Chapter 9
How do I still have a job? He must have been desperate to have someone in there if he’s still keeping me around after today. I made a complete fool of
myself in front of him and all of the people in the meeting room.
I try to focus on my breathing while I ride down the elevator, but it still does nothing to help calm my nerves or control the thoughts in my head.
At least he let me go home early.
When I get to the first floor, I’m surprised to see it’s pouring outside. But, of course, I wasn’t expecting rain today – which I never really do because I have a
terrible habit of leaving the house without checking the weather.
I didn’t bring an umbrella with me, so I’d have to take a cab home to avoid getting soaked with rain. I can’t afford to have to call out because of a cold right
now. Several taxis are driving by, but none of them stop for me while I wait. So I downloaded two ride-share apps on my phone and compared the prices for a
minute to see which I could afford. It turns out I can’t afford either.
I’m about to just suck it up and walk to the train station when a black car pulls up beside me. The window rolls down, and Mr. Kapino sticks his head out and smiles at me.
“Need a ride?” he asks me and opens the door.
“I’m in Queens. I don’t want to put you out,” I say, yelling over the pelting rain and city noise.
“Don’t worry about that,” he replies, pushing the door wider before scooting over.
I hop in, thankful to be out of the rain, but I’m shivering and freezing in the dry air.
“Thank you. I was just about to call a cab, but they were all so far away,” I lie, so he doesn’t know how broke I am.
“Queens makes a lot of sense,” he says, and I wrinkle my brow, unsure of what he means. “I mean because of why you were late. It’s a long train ride.”
I laugh and nod my head in agreement.
“Do you live around here?” I ask him to make small talk on the ride.
Normally, driving from Manhattan to Queens would take anywhere from thirty to forty minutes, but it seems like traffic is slow. So, I do my best to avoid
awkward silences with my new boss.
“I live on the Upper East Side,” he says.
“That makes sense,” I say jokingly.
He laughs awkwardly at me, and I regret my words immediately.
“So, why did you move back here from LA?” he asks me after a minute.
“It just felt like that was best for me and my daughter,” I say offhandedly.
“I didn’t realize you have a daughter,” he says.
I pull out my phone to show him pictures of Charlee.
“Her name is Charlee. She’s four now, but she’ll be five in a few weeks,” I say proudly.
“She’s adorable,” he says, looking at me for a moment. “She looks just like you, too.”
I smile and put my phone away, thanking him. “It’s weird being back here, though. I feel like so much has changed, but it’s still so familiar,” I add, changing the subject,
“Why’d you move to LA, to begin with?” he asks. “Let me guess, you wanted to be an actor,” he adds before I can answer.
“That’s exactly it,” I laugh. “I took theater in high school, and my mom paid for some acting classes, so I thought I had what it takes. I got there, and there were hundreds of women much prettier than me, and we were all competing for the same things. I guess I just didn’t stand out.”
He nods his head slowly, and I immediately feel like the mood of the ride has changed.
“I did land a few small roles, though,” I add with a cheery tone. “You might recognize me as smiling woman number three from those antidepressant commercials.”
“You know what, that is where I know you from,” he says, nodding his head. “I knew you looked familiar.”
“Please just treat me like you would anyone else,” I say, pretending to be a bashful celebrity. “I just want to be normal.”
He shakes his head and laughs at me. “I’ve actually dabbled with art a bit myself,” he says. I’m surprised to hear that. He doesn’t look like the kind of person who would spend much time on creative projects.
“Really? What kind of art?” I ask, curious.
“I used to paint a lot. Once I started working at the company, though, the art got pushed aside so I could focus more on business,” he says.
“You don’t paint anymore? Not even just to relax or anything?” He shakes his head back and forth with a half-smile. “Well, I’d love to see some of your work sometime.”
“It’s not impressive. I wouldn’t be bringing it anywhere to hang up or anything,” he says, quickly dismissing the idea.
Traffic lets up, and we’re pulling up to my house before I know it.
“Thank you so much for the ride, Mr. Kapino,” I say before I get out of the car.
“It was great getting to talk to you. And call me Leonard,” he says.
I wave at him and his driver before they drive off.