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CHAPTER TWO
AMBER
The subways of New York are a bear on Fridays after work. They’re a bear anytime, really.
Never any place to sit, and we’re packed in tight. To many grabby hands a girl needs to be careful of. You’d think it would be the younger guys copping a feel, but the older ones are worse. Deviants.
I’m from Chicago, so I’m used to people pushing and shoving to get by. Well, that was the minor leagues compared to here. New York is a whole new ballgame.
We reach my stop, and I’m pushed out the door by a flow of human traffic. The part of town where I live isn’t the best; it isn’t the worst either. Lots of mom-and-pop shops in the area run by cheerful people.
I lived at home with my parents for two years after graduating from college. They thought it was a waste to spend money on housing when I could live at home for free. But nothing is truly free, is it?
The entry-level marketing job I had in Chicago was acceptable, and things weren’t going too badly. Then my cousin Jackie called and encouraged me to move to New York and live with her. “There’re jobs here, you know,” she said. “High-paying ones, too.” That was all the push I needed. Time to fly the nest. Way past time.
When I left home, I was certain I could find a marketing job in the New York metropolitan area. Was I ever off about that? I’ve been here for two months now, and I’m stuck doing temp jobs that aren’t a lot of fun. I have some fliers out, so hopefully, a big company will hire me soon. God, I hope they do.
The apartment I live in with Jackie is above a pizza place. Her father’s friend owns the building. He gives us a deal on rent. The place is old but clean. We make do with what we have. Neither of us cooks, so we live on takeout. Which is fine because the apartment’s kitchen doesn’t allow for much cooking. There is no stove. Only a refrigerator and microwave. Not even room for a table. We eat our meals on the couch.
A positive for this place is that it has two bedrooms and a decent bathroom. The shower is spacious enough that claustrophobia isn’t a problem.
Jackie is a good roommate. The best. She works downtown at an art gallery. As a lifetime New Yorker, she makes an excellent tour guide. She’s shown me all the cool places, and we’ve had a lot of fun.
I work at Macy’s on the weekends. Tried to get on full time, but they only needed a weekend person for their woman’s bag and accessory section. Easy money, but some women I have to deal with… Not fun.
I trudge up the stairs to my apartment, not knowing if Jackie will be home tonight. She’s been spending more time at her boyfriend’s place. Which I don’t mind; saves me money on the earplugs I had to buy for the nights her boyfriend stays here. She’s a screamer. He is, too, a little.
I shiver, thinking about the first night I heard them. “Fuck me, baby, fuck meeee,” he chanted. “Harder, baby, harder,” she proclaimed. “Faster. Faster. Faster.” Didn’t realize people liked to talk so much during sex. Yuck! The next day, I traveled to the drugstore and purchased a pair of earplugs, the last ones in stock. They don’t block out the noise like I’d hoped, but at least they help.
