Chapter Two
Two
“Geneva, what plans you got brewing for the weekend?” asked Maria Vasquez, the hefty-hipped Latina human resources temp with long raven-colored tresses.
Maria, unlike me, always had hot weekend plans.
In fact, now that I think about it, she had “hot plans” even during the week.
According to her she was currently juggling an NFL rookie, an NBA guard, and some major solo artist who she was very tight-lipped about.
All she would say is that the world loves his ballads.
“Ah, not much,” I said.
“ Girrrrrrl , you really need to start getting out!” she squealed and rapped her half-inch perfectly French-manicured nails on the top of my station.
“Been there, done that. I’m too tired for all of that running around,” I said and reached up and snatched my headphones off. “Now, when I was your age…” I started and then pressed my index finger against my lip. “What are you, twenty-six, twenty-seven?”
A look of disdain blanketed Maria’s face as she dramatically pressed her hand against her heart and said, “Geneva, you insult me—I’m twenty-three!”
I gave her a hard look. I was being kind when I said twenty-six or twenty-seven. I really wanted to call a number closer to thirty. “C’mon now, Maria.” I smirked at her.
Maria gave me a wry smile. “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it,” she said before winking and swaying away.
I shook my head as she waltzed down the hall and disappeared into one of the offices. I looked up at the clock on the wall in front of me and was so happy to see that five o’clock had finally come around that I did a little jig at my desk.
“What exactly do you think you’re doing?”
It was Ash Canton. He was the floor manager, but he acted as if he owned the company. We all thought he was a closet homosexual—nothing else could explain his obvious distaste for women. A skinny white boy who at twenty-five was still in the throes of pubescent acne.
“Oh, nothing, Ash. Just celebrating the end of the day,” I said and bent to pull my purse from the bottom drawer.
“Well, I suggest you do your celebrating someplace else,” he said, glowering at me.
He was my superior, so I had to at least act as if I feared and respected him. But I knew Crystal had my back no matter what.
“Okay, Ash, have a great weekend,” I said as I breezed past him and out to the elevator banks.
I almost walked into Chevy when I stepped off the elevator. “What are you doing here?” I said, surprised.
“Oh, um, I came to see Crystal,” she said, avoiding my eyes.
I studied her for a moment. Something about her looked a little more different than usual.
“She left a little early today.”
“Oh,” she said, trying not to smile. “You notice anything new?” she asked and did a full spin.
“Yeah, but it could be anything.” I scrutinized her. “New shoes, new hair, new suit?”
“Well, yeah, all of those things. But something else too.”
I stood back and looked her up and down for a few more seconds before I caught it. “Are you stuffing your bra?” I asked, laughing and throwing my hands over my mouth.
“Shhhhh!” Chevy scolded and grabbed me by my elbow to lead me outside. We were both giggling by the time we hit the sidewalk.
“I got a boob job!” Chevy exclaimed excitedly.
“What!” I screamed.
Chevy stuck her new size-Cs out. A bike messenger rode by and let out a long, loud whistle. Chevy beamed.
“Oh my God, Chevy, are you crazy?” I asked in disbelief.
“No, I’m sane now. I was crazy to have walked around so long with an A cup.”
“Double A,” I corrected her and then said, “Is that what you needed the money for?”
“Damn, Crystal can’t keep shit to herself!”
I just shook my head. “Girl, you were fine the way you were,” I said as we started walking toward the train station.
“No, I wasn’t. I was flat—now I’m fine!”
“You know, Crystal would have never lent you that money if she knew what you wanted to use it for.”
“I didn’t tell her a lie. I told her it was for surgery,” Chevy said, trying to wave a cab down.
“Yeah, but you didn’t tell her what type.”
“What the hell—was I lunch conversation?”
I didn’t say anything.
“Anyway, it was an investment. These babies will return twofold in less than a month!” Chevy jiggled her new breasts and then twisted her face in pain. “Ouch. They’re still a little sore,” she said, cupping them lovingly.
“How do you expect to pay her back?” I asked as I dug in my purse for my Metro card.
“My 401(k),” she said quickly, scanning the streets for a cab. I saw that she was going to stick to that lie.
“You only been with Thomas Cook for eight months. I know you don’t have five thousand dollars in your 401(k) plan yet,” I said, and then I dropped my voice an octave and said, “If you’re even contributing.”
“Geneva, how do you know what I got and what I don’t got? Not that it’s any of your business, but I have been contributing, and I rolled over the money I had in my plan from Hilton Hotels. Okay, Sherlock?”
Another lie.
You would think that as much as Chevy lied she would have become an expert at it. You have to have an excellent memory in order to be a good liar, and Chevy’s memory was shot to shit.
She’d forgotten that she told me she used the money she had in her Hilton Hotels 401(k) to put down on the apartment she was living in now.
I had a memory like an elephant’s.
“Yeah, okay, Chevy, whatever,” I said, turning to her. “We still on for Sunday at Justin’s?” I asked.
“Sunday? Oh, that gospel brunch thing?” she said, spotting a cab and throwing her hand up in the air. “I don’t know, my money is a little funny,” she said as she started toward the curb. “I’ll call you tonight and let you know.” She jumped into the cab and slammed the door.