Lipstick & Lattes Page 3

  “Sorry, Whitney, but today we’re blessing you with good old-fashioned paperwork.” Russ greets me most days when I come in and is a pleasure to have at the front desk. He welcomes the public with a bright smile and a positive attitude.

  Paperwork? I hate being shoved in the back by myself, but I want to go where I’m needed, otherwise there’s no point in coming. “Let me at it. This paperwork is no match for me. I eat paper for breakfast.”

  Russ fixes his oversized glasses and meets me on the other side of the counter. He needs those goggles to see anything, and his bifocals magnify his eyes to an uncomfortable level. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll explain what we need you to do.”

  I follow him to the room files are kept, a section I’m familiar with, but with a job that’s new to me. I’ve done secretarial work before and worked at an insurance agency when I was a senior in high school into my second year of college. The redundancy isn’t new, but it’s boring.

  “These are all the adoption papers that need filing.” The stack is at least two inches thick, but I notice another stack just as deep behind it. This should keep me busy for hours, and I’m only scheduled for two before I go to my paying job. “Some may have folders already but others will need one created. Blank folders are over here.”

  I finish taking direction, and when Russ leaves me alone, I dive into it. If I’m focused, I can make a lot of headway.

  As I work through the papers, I admire the dogs and cats and their names. A calico named Pretty, a Mastiff called Marty, two black labs sharing the name Shadow. I wonder if anyone ever changes the name after they adopt a pet. Does it matter if it’s a puppy or an older dog? I couldn’t imagine starting my life over with a new name. I’ve been Whitney my entire life thanks to my mom’s obsession with Whitney Houston in the eighties. If I started life over, who would I be? I could opt for a unique name like Desiree or Jasmine but with a double z and a y. Jazzmyn. Or I could settle for something simple. Be a Heather or a Jenny. They always seemed to be cheerleaders in school. Would I have been a cheerleader instead of in drama club? Who knows? I’m Whitney, though, and this is me. No changing. I’ve never been a big fan of change and never will be.

  An hour passes when someone knocks on the door. “I’m about a quarter through, Russ,” I say as I expect to see him. I shut the file drawer and turn around.

  “This looks incredibly drab.” Josie slides a chair over and makes herself comfortable.

  “What are you doing here?” I didn’t see my roommate when I came home from Hannah’s. She was buried under the covers snoring away when I walked out the door.

  ”Sorry to bother you here. I’m on my way to the studio and rent is due soon. We’ve missed each other the past few days. I need your half.”

  I check the calendar. It’s the second. Most months I leave my half on the counter on the twenty-fifth, but I’ve been working so much I must have forgotten. I grab my wallet and count out my half and hand it to her. “Sorry about that.”

  She folds the bills and slides them into her pocket. “No worries. I covered your half. Don’t do it again.”

  Josie and I are close but just because we’re friends doesn’t mean I should plan on her having my back when it comes to rent every month. I’ve never been late before this, but I know she’s been burned in the past. “I won’t.”

  “Did you come home last night?”

  “No. I stayed at Hannah’s. I snuck in to change, but you were zonked out.”

  “I had quite a night.” She covers her face with her hands. “I taught a late night aerobics class and then went out for a few drinks with another instructor. It was so late when I got in I didn’t even notice until this morning you weren’t there.”

  I’m sure her night was much different than mine. “Mine wasn’t so hot either. I went to the opening of Vogue.”

  “You did? I heard from my friend’s cousin’s cousin’s boyfriend’s sister that some chick decked a guy and almost got her ass kicked.”

  How in the world did my evening make it all the way to whatever line of people she just mentioned? I hope a video didn’t make it to Facebook or Snapchat. That’s all I need. Of course maybe I could find who saved me. “Yeah, well, I was that girl.”

  “Say what?” She scoots forward in her chair and crosses her hands as she places them between her thighs. “How was that you?”

  “What do you mean how was it me? Simple. It. Was. Me. This dude got all up on me and thought since I danced with him he could touch me wherever he wanted. I let him know his place.” And almost got a black eye out of it.

  She shakes her head in disbelief. “Damn, girl. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

  Neither did I. It’s funny how you’ll react when put in a situation that suffocates you, terrifies you, and can only end badly unless you’re courageous. “I was lucky someone jumped in and held him back while I ran off.”

  “I heard about that, too. Do you know who it was?”

  “No clue. I wish. I want to know. If it hadn’t been for him I don’t know what would have happened.” I’m disgusted at all the people that stood by, gawking, probably snapping pictures and placing bets on our little spat. I want to thank this man. I owe him. “I placed an ad online hoping to find him.”

  “You did?” Her eyebrows raise, and I catch a tint of glittery blue eyeshadow. Not many people can get away with that since it’s not 1985, but Josie can.

  “Yes, I did. Is that weird?” This is why I didn’t want to tell anyone. I didn’t even mention it to Hannah. It just kind of slipped out.

  “No.” She leans back in the chair. “It’s unconventional. There are different ways to meet people and find information. You could go to Vogue and ask.”

  “I only saw the back of his head. What am I supposed to do? Hold a line up and judge based on their heads?”

  She nods and I can tell she’s trying to think of a different approach. “I don’t think it’s the safest idea.”

  I can’t believe Josie is lecturing me about safety. She’s always meeting new people, and she’s never exactly been shy with men. “Well, you’re full of confidence and will talk to anyone, anywhere. Besides, I’m meeting him in a public place.”

  “So this guy responded to the ad? He’s meeting you?”

  I shrug. “I hope so. I picked a meeting place and asked he meet me there.”

  “The plan is to show up and hope he does the same?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Damn, this is some romantic movie kind of stuff.”

  And that’s exactly what I want.

  ••••••••

  I haven’t been to my parent’s house for almost two weeks now. I’m used to seeing my mom once or twice a week, but I needed a break from her constant complaining about my life. I finally cave when she puts the guilt trip on me that she misses me, and since her mom passed away, she wants to spend more time with me. It’s been almost a year since grandma died but that doesn’t make it any easier on her. Besides, my brother is finishing his junior year of high school and could use some encouragement for college. He’s ten years younger than me and thinks he doesn’t need to further his education. I want him to readjust his focus and spend his senior year applying to colleges and keeping his grades up.

  When I walk in, my nose is welcomed by the smell of sauerkraut. Mom’s made my favorite—Reuben sandwiches. I haven’t tried making them myself since I’ve been out on my own. I’ve been too afraid of messing it up. I’ll burn the bread or not put enough swiss cheese on. My mom is the master Reuben maker, make no mistake about it.

  “I’m here!” I wasn’t expecting a welcoming committee, but since she laid a guilt trip on me, I at least thought she’d greet me when the door slammed.

  I make my way through the living room to the kitchen where she’s flipping the Reuben’s on the griddle. “Oh, honey, you made it!” She sets the spatula down and wipes her hands on a towel before embracing me in a hug.

  Did she think I wasn’t going
to show? Her grip is so tight she’s practically choking me. I pull out of her hold. “Of course I did. I told you I was coming.”

  “Well, I never know what your plans are.” She takes a step back and reaches out, placing her hands on my cheeks after she smoothes down my hair. “Let me get a good look at you.”

  And she does. She reviews every aspect of my face, rubs down my arms and takes my hands as she steps farther away to examine my figure.

  “I’m glad to see you haven’t gained any weight.”

  “Mom!” Ever since I was little I’ve had to deal with these remarks. No wonder I chose an aerobics instructor for a roommate and think twice before a second helping of ice cream. Though despite her commentary, I always go for the second helping. Always go for more.

  “I’m only saying that it’s easy to gain weight when you aren’t able to have home-cooked meals. You can fall into a trap of picking up fast food every day.” She retreats to her work station.

  “A reuben is hardly healthy.”

  “Nah. You have your fat, your protein, and your carbohydrates. A perfect balance.”

  “And it’s fried.”

  She presses her palms against the counter and tenses. “I can make a salad for everyone instead if you can’t appreciate that I’ve taken the time to make your favorite.”

  Sigh. She always does this. Every conversation seems to turn into some way to make me feel bad about my choices. My not having a boyfriend, my living situation, the book I’m reading. She’ll find something.

  “Hey, sis!” My brother Ricky bounces into the room dribbling a basketball and thankfully saving me from more of this guilt trip.

  “Ricky!” We high five each other and do our secret handshake. It’s not too much of a secret—something we saw on an episode of Friends—but we like it.

  “What’s the story?”

  “What?”

  “What’s the word? What graces us with your presence today?”

  Am I that absent in my family’s life that Ricky has to question why I’m here? I’m sorry I don’t live there—well, not really—but I put my eighteen years in. “Mom invited me for dinner, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He flips the hair from his eyes. I don’t know why he keeps the front so long. I think he may be going for some sort of early Zac Efron look but I don’t think he pulls it off as well. “That means eighth times a charm. Or was this ten?”

  I jump onto the counter and swing my legs. “I’ve been busy. I’m working and trying to break into the next level of my career.”

  “Ooh, your career.” He holds the basketball between his elbows as he air quotes the word career.

  “Stop it, Ricky.” My mom comes to my defense in a surprising gesture. She never makes it about me. It’s always Ricky. “Your brother misses you, Whitney.” And there it is.

  “Do not.” He throws the ball at me, and I catch it moments before it hits me in the face.

  “That’s it.” I hop off the counter and get in his face. “Outside. Now. I’m about to kick your ass.”

  After a fifteen minute game of one-on-one, my brother has proven he’s the basketball player and I’m not. “Did you forget I’m on varsity?”

  “Ooh, varsity.” I wave my hands in the air as though I am in awe of what he tells me. “I may not have been great at sports but I sure thrived in drama class.”

  “Says the girl working at the makeup counter.”

  My smile drops to an immediate frown and my heart cracks. Ricky and I have the kind of relationship that we can tease each other a lot but that was a really low blow. I’m trying to hard to get where I want to be in life, and I can’t help it if I don’t know the right people. I’m trying. I’m networking. I’m putting my name out there. Meanwhile Mr. Basketball is offered scholarships to universities and he’s wavering on if he even wants to attend college.

  “Are you being serious, Ricky? Sure, I may not have a glamorous job in Hollywood or Vegas but at least I’m doing something. You’re on track to have a fully paid college career, and in basketball nonetheless, and you want to drive a big rig across the country.”

  “I want to travel.”

  “You can travel while playing basketball and getting a degree.” Why would he want to spend six out of seven days stuffed in a big truck driving down the highway? How much can he even experience?

  “Well, I haven’t made up my mind yet. Mom and Dad are on board with whatever I decide.”

  “Because you’re the baby. Mom’s afraid if you play basketball you’ll end up being drafted by the NBA, and she’ll never see you again.”

  “Well, she needs to see one of us.”

  I’m done. I toss the basketball back at him and stomp back into the house. I slam the screen door behind me and Ricky races in after me. “Whitney, slow down.”

  “No. I’ve had it!”

  My mom is setting the table and stops as she is setting a knife down. “What is going on with you two?”

  “Nothing.” Ricky corners me in the living room. “I’m sorry I said that.” He flicks his hair back and I wish I had a scissors to cut those damn bangs. I hate them!

  “Are you? There’s a lot of truth to things spoken in the heat of the moment.”

  “What on earth is going on?” My mom intrudes on our argument, which is typical of her.

  “I can’t believe you approve of Ricky skipping the chance at a full college scholarship so he can drive a semi.” I cross my arms and push my hip out as my dad finally joins us.

  “Whitney, I didn’t hear you come in.” But he heard me yelling, and now that I see the windows are open I’m afraid the whole neighborhood may have as well. “We want Ricky to do whatever makes him happy.”

  “Don’t you want him to be a success?”

  “Are you saying I can’t be a success if I’m a blue-collar worker? Look at Miss High and Almighty, Makeup Artist To The Stars.”

  “Stop it. That’s not what I want to do.”

  “And maybe I don’t want to play basketball. Or get a four-year degree. I can go to a technical college or take classes online while I work. I’m not going to commit myself to playing ball just to have them pay for school. I can pave my own way.”

  Everyone is staring at me waiting for a response. My dad is squinting like he usually does when he’s waiting, and my mom is leaning against the sofa wondering how I’ll react.

  “I never considered that I guess.”

  “No, you didn’t.” My dad shakes his head. “You don’t live here anymore, and you rarely come by. You’re not here for these conversations. Your mother and I have discussed this at great length with your brother, and we’ve accepted his plans. If this is the route he decides to take, so be it. You are not here to judge his life path.” He pauses before he adds, “We didn’t judge yours.”

  This is the first I’m hearing something like this. When I left for college I had all the normal tears and hugs and goodbyes but they also were accompanied by the I love you’s and good lucks and the we’re so prouds. Was that all a lie? “What are you talking about?”

  “Makeup, Whitney? Really?” My mom stands and holds her head up high as though insulting me is something to be proud of. “With your artistic talents you could have done something more…respectable.”

  “Respectable? What do you think I do all day? Really? What do you think I do?” No one can respond because they have no idea. No one has ever stopped by the store to check out what I do on a day-to-day basis. “I thought so. Maybe before you judge me, you should get to know me a little better.”

  “Sweetie.” My dad approaches me but I step back.

  “I’m not hungry. I’m going to leave.” I wait for someone to stop me. For my dad to grab my hand and tell me to stay. For my mom to give me a hug and apologize for making me feel the way she just did. For Ricky to come to my defense. But none of this happens. I’m standing in front of my family, the people who are supposed to support me, and they can’t think of a word to say.

  Before
my tears catch up with my heart, I race out the front door and as soon as I’m in my car, I slam the door and let out a big scream. I click on my seatbelt and take a look at the front door, still considering someone may come to their senses, but nothing. All these years I thought they were proud of me. In one evening, they’ve managed to place doubt on everything they’ve ever said to me. As if on cue, a dark cloud looms overhead, picking up speed as it races toward me. I won’t allow myself to cry. The rain does it for me.

  ••••••••

  “Have you met the Craigslist stalker yet?” Josie zips her bag shut and tosses it onto the couch. Her next class is in thirty minutes but it takes less than ten minutes to get there.

  “I doubt he’s a stalker, and I’m the one seeking him out, remember?” This dish I’m scrubbing doesn’t want to get clean. If there’s one thing I wish this apartment had, it’s a dishwasher. Someday when I own a house, maybe I’ll be so lucky as to have one.

  “Oh, yeah.” She slips on her shoes and ties them into double knots. “You’re the stalker.” Josie makes herself comfortable at the counter, resting her elbows against it as she leans in.

  Is that what she thinks? I don’t think I’m coming off like a stalker by placing the ad, but maybe I’m wrong. “Do you think I should delete it?” I’m more than likely making a fool of myself, anyway.

  “No. I’m only teasing. I think it’s brave and a very not Whitney thing to do.”

  “What do you mean by that?” I didn’t realize she had different characterizations for me. What qualifies as a “Whitney?”

  “You like to be comfortable, not change things up. You’re taking a chance, rolling the dice. Good for you.” She pumps her fist in approval and follows it with a thumbs up.

  I can’t help feeling offended even though she’s being sincere. Do I really never take chances? Living on campus when I went to college sure felt like taking a leap. And earning minimum wage and being frugal with my money so I can afford rent instead of spending it on clothes and alcohol is risky as a girl in her twenties. How? Because I’m at risk of becoming a hermit, that’s how. The truth is, though, I’m responsible and always have been, despite my constant tardiness at work. This is why I can’t get over my brother’s decision not to go to college.