“Excellent.” Letting her stay is a curveball I’ve thrown myself, but I don’t plan to allow it to get in the way of my ultimate goal.

Chapter 13: Jobs for the Jobless

RUBY

My living situation is ironed out for the time being, which is good because I was about to go into panic mode with Bancroft coming home soon. I really wish time would slow down.

“Okay. So you have a place to live for now. That’s good.” Amie sounds reassured.

I nod, although I’m not sure I can call the situation good.

Bancroft is going to let me stay in his apartment until I can find a new place. It’s highly preferable to the alternative. Until now I’ve been relatively positive about things, but the closer we get to Bancroft’s return, the more worried I become about having to return to Rhode Island to work with the whore-mother.

Beyond that, the excessive flirting and banter with Bancroft felt more acceptable when there was an end date to my stay at his condo. When I was just his temporary pet sitter it seemed harmless to engage. Now that I’m going to be his roommate for a while I’m not sure how acceptable it is anymore. It could get messy—especially if things don’t work out and I’m still living there.

“And you’re on top of the job thing. You have an audition tomorrow, right? Everything is working out just fine.” Now Amie sounds like me.

“And I have a couple of interviews for regular jobs.” I’m glad one of us is optimistic.

She sips her cleansing tea. She’s on some sort of healthy-eating program. It sounds a lot like a diet. Which is absolutely ridiculous. Amie is tiny. She’s never had to work to be that way, she’s just naturally built like a model. She’s never been worried about her weight. Until recently. I’m attributing it to Armstrong’s constant, unnecessary commentary. I’m liking him less and less the more I get to know him. “What kind of interviews do you have?”

“One is at a restaurant, the other is a café. I just need some quick money to help get me by.” I’ve avoided nightclubs so far. I don’t want to end up dealing with the same situation as I did in the last place.

“Oh.” Amie makes a face that looks disapproving. “What if I talk to Armstrong about getting you something temporary?”

“Thanks, but I’d rather you not.” If I take a job from Armstrong it’ll get back to my father. I don’t want that.

“Come on, Ruby. It would just be until you get the role you deserve.”

I sip my coffee. I need all the liquid energy I can get. After this I’m back to handing out résumés and filling out applications. To places I should’ve worked when I was in college, not after it.

“What happens when Bancroft comes back? I know I can stay for a little while longer, but eventually I’m going to have to find a place to live that isn’t his spare bedroom.” Like his actual bedroom.

“You’ll have a place to live.”

I’m not so sure that’s true, but I don’t want to put this on Amie. It’s my fault I’m in this predicament. She’s done enough by getting me a place to stay while I try to sort out my life. It’d be great if I could actually make some headway on that front.

“Do you smell that?” Amie’s nose wrinkles as I pull my phone out of my purse.

I sniff and get a whiff of something disgustingly rancid. I put my hand over my mouth to stop from breathing it in again. “What is that?” I look around the café, curious to whether there’s a garbage truck nearby.

“I don’t know. We should go. That smells toxic.”

I gather my things. I have job-hunting to do anyway. Coffee dates are for people who are actually taking a break from being productive.

* * *

For some reason, the horrible smell from the café seems to stick with me all day. I keep wondering if it’s seared into my olfactory senses. People seem to be giving me a wide berth.

I check the bottom of my shoes for carcass remnants, or dog poop, but all I have are a couple of stones stuck between the treads. It’s weird.

By the end of the day I’m pretty sure I’m on the verge of some kind of emotional breakdown. I resorted to begging at one café. It was rather embarrassing since the manager looked to be about seventeen based on his inability to grow even a basic, fuzzy mustache.

Today has been a failure on all counts. All I want is a job. It doesn’t matter what it is, as long as I can make some consistent money. I’ve been careful with what Bancroft left for me, but I don’t want to rely on that. Especially since I’m going to need to pay him rent soon.

Calling my father isn’t an option since he’s made it clear what I’m in for if I go back to Rhode Island. I need some perspective, so I get on the subway and head to Central Park.

It’s another travel day for Bancroft, back to London to finish off his trip around Europe, so I don’t expect to hear from him until much later, or maybe not even until tomorrow. The steady rocking of the subway soothes me. I close my eyes, tired from worry and the stress of knowing Bancroft is going to be back and I still have nothing to show for the weeks of pounding the pavement.

I’m jolted awake by the jerk of the subway. Apparently I’ve been out for a while, because I don’t recognize the station. I exit the nearly empty subway and head for the platform, disoriented and confused.

Late afternoon has turned into evening while I’ve been passed out on the subway. I must’ve been really freaking tired. I’m also in a sketchy, unfamiliar part of the city. And I have to pee like nobody’s business.

I find what looks to be a bar called EsQue. It’s open, so I go inside. The hallway is painted deep burgundy, and a steep set of stairs lead to a glowing sign with one of those flashing arrows. Drunk people must break a lot of limbs here. The need to pee supersedes the need to find an alternate location.

I rush down the stairs only to get stopped by a bouncer. “ID, please.” He holds out his hands.

I shuffle from foot to foot, kegeling to prevent an accident as I root through my bag for my wallet. I’m hit with a horribly pungent, revolting smell. The same revolting smell that’s been following me all day. It’s like a rodent crawled in there and died. I gag when I skim something mushy and drop my purse. I shove my face into the crook of my arm to prevent the smell from invading my nostrils more than it already has as I crouch down.