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Tabby had a smile in her voice. “Maybe Livi and I will—”
“Uh-uh, you march your white pussy-loving, smiley face ass right out of this office. You know I don’t wanna hear that shit,” Toni stopped her.
Tabby winked at me and smirked. I knew how much she loved to get Toni going. “Is it a date?”
“I really can’t afford to right now, Tabby.”
“I have Shawn’s ticket already, so it won’t cost us a thing. Besides, it’s a masquerade ball the White family is putting on. All proceeds go to educate young women on HPV. Remember, they lost their twenty-year-old daughter?”
Of course I remembered. She was my first case. I was with them when they found out she was terminal. When they would leave the hospital to shower and get a fresh change of clothes, I was the one who sat with her and helped her plan for a future she knew she would never have. I was also there the day she died.
Amber was young and full of life when her high school boyfriend cheated on her. His actions and the fact that she was afraid to talk to her parents about sex at sixteen had caused her to avoid getting a pap smear until a year ago. Chemo didn’t help, clinical studies didn’t help, nothing helped. Nothing.
I shiver in the shower as I remember Amber and the upcoming masquerade ball. The shower that thankfully is full of steaming hot water. Count this as my one lucky day so far this year.
I look in the mirror at myself. Toni let me borrow a little, black dress she had worn four years ago and is one hundred percent sure she will fit in again one day.
The sequined dress falls about two inches above my knee and is stunning, but I would never buy something so revealing or flashy. I am sure, if I were to bend over, you would be able to see my panties, and trust me when I say the panties do not match the dress. I have paired the dress with a set of heels that I am sure will land me on my bottom or in the ER tonight, along with a beautiful, glitzy, black and deep red mask.
Tabby has a thing for funky scrubs, while I very much enjoy having my undies make a statement, like literally. Tonight, they say, ‘Consent is fucking required.’ Yes, they actually spell out the word fucking, a word I would never consider using. To know I am wearing them, however, gives me a confidence and strength I would otherwise not have.
How did I let myself get talked into this? Dressing up for fancy parties is not me. Life hasn’t afforded me opportunities to be care free.
Mom worked hard to provide for me, but when it came to college, she didn’t have the money. Therefore, I did what I had to and got the necessary loans. Yeah, how easy the admissions office gets you signed up, but how little they tell you of the monkey on your back after graduation. I couldn’t afford to mess up in college and take longer to graduate. There was no money left for me to afford an additional semester or two like some of my schoolmates. No, I had one shot to succeed.
Even now, I don’t have room to mess up. Failure is not an option. I can’t miss work, because I get paid by the hour. One hour of not working equals a week of peanut butter sandwiches, no jelly. Those cup of noodles are a damn luxury if I miss any of my schedule.
As a kid, I couldn’t wait to grow up, get a job, live in the real world, and all that. Yeah, funny how now I wish I was a kid again.
Chapter Three
Mondays are no longer a day to relax; they are a day to renovate. With the bar closed, I can tear shit up and put this plan into motion.
Jagger, Morrison, and I have agreed for the shit-hole apartment we were raised in to be torn the fuck up. I didn’t have to have their input, but it’s kind of emotional, so I wanted to make sure they were ready to move on, too.
None of us have heard one word from our dad since he left with Lola, and that is just fine by me.
We made the collaborative decision that the far corner, which was once our bedroom—our retreat when shit got bad, a place Momma read to us, the one fucking place we felt safe—would be a VIP lounge area of sorts. No entry unless we are down with it.
A week ago, we emptied the place. Last night, we gutted it and threw up supports. Today, I have already cut the floor out, and I am now looking up from the first floor at the ceiling of our old apartment that we added tin tile to. It looks amazing. I can’t wait until I have time to finish the railing around the perimeter of the hole so you can look down onto the stage and dance floor area.
