Chapter 1 #2
I stand up when a woman in her sixties with short red hair, thin eyebrows, and warm brown eyes approaches the table and introduces herself as Suzie Reed.
I need to make a good impression, so I try to keep my nerves under control and force myself to be the charming, perfect version of myself I’ve practiced over the years.
It’s like a second skin I can pull on, familiar but slightly too tight.
Suzie orders us wine for the table, and I force myself not to drink as much as I want to as we make small talk. After we order our food, Suzie peers at me over the rim of her wine glass appraisingly.
“So, Alexandria, how much work experience do you have?”
I give her a bright smile. “Please, call me Alex. And I’ve been incredibly involved in charity fundraisers over the years, at least two a year.
I’m exceptionally organized, to the point that I’m a little obsessive about color coding my calendar,” I say jokingly, even though it’s not a joke.
I like the feeling of control it gives me.
Suzie smiles at me. “Well, I’m fairly unorganized, so you’ll have to show me your system sometime. Did you go to college?” I blink quickly and freeze the smile on my face, trying to seem nonchalant. I didn’t even graduate high school, but I’m not telling her that.
“No,” I say, keeping my voice even, “but I was in all AP classes in high school, I’ve done a tremendous amount of reading over the years, and I’ve taken various online classes in my spare time.
I’m not stupid.” I sound defensive even to myself, so I smile and try to play it off.
Suzie raises her eyebrows and sips her wine.
“No, you’re not.”
I take a small sip of my wine before asking her questions about where she went to law school. When the waiter brings us our food, I act charming, thanking her and complimenting her earrings to show Suzie I’m personable.
I look down at my plate and try not to groan. I ordered the cheapest thing on the menu in case I had to pay, and the salad looks delicious, but it’s meager portions. Suzie looks at my plate and at her pasta dish and stops the waiter before she leaves.
“Excuse me, but we asked for plates to share. Would you mind bringing those over?” Suzie gives me a small, conspiratorial smile as she pours me more wine.
I want to cry, but instead, I smile back at her and ask her the right questions about the job.
She tells me the job won’t be hard, mostly just filing, organizing, and scheduling.
“That sounds like something I’d be good at, and I’d love the opportunity to work in the legal field.” God, I hope I don’t sound as pathetically desperate as I feel.
“Well, Alex, I think you’d be a good fit.
I have no idea why the temp agency,” she says slowly, making air quotes with her fingers, “we’re hiring you from asks us to pay you in cash every week, but you’ve come so highly recommended that no one will ask any questions.
No one will even know about it.” I stare at her for a second, realizing that not only is she offering me the job, but she’s saving me from saying that I need to be paid under the table.
I give Suzie a genuine smile, trying extremely hard not to cry.
“I promise I won’t let you down.”
She smiles at me warmly. “I don’t think you will.”
Suzie orders us dessert and coffee, and I finally start to relax as we chat about the town I’m moving to. On our way out of the restaurant, we exchange phone numbers, and she tells me she has a client who might have an apartment available, and that he’d most likely take cash.
I look at her, overwhelmed and confused by her kindness. I don’t ever accept help, and I don’t understand why she’s so willing to offer it.
“Can I ask why you’re helping me?” I blurt out, wincing slightly at how vulnerable I’m being. Suzie levels me with a serious, knowing look.
“Good help is hard to find sometimes, isn’t it?”
***
The next morning, I’m going through the small stack of bills in my bag and panicking.
Between transit tickets, the hotels, the ID, and everything else, I’ve managed to go through almost three thousand dollars in the last month. Suzie said I had the job, but that’s not a guarantee. She might have changed her mind about me.
I’m about to start going through the other responses to my Craigslist post when my phone chimes.
Suzie, 10:30 AM:
Good morning, Alex. The apartment I mentioned yesterday is available.
It’s not a great part of town or a great apartment, but it is inexpensive.
Please let me know if you’re still interested.
Alex, 10:31 AM:
Absolutely. When could I move in?
Roger can drop the keys at our office today.
When would you be able to start work? I assume you’ll need time to relocate.
I can be there tomorrow, and I can start work on Monday.
With the knowledge that the job is actually happening and I’m not completely screwed anymore, I spend the day buying clothes that I think will be good for an office job.
I still have no idea what I like to wear and figuring it out is overwhelming.
I drift from store to store, getting used to only thinking about myself when I pick things out.
That night, when I lay out all the clothes I bought on my hotel bed, I realize with a pang of grief that everything I bought reminds me of the clothes my mother liked to wear.
***
The next morning, I pack my few belongings into my new suitcase, check out of the hotel, and take the bus to Astoria to pick up the keys from Suzie’s office.
Cairn & Reed is a small, converted house a few blocks from the quaint downtown.
Suzie introduces me to her partner, Catherine, a woman in her early fifties with salt and pepper hair piled on top of her head artfully, and their paralegal, Bailey, a woman in her late thirties with a mass of curly black hair and bright red nails.
They’re kind and welcoming, and I wonder how much Suzie has told them about me. Not much, most likely, because I avoided talking about myself as much as possible, but it’s entirely possible they know about my situation.
I hope not.
Suzie leads me out to her car, her blue and gold license plate proclaiming Oregon as a “PACIFIC WONDERLAND,” and she drives me to a small, crumbling Victorian on the south side of town.
She lets herself in and I trail behind her up the narrow stairs, grimacing at the peeling wallpaper and faint smell of dampness as we approach a small landing on the third floor.
She opens the door to the apartment, making a quiet, displeased noise as she shows me inside the converted attic.
It’s old and drafty, with sloping ceilings and paper-thin walls covered in cracking plaster.
The shallow, stained laminate breakfast bar juts out of the tiny kitchen into the small living space, and the hardwood floors are scratched and unpolished.
The cramped bedroom won’t fit a queen-sized bed easily, and the ensuite bathroom has a tiny, stained porcelain tub.
Suzie looks at me, seeming embarrassed, and I keep my face neutral as I survey the absolute shithole I’m about to live in.
“I’m so sorry about this, Alex. I promise that Roger did say it was nicer than this.” I shake my head at her, smiling a little too widely.
“It’s great. I don’t need much, Suzie, just something that’s mine.” She gives me a tight, understanding smile and lets out a long sigh.
“Well, the rent’s $750 a month, although that seems extremely steep to me now.
It’s due on the first of the month, and you can leave your rent in the mail slot of the first-floor apartment.
Roger lives there, but he’s a long-haul driver, so he’s not home that often.
The second floor is a vacation rental, so you might have strangers in and out, but based on your apartment, I’m going to hazard a guess that it’s not the nicest rental around, so I’m not sure how often you’ll have people there.
I think Roger said the laundry is in the basement.
” Tears prick at my eyes, and I look away briefly as I blink them away.
“Suzie, I really can’t thank you enough. I don’t know what I’d do without this.”
“I’m happy to help. Lord knows I could have used it, once.” I raise my eyebrows at her, and she gives me a tight smile. “I’ll see you on Monday.” With that, she leaves me alone in my empty, shitty apartment with two sets of keys.
I look around the place I’ve ended up in, as a different person than I was, and I curl up on the floor and I cry until I feel empty.
For the first time in my life, the emptiness feels like an opportunity.