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ONE
Izzy
Things are finally startingto look up for me.
Finding this job listing was so lucky. I’ve been scouring the help wanted ads and any other job posting that I can find for the last week with no luck.
Normally, I can get by on what I make from my job at the flower shop, but two weeks ago I let my friend, Nichole, stay with me for a few days. She was getting out of a bad relationship and I thought that I could trust her. Turns out, I couldn’t. When I got home last Wednesday to my entire apartment being cleaned out, I realized that trusting her was a mistake.
I should have listened to my best friend, Maise. She always told me that Nichole was bad news, but I thought that I knew better.
I grew up in foster care with Nichole and she had always been nice to me. I thought that she was one of the ones looking out for me when we were younger. I know that everyone thinks that I’m naïve and maybe I am, but I’d rather go through life being optimistic and seeing the best in people than being distrustful of everyone and everything.
I’ve been scrambling to make up for the money that Nichole took ever since she disappeared. I can get by without a tv or couch, but rent is due next week and I already know that my landlord won’t let me have an extension. He’s a bit of a jerk. The one other time that I had to ask him for a little extra time, he had laughed in my face, then offered me a different way to pay my rent.
I shiver at the memory.
I wish that I could move. Adeline has offered me her couch on more than one occasion, but she’s living in a studio apartment. The couch is also her bed and I know that I would be putting her out.
I can do this. I’m strong. I’m capable of making it on my own.
With that little pep talk, I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. I double check the address on my phone and smile at the doorman as I head inside and over to the elevator. I got selected to help with an apartment staging today. I’m going to be the fluffer. I don’t know a ton about house staging or taking real estate photos but how hard could it really be? You just make it look nice. I can handle that.
I step into the elevator, letting the classical music playing softly soothe me. I need to be confident so that they take me seriously. Who knows? Maybe this could lead to a more permanent job. I could be a full time fluffer!
The elevator takes me up to the fifth floor and I step off, heading down the hall to apartment number 511. There’s a bored looking guy heading inside and I hurry to catch up to him, catching the door before it can close.
“Hey, um, hi,” I stammer. I clear my throat, trying for calm and confidence. “I’m looking for Clark,” I tell him, double checking my email.
“He’s over there,” he says, nodding over to a guy holding a clipboard on the other side of the room.
“Thanks,” I say but the guy is already walking away from me.
I’m a little surprised at how many people are crammed into the apartment. I figured that it was going to be me and maybe one or two other people. Instead, there’s close to a dozen people milling around the living room. They’re all dressed differently and I look down at my jeans and plain dark blue t-shirt, wondering if I’m dressed right for today.
I figured that we were going to be getting dirty and sweaty moving stuff around, but there’s a few girls dressed in high heels and the shortest dresses that I’ve ever seen. Even the guys seem dressed nicer than me. I frown, debating if I should run home to change.
There’s a video camera set up in the far corner and I pause when I see it, all thoughts of changing long forgotten.
Why are we filming this?
I thought that we would just be staging the apartment and taking some pictures for the listing but I guess maybe it’s more intense than that.
I make my way across the room to Clark, gingerly stepping over the long, black cables crisscrossing like snakes across the center of the room as I go. The apartment is actually pretty nice and I wonder why they even need a stager for it.
It’s clean with hard wood floors and plain beige walls. I want to look around but I should probably check in with Clark or whoever is in charge before I do.
“Hey, I’m Izzy,” I say and the guy barely glances up at me.
“The fluffer,” he says, checking something off on his phone.
“Yep.”
He glances up then, his eyes running over me with interest. I’ve never been a small girl. My waist has always been a solid size sixteen, if not higher. My strawberry blonde hair is probably my nicest feature and I take great care to make sure that it’s always brushed and braided.
When Clark’s eyes continue to catalogue me, I try not to shiver or step back from his stare. For the first time I start to feel a wisp of unease. My gut is telling me that I shouldn’t be here, that it’s a mistake. His beady eyes feel like spiders on my skin and I clear my throat, trying to get his attention off of my body. His hazel eyes meet mine.
“We’re about to start,” Clark says, dismissing me and going back to his phone.
