The Offer (12 page)

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

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.

Overpoured 70%
of the time.

Underpoured
25%.

Who knows what
happened to that other 5%.

I’ve spilled
three drinks.

Two on
people.

One on
myself.

I’ve fallen
down once.

Not sure
how.

I’ve been hit
on countless times.

I’ve made $800
in tips.

I come home to
the apartment absolutely exhausted and pay Lisa – who is more than
happy to be back and watching over Ava when she can – or let my mom
stay the night because I don’t want her driving back home at that
hour. The nights are late now and my feet have blisters but I’m
finally making money to start balancing things out. I’m finally
feeling a little bit in control. My only complaint is I work three
shifts a week but James says he’s working on getting me more. I’m
just grateful he gave me a chance at all.

And I have
Bram to thank for that. Bram the man. Bram the man next door, who
still has loud sex with random chicks and still manages to piss me
off from time to time with teasing or overtly sexual comments. But
when he doesn’t do it – on those days I don’t run into him in the
halls or he doesn’t go and knock on my door – I really hate to
admit this, but I kind of miss him. I mean it. The banter and
interaction. And yeah, maybe I miss the eye candy too.

But I’m
not too happy about that because I have no intention of letting
that man get close. As a neighbor he’s great, as anything more than
that…he’s bad, bad news and bad
for me.

Tonight I have
my mother over to watch over Ava. Sandra, the girl that normally
works Friday nights at the bar, called in to work saying she had a
thing and wouldn’t be able to make it into work until eleven. Even
though the shift was just from 8pm to 11pm, James asked if I’d like
to come in and he’d pay me for four hours. Naturally I jumped at
the chance – I was taking anything he was slinging my way.

“You’ve really
made this home,” my mom comments, sitting down on the couch. Just
as she does so, I hear a rip. Yet another hole appears in the
threadbare cushions. We both look at the tear and at each other and
share a small laugh. It’s taken a long time for either of us to
laugh at our circumstances.

My mother
really had the perfect life when I was young. She had my dad, who,
yes, did seem flighty at times, who didn’t always apply himself,
who wasn’t a go-getter after the finer things in life. But he had a
good heart and a good soul.

I would
have thought a forgiving soul too, but I’m not sure how much of
that is true. My mother always wanted more and one day she fell in
love with the world’s most boring lawyer to the rich and famous.
They had an affair, one that lasted years. You’d think I would have
known what was going on, but I was a teenager at the time, hated
everyone and was completely oblivious to anything around me that
didn’t involve
me
.

Eventually my
mother confessed. She and my dad divorced and he took that
opportunity to up and leave to find his path in life. It led him
straight to India to do charity work. I used to feel slighted that
he left so easily – and sometimes I still do. That little sting of
rejection, why daddy left, why he didn’t think I was worth sticking
around for.

But at the
same time I get it. He assumed I didn’t need him; that I would
better off with my mother and Richard, in a big fancy house in one
of San Francisco’s richest neighborhoods. He probably assumed I
didn’t need him because I never told him, never acted like it.

It couldn’t
have been further from the truth. Some days I think one phone call
to my dad to tell him I need him would have brought him back. But I
never tried. I didn’t have the guts.

I wonder if
the same thing could have happened with Phil. Maybe I had done
something wrong, maybe I just spent too much time focused –
obsessed – with Ava, that I hadn’t noticed I pushed him away. Maybe
Phil needed to hear I needed him too.

I swallow back
the bitter memories and they move down into my chest where I hope
they stay, that blank, dark space behind my heart. I think I see my
mom doing the same. When she married Richard, perhaps because of
how they got together, he made her sign an indemnity clause. When
she eventually cheated on him – let’s face it, what they had wasn’t
love – she lost it all. Now she has nothing. No education, no love.
She lives in a tiny house in the middle of nowhere, cleaning other
people’s homes to make a living. We both used to have so much, and
now we have so little. I know people must think this is her karma,
that it’s deserved after all she did.

But what did I
do to deserve the struggle?

“You better
not be late,” my mother warns. It makes me realize I must have been
standing there blanked out like a glum zombie.

“I’m going,” I
tell her, walking into the bedroom to grab my purse. Ava’s already
asleep so I quickly get out the door so I can make my bus on
time.

I have the
worst and best timing when it comes to bumping into people in the
halls.

Bram and his
new girlfriend are just stepping out of his place.

“Hi,” I say to
him, immediately feeling awkward as I stand in the doorway.

“
Hi,”
Bram says, smiling brightly, not seeming awkward at all. I’m not
sure I’ve
ever
seen him
look awkward.

Silence and a
polite smile from the tall brunette on his arm. She’s dressed to
the nines, very classy in a long black dress and gold jewelry and
Bram’s wearing a sharp black suit and tie. His hair is pushed off
his face and he’s looking exceedingly dapper, like he did at his
brother’s wedding. He could be the next James Bond. Even his accent
is the same as Connery’s, maybe with a bit more emphasis on the
rolling “Rs.”

“Is this
Bram?” my mother suddenly asks and I nearly jump. I look behind me
and see her poking her head through the door. And I was so close to
closing it.

“She’s heard
of me?” Bram asks gleefully.

“Who hasn’t?”
I say dryly as he leans over to get a better look at my mother.

“You must be
Nicola’s mother,” he says, grinning those dimples at her and
offering my mother his hand. “I can see where she gets her beauty
from. A rose from a rose.”

Oh, brother.
While my mom seems to melt in front of him, telling him her name is
Doreen and that he’s far too kind, I exchange a glance with the
silent brunette. She looks like she wants to roll her eyes too.
Makes me wonder how their date is going to go.

“Well, I’m
going to get going,” I say, knowing if I miss my bus I’m
screwed.

“Off to work?”
Bram asks. “I can give you a ride.”

“Isn’t he
darling?” my mother says.

“That’s okay,”
I tell him quickly. “The bus is easy.”

“You’d rather
take the bus than come with me?”

I eye the girl
again, rather apologetically this time. “You seem to be on a
date.”

“
We’re
just going to the opera.” Oh,
just
the opera. “Justine doesn’t mind, do you
Justine?”

Justine gives
a half-hearted shrug with one shoulder, wearing a world of
indifference on her elegant features.

“See, she
doesn’t mind,” Bram says. “Come on.”

I really
should have protested further but to be honest, I was glad to not
take the bus for a change. My stupid car was now at the back of the
building – Bram had it towed there from the Tenderloin – waiting
for money so I could get it the part it needs. Battling crazies on
the bus had become a part of my nightly routine, but it would be
nice to just relax for once.

Yet, I do
anything but relax in the back of Bram’s Mercedes. Bram keeps
talking to me about this and that, completely ignoring his date who
seems to be bored by the whole thing anyway. After a while I stop
feeling bad that I have so much of his attention and start to enjoy
it. He can be damned charming and funny when he wants to be.

After he
dropped me off, I was immediately swept into the chaos that is
working at The Burgundy Lion. James is a pretty good boss, although
he’s a moody little bitch sometimes. I remember what an obstacle he
was with Steph and Linden when they got together and I’m glad
Linden finally pushed James’s opinion to the side because he
strikes me as the type to get upset about everything. Thankfully he
hasn’t thrown a hissy fit with me yet but that’s because I do my
job and even when I make an epic mistake (um, like forgetting to
charge a group for their massive bill), he’s had the grace to look
the other way. I think he knows I’m much harder on myself than he
will ever be. I also think he’s a bit scared of me. I don’t know
why. Perhaps he thinks single moms are crazy. In some ways, we kind
of are.

By the time my
short shift is over, I get to the apartment, by way of the bus this
time, no Bram to whisk me away in his car. I’m absolutely exhausted
and it’s getting close to midnight. I feel terrible that my mom has
to drive back to her place so late but as soon as I step inside the
door, she’s all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready to go.

“Everything
was okay?” I ask her.

She nods. “She
didn’t wake up, keeps on snoozing away.”

“Are you sure
you don’t want to stay the night?”

“On that
couch, are you kidding me? Last time I woke up with a back I
thought I’d get when I’m 80,” she says with a grin. “Seriously,
Nicola, darling, first chance you get, get a new one. You know this
couch is too big for most living rooms anyway. What about two
loveseats? I bet IKEA has them at the right price.”

Two loveseats
would make the living room area look much bigger but there are so
many other things to spend money on – important things – that a new
couch or two seems frivolous. Besides, how the hell would I get my
things from IKEA anyway, haul all the boxes on the bus?

“By the way,”
my mom adds as she heads to the door. From the saucy look in her
eyes, I have a feeling I know what the subject will be. “I spoke to
Bram again.”

“Again?”

She lowers her
voice. “He came home about an hour ago. He was alone if that makes
any difference to you.”

“It doesn’t,”
I quickly interject.

“Nonetheless,”
she goes on, “he knocked on the door, just wanting to see if I was
okay and if I needed anything. Actually I needed a cup of tea and
your kettle isn’t working so he came over and lent me his.” I look
over my shoulder in the kitchen and see a fancy stainless steel one
on the counter. “He said you could keep it. I told him you would
really appreciate it.”

“Mom,” I say,
nearly whining, “I don’t want anything else of his. He’s done
enough and I’m tired of feeling like a charity case.”

Her smile
fades. A heavy pause settles between us. “I know darling. It never
gets easier, does it?”

I sigh, my
heart feeling fragile, like tempered glass. “No. It doesn’t.”

Then, to my
surprise, she quickly pulls me into a hug and holds me tight. She
hasn’t done this for ages. She’s a lot like me, or maybe I’m a lot
like her – we forget to be affectionate every once in a while.

“You’re a good
mother,” she whispers into my ear. “I’m proud of you, just like
this, just the way things are now. But they will get better. For
both of us. I promise.”

I close my
eyes, letting that glass shatter. Just a little. Then my mother
lets go and the air in the apartment is cold. She gives me a loving
look and she’s out the door.

Slipping off
my shoes, I head over to the poor, ragged couch and flop down on
it.

The rip gets
larger.

The apartment
is almost silent except for the faint beat of music coming from
Bram’s place. I make a mental note to talk to him about
soundproofing. Since he owns the building, he could make it
happen.

There’s
something assuring about the fact that he’s up even though the
music sounds like it’s getting louder and louder. It’s nothing too
drum heavy, it sounds more like Massive Attack or Portishead, with
slow, lazy beats.

I wonder what
he’s doing. My mom had said he came home alone. Did that mean he
didn’t get laid with Justine? That it was just an opera fling?
Knowing Bram though, I wouldn’t be surprised if they screwed each
other in a private box seat or something.

Stop thinking about him
, I admonish myself,
he’s nothing more than Mr. Rogers to
you
. So I get up to
check on Ava instead. I sit on the side of her bed and watch her
breathe in and out for a few moments, her own breathing steadying
mine.

Meanwhile the
thumping bass continues. I go into the kitchen and eye the kettle.
I meant it when I said I didn’t want his charity. I pick it up,
wrapping the cord around it, and go out into the hallway. I wait at
his door for a second. I can hear the music more clearly here, the
beginning of Portishead’s “Strangers,” which makes me flashback to
high school and my British trip hop phase. I used to have a lot of
sex to this kind of music. I kind of want to tell Bram that, just
to get rid of my prude persona.

I knock on his
door and wait. No response. I knock a bit louder. The music must be
blocking me out. The right thing to do is to go back in my
apartment and give him back the kettle tomorrow. After all, it’s
not an emergency. I can gain back my pride another day.