“We’re all headed to Layla’s later if you want to join.”
“Oh, I can’t. I’m headed to my second job.”
“Yuck! Girl, you work all the time.”
“Yeah, well, gotta eat.” I laughed awkwardly, not sure what to say. She eyed me a second before she walked over, stepping closer.
“What if I knew a way for you to make a lot of money?” She bit her lip, and I worried she was suggesting prostitution.
“Why does it sound like you’re Pretty Woman-ing me?” I asked, raising my eyebrow.
She waved her hand, laughing. “Girl, that’s so ‘90s. It’s way easier than that now.”
“Wait, so you are talking about prostitution? I thought it was a joke.”
“I don’t joke about this. And it’s not prostitution. You don’t have sex with the clients.”
“Then what?” My brow furrowed, not understanding her meaning.
“Have you ever heard of a cam girl before?”
“No.” I shook my head. I didn’t think it was something I could do, but part of me was curious.
She smiled wide and handed me a business card. Did I miss that day in high school? What was with everyone having business cards now? It was black with “Candi” on it and a web address. I flipped it over, and the word “try me” was printed.
“If you’re curious, go to that website and enter that password. You can get a free taste of what I’m talking about. I make bank now and only keep this job for the connections. I want to be a singer.” She smiled, winking.
Cupping my hand around it, I nodded, sliding it into my pocket. “Um, thanks.” She waved, heading out the other direction, leaving me standing, wondering what had just transpired between us.
I couldn’t deny I was curious, though.
* * *
After six hours of standing on my feet at the laundromat, I was ready to crash into my bed. The whole time, the business card had burned a hole in my pocket. Each time a customer complained about a machine not working or that someone wasn’t respecting the time limit on machines, it burned more.
Maybe it was worth a look? If it was online, it couldn’t be that bad? Right?
Climbing up the rickety stairs of my studio apartment, I unlocked the door and stepped inside. My body relaxed, and I shuffled my feet over to the bed in the corner. My kitchen butted up to my living room, which included my bedroom, and ended with my tiny bathroom in the corner. It was the size of a shoebox, but it was mine, and I loved it for that.
But I wouldn’t mind having more than one room for everything. You know, for all my shoes.
Grabbing some cold noodles out of the fridge, I sat down on my bed and kicked my shoes off, leaning back against the headboard. My body relaxed back into the pillows, and I let myself unwind fully. This was my safe place, my one area where I could be as strong or as weak as I felt. No one to judge me, no one to see. Just me.
It was comforting in a completely sad way.
My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out as I shoved a bite of noodles into my mouth.
Jackass:Hey brat, how was your day? You make it home?
ME: Yep. Eating some noodles.
Jackass: Cold, I bet. You’re so gross.
ME: Not everyone can afford a microwave. I’m lucky to have a fridge and a hot plate.
Jackass:You know I can send you money.
ME: I know. Thank you, but no. I want to do this on my own. It feels important.