Chapter 6
SIX
TEN YEARS AGO
Kait hadn’t been kidding when she’d warned Jane that Los Angeles was a hard city.
As Jane opened her motel room door and stepped into the dim hallway, she was immediately hit with a now-familiar cacophony of sounds: the cry of a baby down the hall, the raised voices of two people fighting, the electronic crashes of a video game, the low moans of the couple who always seemed to be having sex. Nobody in the building besides Jane seemed to mind that the walls of this rundown motel were paper-thin or that she was an unintentional observer of their constant chaos.
Jane coughed as pot smoke wafted out from under the video-gamer’s door and quickly hurried along so it wouldn’t seep into her department-store blouse and trousers.
When she had wandered in looking for a cheap place to stay, the woman at the front desk had offered her a long-term lease. “Twenty percent off,” she’d offered. But Jane had opted for day-to-day. She didn’t have the money to pay upfront, and she’d hoped to be able to move somewhere nicer once she found a job. But now Jane wasn’t sure if that was going to happen. Los Angeles was so much more expensive than she’d imagined, and she’d never had to think about things like rent or the cost of food before.
Two weeks had already gone by since Jane arrived in Kait’s SUV, and the only work she’d managed to find was a job standing on the edge of a strip mall holding up a sign advertising a car wash to people driving past on the main road. Mostly, it seemed like her role was to stand on the corner and put up with the constant catcalls from people zooming by. Nobody seemed interested in the car wash, a fact that increasingly angered the car wash owner when each day passed without any new customers.
Jane’s hands shook each evening as he handed over the paltry roll of bills he owed her for her work. The job paid cash under the table, and cash was something she desperately needed to pay for her never-silent motel room and the packets of ramen noodles from the minimart on her way home at night.
She’d gone on a handful of job interviews, mostly for entry-level office positions, but so far, nothing had panned out. There must have been hundreds of girls like her in LA, maybe even thousands. Girls who’d moved out to California in search of a better life and who were looking for something to pay the bills in the meantime. Jane had encountered them in insurance office elevators and law firm waiting rooms. Many of them had been cobbling jobs together for years, and most had far more impressive resumes than she did.
As Jane made her way down the motel hallway, past the room with the fighting couple and wailing baby, she winced as the voice of a man behind the door grew louder, more aggressive. The woman was crying along with the baby now. A tiny part of her considered calling 911, but Jane knew it would likely only make things worse, so she put her head down and kept moving.
Outside the motel, the clamor of her neighbors was replaced by the chaos of the busy four-lane road that cut through the center of the neighborhood. When Jane had imagined Los Angeles as a kid, she’d pictured palm trees and Malibu beaches and the Hollywood sign. She hadn’t been prepared for freeways and strip malls, gas stations, and seedy nightclubs with bouncers posted outside, who glared at her as she hurried home from work in the evenings.
Jane passed one of those clubs now, marked by an imposing black door in an otherwise nondescript warehouse building. At 9:15 a.m. there were no bouncers outside, and the neon sign with the name of the club had been switched off.
For the first time, however, Jane noticed a hand-written sign taped to the door.
Help Wanted: Server.
Jane paused on the sidewalk and eyed the sign. She’d never worked as a server in her life, and it seemed like a steep learning curve. To be honest, she’d never really had any kind of job in high school other than volunteering at the library and hosting the open mics at the Grassroots Café, because Dad had never allowed it. But it seemed easier to fake experience filing paperwork and answering a telephone than it did balancing cocktails on a tray and weaving through a crowd of drunk people.
Jane headed down the sidewalk, picking up her pace so she wouldn’t be late for her interview—a law firm this time. She found the building—a storefront in the far end of a strip mall situated between a dry cleaner and a Nepalese restaurant. Her stomach growled as the spicy scent wafted down the sidewalk, and Jane squeezed her eyes shut. Please God, let this job work out. She didn’t know how much longer she could live on microwave noodles. The waistband of her dress pants was already fitting looser than the last time she’d worn them to church in Linden Falls just a few weeks ago.
Jane paused in front of a sign in the storefront window that matched the one she’d seen on the bus stop a few blocks back. It depicted two middle-aged white men in suits helping a third, older and infirm white man limp toward a hospital bed. The tagline across the top read, Injured? We’ve got your back . And across the bottom, Morgan and Morgan, Attorneys at Law. Free consultations.
Jane pulled on the glass door, and it opened with a jingle. She stepped into a waiting area where a bored-looking receptionist barely glanced at her before she went back to typing.
Jane stepped up to the desk. “Hi, I’m Jane McCaffrey. I’m here for my nine-thirty interview for the administrative assistant position.”
The receptionist’s fingers continued to tap across the keys. “Have a seat.”
Jane sank down in one of the worn upholstered chairs lined up in front of the window and checked the clock on the opposite wall. 9:20. The receptionist kept typing. Jane took in the cheap office furniture, stained carpeting, and slight buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead. This was not one of those high-powered law firms where she’d interviewed earlier that week. But it was a job, and maybe here the competition wouldn’t be as stiff. She sat back to wait.
The clock slowly ticked. Jane shifted in her seat, looking from the receptionist to the closed door behind her, and then back to the clock.
Her interview was scheduled for 9:30. Jane had been hoping that if she showed up early, they might have the interview over in time for her to get to the car wash for her scheduled 10 a.m. start, or maybe only a few minutes late. Or even better, maybe they’d offer her the job, and she wouldn’t have to worry about the car wash anymore.
The clock ticked again.
At 9:50, she was beginning to sweat. Finally, the door behind the receptionist opened and a man stepped out. Jane recognized him as one of the Mr. Morgans on the storefront and bus stops. Today, he wore a polyester polo shirt and a pair of wrinkled khakis. He looked younger in his photo standing next to the other Mr. Morgan. In person, his hair was thinning and his blond comb-over had streaks of gray.
The receptionist looked up. “Interview for you. Jane McCaffrey.”
Mr. Morgan blinked at her for a second and then hitched his chin for her to come into the office. Jane said a silent prayer and headed across the reception area. Once they were inside, Mr. Morgan slid behind his desk. Jane perched on a chair across from him.
Mr. Morgan looked at his computer monitor, clicked around a few times, and then he said, “Sorry, we filled that position.”
“You—” No. She needed this job. At least, she needed a chance. “But I have an interview scheduled.”
“My partner liked the woman who interviewed at 9 a.m. better.”
“But he hasn’t even met me yet.”
Mr. Morgan glanced up at Jane then, his gaze slowly drifting from her face down to her white rayon blouse and back up. Then he turned and picked up a small pile of papers next to his keyboard. After a moment of sorting, he pulled Jane’s resume from the middle of the stack. “You’re Jane McCaffrey?”
“Yes.”
Mr. Morgan peered at the paper in his hand. “And your experience is working in the Linden Falls public library?”
Jane nodded. She’d considered fabricating an entirely new resume, but what if they asked her for references? So, instead, she’d stretched the truth as much as possible. Technically, she’d only been a volunteer at the library. But Mrs. Lui had always liked her, and Jane hoped that if the law firm wanted to check up on her, she could ask the librarian for this little favor. It was risky, but she didn’t have much of a choice.
“Yes, I did all sorts of administrative work while I was there. Answering the phone, filing paperwork. I can use Excel and…”
She trailed off when Mr. Morgan gave her a bored, “Uh huh.”
Jane pulled her shoulders back. She needed this job. “Look, I promise I’m a hard worker. If you’ll just give me a chance…”
Mr. Morgan pulled the top paper off the stack. “Jessica Bartlesman has five years of experience working in law firms.” He picked up the next one. “Alice Silver has worked reception at a doctor’s office for almost a decade.” He tapped a finger on the stack of papers. “Do you want me to go on?”
Jane’s heart began to pound. Her job at the car wash had started at 10 a.m. She’d taken a risk with this interview. “Please,” she whispered. “I know my experience doesn’t seem like much, but if you just give me a chance to tell you what I’m capable of and meet with your partner…”
Mr. Morgan sighed. “Listen, Jane. Do you want my advice?”
“Yes. Please.” Jane nodded eagerly. She’d take any help she could get.
He swiveled in his chair and slowly dropped Jane’s resume into the trash can by the desk. “My advice is to go back to Linden Falls.”
Jane jumped to her feet and backed away slowly, her eyes filling with tears. “I can’t. I can’t ever go back there.”
He just shrugged.
Before she burst into tears right there in the office, Jane turned and ran out the door, past the receptionist, and then, giving the glass doors a shove, stumbling out into the parking lot. She dug her prepaid cell phone from her bag and checked the time. It was ten fifteen. She was late for work, and now she needed that car wash job more than ever. Jane took off down the sidewalk, her purse thumping at her hip with each step, one hand clutching the waistband of her pants in case this was the moment they decided to slide down her legs.
Jane sprinted the five blocks to the car wash, her heels bruising on the hard pavement in her flimsy flats. The door to the office was on the side of the building so, to save time, Jane headed directly through the car wash garage, hugging the wall to avoid puddles.
“I’m here,” Jane heaved, once she was inside the office, bending over to catch her breath. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
“You’re not late,” the car wash owner, a middle-aged white man named Duane, said mildly.
Jane stood, still breathing hard. “I’m not?” The bottoms of her feet were really starting to burn now, not to mention her aching ribs from her injuries back in Linden Falls. She didn’t know how she was going to stand out there on the street corner all day. But like everything else in her life, she didn’t have much choice. “Oh.” Maybe she’d gotten the time wrong?
Duane crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “You’re not late because you don’t work here anymore. You’re fired.”
“What? No. I can’t be fired. I’m only—” She fumbled in her bag for her phone. Twenty-five minutes late.
“You’re fired because you’re terrible at your job.”
Jane felt a flare of anger. The last place wouldn’t even give her an interview because she didn’t have the experience, and now this guy was telling her she wasn’t good enough to stand there grinning stupidly and holding a cardboard sign? “How can I be terrible at it? How would someone be more skilled?”
Duane hitched his chin at the empty garage. “Where are the cars? Where are the customers? This is the slowest week I’ve had all year.”
“But—” Jane could not lose this job. She had exactly enough money to pay for one more night in the motel and one more pack of ramen noodles. After that, she’d be?—
Over Duane’s shoulder, out the window, a homeless man wrapped in a grimy gray blanket slept on a bench next to a bus stop sign. His meager belongings were tucked into a blue plastic bag under his head like a pillow .
“You’re a distraction,” Duane muttered. “Too pretty. People look at you instead of the sign.”
Jane held back an incredulous laugh. She’d never been less attractive in her life. Thanks to the constant noise in the motel, she hadn’t slept in days, and permanent dark circles hung beneath her eyes. She was sunburned from standing on the corner in the hot sun all day, and though she’d managed to cover the bruises on her face with thick make-up, her left cheek was still a little swollen, giving her face a lopsided look.
“I can wear a hat. And sunglasses. And a heavy sweatshirt.” She’d roast out there in the California sun, but at least she wouldn’t get sunburned. “People won’t even be able to see what I look like.”
Duane stroked his goatee, considering her proposal.
“Please?”
“Well. I would take you up on that. But there’s the matter that you were late.” He smirked. “So. Sorry. No go.”
“Sir, please—” Jane could hear the desperation in her voice.
Duane hitched his chin toward the car wash garage. “Door’s that way.”
Jane limped slowly back to the motel, her body growing heavier with each step. How was she so naive to think that she could do this on her own? That her money would last more than two weeks in a city like LA? That she would be able to find a job without any experience?
And what was she going to do now?
Every part of her longed to call Mom and ask for plane fare home. But would Dad let Mom send it? Or would he refuse so he could punish her? And if he did let Jane come home, what would the punishment look like then? Her stomach lurched. Jane had defied Dad in every way possible. She’d taken away his control. And she had no doubt her disappearance had humiliated him in front of the entire town. He would never let her get away with it .
And even worse, what would he do to Nik?
If she went back to Linden Falls, Nik would throw his whole life away before he’d accept that Jane couldn’t see him again. She couldn’t do that to him, which meant she could never go back.
Jane was halfway down the block in front of her motel when she noticed a commotion in front of the building. Two police cars and an ambulance both blocked the entrance to the parking lot, their lights flashing.
Jane picked up her pace, ducking between the cars to survey the scene. She spotted a toddler in the arms of a police officer, wailing at the top of his lungs and flailing to be put down. The police officer gripped the toddler tighter as he lunged sideways, straining toward the woman Jane assumed was his mother.
But the mother ignored the child, reaching for a second police officer instead. Blood poured off her cheek and dripped onto the tight white T-shirt that hugged her enormous breasts, but she didn’t seem to notice. Tears followed the blood as she clutched the other officer’s arm.
“Please,” she pleaded. “Please let him go.”
Are they going to take the toddler away from his mother? But no. Jane froze as she spotted the man in the back of the police car. With a sinking heart, she realized he was the same man she’d seen going in and out of the room down the hall, the one with the screaming and fighting.
The man glared at Jane through the police car window, and she took a startled step backward.
“Please.” The woman shook the police officer’s arm. He was tall, muscular, and probably had a hundred pounds on the woman, but in her desperation, she managed to nearly knock him sideways. “Please let him go. He didn’t mean to do it. I’m fine. Really.”
“Ma’am,” the police officer said, finally managing to wrench his arm away, “you’re fine this time. But what about next time? What about the baby?”
“The baby needs his daddy.”
Jane’s stomach curled and every part of her wanted to scream: This is your chance. Don’t choose him.
But the woman kept ignoring her child to plead for her abuser’s freedom.
Jane couldn’t stand here and watch for another moment. But if she went back in that motel room, the chaos and noise might finally break her. Slowly, Jane turned and limped down the sidewalk with no real destination in mind. About a block away, she passed a terracotta-tiled building with a flashing red sign that said Fernanda’s Tacos. There was only a man sitting at the tables out in front, probably because it wasn’t quite eleven in the morning and the lunch rush wouldn’t start for another hour. On a tray in front of him sat a burrito and a bag with grease stains that probably held tortilla chips.
Jane tried not to think about her empty stomach as she pulled a free neighborhood bulletin from the dispenser on the sidewalk and sat on a bench to flip to the Help Wanted ads. She knew most of the desirable jobs would be advertised on the internet, but apparently Jane wasn’t qualified for the desirable jobs. She scanned a couple of administrative assistant positions at law firms that sounded similar to the one who’d just rejected her. She could swing by and drop off her resume, but at this point, she’d seen her competition, and she didn’t hold out much hope.
Jane kept reading. It seemed that there were a lot of clubs looking for strippers. Duane’s voice echoed in her head. “You’re too pretty.”
Jane’s nausea had nothing to do with her empty stomach. Could she possibly do this? It would be better than ending up on the street. But she shook her head, crushing the corner of the newspaper in her fist. She didn’t know the first thing about being a stripper, and she’d probably stand there shaking and die of embarrassment before she even got her shirt off.
So, she kept looking—a few fast-food jobs looked promising, but they were all the way across town, and the thought of navigating the complicated bus system to a far-away neighborhood was intimidating. And then her finger slid to the next listing. Help Wanted. Server.
The name of the club looked familiar. It was the place down the street—the one she’d passed on her way to her job interview. Maybe it’s a sign. And while she’d never worked as a server, she’d eaten out at restaurants plenty of times. Could she fake it? Worst case, they’d figure it out in a few days and fire her, but that was a few days’ worth of tips that would be in her pocket first. Her gaze lingered on those stripper ads. What did she have to lose?
Nearby, the man outside the Mexican restaurant crumpled up the empty foil that held his burrito. He stood, picking up his tray, and Jane’s stomach growled again as she followed it with her eyes. The bag of chips looked untouched. Is he just going to throw them away? The man carried the tray to the garbage can and tipped it inside. Then he headed down the sidewalk.
Before Jane could talk herself out of it, she was on her feet, running toward the garbage can. Reaching inside, she felt for the crinkle of paper and the crunch of chips. Her hand closed around the bag, right on top, and she pulled it out with a cry of happiness. The waxy paper would have protected the chips from anything in the garbage, right?
At this point, she was too hungry to care. She yanked the bag open and plunged her hand inside, shoving two chips in her mouth at once, and then two more.
When her hunger had finally abated, she stared at the greasy bag, horror heating her body. She was supposed to be packing for college right now, hanging out with Nik and Ali and Hannah. Instead, she was in a strange city, broke and alone, and she’d just eaten a stranger’s food out of the garbage can.
Was this really her life now?
She crumpled the neighborhood bulletin in her hand and started down the sidewalk in the direction of the club. Halfway there, she stopped in front of a thrift store. If she didn’t want to be treated like a girl from Linden Falls, she needed to stop acting like one.
Ten minutes later, Jane stepped out of the shop wearing a pair of sky-high heels, a short skirt, and a tight white tank top. She was going to land that server job if it killed her.