Page 3 of Wasted On Us
“I am not going to tell you how to live your life, but—” Ensley pauses at the look in my eyes. I must look even more miserable than I feel. She sighs, reaching in her bag for her wallet and flipping through a stack of business cards an inch and a half thick. “Okay. Fine. There’s a temp agency I know of. Very reputable. Pay is decent and fair. I doubt you will find full-time employment quickly enough to prevent Dad from finding out, but this will be an excellent stop-gap to keep everyone off your back in the meantime and keep them from looking too closely at your business. It is a paycheck. And it isn’t like anyone gets fired from the temp agency. At least, not that I’m aware of. You do seem to have a rather innovative knack in that regard.”
Resolute, I take the card, promising that I’ll call the temp agency the second I get back to my apartment. She’s right, it isn’t ideal. But it’s something. The universe closed a door today, and maybe it didn’t open a second one, but if there’s a window I can climb out of, I’ll take it.
The car ride home is short but sweet. I try to think positively, doing some mindfulness breathing I read on a self-help blog a few months ago while playing my music at full blast. People lose jobs all the time. It isn’t the end of the world. This job and I weren’t meant to be, and that’s okay. Maybe this temp agency will lead me to something even better. I can’t just let myself crumble over one poorly executed performance review. They didn’t pay me enough anyway, considering how hard I worked and how much I cared about their success.
I’m super nice to the mailroom guy when I pick up the pile of catalogs and letters from debt collectors that have been clogging my inbox for the last week or so. I wave a strong hello to cranky old Mrs. Hagan and her two Pomeranians on the way to the elevator, not letting my smile waver for a second, even when she scowls at the cleavage overflowing my tank top and her dogs snap at me. Nothing is going to stand in the way of me getting through things today.
All of this positive energy vanishes the second I get to my door. I feel like I just got hit by a freight train. The bottom of my stomach drops, and I regret letting that lemon bar be my only source of calories today. There’s a note from the property management company taped to my door, along with a few others in my hall. Everyone who had a lease that was up for renewal next month was gifted a neon yellow piece of paper, telling us the wonderful news. They’re going to increase our rent to better match the market value in the area. By $500 a month.
Even with my old job, I was barely squeaking by. There’s no way I can come up with that much extra every single month. Especially not taking temp gigs. I open the door, head straight to my couch, and plop down in a heap. This has to be one of the worst days of my life. And that includes the fourth-grade talent show where the CD I was lip-syncing to skipped, my wig fell off, and I tripped, falling into a full face plant and chipping a tooth. I was so traumatized I never listened to Hilary Duff again.
It feels like everything is crumbling down around me. I peek through my fingers at the mail I’ve dropped on the coffee table. Somewhere between all the collection notices and the sales flyers, there’s a pre-approved credit card offer. I know they’re terrible—Ensley warns me all the time about high APRs or whatever. But what’s a little more debt when I’m already this deep in the hole?
Maybe I can just pack it all in. Sell all of my furniture online. Throw my clothes in a duffle bag. Use one of these garbage cards to buy a one-way ticket to Venice Marco Polo Airport and never look back. Those six weeks in Venice were the last time I can remember being happy. Really happy. Not “I have the night off, a pint of ice cream, and unlimited Netflix so I guess I’m okay” happy. Like things made sense. Like I made sense. Like I was right where I belonged and nothing else mattered.
I shouldn’t have let Rick ruin it for me. I should’ve stayed there anyway. Now I’m not sure I’ll ever make it back there again.
Chapter Two
Mateo
“And cut. That’s a wrap.”
I relax my shoulders for what feels like the first time today. I don’t get nervous shooting commercials. Dad’s had me in front of the camera promoting the dealership since I could tie my own shoes. People like to buy from family-run businesses. They seem more reliable. Friendlier. Whatever works, I’m willing to try it.
“Thanks again, gentlemen. Always a pleasure.” Todd steps from behind the camera, coming to shake my and Dad’s hand. He’s been filming our commercials for as long as I can remember being in them, and he’s usually a pretty fast shot. But as much as I love my dad, he’s absolutely terrible at memorizing lines. Today was worse than usual. We’ve been standing outside of the dealership for well over an hour, doing far more takes than I can count. On top of that, the sun’s been beating down on us for so long that my undershirt is soaked with sweat, and if I don’t get some water in me soon, I’m going to just drop dead right here by the front door.
What a terrible promotion for the businessthatwould be.
“You okay,mijo? Your face is so damp you look like you’re melting,” he jokes, punching me in the arm as I open the door and bask in the blast of air conditioning from inside the dealership.
“I’ll be okay. Just let me back in the office to grab a bottled water out of the fridge.” Sure there are plenty of store-brand sodas and stale pots of coffee out on the sales floor, but his personal fridge is where he hides all the expensive water.
“Fine, help yourself.” Walking past the other sales employees, Dad offers them all a smile and a wave. “I have to talk to Lucy as it is. Her performance—it’s been concerning me lately. I’d like you there for backup. You’re better at these things than I am.”
Normally, I would take a joke like that as the compliment he intends it to be. Things are different with Lucy. “I don’t think that’s a great idea, Dad.”
“Nonsense.” He waves my concern away, opening his office door before I can get another word of explanation out. Much to my chagrin, Lucy is already sitting in front of his desk. The expression on her face when she sees me standing behind my father is nothing less than murderous. Things between us are… complicated.
“You wanted to speak to me, Mr. García?” She tucks a loose strand of auburn hair behind her ear, before clasping her hands together in her lap and looking at my dad with the widest, most innocent-looking eyes she can manage. The simple gesture makes her look that much prettier. Which of course, reminds me of the predicament I’m in. I have a tendency to get swept away by a beautiful face before I know the woman behind it.
“Lucy, you used to be one of my top people. Nobody who spoke to you ever left empty-handed. You could sell a car to a brick wall. I never had to worry about you.” My father sits heavily in the chair behind his desk, groaning at the pressure it puts on his knees. I wish he would come up with a retirement plan sooner rather than later. As of now, his plan seems to involve working until he dies. And then hoping they have a strong Wi-Fi connection and good coffee in heaven. He pulls a folder out from a drawer in his desk, containing the quarterly sales reports, and frowns at the figures in front of him. “And now? Your numbers just keep dropping these last two months. This just isn’t like you. Is there something I should know? Something I could help with?”
I don’t want to be here for this conversation, but there isn’t any way I can sneak out of the room without pissing my dad off. I try to quietly slip behind him and reach into the minifridge for a mineral water, but Lucy shoots me daggers with her eyes at the noise the cap makes. “Well, I’ve been struggling with my mental health.”
Dad doesn’t seem to register the subtext of her behavior. Yet. “I picked up on that. According to our records, you’ve taken two personal days, called in sick three times, and asked if you could borrow against anticipated vacation days in the future. All in the past few weeks.”
Dad is the sort of guy who would come to work with his arms and legs falling off and be proud of it. Sick days are a luxury that he looks down on. He’s old school like that.
“I’m not sure you truly understand the depth of my pain,” Lucy whines, dabbing at the corner of her eye with the back of her hand. All she needs now is a white handkerchief and she’d really look the part of the damsel in distress. Too bad she’s more like a wicked stepsister.
Besides, this is a terrible angle to choose. Dad isn’t one to take lightly when people downplay the hardships he has faced in life. Sure enough, I cringe as the pencil in his hand snaps in half. He breathes through his nose very slowly, before reaching into his desk drawer for another one.
“My wife died after a long and painful battle with ALS. Mateo was seven. I haven’t dated since. We do not talk about it often but—I think I understand the pain of loss. I also understand the value of hard work and pushing through adversity.”
“Of course, you do, sir. I’m sorry to imply otherwise.” Lucy doesn’t look as disappointed as I hoped. Her gaze flickers up to me, and I know instantly what card she is going to play.
“Lucy, if you don’t start taking things more seriously, I will have no choice but to involve human resources. Now, how can we come up with an improvement plan together that we can both endorse and get behind?”