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Bianca decided to make things easy.
“Well,” she said briskly, “I want to thank you for this lovely welcome. And to tell you that I hope you’ll understand when I say I think it’s important for us all that I move on.”
Nobody even tried to say Please don’t, although Carl, the new man in charge, said he’d be happy to give her the highest possible recommendations.
Life in the fast lane, she thought, and then she told herself to keep it polite and pleasant, to shake the eagerly outstretched hands of her colleagues—her former colleagues—and exit stage left before she said something she would end up regretting.
• • •
By the following Monday, she had a job.
It wasn’t exactly what she’d have chosen if she had the time to choose, but it was a good job. She’d be working in a school. A private school, where she figured most of the kids’ problems would be the kind that involved unhappiness over having to drive an Audi rather than a Sting Ray, but you never knew.
School started in another few weeks. Until then, to tide her over financially, she’d taken a job as a waitress. She’d waited on tables as an undergrad and she still remembered the right moves. The restaurant was not a fancy one, but it was near Times Square, so there was lots of tourist turnover and the tips were good. Between the tips and small, cautious withdrawals from her savings account, she figured she’d be okay until her job actually began.
She still needed an apartment.
She’d seen the places from Craigslist and StreetEasy. Three had been disappointments unless you were into having mice as roommates, but two others seemed fine—if she could snare one.
One landlord was away on vacation, but as soon as he got back, he’d let her know if she could have the place, or so his office said. The other landlord had a problem going, a “little” tenant eviction issue he was working out.
So she was still living at the hotel.
Still sleeping in the bed she’d slept in with Chay.
Still showering in the stall they’d showered in together.
Still having her meals at the table near the window, except her meals were from a Chinese takeout down the block and the McD’s around the corner. She came home after work, changed into jeans or sweats or shorts, then headed out, bought her meal and smuggled it in—this wasn’t the kind of hotel where you felt comfortable doing fast-food or takeout—but she couldn’t afford room service, and besides, there just was something depressing about ordering from a fancy menu and having a server wheel in a cart when you were eating all by yourself.
One evening, she got back to the hotel, kicked off her shoes, changed into her sweats and decided it was time she did the thing she’d been avoiding.
She had to phone her sister.
Alessandra was surely trying to reach her on a phone that no longer existed.
Okay. No moo goo gai pan tonight.
She called room service and kept her order simple. It was a logical way to avoid overspending and feeling down about eating alone, and all in one easy action.
Bianca ordered a tuna salad. Tomato juice. And a pot of coffee.
“Twenty minutes,” room service said.
Bianca said that would be fine. Then she took a deep breath and called her sister.
Alessandra’s reaction to hearing her voice was close to explosive.
“Bianca! Where in hell have you been?”
“Hello to you too,” Bianca said, but the touch of sarcasm was lost on her sister.
“Did you fall off the face of the earth? When I could not reach you on your phone, I telephoned your office.”
Bianca sat down and rubbed her hand over her forehead. “And?”
“And what? The receptionist told me that you had taken a vacation. A vacation? But you took one only a couple of months ago, when you met us in Texas. Bianca. What is going on?”
“Nothing is going on,” Bianca said. “I am fine. I merely took a vacation. Must I inform you each time that I…” She groaned. “Mannaggia, A! Listen to us. Both of us speaking in stilted English as if we got off the boat only yesterday.”
