“Go ahead and get settled,” she tells me. “Mr. Jones would like you to make yourself at home while you’re here. If there’s anything you need, here’s my number. You can also page Henrietta from the intercom.” She gestures carelessly at a panel on the wall. “How soon would you like me to arrange to have you driven to collect your things?”
I’m having a hard time focusing on Sandra, to be honest. Never in my life did I imagine I’d see a place like this, let alone stay in one. An enormous bed, covered in satiny soft blankets and pillows, sits in the middle of the suite. A private sitting area, with squishy armchairs and cozy blankets sits in the corner, begging to be used.
“Um… as soon as it’s convenient for the driver. I don’t want to rush anyone.”
“You are sweet,” Sandra says archly, tapping on her iPad. “He’ll be out front in 20 minutes.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, heading to explore the rest of the room. Sandra nods and shows herself out. I can’t decide if I like her or if she’s terrifying. Maybe a little bit of both.
No matter how hard I try, I cannot seem to wrap my head around the scope of this ‘room.’ The walk-in closet could hold all of my belongings ten times over, and it has a bathroom that’s bigger than the entire bungalow I share with five other people.
It’s all beautiful, intimidatingly so, but the bathroom is just over the top. Exposed, cedar beams run the length of the room, giving it the feel of a very large, very opulent sauna. The walls are built out of natural rock, and as you move to the back of the bathroom, they form a waterfall that’s clearly meant to be used as a shower. Let me reiterate that. There is a freaking waterfall in my bathroom.
There’s a tub too, but calling it a bathtub would be the understatement of the century. A boulder the size of a compact car juts out of the stone wall, blending seamlessly. The hollowed-out center looks large enough for three or four adults to soak.
Centered above the bathing area is a skylight, at least fifteen feet up, letting in a stream of natural light that makes the polished copper fitting gleam like treasure. It’s like they built the house around a hidden cave and filled it with lush tropical plants. I’m going to be so,soooclean while I’m staying here.
I try not to gawk, but it’s impossible. I didn’t know people actually lived like this. I guess in the abstract, I did, but seeing it in person makes my mind reel.
The ride down to Paramount takes far longer than physically collecting my things. The driver offers to come inside and help, but I tell him he can wait in the car. It just feels weird to have someone else touching my meager belongings. Part of that comes from sleeping in shelters and hostels for so long. You learn to beverycareful with what you have, and only keep what you need.
Korinna, the haughty woman who shares my room, is stretched out on her bed reading a magazine. She glances up at me before going back to her celebrity gossip. “Hey,” I say softly. She has a temper and I donotwant to get her fired up right now. “Sorry to interrupt, but I got a training job. I’m moving out for a month. The landlord said he’d hold my room if I keep paying rent.”
She stares at me dully. “Okay…”
“I just thought I’d let you know. In case you wondered… where… I… went.” I trail off, realizing she doesn’t give a flying fuck where I go or if I come back. I don’t think she’s ever spoken more than one word at a time to me.
“Okay.” She returns to her magazine, raising it higher and sinking down to completely hide her face.
“Good chat,” I mutter. I have a big, empty plastic tub under my bed from the last time I moved, years ago. It’s been collecting dust for ages, but I kept it handy, just in case. My clothes only take up a third of our shared closet, but I pull them out, hangers and all, folding the bundle at the bottom of the bin. My books go next, a handful of my favorite romance novels that I got second-hand. I set the library books aside. I’ll have to return them before heading back. Hopefully the driver is okay with an extra stop.
My ancient laptop goes in, followed by my favorite mug, wrapped in my towel. Charging cords, little odds and ends, gifts given to me by clients, and my box of tea are topped off with my blanket, pillow, and sheet. I step back and look around at the empty space that contained my entire life for the last few years.
My entire life; packed into one six-dollar box. I can’t decide if it’s depressing or motivating. Both, I guess. Knowinghow hardI’ve worked to come this far, I have to be proud of myself. Iamproud of myself. But Jesus. This is it?
When I ran away nearly a decade ago, it wasn’t to be an actress or marry some sugar daddy in LA. I just wanted my own life. One where I wasn’t living day to day, terrified that it could all fall apart. Terrified that I’d get thrown into foster care, given over to God knows who. But now I wonder, have I really come that far? At least I control where I go and what I do, but I’m still living day to day; barely able to afford to feed myself. I split a room with a woman I barely know, and she snores incessantly.
Fuck it.
I tote my life out of the bungalow and take one last look at the complex as the driver places it in the trunk. The cracked pavement, faded mulch, and stunted palm trees are all a thing of my past. I’m not coming back. Not here at least. Maybe to Paramount, but not here. No more roach-infested kitchens that I have to share with five people who don’t think they need to clean up after themselves. No more sharing showers with people who shed like yetis.
At the very least, I’m getting my own place when my contract is up. A studio, or maybe even a one-bedroom place. Something that’smine.