I go to a group job interview at Urban Outfitters. The interviewer asks what we would do if a coworker was stealing. Everyone gets really cheesy about how stealing makes everyone look bad. I tell a story about an old coworker who changed the price of a pile of books to ninety-nine cents apiece, when in fact the store didn’t sell any books for ninety-nine cents. I don’t get the job.
I am doing about six or seven bags a day. That’s sixty or seventy bucks a day, but then I also am paying for Val’s shit. I am supporting both of our drug addictions by turning tricks. God, it sounds so much worse than it feels.
I can make two or three hundred bucks a day hanging out with these dudes, or $7.50 an hour.
My biggest fear is they’ll look at me and think, Oh god, she’s not that hot.
Only one time did I meet a guy who was a jerk. He took me to the movies. He talked dirty. We fooled around in the theater, and then he said, “I’ll be right back. I have to go to the bathroom.” He was gone for a while, so I went outside. That’s when I saw his text: “I’m sorry but I had to leave. I can’t pay you when I wouldn’t do you for free.” I knew what had happened. He had gotten off in the bathroom. Instead of just screwing me out of my money, he had to make me feel like shit too.
I see Jimmy the next day. We meet at the Time Warner Center. I am running late. I am always running late. I give him a hug.
Once inside, we make out. I’m not into kissing, but I don’t know what to do with him. He isn’t naturally dominant. It’s so much easier when they tell me what to do. Like with the banker: just do as you’re told, and then it’s over and you get paid. I kind of hate when it’s up to me, but I like that he’s gentle.
He tells me I’m pretty.
Afterwards, he says, “You know there’s no other way in the world two people like us would be in the same room together.”
I see this advertising executive who wants head at the office. I can’t believe how fucking cool his office is. The guy is bald. He is funny, easy to talk to. He likes big girls, so I don’t feel self-conscious about my body. He comes in like five minutes. He gives me 150 bucks. Afterwards, I tell him how badly I want to work in advertising. He tells me this has been his whole life. I am sick with envy. I want him to help me. This won’t work if I’m not clean. I have a reason now. I have something to not fuck up. I have something I don’t want to regret.
When I get home I think about it and text him. I say I’ll give him head, but instead of money maybe he can help me and give me advice. He doesn’t respond.
* * *
“Ogden, I can’t seem to stay clean.”
“Jesus, Maya. I thought you straightened up at the psych ward. What happened?”
“I don’t know. I’m doing less. I’m on this cycle where I clean up, get money, and then I think I’ll do it once and then three weeks go by.”
“Have you thought of going to meetings?”
“Meetings?”
“It really helped my girlfriend when—”
“Did you say girlfriend? How old is she? What does she do? I thought we agreed you were going to spend the rest of your life celibate, punctuated by nights of inebriation and regret you fucked things up with me?”
“Ha. She’s forty-four.”
“Whoa, what happened? Did you fall in love with your girlfriend’s mother?”
“Very funny. She’s had a tough life. She’s—”
“Please stop. It’s not that I don’t care, it’s that I really don’t care. I’m, like, the best thing that happened to you. What would you do if I sneaked into you house, hid in your closet, and then climbed into bed with you?”
“Call the police.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
“Anyway, sweets, it’s been over a year. Why don’t you try rehab? It can’t hurt.”
“Yes, it can. It will hurt a lot.”
“How long do you want to waste your life doing this?”
“No, don’t. I’m okay.”
“You tried stopping on your own.”
“And I have, like a bunch of times! Like, I can do it, okay? Things have been hard, with Peter leaving and—”
“That was a year ago.”
“So what? It was my life! Do you get that? I’m not like you! I don’t jump from person to person like a frog on a lily pad!”
“This is the guy you spent a year complaining into my ear about.”
“Yeah, well, I used to tell you everything. Remember?”
“Yeah, I do remember.”
“Did you always worry about me?”
“Yes. I worried. You told me you were using then—”
“So what the fuck did you think was going to happen after you fucking ditched me?”
“Please, calm down. Do you want me to hang up?”
“You hurt me—”
“Do you want me to hang up?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, are you actually having a feeling? You loved me.”
“I didn’t ditch you. I’ve always been here for you.”
“You don’t miss sleeping with me?”
“Do you want me to hang up?”
“Stop saying that.”
“You got me, okay.”
“We’ll be friends. I’ll always be there for you, okay?”
“Will you meet me?”
“I can’t tonight. Maybe for coffee.”
“For a drink?”
“For coffee.”
“Why can’t it be like it used to?”
“Because you’re a drug addict, Maya. And I’m an old man. And we both know it’s time you got your shit together.”
“I need money.”
“For what?”
“Rehab. I need five hundred bucks.”
“Where is it?”
“What do you care? I guarantee I won’t fucking call you for a month. Isn’t that what you want? You want me to leave you alone?”
“No, that’s not what I want.”
“You talked to me for seven minutes when I was in that nut house.”
“I’m sorry my entire world doesn’t revolve around you.”
“I’m sorry I’m not one of the dumb white girls you bend over backwards to take care of. You’re a fucking cliché.”
“You’re so fucking original.”
“I miss you. I love you. Why won’t you see me?”
“I told you, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I don’t want coffee. I want to get a drink. You would fuck me if I was still married.”
“Maya, c’mon. Please stop. Please just stop.”
“Will you visit me in rehab?”
“Sure.”
“Can we fuck?”
“No.”
“Do you miss me?”
“Sometimes.”
“Why won’t you see me?”
“Because I think I can be more useful for you as a friend.”
“Yeah, you always struck me as the selfless type.”
“Maya, it was a time bomb.”
“You didn’t have fun?”
“It wasn’t fun seeing you high, passing out. It wasn’t fun seeing you broke all the time. Seeing you cry. That wasn’t fun.”
“Like you cared.”
“It broke my heart.”
“Then why did you leave me? Why did you just fucking leave me?”
“I didn’t leave you, Maya. I’m here. I’m right here.”
“Why won’t you help me?”
“I’m trying to help you. That’s all I’ve ever done is try to help you. I think you should go to rehab, okay?”
“Why can’t you get me clean? Like, I could stay with you?”
“I’m not an expert. I can’t help you the way professionals can.”
“You would do it if I were a dumb white girl.”