Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
MADISON
I didn’t want to open my eyes. When I awoke, it took a moment or two before the memories of the night from hell started dancing in my mind. I felt shitty from the wine, but not as much about Steve as I’d expected, which shined a spotlight on the fact that deep down, in the murky part of myself, I might’ve known he wasn’t the perfect guy I’d stupidly convinced myself he was.
For most of my life, people had been spouting off about the right person being just around the corner, but now I was fairly certain mine had been hit by a bus, a train, or maybe the damn ding-ding man.
After a deep cleansing breath, which did nothing, I decided that I was going to steer clear of all men forever. Okay, maybe not forever, but at least for a few months. Yes, this was a time I should reflect on myself and take time to pull things together and stop always looking for love (…in all the wrong places…You know the song, and you’re welcome for the earworm).
While I’d embraced having my schedule cleared for a few days, it now sounded lonely, and I knew word would travel to my mother about the party, and the last thing I wanted was to hear her thoughts on what my next steps should be.
Zoey and the Magnolia jet were taking off at eleven thirty. Maybe I should go with her. I could help her with her event, and she could help me keep my mind on the rails.
I rolled over, opened my eyes, and froze with a racing heart. I was NOT in my apartment.
What the hell? I sat up and looked around. Had I been kidnapped? Or had I gotten blackout drunk, wandered out into the street, and gone home with someone?
I’d never had a one-night stand before. I’d had opportunities but always opted not to. I did always wonder what that would be like, though. According to Zoey, it could be toe-curling crazy. But last night? No, it didn’t seem possible.
My eyes bobbed around from the shower curtain that was stapled to the window frame, serving as a horrid make-shift curtain and the ancient dresser that was missing two drawers to the disgusting and certainly germ-infested mustard colored carpet below me. Was I…was I in a poor person’s apartment? WTF?
I hopped out of bed at the speed of light. My arm hit several empty beer cans on the nightstand, and one flew into the window. A little scream escaped me as the shower curtain fell to the ground exposing a filthy window that overlooked a dumpster and the bum who was sleeping beside it. Or possibly dead beside it? I should probably find a phone and call 911. Hmmm, okay, he rolled over, so not dead.
Holy shitballs! What the hell happened last night? As the questions were pouring out of me, I narrowed my eyes, trying to guess if the stain on the wall next to me was either someone doing a test area of red paint for a room redesign or if a murder had happened there recently. I felt my skin crawl, and I was unable to comprehend what was happening.
It was quiet, and I felt like I was alone, but was there someone in the next room waiting to attack, kill me, and cut me into pieces? Was I being held for ransom?
I looked down to see I was sporting a huge freaking pair of black sweatpants and a “Bat Shit Crazy” sweatshirt. I normally slept in my Nigel Curtis pajamas. The Butterfly Kaleidoscope are my faves. This couldn’t have been more opposite. I peeked down my pants, and I was definitely not wearing my own underwear. OMG! These were cotton and probably came in a six-pack from somewhere, not my Bottega Veneta lacy panties. Someone had changed my underwear and put me in what appeared to be thrift store nightwear. Yes, the disastrous mystery continued.
I quietly walked around the bed, looking for anything I could use to defend myself. There was no lamp on the nightstand or anything with any weight to it that I could slam into someone’s skull if necessary. I looked under the bed and grabbed a dusty, long roll of wrapping paper, confirming this must be a woman’s apartment. I was certain a man wouldn’t have crappy women’s clothing, right?
Back to my original thought—I must have gotten black-out drunk, wandered out into the street, and gone home with a woman? Yes, it was weird. Maybe the whole Steve incident had put me off men for good. Maybe I was trying my hand at being a lesbian.
Just in case someone was waiting in the next room to murder me, I held the large roll of wrapping paper in my hand like a bat so I’d be prepared to kick ass if necessary. Well, as much as a roll of wrapping paper and my yellow belt in Karate from the fifth grade could have prepared me.
I rummaged through the nightstand drawer and found some lottery tickets, which clearly had not paid off, a small bag of weed, and pepper spray. I thought I should take the spray, but it scared me, so I put it back. Damn it, I always knew I should’ve given pepper spray a second chance. There was the time I accidentally shot myself in the face with my own pepper spray when I thought I was being followed in a parking lot. Yes, I suck at lots of things.
I cautiously walked into the living room, yellow mustard carpet as far as the eye could see, along with an ant-sized kitchen that was missing a few cabinet doors. It appeared I was alone, and I needed to search for clues, find out where I was, and get the hell out of there.
Then my eyes landed on a box of tampons on the kitchen counter. After all, where else would they be? Whew, a woman lived here in this filth. Who was the mystery woman I’d decided to go home with? I’d never pictured myself with a woman, but I would guess my type would be someone like the actress Michelle Rodrigues from “The Fast and the Furious.” Kind of a badass.
I blinked hard at the cheap, brown, designerless purse sitting next to the box of Tampax. I hesitated before peeking inside the purse that was filled with tissues, and then I saw it. MY Gucci wallet. What? I opened it to see all my credit cards and the one thousand dollars cash from yesterday. Something familiar warmed my heart a little.
Was this a dream? Well, of course, it was a dream. Just a strange dream—probably. I examined the other items in the purse and, apparently, I still had a mild case of asthma that carried over to my dream. I spotted an inhaler in the depths of the bag, and there was a bottle of brandless perfume that smelled like cat piss, so I immediately tossed it into the nearly overflowing trash can in the corner.
My eyes landed on the little teacup from the psychic that sat next to the sink, almost shouting my name. What did the teacup have to do with this?Was this a freakishly long dream, or was her tea some kind of mind-altering drug? Did I have to stay in this horrible apartment? If I walked out, would a baby grand piano suddenly drop from the sky above and flatten me to death?
Oooh, an option that I hadn’t considered: I’m dead. As I glanced around, I realized this could be hell. Everybody knew I was a klutz. Had my drunken ass wandered out to my balcony, fallen twenty-five stories, and ended up a pile of bones and blood on the street below? Hmmm.
Piano or no piano, it was time for me to fly. I went back into the bedroom and opened the closet in search of something to put on to get home.
An ear-piercing screech that I recognized as my own echoed in the room when I slid the closet door open to find that it was throwing up hideous clothing. Overalls, fishing boots, and tie-die t-shirts were just a few items that made me realize I was not able to put anything on. Nope, simply could not do it.
Instead, I grabbed my dress from last night off the sea of mustard below me and pulled it on. It was beautiful for an evening event, given it was sheer all the way to my upper thigh, sheer in the midriff area, and had a bustier. Not an ideal look for an 8 a.m. kidnapping escape, but it was the only choice I had at the moment.
As I looked in the cracked mirror, I decided it was a yes. Yes, I was going to fly out with Zoey today. I’d leave my one-night-stand encounter and meet her at the Magnolia jet at eleven. I wasn’t even going back to my apartment, instead heading straight to my personal shopper at Sak’s Fifth Avenue. Indeed, I felt the mothership calling me home.
I grabbed the sad brown purse before pulling open the front door to expose a worn and torn gray carpet in the hallway, along with the eclectic odor of all sorts of food and filth. Yucky. I looked over my shoulder at the apartment where I may have had my first lesbian encounter or was just leaving this chapter of my nightmare. Either way, Au Revoir.
I couldn’t find the elevator and then realized there was not one, so my heels clickety-clacked down the three flights to the door that led to my freedom. I exited to see a street I hadn’t been to before with no cab in sight. No shops or restaurants in sight either, although there were some boarded up storefronts.
I looked around and saw the doorman in his twenties leaning against the dark red brick building, looking down at his phone. Thank God. I walked over and stood for a moment before he noticed me. His eyes shot up and down my dress.
“Good morning. I was wondering if you could hail me a cab or call one, please.”
The man looked a little confused. “What?”
“I’m not seeing any out front here. Maybe it’s a busy day in cab world, but I really need to get across town.” I smiled as he let out a little chuckle. A doorman with an attitude? I quickly opened my purse and grabbed five dollars. “I would really appreciate it.”
He snatched the cash and shoved it into his pocket before pointing. “You have to walk up two blocks to Robert Street.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, the cabbies don’t come around these parts anymore. Too much riff-raff over here.”
Clearly, my five dollars were gone forever. I clutched my shitty purse closer to my body before heading in the direction he pointed to. A block into my journey, an old Honda pulled up to the curb beside me as I glanced over.
“How much, baby?”
Gasp. “Excuse you?”
This was the second man whose eyes traveled up and down my body in the last five minutes. “I’m down, girl. How much?”
“Are you kidding me right now? You think I’m a hooker? Do you see I’m wearing couture?”
“I see you wearing an invisible dress, so I thought?—"
I hastened my pace. “You’d better keep moving unless you want me to go postal on your ass! I’ll tear you apart!”
He threw his hands in the air and drove off. OMG, WTF?
* * *
I was finally in Saks Fifth Avenue with my friend and personal shopper Rachel by my side. While I only needed three outfits for the trip with Zoey because I knew she always over packed and I could borrow, Rachel found me five that I couldn’t resist.
She stepped behind the cash register and started ringing me up. I handed her my card, knowing I’d be able to make it to the jet and fly the hell away from New York and the memory of Steve for a few days.
“I don’t know what’s happened.” Rachel wrinkled her nose at me. “The card is declined.”
I laughed. “What? Maybe something’s wrong with the strip thing. Can you try it again?”
She nodded. “Yes, these things happen.”
“It happened again. Maybe it’s a card company error. Do you want to try another one?”
She handed it back, and I whipped out another. Three minutes and three card declines later, I was dumbfounded.
“Rachel, I don’t know what is going on. All my accounts are fine.”
She gave me a pitiful look that made me want to hop over the counter and cover her eyes with my hands. No, no, don’t give me pity eyes.
“Why don’t I hold these outfits in the back, and you can come back later?”
Humiliation, mortification, and embarrassment were just a few of the things pumping through my veins. “Let me check on this. I assure you this is an error. I’ll be right back.”
I scurried to the escalator before quickly logging into my card accounts. All four accounts were closed. CLOSED! What in the hell was happening? I looked at the activity. All accounts were closed at 9: 45 p.m. last night. Where was I at 9:45? The psychic!
What in the living hell was going on? The psychic stole my identity? I didn’t know if closing accounts was identity theft, but I was sure it was on the way. It was glaringly clear the word of the day was “fuck”.
Twenty minutes later, I stormed over to the psychic’s shop. I would demand she undo all the shit she’d done the night before. She would agree, and in just a few minutes, my life would go completely back to normal. The end.
Except when I tried to storm into her shop, the door was locked, and my face slammed into the glass, leaving the last trace of lipstick from the evening before imprinted in front of me. The word of the day again?
I peeked in the window while knocking with all my might, but nothing. I was going to camp right there on the sidewalk if I had to, but that crazy lady was going to have to deal with me one way or another. And I’d call in the Magnolia Hotel big dog lawyers if I needed to, so help me, I would.
I glanced over my shoulder at the passers-by who were staring at me, and when I looked back at the window, she was finally face to face with me on the other side of the glass, scaring the bejesus out of me. She pulled open the door. “Hello.”
I stomped past her to her little table and slammed my shitty brown purse on top of it. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”
I hated her grin.
“I thought I might see you this morning.”
“You stole my identity and drugged me with that awful, and I’m sure illegal, mind-altering tea!”
“Please, sit.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” I plopped down in the chair. “I’m not sitting because you told me to, just to be clear.”
She nodded.
“How dare you steal my identity?—"
“Accounts were closed. Nobody stole your identity. I’ve taken nothing.”
“Then what in the hell are you doing?”
“You said you hated your life; this is just what the other fork in the road is.”
“First of all, I said I hated yesterday , not every day! I want you to undo whatever you did with my credit cards and leave me alone. I have a plane to catch, and I want to forget you and the last twenty-four hours of my life!”
“You said you wanted to change yourself, and now you see how the other half lives.”
“Well, I’ve seen it, and I’m sorry, but no, thank you.”
“This is an opportunity to help yourself become the woman you really want to be.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“ Or I could help others and go back to my real life. That would be the best way for me to become the woman I really want to be, okay?” I forced a large smile. She had to say yes. OMG, this could NOT be my life.
“What are you saying?”
“My mother has several really important charities. I mean, like super important. I could take it upon myself to not only donate my own money but to bring community awareness to such special causes. I’m like a social media queen. I could bring so much attention to this.”
“Name one.”
Her head tilt made the back of my neck clammy. I was literally fighting for my life. Well, my lifestyle, but still. “There are many. Umm, there’s the one for the kids. Yes, it’s the charity for kids. You know the one.” I waved my hand about communicating it would be ridiculous not to know which one I was talking about. “And those kids need, uh, lots of help.” Her brow popped up, and I knew I was sinking. “And there’s the special charity that works so hard to ensure the elephants don’t become extinct. No, wait, it’s the cockatoos. Yes, so the cockatoo population doesn’t get killed off.”
“Oh my, I was unaware the cockatoos were close to extinction. How dreadful.”
I was flipping through the file cabinet in my brain searching, and I realized I had made an oops. “No, it’s definitely the elephants. Yes, my bad.” Was it hot in here?
“As much as I’m sure you could help the cockatoos?—”
“Elephants.” I corrected her in an uncertain whisper. Dang it.
“Of course, the elephants.” Her eyes were making fun of me. “The only way you are going to get your life back is to demonstrate altruism.”
I had gone to college, but for the life of me couldn’t think of the definition of the freaking word. Shit. I quickly snatched my phone from my purse and Googled it. Ugh. The belief in or practice of disinterest and selfless concern. I raised my gaze to meet hers just as a grin snaked across her lips.
“Did you find it?”
“I was just double checking, and I was correct, by the way.” Deep breath. “I do think charities would help me grow and be a benefit to all. It’s really a win/win situation” Fingers crossed.
The psychic lifted a dubious brow. “I believe you mending fences with your father would be more of what would lead you to the right path.”
“What the what? How did you know about that?”
“Oh, my dear, unlike wish granting, it’s my job to know these things. This is a relationship that would meet this criterion.”
“I hear ya, but there has to be something else I could do. Things with my father are complicated. I’m not ready.”
She let out a low laugh. “Sometimes we don’t wait until we’re ready to do the right thing. We do the right thing because it’s correct. For you, if you want your life back, that is what must be done.”
Come on, Madison. There has to be a way out of this debacle . “Okay, so you’re telling me everything goes back to normal if I see my father?”
“You need to go and spend a week with your father and his family.”
Be strong. You can go and see Dad and his new syrupy-sweet-soon-to- be wife and survive. Right? “I can do it. I can go there today. “
“ And until you repair this relationship, you may only use the money you have on you to live on. No credit cards, no private planes, and no bank accounts.”
My eyes were blinking out of control as my pulse began to skyrocket. “What? I have less than one thousand dollars in my purse. I can’t buy a plane ticket with that!” She was insane, crazy as a cockatoo!
“You can in coach.”
My ears caught on fire for a second. I’d flown many times on commercial airlines, but I couldn’t recall a coach experience. But you know what? I could do it. Of course, I could. “I can do that, and then I get my life back, right? And can I buy a plane ticket with cash?” My mother’s secretary had always arranged my travel. I had no flippin’ clue what I was doing.
“Yes, if you deposit the one thousand dollars into your checking account that will be the only money you have. Buy the ticket online. You get your life back after you see your father.”
Yeah!
“But.”
“No, no buts. I go, and my life becomes normal again.” My voice was strong, even though my legs were shaking like trees during a tornado under the table.
“Until further notice, the apartment you were in today is yours. You may only use what’s in it and nothing else.”
Her words came out in slow motion, and I was immobilized by fear as I gulped the air. “Oh, no. It’s like a biohazard in there.” My chest tightened while my throat was as dry as the Sahara. “I think someone was murdered there.”
“Nobody was murdered.” She shook her head like I was crazy.
“But I’m pretty sure there’s blood on the wall and a bum passed out by the dumpster.” My voice cracked, and the room blurred while a tear escaped my eye. “And the clothes…what’s in that closet should be burned.” My shoulders shook with the shock of it all, and more tears rolled down my cheeks. “It was like a fucking bloodbath of tie-dye in there.”
I wiped my eyes while she grabbed a jar behind her and put it in front of me. “Somebody owes the swear jar a dollar.”
“What the?—”
She wagged her finger at me. “Don’t make it two. You’re on a budget now.”
I realized this was the day I may go down for murder. The psychic was standing on my last freaking nerve, so much so I spoke through gritted teeth. “I can’t do that apartment.”
“Then I suggest you get yourself on a plane and out of the city as soon as you can.”
“Can I please just grab a few things from my real apartment?” My plea came out in a desperate whisper. “Don’t make me wear somebody else’s underwear.”
“No. Only what’s in the apartment. There’s a stack of quarters in the kitchen and a coin-operated laundry room on your floor.” She stood up. “You’ve got this; I know it.” She turned on her heel, walked to a side door, and disappeared.
I sat in the chair, seething and stringing together profanities like a truck driver—or Zoey.
* * *
The taxi driver argued about my choice of stop but finally gave in and dropped me at my shitty apartment door. He said he’d feel responsible for my demise if the worst happened. I assured him that someone would pay the price, but it wasn’t him.
I’d left the door unlocked, thinking I’d never return, and miraculously nobody wanted to steal anything from that place. I’d deposited my cash into my account on the way ‘home’, went online, and bought my plane ticket, which left me with enough money to get me to the airport, but that was about it. I was heading out tomorrow at seven in the morning, so only one more night in hell.
I weaved through the living room to the bedroom. I had dread in my stomach while I looked through the Goodwill finds in ‘my’ closet. As hard as I fought to keep them at bay, the waterworks started again as I made a pile on the bed of clothes I would wash and wear, along with the sheets on the bed, which were the same shade of yellow as the high lighter I used when I marked the clothing I liked at Paris Fashion Week. Again, a few more tears escaped.
It was slim pickings in the closet, but I ended up with an array of tie-dye shirts, two pairs of denim overalls, a Pizza Slut shirt, and an I’ll Cut You sweatshirt.
In the bottom of the closet were fishing boots, black tap shoes, and Zebra slippers with googley eyes.
Sure enough, I found the quarters in the kitchen as well as the coin-operated laundry room down the hall. As sad as it was, I hopped on the dryer, protecting my repulsive wardrobe with my life because I couldn’t imagine what I’d have to wear if some dumbass stole my laundry.
While I sat there, I knew it was time to send my dad a text. I know, I know. A mature person would call, but not me.
Me:
Hi, it’s Madison. I hope it’s okay if I come to the wedding because I already bought the ticket, arriving tomorrow.
A heavy sigh escaped when I pressed send and waited. After two long minutes, my phone buzzed.
Dad:
Absolutely! We are so happy you changed your mind. What time is your flight coming in?
Me:
I land at twelve-thirty.
Dad:
I’m driving back some horses from South Dakota. I’ll have someone pick you up at the airport, and I’ll be back at the house about the same time as you arrive. Is that okay?
Me:
Sure, that’s fine.
Dad:
I’m sorry I’m not in town to get you myself but can’t wait to see you, Sunshine.
My heart lightened at the pet name he’d given me when I was little.
Me:
See you then.
Though none of this was my idea, I had to admit, despite myself, that this was probably for the best. At the same time, deep down, I still felt a little angry with him for leaving us—anger I knew I needed to get a hold of.
Once back in the apartment with my clean, gruesome clothing, my stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten all day. While I would normally order in, my impoverished state made no allowance for that.
Dread pumped through me as I made my way to the kitchen. Like a miracle from above, I found some disinfectant wipes and scoured every surface in the place before peeking into the cabinets.
Some bottled water, canned fruit, tuna, and seven cans of SpaghettiOs. Yes, seven. Are you waiting for more? Well, me too, but no such luck.
I was aware of the existence of SpaghettiOs in the universe, I guess, but I don’t recall ever holding a can in my hot little hands. Yet, there I was. After cracking that bad boy open and preparing for the equivalent of my last meal, do you know what happened? The SpaghettiOs were fucking awesome, baby! I’ve dined in some of the best restaurants around the world completely unaware that a wonderful masterpiece had been created that shockingly hit the spot.
After finishing every last “O” and packing the murder victim’s disgusting clothes in an old suitcase the color of poop with a wonky zipper, I was mentally and physically shot.
I put the sheets on the bed, said a prayer that I would live to see another day, and was relieved when I started to feel sleepy.