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“Okay, I’m going to resend you the paperwork with your new start date. Please get that back to me by the end of next week so I have a week to process it and get you into our system. Also, I received the higher education tuition payback form from the State of Nevada and will fill that out and return it to them.”
“Thank you, Latrice. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem. You know, that is a great program they’ve started. I would say if I could have gotten my master’s degree paid for by committing to work for three years in the State of Nevada, that would have been nice. I’ve already got thirteen under my belt.”
Latrice is right. The higher education grant I received from the State of Nevada to cover my tuition, books and fees for law school was a huge factor in me being able to get my degree. While I had been assisted by financial aid with my undergraduate degree, once I discovered the cost of law school, I was certain I’d have to put it off until Sophie graduated. Terrence had clued me into the state’s grant program for higher education. Besides showing my background, transcript and need for assistance, the other requirement was that I would commit to work for three years in the State of Nevada. The program targets lower income students and is designed to educate Nevada residents and keep them in the work force there. It was a no brainer for me to commit in exchange for getting part of my tuition covered by the state. Now that I’ve graduated, the program requires I show proof of my employment in the state.
“I’ll get this paperwork over to you. You should receive it by the end of the day, if not, let me know. And then we’ll be seeing you in a few weeks.”
“Sounds good. Thanks, Latrice.”
“Thank you. Have a good day.”
“You, too.”
After we hang up, I decide I should do what Sophie said and take advantage of being in the city. As I’m leaving the apartment, I run into Emma’s dad. It appears he’s headed out the door, too.
“Griffin.” He gives me a curt nod.
“Sir.”
We walk in silence to the elevator.
“Where are you headed?” he asks, taking in my jeans and sweatshirt. “Clearly not to a job interview.”
“Not today. No.” I try my best to not let his dig get under my skin. I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am and I refuse to let his opinion of me based off what little he knows get to me.
When the elevator opens at the lobby, Emma’s dad steps off and continues walking toward the front door.
“Have a good day,” I call.
He lifts his hand but doesn’t bother to look back.
“Okay, then. Good talk,” I say, but Philip is long gone. I take a moment to appreciate that he won’t be in my life permanently.
Out on the sidewalk, I try to orient myself, but I have no idea where I’m going.
“Do you need a car, sir?” the doorman asks. He’s not the same man that was here when we arrived yesterday.
“No, thanks,” I tell him, knowing I have no idea where I want to go. “I’m going to walk.”
New York City and The Strip have similarities, crowded sidewalks, people busking on the corners, and lots of street traffic, but where Sophie and I live in Henderson, a suburb sixteen miles southeast of The Strip, New York City is another world entirely. I spend most of the morning trying to find places that Sophie sent me to check out. A coffee shop in the West Village. I send her a picture of the gelato she recommended I try at Chelsea Marketplace. It’s only been a few hours, but I’m starting to understand the appeal of this city. The energy it has. All the possibilities.
* * *
I’ve been fitted for clothing plenty of times for the revue, the seamstress making sure the pants fit just snug enough in the crotch for movement while also giving an eyeful, but walking into the store that Emma’s assistant, Jess, sent me to is an entirely different experience.
The walls are covered with dark mahogany cabinetry. The lighted display windows showcasing shirts, dress shoes and ties. It’s something out of theKingsmanmovies.
“May I help you?” the woman at the front counter asks.
“I need a suit.”
“I’m sorry, we’re completely booked up,” she scrolls on her tablet, “until September. But I’d be happy to put you on the waitlist.”
“Actually, I have an appointment. Griffin Hart.”
“Oh, you’re Emma’s husband!” she exclaims. “Of course, we were delighted to fit you in today.” She motions for me to follow her deeper into the shop. “Right this way. I’m Bridget,” she motions to herself, “Ernesto is just finishing up with another client. May I get you a drink while you wait? Coffee, tea, wine, beer, San Pellegrino?” She rattles off an entire menu of items.
