I don’t need to hear the conversation to know what’s being said. I mouth just forget it.
“I understand. Never mind. I don’t want it to be an inconvience for you. We’ll figure something else out.” Her sarcasm isn’t lost on me. She ends the call. “I probably caught him at a bad time. I can try again later.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“He’s just particular. He needs time to warm up to the idea.”
I think it’s about more than being particular, but I don’t know that a week or two will be enough time to get me out of my current hole. My dire situation is far worse than I originally thought. My choices are beyond limited. I’ve never been good with failure. Especially not this kind. I don’t want to be a pampered rich bitch. I want to prove I can survive on my own, without my father’s handouts, but I’m worried I might not have an option now.
“Oh my God.” Amie’s eyes light up. “I might have a solution.”
“What’s that?”
“Army’s cousin, Bane, is going out of town this week.”
“What does that have to do with my being homeless?” I’m already deciding which alley would be the best location to set up my box. I still have my gym membership. I think it’s valid for another few months. I can use the showers there. “Wait, he has a friend named Bane? Does he look like Tom Hardy?”
“Um, no? His real name is Bancroft,” she explains.
“Ah. Another last-name-for-a-first-name trust-fund boy?”
“Mmm. He comes from a line of last names for first names, but he’s actually quite nice. Anyway, he asked me to stop by his place and take care of his pets while he’s away. He’ll be gone for five weeks, maybe you could take care of them instead.”
“He doesn’t even know me, why would he be okay with a stranger taking care of his pets? And that doesn’t really solve my homeless situation.”
“You’re my best friend. If I trust you, he’ll trust you. Besides, he has a rabbit, or a guinea pig, or something like that. He inherited her I think. Maybe we could suggest you stay there while he’s gone.”
“To take care of his guinea pig?”
“Why not? He said she needs lots of care and play time. And you know how I have allergies. It’s worth a shot isn’t it? Five weeks should be enough time for you to get a job and save some money to secure a new apartment, right?”
“It should be enough time.” I’m not actually sure it will be unless I get a pretty major role, but temporary accommodations will buy me some time to sort that out and it’s better than crashing on Amie’s loveseat. “When will you ask him?”
“We’re going out for dinner with him tonight. Think you can stomach a meal?”
“I can try.”
Amie smiles. “Perfect.”
“Totally.” Fingers crossed this works out. I could really use some good karma. And a home that isn’t a box.
Chapter 4: Dinner Plans
RUBY
Upon deciding my new life mission is to become a squatter/pet sitter for the next five weeks, which is slightly more dignified than living in a box in an alley, Amie raided my closet for an introduction-appropriate outfit.
Over the past several years I’ve traded in my pretentious, ultra-expensive and often uncomfortable clothes for a wardrobe of black, inexpensive pieces with a few colorful items for those days when I want to rebel against New York’s mourning-inspired fashion rules. The recent lack of money flow also impedes my ability to buy unnecessarily expensive items to add to my ever-shrinking, unimpressive wardrobe.
“How long have you had this dress?” Amie holds up a little red number.
I shrug. “Awhile.”
“Didn’t you wear this to high school prom?”
I ponder that for a moment. It’s totally possible. I grab the hanger from her and check the tag. It’s a Vera Wang, so it had to have cost quite a bit of money. I wouldn’t have thought anything about dropping that much on a dress a few years ago. Now I’m considering how much I can get for it if I put it on eBay.
At my prolonged lack of response Amie says, “I’m almost positive you wore this to prom. It’s a classic, though, so you could get away with it tonight.” She thrusts it at me. “Try it on.”
I pull on a pair of panties before I drop my robe. I have no shame, and Amie’s seen me in some questionable states, so underwear isn’t a big deal. I root around for a clean bra which takes far more effort to put on than it should, then I shimmy into the dress and pull up the side zipper. It’s a bit on the snug side in the chest and the hips, but otherwise it’s fine. Unfortunately, there’s a grease stain on the skirt right over my crotch.
I motion to the spot highlighting my vagina. “Unless I’m looking to draw attention to my pleasure center, I think I’m going to have to pick another option.”
“It wouldn’t hurt. Bancroft is hot, and from what I’ve heard he has an excellent skill set in the bedroom.”
“The fact that there are rumors about his skill set is not really a selling feature. Besides, I’m not trying to bed him, I’m trying to get access to a bed in his condo. Do you even know if his place has more than one bedroom?”
“He lives in a penthouse in Tribeca. It has more than one bedroom. And the rumors aren’t bad. I don’t think he’s a manwhore, I’ve just heard he’s very . . . equipped.”
“So he has a big dick? Whoop-dee-do. His dick is not my primary concern.”
Despite my lack of excitement over Bancroft’s hotness and his potentially large assets or his skills in the bedroom, I try on another six dresses before Amie approves my dinner outfit. I have to lie down for a while after that.
She spends the rest of the day attempting to nurse me back to some sort of reasonable health, by feeding me drugs and alternating Gatorade, chicken broth, and a few saltines. At least I can keep liquids and crackers down. When it’s time to get ready for dinner, Amie takes care of my hair and makeup because I lack the energy to make it happen. I’d ask why it matters how good I look, but since we’re meeting up with Armstrong and this Bancroft guy, I have to assume we’re going to some highbrow restaurant where they serve things like skate and Green Elder Rubbed Elk, which begs the question, did a group of unfortunate and senile geriatrics in green jogging suits rub themselves on a herd of elk before they were slaughtered for the upper class’s benefit?
At five, we leave my soon-to-be-vacated apartment and take an Uber to the restaurant—Amie’s treat since I can’t afford anything right now. By this point, I could really use a five-hour nap and another shower. I’m not so sure I’m completely over whatever it is Awesome Kisser passed on to me. I naively assumed it was some kind of twenty-four-hour bug, but the trickle of sweat that slides down my spine concerns me. As does the mild roll in my stomach. It’s nothing like the full-stomach seizures that ruined yesterday, but it’s still not right in there.
I manage the Uber ride okay, but I’m so clammy even with the windows rolled down that I’m wishing I brought deodorant with me. If I’d planned ahead I could rub it all over my body to solve the sweat issue.
Amie shifts so she’s facing me. “So let’s review the story one more time just to make sure we have all the details down.”