Tommy, used to my delirious waking moments, merely cracked a grin at my disjointed question. “You in my house.”
I’d left the estate. Slept on the street. I was in Tommy’s house in Orange.
Sagging, I focused on my breathing until my heartbeat stopped thundering in my ears. “How long did I sleep?”
“All day. If this is how you plan to be poor, you’re doing a terrible job of it. We never get sleep.”
I glared at her.
She bounded onto the bed and sat against the back wall where a bedhead would usually be. Tommy didn’t have one, and I wasn’t sure why that always disconcerted me so much. Was there even a point to bedheads?
“So you’re sure about this?” she asked eventually. “I mean, you’ve hated the rich world for as long as I can remember, but if a fight with your grandmother is the only reason you left, then forgive me for saying that your grandmother and her friends are the best part of that bullshit parade you were born into.”
“It wasn’t. She’s the only reason I stayed so long.” I thought back to our heated conversation. “The argument was silly, really. She was on at me again to start attending functions as the up and coming face of the estate, and I just cracked. Not at her, at the… the constant feeling of being detached and outside of reality. The fight was just the tipping point. Tom, I want to live. I want to help people. Sure, I could mindlessly throw cash around. I could even try to research where that money would have the most effect. But without living this life, how can I ever truly understand what I need to do?” And who I am.
A heavy silence settled in the room.
Tommy broke it by shoving black and white pages onto my lap. I regarded them through bleary eyes. The word eventually came to me. “Newspaper.”
“Well done, grasshopper.”
I shot her another glare. “We get newspapers at the estate.”
“Yeah, yeah. Your butler delivers it on a silver platter. I was looking at the job section for you.”
That caught my attention. “Glasses.”
My bag had toppled onto the brown carpet during my sleep-nap. She scrambled to collect it and I dug around, drawing out my glasses case.
I pushed the thick black-framed specks onto my face and stared at the open newspaper. Three red circles disrupted the page.
“Those are the suitable ones,” Tommy murmured. “I rang my boss at the laundry service, but they aren’t hiring. Probably not until the uni students go back to school in two months.”
My heart sank. Working with Tom would have been the tits.
Let’s see what we’ve got here.
My eyes landed on the first one. “Tomato factory worker.” I turned accusing eyes on her.
“Beggars can’t be choosers.” She reminded me.
True story. “What else have we got?” I shifted my gaze to the next page. “A newspaper run! You’re shitting me?”
She grimaced. “I was iffy on that one. I had a newspaper run when I was thirteen. Fucking sucked.”
“What about the other ones?” There were tons of jobs on the two pages.
“They all require qualifications—that you don’t have. I don’t think business lessons from your grandmother count.”
Dammit. “Someone may want me to manage their billions though.”
Tommy snorted. “We both know you have no trouble with that, but can you manage just a few dollars? I have a feeling they’re different things.”
Maybe. Surely the same principles applied.
With no small amount of trepidation, I squinted at the last circled job. “Huh! Pet shop assistant. That one isn’t so bad.”
Could I be a pet shop assistant? Cuddling kittens and puppies all day? I mean, shovelling poop wasn’t my idea of a good time, but there would be definite perks.
“I’ll take it,” I declared, jabbing at the page with my finger.
Tommy shooed me away. “Not that easy, Basi. You need to make a résumé first and there will be at least one interview.”
I rolled my eyes, scanning the other listings. “I’m not completely ignorant of life outside the estate.”
Her lips trembled. “You mean you’ve watched enough soap operas to piece us peasants together?”
“I watch Truth Ranges for the quality acting.”
“And we read Fernando’s Eighth Ab for the complex plot line.”
Sniggering, I ran my eyes over the other listings. Ugh, she was right. I certainly didn’t have a medical degree. Or an early childhood certificate.
A tiny listing shoved in the bottom left corner caught my attention, if only because the advert looked like it didn’t want to be found. “Hey, what about this one?”
Tommy peered over my shoulder.
“Realty trainee,” I read aloud. “It’s an apprenticeship thing by the looks.”
“Don’t bother,” she said dismissively. “Live Right Realty never hire outsiders. They must have a policy to advertise to the public, but they always promote and hire internally. I’ve gone for that job three times—and other people too. No one has ever been hired.”
I adjusted my glasses to read the advert again. “Really? It sounds perfect.” The pay cheque had to be larger than a pet shop assistant wage. At least a realty traineeship would have a better chance of promotion. Some of the neighbouring estates to Grandmother’s built their empires from realty origins. Not that I wanted to build my own cage when I’d just escaped one, but money was security in this world and, for the first time, I only had a minuscule amount. I needed enough to eradicate corporation corruption from the world.
My nerves came back in full force.
“I need to make a résumé,” I announced, glancing around the room for inspiration.
Tommy put the newspaper aside. “Tomorrow. We’ll need to visit the public library to use their computers and printer, and it closes at 4:00 pm. Tonight, I’m taking you out to dinner.”
“I can pay for it myself,” I replied.
“Y S I S,” Tommy quipped back, folding her arms.
I spluttered. “My snob is not showing.”
At ten years old, we’d developed a mnemonic that served as a warning. When I was with her friends, she’d say Y S I S—your snob is showing—to warn me I’d done something weird. When amongst my rich friends, I’d say Y P I S—your peasant is showing—for the same.
In this situation, when I already felt so out of my depth, I didn’t appreciate the jab. Unfortunately, my friend was immune to my scowl.
“If your snob isn’t showing, you’ll let me take you for dinner,” Tommy said, folding her arms. “Especially because my father will be back soon.”
My stomach chose that moment to remind me I hadn’t eaten since last night. And I wanted to avoid her father.
“Food,” I grumbled. “Then résumé.”
She cut me off. “Then job. Then apartment. Then destroy all the baddies. Got it.”
Someone was listening to me at last.
3
Dressed in my powder-blue silk blouse and black slacks, I slipped the newspaper into my pack and pulled out my freshly printed résumé.
I craned my neck to read the bright yellow sign. Purrfect Pets. A picture of a smiling dog and cat hugging each other completed the store’s branding.
Jesus.
I was at the right place, alright—back in Grey. After helping with my résumé, Tommy had quickly coached me on how job enquiries went down.
It was time to act my ass off.
Taking a deep breath, I forced my legs to move me across the pedestrian-only street where I pushed open the electric-blue door into the pet store.
The smell of three-day-old roadkill fell over me like a woollen blanket on a summer’s day. I shoved down the urge to gag.
“A woofing welcome to Purrfect Pets! I’m Jenny. How can I assist you right meow?”
Fuck me.
Would I have to say that?
Spinning to face a stout woman, I hastily schooled my features into a disarming sm
ile—growing up rich had taught me some things. “Hi, yes. Thank you, Jenny. I’m Basi. I saw your job advert in the paper and would love to submit my résumé for consideration.”
A pent-up breath quivered in my chest.
The woman’s pleasant expression dropped, and I blinked at the change. She reached to tuck her frizzy hair behind her ears. The hair popped out again as she scanned me from head to toe. “You want to work here? At this pet shop?”
Too late to question my wardrobe choice. Thinking fast, I kept my smile at full wattage. “I do. I’ve just come from brunch with my aunties.” That I didn’t have.
The woman’s eyes narrowed. Was she the owner? I really hoped not. The way she was circling had me wondering if she’d sniff my butt at any moment. Maybe she’d taken on some animal characteristics during her time here.
She held out a hand, and I stared before realising it was for my résumé.
“Here you go.” I placed the two sheets in her hand. “I haven’t had much job experience, but I assure you I’m a fast learner. And I love animals. This would truly be a dream job for me.” I crossed my fingers behind my back.
Tommy said I should lie to get the job. I felt bad about it, but she’d assured me hardly anyone had jobs they liked so lying was expected.
Jenny lifted her eyes from my résumé, and I read the derision in them before she continued reading.
Had I laid on the charm too strong?
The urge to fidget itched in my limbs. Forcing them to remain still, I peered around, trying to keep my nose from wrinkling at the roadkill smell. Rows of stock filled the space around the cashier. Fenced areas occupied the middle space and I smiled at the fluffy rabbits I could glimpse between the slates. My ears picked up sounds of chickens, and I could see bird cages lined the far wall with fish tanks along the right wall.
If I worked here, more body wash was in order. I’d go through that shit by the litre.
“What’s your favourite breed of dog?” Jenny shot at me, lowering the résumé.
“Easy,” I quipped. “Frenchies.”
Her mouth pulled down.
“Their heads are too large for natural birth,” she snapped. “Over 90 percent of the mothers are forced to have C-sections.”
Shit. Should have said Labrador. “That’s terrible. I wasn’t aware of that.”
Jenny held out my résumé, eyes hard. “I’m looking for someone with more experience.”
More experience, my butthole. “I really am eager to learn everything you can tell me about animals and the pet shop business.”
I could salvage this. I could—
“Not what we’re looking for.” The woman shook the résumé my way and I backed away.
Dammit. In Tommy’s coaching, the owners just took the damn résumé with a fake smile and a thank you.
I scrambled for a save. “Uh. That’s a real shame, Jenny. I thank you for your time. Is it possible to leave you with my résumé anyway? Just in case you change your mind?”
She sighed. “Sure.”
My résumé was going in the bin.
“Okay, thank you! Lovely to meet you.”
I nearly tripped over my feet in my haste to escape the roadkill store. After closing the blue door behind me, I hurried away in a random direction, lest she followed to watch me.
Paranoid much?
Groaning, I threaded my hands through my silky butter-blonde curls. “That did not go well.”
It was the only job out of the three that interested me in the slightest. Looked like I’d be dropping my sheets of paper off at the other two after all. In my tossing dreams last night, I was hired on the spot.
Reality was a bitch.
Maybe the other places were within walking distance. It was Monday, and Tommy was at her laundry job 12:00 p.m. until 7:00 p.m., six days a week. I didn’t relish the thought of returning to her house alone to marinate in my failure.
I dodged between the people on the pavement and leaped for a free space on the steps of a bank that was owned by a family friend. I sent the building a withering look even though I genuinely liked Sir Olytheiu.
Shaking out the paper, I studied the addresses of the other two circled job listings. I’d caught the bus from Orange to Grey with Tommy, but I only knew where the stops for that route were. The tomato factory job was in the agricultural district. The suburbs of the city were bordered on one side by expansive fields where all the produce for our population was grown. It was a point of pride to most inhabitants of Bluff City that we were a self-sustaining economy. With such a small population, it shouldn’t be possible. What made it possible were the huge estates—where I came from—that bordered the city on the other side.
I didn’t know if a bus drove out in the direction of the tomato factory and was too scared to try by myself. I definitely couldn’t walk there in my borrowed sandals that thankfully didn’t press on any of my Hatch blisters.
Stuck again.
Pursing my lips, I read the address of the newspaper gig. Level 26, Heraldson-Jamie High-Rise, Jonker Street.
I had no idea where Jonker Street was, but all high-rises were in Grey, so the place was within walking distance. Dang. Part of me had hoped getting there wouldn’t be possible. Was I really going to do a paper run? Or was I rushing into this? How often did the newspaper come out? If there were two pages of jobs each time, something better was bound to turn up in short duration.
... But what if nothing came up? I had barely any money with me. The longer I was stuck in limbo, the more afraid I’d get. I was determined to keep an open mind to the strangeness of my current lot.
As though drawn, my eyes trained on the tiny advert in the bottom left corner. The notice was still there despite its goal to remain unnoticed. Tommy had said not to bother with Live Right Realty. I wasn’t sure I had that luxury.
I read the address. Level 44, Kyros Sky, Marquis Street.
Another high-rise. Okay, I had five copies of my résumé. Time to spread the mother-trucking news that Basi was in town.
Emboldened, I stepped into the throng of city-goers.
Oof!
The air squeezed from my lungs as a large body slammed into me. Forced back several steps, I sucked in a painful breath. Intense heat spread across my stomach. Yelping, I plucked the silk off my stomach.
My eyes dropped and a moan escaped my mouth at the brown stain covering me.
“You crashed into me,” the man accused. He towered over me, and either side of me.
I clenched my teeth. “Not on purpose.”
“You spilled my coffee too. I just got that.”
Whoa, where was the freakin’ apology? I was the one with boiling coffee on me. He’d halved the number of tops I had to wear. “I wore your coffee. There’s a difference.”
“Whatever. Watch where you’re going.”
I sidestepped him. “Ditto, douchebag.”
He spun after me, and I dodged into the crowd, soon swept into the anonymous midst. Ha! Turned out this chaos had some perks.
My shirt was another story. I cursed the hulking man under my breath. I couldn’t drop my résumé off looking like this—though Jenny might have liked me better for it. She could have pretended it was the remnants of dog vomit.
Spotting a fast-food chain, I adjusted course. Montgomery’s had public bathrooms. Tommy told me about them in one of her drunken nightclub stories.
I sidled past queues of customers, wondering if they were aware they supported a corporation who had fingers in all sorts of pies—including what food laws were passed in government. When money was tight and junk food was cheaper than fruit and vegetables, of course the poor would eat it daily. And they had the health problems to prove it.
Shaking my head, I searched for a toilet and was rewarded by a sign in the far corner.
Success!
Smiling, I weaved between the chairs and tables and entered the female toilets. I scanned the toilet in no small degree of disgust. Yuck. There was water on the
tiled floor. At least I hoped it was water. The place could do with a serious mop and a sea salt and saffron candle or three.
I pulled out handfuls of paper towel and dabbed at the stain on my shirt. He’d soaked the entire bottom half.
“Lucky silk dries fast,” I muttered.
A day before, I wouldn’t have given a thought to chucking the soiled shirt into my bathroom hamper that one or other of the half dozen maid staff emptied each day. Two days ago, I’d had a walk-in robe filled with clothing. Today, this shirt was one of the few things I had to my name.
I ended up removing the powder-blue garment to soak and wring the coffee out. I ignored the startled looks of the women going in and out of the toilet as I did my laundry in the sink of Montgomery’s. If they knew I’d slept on the street, they’d think twice about making eye contact.
Most of me was just thanking Zeus’s left nut that no one I knew came here, a sentiment which also pissed me off.
I swung the garment back on, buttoning the two halves and tucking the ends into my slacks.
There. That didn’t look so…
Crap. I looked like I’d done snow angels in a muddy puddle.
I’d just have to wait for it to dry and hope I’d gotten the stain out.
Washing my hands, I splashed some water on my face and surveyed my reflection. Topaz eyes stared back at me, asking what the hell I was doing.
“Good question, frenemy,” I told my reflection.
My eyes were too bright—on the harried side of energetic. My hair was on my side today though—apparently the only thing. The thick blonde mass formed natural barrel curls if left to air dry. I’d recently visited the salon and let my stylist put fresh highlights through the weighty length. Which was ideal timing because there was no way I could afford his prices on any of the jobs Tommy had circled in the paper.
Not liking what I saw in the mirror, I dried my face with more paper towels and left the toilet.
A weedy man cut me off as soon as I re-entered the seated eating area.
“Our toilets are for paying customers only,” he informed me, looking directly into my eyes.
I pulled up short. “I didn’t use your toilets. I just had to get a stain off my shirt.”
Blood Trial: Supernatural Battle (Vampire Towers Book 1) Page 2