1
ANGELICA HARRIS
“Sooo, what’s for breakfast? Caviar? Prime rib? Ooh, how about Amigos’ fabulous, fiery tacos?”
“How about some delicious, slightly stale, but still pliable, leftover pizza?” I grinned.
“Ugh! Don’t you just spoil me rotten, Angel?” Josie sighed.
“Hey, no one said student life was going to be an endless buffet of delicacies.”
“Bloody right. Then again, you could feed me anything right now and it would taste like cardboard. My nose is so stuffy I can hardly breathe,” she moaned in a distinctively nasal twang.
The living room of our apartment was awash with discarded snot rags. Josie had been sick all week. Between the wafts of eucalyptus vapor rub and the occasional souring takeaway chicken soup, I felt as if my best friend and I were held up in a dodgy home for the infirm.
“I’m sorry to leave you to your own devices, but I’ve gotta get to class. Professor Landers is all over my ass these days. I refuse to drop the ball so close to the finish line.”
“That’s what you get for being the smartest kid in the class,” Josie said before she sneezed so loudly that the Yorkies in the apartment next door started barking hysterically.
“I don’t know about the smartest, but I’m definitely the biggest sucker when it comes to helping out.”
“Don’t be modest. You’re a brainbox.”
“Ah, thanks, Josie. You are smart too,” I winked.
“Not with all this mucus flooding my brain, I’m not. Anyway, I’m not going anywhere today. I’m gonna binge-watch something on Netflix and sleep this off if it’s the last thing I do.”
Josie groaned, then shifted on the sofa. She pulled her duvet up under her chin, reached for the box of Kleenex, and blew her nose again.
“Ouch, fuck it,” she moaned.
“Easy does it, Rudolph,” I called from the kitchen where I poured coffee into a traveling mug.
“Angel…” Josie said in a whiny voice–the one that told me she was about to ask me for a favor.
“What?” I answered, suspiciously.
“P.L.E.A.S.E., Will you do my shift tonight? I can’t go. The guests will take one look at me and run for the hills.”
In addition to studying, Josie worked part-time for an upmarket events company. The money was great–even if the long hours into the early hours of the morning were less than ideal. Then again, Josie was a committed night owl.
“Please,” she whined again. “If I don’t pitch up Adrian will have a full-on bitch fit. I thought I’d be better by now, but this flu is kicking my ass. Also, tonight’s event is a good one. Birthday party for a super wealthy businessman. Those guys love dropping large tips. Especially if the staff are as easy on the eye as you are.”
“Shameless flattery,” I laughed. “That said, I could use some extra cash. Fine, I’ll help you out. But you’d better get your ass up off that sofa soon or else. This place is starting to smell like hell’s waiting room.”
“Thanks, Angel. I owe you large. Oh, by the way, be sure to score us some food. I hear it’s top cuisine all the way.”
“Honestly, Josie. Way to come across as a tad trailer parkish.”
“Uh-huh. Wait til you see the food before you judge a lowly, hungry student,” she chuckled.
“Oh, please. Your parents own half of Manhattan. Poor student my ass.”
“You know the family mantra, Angel. Work for it or get over it.”
“Gotta run. I’ll see you later. What time does your shift start?”
“You have to be there at 7 pm.”