“That’s unbelievable,” I mutter, looking over at Lance. As angry as I am at him right now, it’s hard not to feel bad. Does no one care about him but me?
“I know,” says Gloria. “When I learned who he is, I was shocked. Although that was mostly because he’shere.”
“What do you mean?”
She sighs, taking a quick look out into the hall. “Look, everyone knows the Prescotts are rich. Lance could be at home, under the care of a dedicated staff. I know if my son was hurt, I’d do everything I could for him.”
I put on a poker face, but I’m getting pissed.
“I’m sure Prescott feels his son is in good care here,” I reason.
Gloria snorts. “That’s kind of you, but Prescott’s just a cheapskate. Always has been. He’d rather let the taxpayers foot the bill.”
“That’s nonsense. He’s a good man, and he’s going through a lot.”
“Hey, I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m just being honest. I don’t know about you, but back when he was governor, it was terrible for me and my family. My sister got laid off, my brother had to refinance his home… And it’s not getting better.”
I don’t know what to say — I want to tear into her, point out that it’s not Congressman Prescott’s fault for every single hardship that affects her family, but my blood’s boiling. She reminds me of Quinn, and not just because she’s constantly in my thoughts these days. I’m not used to women talking back to me this much.
Of course, I have ways of dealing with Quinn when she does.
“Do you always give visitors this much shit?” I say, letting my facade slip. “I’m not here to talk to you, so seriously, fuck off.”
Gloria’s face tightens. “Actually, it’s time you left, whatever-your-name-is. You’re disturbing the patient, and he needs his rest. Get the fuck out.”
I stare at her in disbelief, but she doesn’t blink.
“Do I have to call security?”
“Blow me, bitch,” I say, turning to leave.
Sorry, Lance. You shouldn’t have to put up with this shit.
—
I nearly tear down the door as I exit, seething, fists at my sides.
Dude, calm the fuck down.
I lean against the brick wall outside the lobby entrance. Gazing at a squat, metal ashtray, I pat my pocket for a pack of cigarettes I no longer carry.
Prescott’s just a cheapskate.
Gloria’s condemnation stabs through my thoughts like an ice pick. I hate to even entertain the idea she’s right, but… when was the last time I got a raise? Five, maybe six years ago? It wasn’t a whole lot, either. I love my job, so I haven’t complained, but others do: Corbin’s always going on about being tapped out by payday. Edwin gets shit from everyone for still living with his parents.
What can you do?they always say.The job has its perks.
It’s true, I suppose. Where else could I do what I do, and get paid for it? Prescott probably knows none of us are going anywhere.
What would happen if I asked for a raise? Or if me and the guys all asked together? They’d probably laugh in our faces, or give us some token bonus to shut us up.
Imagining the scenarios, I stand around for a while, long enough for Gloria to step outside and nearly walk right past me.
“Fuck,” she blurts, startled, tightly gripping a pack of Marlboro Golds. She steps back toward the doors.
“Hey, don’t worry,” I say, raising my hands. “I’ll go.”
Gloria stops. “Wait. You don’t have to. You scared me, is all.”