“I can try.”

Amie smiles. “Perfect.”

“Totally.” Fingers crossed this works out. I could really use some good karma. And a home that isn’t a box.

Chapter 4: Dinner Plans

RUBY

Upon deciding my new life mission is to become a squatter/pet sitter for the next five weeks, which is slightly more dignified than living in a box in an alley, Amie raided my closet for an introduction-appropriate outfit.

Over the past several years I’ve traded in my pretentious, ultra-expensive and often uncomfortable clothes for a wardrobe of black, inexpensive pieces with a few colorful items for those days when I want to rebel against New York’s mourning-inspired fashion rules. The recent lack of money flow also impedes my ability to buy unnecessarily expensive items to add to my ever-shrinking, unimpressive wardrobe.

“How long have you had this dress?” Amie holds up a little red number.

I shrug. “Awhile.”

“Didn’t you wear this to high school prom?”

I ponder that for a moment. It’s totally possible. I grab the hanger from her and check the tag. It’s a Vera Wang, so it had to have cost quite a bit of money. I wouldn’t have thought anything about dropping that much on a dress a few years ago. Now I’m considering how much I can get for it if I put it on eBay.

At my prolonged lack of response Amie says, “I’m almost positive you wore this to prom. It’s a classic, though, so you could get away with it tonight.” She thrusts it at me. “Try it on.”

I pull on a pair of panties before I drop my robe. I have no shame, and Amie’s seen me in some questionable states, so underwear isn’t a big deal. I root around for a clean bra which takes far more effort to put on than it should, then I shimmy into the dress and pull up the side zipper. It’s a bit on the snug side in the chest and the hips, but otherwise it’s fine. Unfortunately, there’s a grease stain on the skirt right over my crotch.

I motion to the spot highlighting my vagina. “Unless I’m looking to draw attention to my pleasure center, I think I’m going to have to pick another option.”

“It wouldn’t hurt. Bancroft is hot, and from what I’ve heard he has an excellent skill set in the bedroom.”

“The fact that there are rumors about his skill set is not really a selling feature. Besides, I’m not trying to bed him, I’m trying to get access to a bed in his condo. Do you even know if his place has more than one bedroom?”

“He lives in a penthouse in Tribeca. It has more than one bedroom. And the rumors aren’t bad. I don’t think he’s a manwhore, I’ve just heard he’s very . . . equipped.”

“So he has a big dick? Whoop-dee-do. His dick is not my primary concern.”

Despite my lack of excitement over Bancroft’s hotness and his potentially large assets or his skills in the bedroom, I try on another six dresses before Amie approves my dinner outfit. I have to lie down for a while after that.

She spends the rest of the day attempting to nurse me back to some sort of reasonable health, by feeding me drugs and alternating Gatorade, chicken broth, and a few saltines. At least I can keep liquids and crackers down. When it’s time to get ready for dinner, Amie takes care of my hair and makeup because I lack the energy to make it happen. I’d ask why it matters how good I look, but since we’re meeting up with Armstrong and this Bancroft guy, I have to assume we’re going to some highbrow restaurant where they serve things like skate and Green Elder Rubbed Elk, which begs the question, did a group of unfortunate and senile geriatrics in green jogging suits rub themselves on a herd of elk before they were slaughtered for the upper class’s benefit?

At five, we leave my soon-to-be-vacated apartment and take an Uber to the restaurant—Amie’s treat since I can’t afford anything right now. By this point, I could really use a five-hour nap and another shower. I’m not so sure I’m completely over whatever it is Awesome Kisser passed on to me. I naively assumed it was some kind of twenty-four-hour bug, but the trickle of sweat that slides down my spine concerns me. As does the mild roll in my stomach. It’s nothing like the full-stomach seizures that ruined yesterday, but it’s still not right in there.

I manage the Uber ride okay, but I’m so clammy even with the windows rolled down that I’m wishing I brought deodorant with me. If I’d planned ahead I could rub it all over my body to solve the sweat issue.

Amie shifts so she’s facing me. “So let’s review the story one more time just to make sure we have all the details down.”

“Okay.” This is not an uncommon conversation for us. As teenagers we used to cover for each other often. Well, me for Amie more than her for me, but still, covering happened. There’s a reason her nickname was Anarachy Amie when we were growing up. She was far more likely to use staying at my place as a ruse to go make out with whatever boy she was seeing at the time. Who would’ve thought that same girl would be marrying someone named Armstrong?

This is a little different because there’s a lot more at stake than just being grounded for getting caught in a lie. This is a potential place to live and buying me some time to find an actual job that pays real money again. Enough to help pay my debt down without my father’s help. Enough to save me from working with his whore of a wife. Without his financial assistance, I’m finally seeing exactly how easy life has been for me up until now. I know I should be grateful that if I really needed help, he’d be there for me, but the truth is, I wanted to prove, more to myself than anyone else, that I could do this.

“Why don’t you have a place to live?” Amie asks, patting my hand reassuringly at my cringe.

“My lease was up and instead of renewing I planned to move into an apartment closer to the theater district, but the new lease agreement fell through.”

“Excellent. And why did that happen?”

“Is this really necessary? I doubt it’s going to be an inquisition.”

“It’s better to have a full story outlined with lots of details than something half-assed.”

“I can improv.”

“I’d agree, except you’re sick and I’m not sure your improv skills are all that amazing right now.”

“Can you refrain from saying that word aloud right now?” Even that’s enough to make me queasy again.