“How is that going, by the way?” he asks. “The job search?”
“Shitty,” I say.
“Shitty!” Ava yells. “Shitty! Shitty! Bram-a-lama-ding-dong!”
“Now that seems more apt,” Bram comments.
“Ava, don’t say that word,” I scold her and then scold myself for swearing around her again.
“Bram?” she asks.
“No, the…you know what, yes. Bram. Don’t say that word. It’s bad.”
“Very, very bad,” Bram comments, his voice suddenly husky. I don’t know why but goosebumps suddenly appear on my arms and my belly feels hot.
I glance over to see him head into the kitchen and fish out a pair of wine glasses. Okay, so I guess this is happening now. Before I have a chance to tell him it’s too early to be drinking, the wine is being opened.
“Mommy,” Ava says while I try to open the crazy glue container.
“What?”
“Bram!” she yells and then runs to her room, singing that song again.
“Bram’s always been a curse word in my family,” he says, coming over with a glass of wine and handing it to me. He then puts his hand on my shoulder, squeezes it for one hot second, and leads me over to the couch. “You sit here. Let me fix your table.”
“But,” I protest.
“Sit!” he says, pointing at me. “Relax for once, will ya?”
Relax? He’d laugh at the notion if he tried to live my life for even a second.
But still, I sit. I take a sip of my wine (it’s damn good). And I watch him as he glues the end of the leg, hoists up the table and sticks it back in place. Actually, I’m watching his muscles as he’s doing so. He’s in blue jeans with a tear at the knee and a grey V-neck t-shirt that looks really thin and really soft. His casual style is just as enticing as his suits, just in a different way.
“Are you checking out the goods?” he asks, not looking at me. “Because you had more than a chance this morning.”
“I’m checking out the table,” I tell him, turning around in my seat and focusing on the wine. “It looks good, thank you.”
He plops down on the armchair beside me. “You’re welcome. That’s what good neighbors are for.”
“Have you always been this helpful with them?”
“Only the right ones,” he says then his expression dampens. “Back in Manhattan, I think all my neighbors hated me. Actually, I know they all hated me. Too many parties and none of them were ever invited.”
“Do you miss it?”
He looks surprised at that. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I suppose I had more of a routine over there, a scene. I knew who my friends were, even though deep down I knew they weren’t really my friends. In New York, it’s easy to find people who will follow you around like a bloody puppy dog as long as you’re the one that fills their bowl.”
“Sounds like a pain in the ass,” I tell him.
“Is that right?” he asks. “I would have thought somewhere in your past, you were somewhat the same. Not the puppy, but the big dog.”
I don’t appreciate how personal he’s getting. In some ways he’s right, though. In high school and even in college, I had money, I had style and I had followers. Seems like a different lifetime now. In some ways it is. My life is split into Before Ava and After Ava. That’s not to say I’m angry about it, but it’s just a fact of life when you have a child. Your life changes, for better or for worse, but it changes. Nothing looks the same anymore.
“I’ve hit a nerve,” he muses when I’ve said nothing. He can see it on my face, I’m sure. “Sorry.”
I shrug but busy my mouth with more wine.
“Well,” he says, resigned, and lightly slaps his leg, “back to the job search. Not going well?”
“Nope,” I say. “I had one interview for a clothing store but they never called me back. I guess there was just something about my face they didn’t like.”
“But it’s a beautiful face,” he says softly and I look to him, surprised. He smiles gently. “It’s true.”
I swallow and look away, not used to compliments. “Anyway,” I go on, clearing my throat. “I’m starting to lose my nerve a bit.”
“Are you just applying for certain positions, certain fields? You’re in fashion, right?” I nod. He goes on, “No one likes to lower their standards, believe me, but maybe you should start going for something that’s just a bit beneath you.”
“Beneath me?”
“Pride can be a dangerous thing,” he says. “I know this. I know this so well.”
There’s a graveness to his voice that makes me wonder what’s happened to him and his pride in the past.
“Well, like what? I’ve already started to look into waitressing.”
“Good,” he says. “Though that’s a tough job, too. There’s a reason there is such a high turnover rate in the industry. I have no doubt you can handle it – you’re a mum after all, you can handle anything, but its…”
“But the problem is that the lower I go, the more I won’t be hired for being overqualified.”
“Aye,” he agrees, scratching his chin. “I wish I had some contacts here, but I don’t.” He leans back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling for a moment. Then he turns his head to look at me. “What about you?”
I shake my head no.
“No, you do,” he says. “What about James? You know, the pierced fella that runs the Burgundy Lion. Do you think he’d hire you?”
“To be what, a bartender?”
He shrugs. “I know my brother used to work there. So did Stephanie, that’s how they met. What’s wrong with bartending? You’re fucking hot too, so you’ll make a lot of tips. If you show off your nice tits a bit, you could make even more.”
I ignore the “nice tits” comment (even though a terrible part of me is kind of flattered) but I still immediately want to dismiss the idea.
“I don’t think so.”
“Give me one reason why not.”
I chew on my lip. “I don’t know how.”
“They train you, you’d learn in a second.” He snaps his fingers.
“They might not hire me.”
“But they might. And they probably will. I can be very persuasive.”
“I don’t need you to fight my battles,” I tell him quickly.
“No, you don’t. But you do need to know the difference between fighting someone’s battles and trying to help them. James will help you. All you have to do is ask.”
And that’s the problem. I don’t want to ask.
I can feel Bram’s eyes on me and I know he’s reading me. I know he’s figured out some way to get inside my head. “Everyone has to put their pride away sometimes,” he says quietly.
I exhale and close my eyes. He’s right. I don’t want to ask, because I don’t want to admit to someone I know that I need help. But I do need help. And a job at the Lion, as much as it’s something I never planned on, would make a world of difference in my life. It might just put me back on my feet.
“Okay,” I say and when I open my eyes, Bram has my cell phone and is holding it out for me.
“Call him,” he says.
And so I do. With Bram there, I ask James if I can have a job bartending at the Burgundy Lion. I only get so far starting to explain my situation and he tells me not to worry, he’s going to make it happen somehow.
Now I have a job. And as I sit back in my sagging couch, sipping expensive wine, I feel a world of weight lift off my shoulders.
I have a job.
And maybe, just maybe, I have a pretty good neighbor too
CHAPTER SEVEN
Nicola
Three weeks.
I’ve been working at The Burgundy Lion for three weeks now and I’m finally, finally feeling my groove about things.
That said, in three weeks I’ve overcharged five people.
Undercharged twenty.