My Lost and Found Life (14 page)

Then, within the space of five days, everyone left. Tattie went to a court-approved drug-rehab facility for thirty days. Everyone else left for college. I went to the airport to see Nic off, in spite of my aversion to close contact with Cindy.

Poor Nic was in a state. She should have been on top of the world—I know I would have been, in her place. Yet as she stood curbside, watching her brothers unload a truly amazing amount of baggage, she looked forlorn.

“You better have fun,” I mock-scolded her. “Remember, you're doing this for both of us now!”

“Oh, Ash,” she said, her blue eyes looking ready for a downpour. “I hate this. I never would have applied to Boston if I had dreamed something like this could happen.”

I made a face. “Who could have dreamed this would happen? I'll be fine, and you're going to have the time of your life. Promise you'll e-mail me and describe
everything.
”

“I will,” she said. “Every day.”

“Really, Nicole, I think you're going to be much too busy to be e-mailing Ashley every day,” Cindy interjected sharply.

I ignored her and hugged Nic. “E-mail me whenever you have time. Tell me all about your roommate and your dorm. I'll bet you meet some cool people.”

“You'll always be my best friend,” she said.

“We'll always be best friends,” I repeated, even though I wasn't at all sure that would be true. After all, she would be starting a new life while I was stuck in the same spot without a clue as to how to get out of the hole I was in.

• • •

By Labor Day weekend, I was all alone and feeling extremely sorry for myself. I realized too late that I could have tried to apply for some kind of student loan or grant. To be honest, though, I didn't even know how to begin the process, and it was by no means certain I would get a loan. Would any college consider the daughter of an embezzler worthy of a loan? I doubted it.

For one crazy second, I thought about joining the army or air force. That would give me room and board and even college money eventually. Then I came to my senses. I would hate being ordered around, and as for wearing a uniform—ugh! I could never, ever wear those awful shoes! Nor did I want to go off to Alabama or wherever it is that they send you to boot camp. Anyway, I reasoned that I needed to stay close by in case my mother came back. But just the fact that I actually considered joining the military shows how desperate I was.

Then, a miracle happened. I found a job. Although it doesn't compare to the parting ofthe Red Sea or the Giants winning the World Series, it seemed nothing short ofmiraculous. I soon discovered it paid only $8.50 an hour, plus tips. I had broken the code, joined the club, and I was on my way at last.

I had gone to the City to interview for a sales clerk's job at Mick's, a furniture store located toward the ritzy end of Fillmore Street. The furniture is expensive and très chic, just the kind I like. But the interview didn't go well. I could see right away that the guy interviewing me was underwhelmed by my lack of retailing experience. I tried to impress him with my enthusiasm
for the furniture, but he blew me off with a “Thanks for coming in. We'll call you when we make a decision.”

Dejected, I wandered down toward the cheaper end of Fillmore, looking for somewhere to get a smoothie. That's when I spotted a HELP WANTED sign in the window of a funky-looking coffeehouse called Mad Malcolm's Cyber Café. To be honest, the whole building did look a little mad, painted purple with orange-and-green trim.

I peered in the window and was not impressed by what I saw. The coffeehouse was furnished with a hodgepodge of mismatched furniture, and the customers looked equally odd. This was definitely not my usual kind of place. But maybe that was a good thing—maybe it would give me a better chance of getting the job. Surely people couldn't be standing in line to work at a crazy-looking place like this.

I walked inside and inwardly groaned when I caught sight of the guy behind the counter—he was a pencil-thin, goateed young Asian with a shaved head and a tattoo of a dragon on his arm. If he was the management's idea of the perfect employee, they wouldn't want me. I wanted to turn right around, but I forced myself forward.

“Hi! I'd like to apply for the job,” I said with all the sassy self-confidence I could muster. He didn't laugh or sneer or say anything at all, just stared at me, fished out an application from under the counter, and handed it to me. I filled it out and added a bunch of stupid comments about how much I loved coffee (I didn't) and how much I wanted to work there (yeah, right). To show how much I loved coffee, I forced down a latte. Then I went home and forgot all about the place.

Early the next morning, the phone rang.

“This is Malcolm Merriman—from Mad Malcolm's Cyber Café. Am I speaking to Ashley Mitchell?”

“Oh, hello,” I said, sitting up in astonishment. I had been half-asleep, trying to muster the energy to face the day. “Yes, this is Ashley.”

“Still interested in the job?”

“Of course.”

“Can you start right away?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Are you flexible? Can you work nights and weekends if I need you?”

“Yes, no problem.”

“Right, then. You're hired. Start tomorrow.”

I was dumbfounded. “Don't you want me to come in for an interview?” I asked.

“Nope. I'm not looking for a brain surgeon. Making coffee doesn't take a master's degree. As long as you can read and write and have half a brain, I can train you. What I need is someone who can start tomorrow. Nancy didn't give me any notice, just up and left last week to go to Sedona and become an aroma therapist, for Christ's sake.”

“I see,” I said, though of course I didn't. It couldn't be this easy, could it? There must be something wrong with this job.

“Be here tomorrow at eight AM sharp. No, wait, better make that nine, all right?”

“Uh, sure. Nine.” And then the words slipped out before I knew it. It's as if I was channeling Mara. “What should I wear?”

There was a pause and then he said, “You know, for a moment I was tempted to say a clown suit. However, clothes are what I normally recommend.”

“I mean, I thought there might be a dress code or uniform,” I said, trying to recover my dignity.

“This ain't Starbucks, darlin'. Wear whatever you want. But I wouldn't recommend anything too short unless you want the customers looking up your skirt every time you bend over. Louis said you're a looker.”

Taken aback, I answered, “I'll figure it out.”

“Fine. See you tomorrow at nine. Bring your Social Security card.”

I had a job! I was ecstatic, even though the owner sounded weird. As I stared at my cell phone, I realized I forgot to ask him how much I would be paid. Oh well, it wasn't like I was in a position to turn down anything, no matter how pitiful. And there was one blessing—I was sure that none of my former friends, no one from Burlingame, would ever show up in a place like Mad Malcolm's.

• • •

That night, as I pumped the pedals on the exercise bike, I obsessed about finding a place to live. Whatever my salary was, I doubted it would be enough to rent much of a place, not at the astronomical prices that rentals seemed to cost. It would probably take every penny I earned. How could I find a cheap place to live?

A wild idea began to grow in the back of my brain—a crazy scheme that was born of desperation, but one I thought
I might actually be able to pull off. There was only one roadblock to the plan—it would involve some serious groveling, and to Phil, of all people. I was mortified at the idea, but I didn't see another way. I told myself it would be like acting, only in this case, my role was Little Orphan Ashley.

“What! Are you nuts? That's the craziest idea you've ever come up with.”

Phil paused, wrench raised in midair, to stare at me in disbelief and derision. I had cornered him in one of the station's service bays for Act One, Scene One, of my new play,
Ashley, the Pathetic Beggar Girl
.

Glaring back at him, I remembered why I used to call him Pill behind his back. Then I shifted gears and tried to look both sincere and pitiful. I was wearing my oldest jeans and a gray pullover I never liked, the closest thing I had to rags.

“I know it sounds crazy,” I said sadly, with what I hoped was the right amount of pathos. “But what else can I do? I'm desperate. It wouldn't be for long, just till I save some money.”

He dropped the wrench on the workbench with a loud bang and let loose with a short, jerky laugh. “You can't be serious. I can't even begin to imagine it. You, of all people, living in a camper. There's no phone service, no stereo or TV, no bathroom, much less bubble baths, you know.”

“I am serious, and guess what, my life isn't all bubble baths right now. I'm in trouble and I don't see any way out of it.”

Phil ran his fingers through his hair and gave me an exasperated look. “It's illegal, you know.”

“Not in a bank-robbing kind of way,” I protested. “If it is, it's just a little bit illegal and no one's going to call you on it because no one is going to know.”

“People have a way of finding out about these things. Somebody notices or you tell someone and the next thing you know, I've got the cops or the Board of Health around my neck.”

“Believe me, Phil, I'm not going to tell anyone. Do you think I want anyone to know I don't have anywhere to live?” I said acidly, and then downshifted my tone again. “I'll make
very
sure that no one notices.”

“Ashley, you have no idea what living in a camper would be like. You've never even been camping!”

“What do you think I'm doing now? I have no furniture and the utilities are going to be shut off any minute now. Please, Phil, help me out. I don't want to end up in one of those homeless shelters.”

“Come on, Ashley.” He snorted. “It can't be that bad.”

“Oh, yeah, where can I go with no money, no family, and no job? Maybe you'd like to rent a room for me at the Ritz-Carlton?”

“Your mother wouldn't want you living in a camper behind my station. She'd be horrified. I guess if you're really in a tight spot, you could stay at my place until you're on your feet.” He looked as if he couldn't believe that he said it, and I couldn't believe it either.

I sighed. I seemed to be doing a lot of sighing lately.

“At this point we don't know what my mother would want, but she's the one who got me into this mess in the first place. Anyway, I don't think it would be a good idea for me to stay at your place. What would your new girlfriend think?”

Phil shifted uneasily, but didn't answer.

“Look, I'm only going to sleep in the camper. I'll be gone all day and only come back late at night, so no one will notice I'm there. It won't be for long, I promise.”

I kept hammering away at him until finally he grumbled, “I've got to get back to work. I'll think about it and let you know.”

“When?”

“In a couple of days,” he said, turning away. Then he turned back to add, “But remember, I'm not making any promises. I don't think this is a good idea.”

I really didn't think he was going to go for it, and I was thoroughly depressed because I didn't have a Plan B. But the next day, Phil astonished me by calling on my cell phone and saying I could try it.

“The only reason I'm doing this is because I know you, Ashley. You won't last a week living there.”

“Maybe not,” I retorted. “If I don't, then you don't have anything to worry about, do you?”

“You know, maybe this will be a good lesson for you,” he said. “Yes, this should be an interesting experiment. I'm going to enjoy watching this.”

“Always glad to provide a little bit of entertainment,” I replied, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice. To hell
with him, I was tired of being condescended to and treated like a self-centered airhead. He underestimated me. They all did.

But first I had to find a place for Stella. She wouldn't be safe at the camper—what if she got hit by some careless driver pulling into or out of the station? Keeping her locked up inside wouldn't work either; she was used to having a big yard to roam and plenty of butterflies to stalk. The only thing I could do was ask Gloria if she would keep her for a little while.

I spun Gloria a story about how the place where I would be staying didn't allow pets, but that I would find another apartment as soon as possible. Naturally, I didn't tell her about Phil's camper. She probably would have tried to stop me or insisted I stay at her house. I didn't want to deal with her sons or hear daily reminders about what a screwup I was and how Diane had spoiled me.

I told Gloria to take good care of Stella and to not let the boys pull her tail. She's very sensitive about having her tail pulled. She assured me that Stella would be well cared for, and I gave my beauty one last hug. She ruffled her fur and gave me what seemed like a resentful look along with a loud meow. I felt like I was losing my last friend.

• • •

The next night I quietly moved my belongings into the camper. I tried to keep my stuff to a minimum since there wouldn't be much space. I brought bedding, a case full of makeup and bathroom supplies, my iPod, and my mother's blue bathrobe. As for clothes, I brought only the basics: mostly
jeans, sweaters, and a few skirts. I packed everything else into the boxes and cupboards in Gloria's garage.

I purchased a few supplies that might be useful, including a flashlight, a couple of candles, bottled water for drinking, and some disposable facecloths for cleaning my face before bed. Being without running water was going to be a challenge.

The camper was parked behind the gas station, snug against a six-foot-high concrete retaining wall, with plenty of room to park my car facing it. The building would block most of my car from the street, although the rear fender and bumper might stick out a little. To a casual passerby, it would look as if my Jetta was one of several cars parked in the station overnight, ready for Phil and Reynaldo to begin work on early the next morning.