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I give my thighs a satisfactory slap and hop to my feet. “I appreciate the opportunity, Mr. Whitley. Good luck to you.”
“And to you.” Wow, he actually looks relieved. I’ve never seen him without that jagged wrinkle down his forehead before.
I take in a deep breath and saunter out of his office. There’s no point in collecting anything from my desk. Nothing there I care about. I didn’t even bother to bring a personal photo.
On the way to the elevator, I pass by Fawn sitting alone in the conference room, files spread out in front of her like a hand of poker cards, though not nearly as fun. I pop my head in and she looks up, seeming totally at peace. I’m happy for her. She’s where she should be, and now I will be too.
“Thanks for taking care of Fenwick last night.”
“Glad to help.”
“I gotta run but I want you to have my office. You can move in anytime.”
“Really? Just like that?” What’s that saying? Every time a comedian gets fired, an aspiring law partner gets a new office?
“That’s right,” I say. And just like that, Olivia has left the law firm.
—
After I wrap my head around the news, I ask Imani to meet me for an early lunch at Shake Shack. Because nothing says I’m free to do what I want quite like a hamburger. At least for me. Sitting at a bistro table outside the restaurant, Imani and I soak in the heat, cooling ourselves with our respective milkshakes—mine chocolate, hers strawberry. Cabs, cars, and buses stop and go along Broadway, while everyday New Yorkers take long strides hiking up and down the gray sidewalk.
Imani takes a break from hoovering her shake, leaving a burgundy lip stain on her straw. “Why does sugar have to be so bad when it tastes so good?”
“It’s the devil’s work.” I toss a crinkled fry in my mouth. “So listen, I have something to tell you.” Dusting salt off my hands, I straighten up in my metal-made seat. I really hope she gets on board with this.
She leans back, crossing her arms and legs. “Let me guess, you got fired?”
For a moment, it’s like all of New York stops and stares at me, shaming me for being a naughty little lawyer. But I can’t back down now.
“You knew? How?”
“I came by your office and Fawn Douglas was in there redecorating the place. She said they let you go.” By her tone, she’s much more upset about this than I am.
“I got a month’s severance out of it.”
“Well, at least that’ll tide you over until you get another job.” Imani would say that. Sensible to her core, she clings to stability and certainty. Probably because she moved around a lot as a kid. That’s what her therapist thinks anyway.
“Or, it’ll tide me over while I pursue comedy full-time,” I say with 100 percent confidence. Why not use this time to try? What’s the worst that could happen?
She drops her head, rubbing her fingers into her forehead like she’s got a splitting headache. “Oh, Livy, no.” Livy? She never calls me that. It’s Olivia, Liv, girl, or bitch (but only in the most affectionate way). “How are you planning to pay rent when you’re making like thirty bucks a night?”
“Those are just the spots I have time for so far. If this is all I do, I’ll have the freedom to go for bigger, better-paying gigs.” It’s true. I’ve turned down some great offers from Bernie due to my work restrictions. Opportunities don’t come up all the time but I’m sure my new availability will move things along. Considering she called me last night, I must be on her mind.
“Even if that’s true, you still have a six-figure student loan to pay down. How are you gonna manage that?” Damn that expensive-ass education.
“Imani,” I say, wide eyed, “why are you grillin’ me? You know more than anyone that I moved here for stand-up.”
“The caveat being you need a lawyer’s salary to pay your bills until your career takes off, remember? The Jim Gaffigan plan.” Gaffigan must have a lot of patience. And kids.
“I know but I don’t have a family like him. So this is the new plan. The Olivia Vincent Plan,” I say, squirming some in my seat. Of all the people in my life, she’s the one I count on to support my choices. I support hers—like, um, I don’t know... when she got that lotus flower tattoo on her lower back. (You know—a tramp stamp.)
“Since when are we not family?” Imani snaps, totally using my point to argue against me.
“I mean a family who depends on me financially.”
“Did you forget we’re roommates?”
“I don’t understand why you keep getting hung up on these minor details. Have I ever been late paying the landlord?”
Imani crosses her arms tighter, wrinkling her starched suit. “Olivia, you know I love you. And I really do think you’re going to make it in stand-up one day. I just don’t think it’s wise to voluntarily leave your law career at this juncture. You need to be able to support yourself.”
Her words, in whatever way she means them, trigger something in me. Something I’d like to believe I chucked out on the side of the road when I left mind-numbing Midland and never looked back. “You sound just like my dad,” I snap back like a bitch, and not in an affectionate way.
Finally, her harsh glare melts, evaporating the hostility. She begins softly, “Your dad was just looking out for you, Liv. And so am I. I want to make sure you think this through.”
“I have thought it through.” Okay, I really don’t have a thorough plan but I will, and in the meantime, I’ve made a few calls. Besides, after a while you learn that sometimes when you make plans, God shits on them. My grandfather used to say that.
“Okay, then.” She picks up one of my cheese-covered fries. “What’s your first move?”
I lift my chin and smirk. “I have a meeting with Bernie this afternoon.”
