“You—what the—how do you know how to hack into stuff? You’re a freaking lit major!”
Jane shrugged again. “One of my boyfriends was a hacker. I paid attention.”
“Well…aside from the fact that that is a huge invasion of privacy—“
“We could care less,” Lump interjected.
“—you’re right. I just… I don’t know. I need to start over. I need to move on. I am in a serious rut here, and it scares me.”
“Yeah, wake up wit an ugly lad and it changes yer perspective, alright,” Claire said as she nodded. “Well, while we're talkin’ about it, I’m headin’ on, too. Goin’ ta Australia.”
“What?” Flem shouted, ripping her eyes from the table to stare at Claire. “Since when?”
“Well, now, I figure that since Jess here is goin’, I might as well to. Always wanted to go.”
“But you can’t get back in,” Jane said reasonably.
“What does that mean, she can’t get back in?” Lump’s beautiful face took on a scowl as she swiveled her eye, away from mine. Finally.
“She was allowed three months with her work visa,” Jane explained. Claire had lost interest again. “She was supposed to go back. She didn’t, so now, if she leaves, she’ll get a ten-year-ban.”
“Ban from what?” Flem asked.
“Entering the States. You aren’t supposed to stay after the three months.”
“Yeah, but…don’t you have a bank account, Claire?” I asked.
She nodded. “Driver’s license, too. And I can still use my social security number. But I’m still illegal.” She shrugged, unconcerned.
“Well, then, you aren’t coming back?” Flem asked, aghast.
“Ah sure, I’ll just sneak out through Mexico.”
“If she doesn’t get a leaving passport stamp,” Jane explained, “she can reenter like she’d left on time. Usually.”
Everyone looked dumbfounded. Then immediately got over it. It was happened, so we might as well just embrace it.
“So, we’re breaking up. Officially,” Lump said, looking at me again. Her hostile look was covering the pain.
“I’m sad. Let’s get drunk,” Flem muttered.
“Just as long as I go home alone,” I retorted.
I got snickers.
Chapter Two
June had come and gone with a flurry of excitement. School was done, grades were posted, and I was given a green light for a job in Austin, Texas. Given that I wanted to move away from endless people and traffic, I compensated by renting a small cottage in Tartin Creek, Texas, which was about ten miles away from the office. When Flem heard, she’d given me a strange look, and asked how I would afford it.
“By working,” I’d answered like I thought she was dense. “I’ll be making three times the cost of rent. About.”
“Tartin Creek. You’re sure?”
“Flem, I am holding a beer, not my rental agreement. I can’t very well double check at the moment, but yeah, that’s what I remember.”
She’d shaken her head and muttered that I must be mistaken.
I wasn’t. It would be my new home!
It was the morning of the big move. I stood back and surveyed my ancient Honda stuffed to the limits with everything in my life. Butterflies ran amuck through my ribcage as I headed back in for my last farewell--Ami.
The girls, who I already missed even though I wasn't even outside city limits yet, gave me a huge send-off in style a few nights before, which I hardly remembered. My hangover still lingered.
I held out my keys for an uncharacteristically sad faced Ami.
“Well, this is it,” I said as I dropped the keys into her palm.
Ami nodded and looked down at her hand.
“Uh, well, hug?” I asked uncertainly, trying not to dig my hands in my pocket. We’d never been friends, but we had been roommates for an eternity. You get to know a person after a while.
“Jessica, listen,” Ami said miserably, still looking at the dull keys resting in her palm, “I wanted you to know how much I enjoyed living with you. I only wish you would’ve been home more so we could’ve hung out. You are a very special person, and even though we are in no way similar, I really feel close to you.”
Here she paused, having shocked me mute. A tear rolled down her cheek before she shrugged and continued, “I didn’t really need a roommate. I brought you in because I saw you looking for a room on the room board one day at school. I was intrigued. I wanted, and still want, to reach out and help you. My mom called it charity." Ami rolled her eyes at that apparently preposterous though. "That's why she agreed to you moving in. But I want you to know it wasn’t charity.”
Ami’s eyes were solemn and round. Feeling the expectation of the moment, but also the reminder of the absolute douche I’d always been to her, I was at a loss. I settled for, “Oh.”
“I really think we could have had a good friendship if I had been more open,” Ami continued, trying to find middle ground. “I'm a hard person to get to know because I am so shy, but I wish I tried harder. Anyway, what I really want to say is,” she wiped her damp face, “I hope you keep my number and email address and give me a call now and again.”
I stood staring with an open mouth. “Sorry Ami. I...I honestly had no idea. I thought you just needed a roomie and were putting up with me because of my off-kilter lifestyle. You know, for entertainment purposes for you and your mom.”
She smiled through her tears. “Well, you sure are entertaining. It wouldn’t be so fun to keep track of you if you didn’t feel abashed for all the things gone wrong. I mean, I can see in your face when you regret whatever it was that you did. Morbid curiosity drove me some of the time, I must admit.”
Flustered and crying, Ami pulled something out of her pocket. “I wanted to give you something to remember me by.”
She handed me a box with a little red bow. I opened it in confusion, then froze.
“Ami! You can’t possibly-- No way can I-- I can’t accept this!”
“Yes, you can.”
“No way. No, I can’t.”
“Yup, you can.” She turned me around, swept my hair away, and fastened the most exquisite ruby and diamond necklace around my neck that I’d ever seen. Well, seen on me at any rate. I’d complimented her on it dozens of times, and even borrowed it once for a date with an a-hole that didn’t deserve a prostitute, but I'd never owned something as nice as this.
“Ami, this is too much. I mean, men don’t give me this good of presents!”
“If you ever dated anyone worthy of you they might.”
My eyes stung with unshed tears. I fanned my face, then gave her a tight hug, trying to keep my eyes from constantly straying to the mirror and the fabulous bling around my neck.
“Well,” Ami said, stepping away and wiping her face again, “you need to get going.”
I mutely nodded, not trusting my voice, and looked around. This was it. I was leaving my home of the last five years, my city, my new friend, and all my old friends. It was time to change my life around, starting with getting into the car.
Gulp.
My ass fell asleep numerous times. My butt-sweat bled into the ripped canvas of the driver’s seat. My vocal cords were hoarse from singing at the top of my lungs for hours straight. It was a long trip, made longer with the lack of changing landscape in the desert. At one point I literally pointed out a rock: "Oh, look, a rock! Look how big the rock is! There it goes, a gray rock amongst all this brown."
Later on I saw another cool sight. "Oh, look, a cactus! Wow, brownish green, like my eyes. Cool."
New Mexico...now there’s a reason to speed.
Three dog years later, I nearly cried when I saw Tartin Creek, 1Mile. I put down my hastily made noose and sped to the turn-off. I was almost there!
A couple turns and a million street signs later, I left the traveler’s world and entered…
“Holy shit—“
Tartin Creek.
Houses loomed and sprawled, pushed back from the carefully tended street devoid of even one pothole. I didn’t see one piece of trash. Whereas the trip was a tableau of brown, this town was one of green. Yards of grass covered front yards, decorated with plants, flowers and trees. More than one yard had a tire swing gently swaying in the afternoon breeze. Any cars in sight were luxury models. Any people well dressed. Flem was right, this place had money.
What the hell am I doing here?
After a double check to my directions, I finally pulled up in front of one of the massive residences that made up the norm of this town. The grounds were expansive and green, reaching to both my left and right as I parked at the curb in front of the walkway. The landscaping was immaculate, with trimmed bushes, gently swaying trees, and flowers in beds of soft dirt completely devoid of weeds. The house stood tall, intimidating in size even though it was so far removed from the quiet street it should've been smaller. The décor of soft tan and white window lattices gave the structure a refined look. The money here wasn't splashed around and thrown in your face, like so many celebrity residences I’d seen, it was subtle. Sophisticated. Like people who’d been rich all their lives. Here, money was a default setting. It would never run out. At least in their lifetime.
It took me about fifteen minutes to get out of the car. I just sat there, staring. I had grease stains on my shirt. Neither my hair nor teeth hadn’t been brushed in two days. My whole outfit probably cost under $100.
In this community, one of these things did not belong. Spoiler alert…it was me!
I pushed open the door slowly and climbed out. Dusting potato chip crumbs from my pants, I trudged up the walkway with a slightly ducked head. A neighbor looking out the window was probably muttering, “There goes the neighborhood.”
Rental agreement clutched in my hand like a shield, I gingerly rang the faintly lit, plastic doorbell.
“Why, hello there young lady.”
I spun around, losing the spit in my mouth down my chin, nearly wondering if someone was going to laugh at me and yell, “Gotcha!”
An old lady was standing just off of the stoop wearing a kind smile. Her white hair was pulled back from her smooth, wrinkle-less face and hidden beneath a yellow sun hat with a large brim. Though slightly hunched with old age, she still showed traces of her once regal bearing.
“Um, hi--” I stammered stupidly, scrubbing at my face. A chip flacked off and fell to the ground.
“A young lady should never say ‘um’, it makes her seem dense. And you don’t seem dense to me.” She smiled in a playful sort of way, no doubt intending that “advice” to go down easier.
I was not impressed. Intimidated, however, absolutely.
“I’m Jessica, to rent, the uh...the cottage? I might have the wrong place…”
I scanned the property as if a veil would lift and reveal the mediocre dwelling in which I belonged.
“Oh Jessica, darlin. Yes, of course. I figured that was the way of it when I saw ya. I’m Gladis,” she said in an affluent Southern drawl. She stepped past me toward the house. “You don’t look like you brought much with ya?”
“Oh, well, no. I don’t really have much so I thought I would head to Ikea.”
“Of course. A fresh start. And you’re from California?”
“Yes.”
She smiled, her eyes slightly crinkling in the corner. She’d absolutely had work done to her appearance, but by expert plastic, and extremely expensive, plastic surgeons. Her face was nearly ageless. Her neck, however…
“Well, then, let me show you your new home."
She let me through the front door...and into a modern museum. The oval entryway could have been its own room with vast high ceilings and a pillar to each side. A large hall led away into the house and through the middle of a double stair case leading to the second level. Everything was marble, stone, and wood. An impressively large chandelier loomed above us, threatening to fall with the weight of the sparkling crystal.
I gingerly stepped to the side just in case today was the day for spooky mishaps.
We climbed the stair well and then turned right, into the large hallway. Since she was older, she didn’t have it in high gear, which gave me a chance to check out the well-lit and elegantly decorated rooms. As one would expect of a guest room, most were devoid of personal affects, but to make up for that lack, there were art and tiny decorative items that made a person feel more at home. As we walked, we passed a billiards room, which would have made me gasp in wonder if we hadn’t shortly thereafter passed a personal movie theater!
She turned into one of the rooms on the left, which turned out to be the biggest bedroom I had ever entered. Ever. With the biggest, most extreme four-poster piece of furniture that she apparently called a bed. And what was a giant, over-the-top bed without matching night stands? Or a huge dresser for that matter? Forget celebrity, she probably had royalty staying over. Who else but an excessively rich person could afford the wardrobe needed for so much space.
Gladis stopped near the window. “Have a look.
She must have missed my bug-eyed entrance, because I’d been doing nothing but looking. And fawning. And drooling. And feeling more than a little out of place.
Still, she stood with hands loosely clasped in front of her, eyebrows raised, expectant. Like a mime, I elaborately scanned everything a second time. I was an actor once, after all, I could get a point across.
Her continued silence meant an answer was expectant.
“Uh...I mean, it is very nice. Big. I thought, um--” I winced with that last um and lost my focus as heat rose to my cheeks. How did one bring up false advertisement to their landlady?