only worked there for four months.
She tilts her head, studying me. “Danica, staying until Red Rabbit hits rock bottom won’t do you any favors. And Brandon? He’s going to make sure he’s taken care of first. If there’s no money left, guess who’s not getting paid?”
Her words hit like a bucket of ice water, sending a shiver down my spine. I know she’s right. Brandon’s self-preservation is legendary. But admitting it means facing a reality I’m not ready for. Not yet.
“Maybe you’re right,” I concede, though my voice lacks conviction. “But it’s hard to let go when I just got there. It’s going to destroy my resume.”
She scoffs. “Not in this town. It will be easy to tell future employers that it was unfortunate that Red Rabbit went under, but managing their HR on your own taught you so much.” She looks at me meaningfully. “Remember, letting go may be the only way to save yourself from going down with the wreckage.”
I nod, trying to swallow the lump forming in my throat. The thought of abandoning ship, of leaving behind the illusion of control… It’s terrifying. But deep down, I know it’s a truth I can’t escape forever. “I’ll start looking for a new job. Promise.”
Marisa nods, patting my hand. “But tonight, we have Velvet Anomaly.”
“Right,” I whisper, forcing a smile as I reach for my wine glass. “Just the music and us.”
“Exactly.” Her smile is brighter, infectious. “Now, finish your drink. We’ve got a band to see before they never tour again.”
I chuckle. Tomorrow, I can face my demons. Tonight is for letting loose and having some fun. Just one thing first… I pull out my phone, find my notes app, and start a new list— Job Applications. It’s stark, real, and frighteningly urgent.
“Hey, you still with me?” Marisa nudges my shoulder, scanning my face with concern.
“Yeah,” I reply, slipping my phone back into my purse. “Just…planning for tomorrow.”
She gives me a knowing look but doesn’t press further. Instead, she hails a rideshare from her phone, and within minutes, we’re nestled in the backseat, San Francisco whirring by as we head to The Fillmore. Distraction comes easy with the promise of live music vibrating through the fibers of my being.
The venue looms ahead, its marquee a beacon in the night. We shuffle through the crowd, the thick air pulsing with anticipation and bass lines that promise to rattle bones. I’m caught up in the swell of bodies, the collective heartbeat of a thousand strangers, when I spot him.
“Austin,” I breathe, nudging Marisa and nodding to the bar where he leans casually, unaware of our gaze.
“Ooh, Mr. Casual Demeanor himself,” she teases, her voice tinged with amusement. “Didn’t expect to see him here. Do you think he’d like to buy us a drink, now that you’re such good friends?”
“I doubt it,” I tell her. “At this point, I think I’m the one who owes him.” But there’s an odd tightening in my chest at the sight of him, a mix of surprise and something else I can’t quite name.