Mellie offered me a few napkins. “Well, yeah. Another month, I think.”
“That’s great!” Cheyenne piped in. “Your blog is really taking off. I saw all the comments on that last post. Amazing.”
Gloria reached over and squeezed Mellie’s hand. “Yeah, girl, congrats.”
“What blog?” Everyone stared at me. “No, seriously? You have a blog?”
“Yeeeaaahh, I do,” Mellie said. “I’ve told you about it. The style blog?”
“I remember you talking about uploading your outfits online but I thought it was like a hobby.”
“Well—” Mellie started.
Gloria stopped picking at her egg white omelet to interrupt. “What Mellie Wore has thousands of readers. She started selling ad space and has been getting sponsors for a while now. I was on the F the other day and someone was looking at the site on their iPad.”
“Yeah, it’s kind of a big deal,” Cheyenne added.
I felt my face get hot. “Sorry, Mellie. I didn’t know.” I guess I wasn’t the only one with secrets. Actually, maybe it wasn’t a secret. Maybe I just wasn’t interested and blocked it out. That sounded a lot like me.
Mellie shrugged. “It’s ok. I guess we never really get around to talking about it.” The busser cleared a couple of empty plates and refilled mimosas. The conversation paused while we all recalibrated. When the busser left, Mellie gave me another Cheshire grin. I hate those looks. It means she’s really proud of herself.
“So.” Then there was a long pause. “Omar.”
“Who’s Omar?” I smeared butter and jelly on a piece of my toast and crammed it into my mouth.
“Omar is the guy that you’re going to go out with, fall madly in love with, and go to brunch with for the rest of your life.”
I almost choked. “Is this the guy that you keep talking about?”
“Yes.”
“Mellie, I can find my own dates.”
“But you don’t.”
“But I could if I wanted to.”
“So why don’t you want to?”
“I’m busy.”
“Doing what?”
Saving the world, bitches. But I couldn’t say that. “I need a lot of sleep, Mellie.”
“What’s he look like?” Gloria asked.
Mellie whipped out her phone. “Well since you asked!” She pulled up a picture of this guy entirely too fast for my liking. All of the girls crowded around and peeped at the picture. I hated to be put on the spot, but even I took a peek.
It looked like she was on his Instagram page. I was guessing. I didn’t have an Instagram account. As Mellie swiped from picture to picture, I got a good idea of what this guy was like. He had deep brown skin and a low cut fade. He seemed to really care about his shoes and what he was eating for lunch. He took a lot of selfies.
“What do you think?” I hated that Mellie seemed so proud of herself. I really didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of saying that I thought he was cute.
Cheyenne beat me to it. “He’s a cutie! If you don’t want him, I’ll take him.”
“He’s okay,” I gave her, reluctantly.
“What’s he sound like?” Gloria asked. And then she pressed the phone icon on the bottom of Mellie’s phone. We all heard the phone dial but I think I was the only one whose heart fell into her shoes. Before I could dive on the phone and hit the End button, he picked up. What kind of person picks up on the first ring??!!
Mellie hit the speaker button and said, “Omar?”
His voice was smooth and measured. “What’s up?”
“Hey it’s me, Mellie. Remember that girl I was telling you about? Audrey?”
“Yeah? She still hasn’t called.”
“I know. She’s right here, actually. You’re on speaker.”
“Oh yeah? Hi, Audrey.”
All three girls looked at me and Mellie began gesturing wildly for me to say something. But I shook my head no. This was the exact type of thing I hated. I started to get up but Mellie grabbed me and hit me on the arm. I grunted and then I said very quietly “Hey.”
He heard me. “Hey. So you’re a real person? I was beginning to have my doubts.”
Mellie prodded me again. “Yep. I’m real.”
“Well you wanna hang out tonight?”
Mellie nodded her head and gave me the thumbs up. This was the worst Cyrano reenactment ever. I shook my head at Mellie and said to Omar “Sorry but I have a thing tonight.”
“What about tomorrow night?” That came from Cheyenne. I gave her a hard look. She shrugged and mouthed “Sorry.”
Oblivious Omar just said “Tomorrow night is good. We just have to figure out where. Text me?”
Mellie started hitting buttons on her phone. “Yes, she will. I’m sending you her number now. Just text her anytime. Bye!” She disconnected the call and turned to me. “What are you gonna wear?”
This was not how I pictured the day going. “What are you talking about? That was so embarrassing. Why would you put me on the spot like that?”
“Because you don’t know how to do this for yourself. You’re not even trying. It’s like you don’t want anything for yourself.”
“Maybe what I want is not to spend a perfectly good Sunday night with some guy I don’t even know.”
Mellie patted my hand. “It’s one dinner. If you don’t like him, just say you’ve got food poisoning and go home. No pressure here.” She flashed me that Cheshire grin again. “So what are you gonna wear?”
I sighed. “I really don’t know.”
Gloria waved a finger at my Snoopy t-shirt and ratty jeans. “Whatever you do, don’t wear that.”
Cheyenne nodded. “And you really need to do something about that pimple you’ve got coming in.” She glanced down at my plate. “You know, skincare starts with diet.”
Just then, my phone beeped. I had a new text message.
Chapter 11
After brunch, I said my goodbyes to the girls and hopped a train to Brooklyn. I planned to spend the day at the mall but I wanted to get my suit first. As I walked up to the cleaners, I saw that the lights were out. The sign on the door said “OPEN” but the door was locked. How could it be closed? On a Saturday afternoon?
I looked down at my hoodie, jeans, and scuffed chucks. Okay this will have to do.
I put my earbuds back in and walked down Fulton toward Atlantic. My annoyance lessened each time my feet pounded the pavement. Truthfully, the suit is only really for those late-night Super missions. You know, high concept stuff where I’m jumping off roofs and doing big things. I rarely do those. I wanted it back but I didn’t necessarily need it for today. I’d planned on stuffing it into my messenger bag to keep it out of the way. If I showed up at the mall wearing the Super suit, I’d stick out like a sore thumb.
Being a Super is all about the numbers. If the crime stats in our district stay down, it’s all gravy. And since I don’t live in Brooklyn, I have to work extra hard to keep my numbers down there. Sometimes I spend a few hours in a busy place and work for a bit. Concerts, parades, and festivals are all good places to find Super work. The mall in Brooklyn gets pretty busy on the weekends. It’s a good place to put in a little time on the figurative Super clock.
Atlantic Mall was across from the Barclay Center, where the Nets played. So did Jay Z and Beyonce when they were in town. The two structures dominated the landscape and at their intersection, cars, buses, dollar vans, and people crowded the streets. Right in front of Barclays, several subway lines intersected. It was a good place to do a little good.
But first I needed a pretzel.
I made a beeline to Auntie Annie’s and bought a salty pretzel with neon yellow cheese. I took a seat on the first floor of the mall, on one of the benches that faced the main entrance. People watching was fun and it allowed me to get the vibe of the place. Most of the shoppers were in groups. Young families, gaggles of teenagers, or couples. When I got tired of people watching, I browsed in a few stores and saw s
ome really nice things I couldn’t afford and some really tacky things I didn’t want to be able to afford. I made my way up to the third floor. There were some bigger stores up there, including a Target. After paying a bit on my rent, a new MetroCard, and brunch, I still had some money on me. And we all know that you can almost always find something you want to buy when you’re in Target.
I browsed through the health and beauty section and finally settled on a tube of gunk that promised to get rid of the small mountain forming on my left cheek. I was cutting through the stationery and office supply aisle to get to the checkout lines when something made me stop. I guess you could say my Something Ain’t Right alarm went off. I looked around to see what might have tripped it.
The store was busy but this particular aisle was almost empty. There was a woman with two kids in her basket comparing journals. There were also a couple of guys lingering over the stationery display. The woman picked a journal, threw it in the basket, and moved on. My alarm was still going off.
One of the guys darted his eyes around, landed on me, and quickly went back to studying the display. I walked over and fingered a couple of packages. I picked one up. It was artisanal stationery, designed by local Brooklyn artists and made right in the borough. A sign above it explained that it was a pilot program to give local companies a shelf space. The word “local” was emphasized all over the packaging and sign above it.
I took one last look at the two shifty shoppers and casually strolled away. I didn’t go far though. On the next aisle over, I pretended to be looking at staplers while watching my two new friends in the ceiling-mounted security mirror. Once they were alone in the aisle, they calmed. And then another guy joined them. He had a bag and the trio started stuffing it with stationery from the display. They cleaned out the section in a few seconds flat. Then they casually started walking away.
I followed behind, trying not to make it seem like I was. But almost immediately, I realized they were making a run for the exit. I wasn’t sure if the stationery they stole had theft tags on it. But it wouldn’t matter if the theft deterrent alarms went off. The exit led directly into the mall. If they moved fast enough they could get lost before anyone was even looking for them.
I quickened my pace. At this point I was basically speed walking. They were almost to the door. No more time to be discreet. “Hey! Stop!”
This had the opposite effect of what I wanted. They broke into a full-on run, knocking customers out of the way. People were screaming. Carts were crashing. And I was chasing three guys stealing paper from a Target. If I’d had time to think about it, I would have noted this as one of the top twenty low points in my life. But I didn’t have time for that. The paper thieves had just run through the exit and into the mall. I chased after them screaming “Stop!” As if they would after ignoring me the first hundred times.
The one with the bag was getting left by the other two. The bag was getting lower and lower and he was going slower and slower, as the heaviness was weighing him down. This was enough for me to gain some ground on him. He was having a hard time dodging the other people walking around, too. He clipped a couple of bystanders and then finally tripped over a woman carrying a bunch of shopping bags. I tried to slow down but I was going too fast and was too close to maneuver out of the way. I ended up tripping over him and got tangled up with him. We tumbled a few feet and landed in the fountain with a splash.
As soon as I got my bearings, I tried to simultaneously untangle myself from the paper thief and stand up. A large hand landed on my shoulder. I turned to see mall security standing behind me. “You need to come with me, ma’am.”
“Wait! He did it! He and two of his friends stole a bunch of paper from the Target! He’s the one the one you want!” I pointed at the paper thief. Another security guard was pulling him out of the fountain.
The first security guard held up the acne buster tube. “And this?”
I sighed. “I can explain.”
***
The Rentacops were suspicious of my explanation but said they’d give me the benefit of the doubt by checking the security footage. In the meantime, they escorted me and the paper thief downstairs to the mall’s security office. We had our hands behind our backs, secured with those industrial twist-tie holders. They sat us down in a room with benches lining the walls and no windows. “Sit tight while we figure out what’s what,” said one of the guards as he closed the door. A second later I heard the thunk of a heavy lock on the other side.
As soon as we were alone, I said, “What the fuck is going on?” He just looked back at me with a blank face. “I know the three of you didn’t just decide to go to Target today and steal artisan stationery. What were you gonna do? Pawn it? Make flyers for some shitty band? What?”
He looked at the floor but said nothing.
We sat there in silence for a few minutes, staring at the floor and the wall. Finally, he said “Listen lady—”
“What? You want to tell me what’s really going on here?”
He hesitated and shifted. “No, I wanted to talk to you about your face.”
“My face?”
He winced. “More like your skin.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I noticed that you’ve got some blemishes on your face—”
“OH MY GOD, it’s one pimple. Not some. ONE.”
He kept going. “And I know you’re embarrassed by it. I mean, I’d be embarrassed if that was on my face. But that stuff you were stealing isn’t gonna do shit. Listen, my cousin knew this girl who had mad pimples all of over her face. It was really gross. But she started taking these hot showers and then rubbing petroleum jelly all over her face. It was just the regular kind. They probably have some back at Target. And it really cleared it up. My cousin said she’s hot now.”
I wanted to hit him. And I would have if my hands were free. “Thanks, Dr. Dumbass, but I’m pretty sure you have enough to worry about right now. Do you have anything to say about what’s going on?”
Dr. Dumbass shook his head. “Nope.” I shook my own head and went back to staring at the wall.
Just then, the security guard came back in. “Ma’am, we reviewed the footage and you’re free to go. The next time you’re playing Target vigilante, make sure to pay for your zit cream first.”
He cut my ties off and walked toward the door. I rubbed my sore wrists and followed him out. But not before giving the paper bandit one last look over my shoulder. Something ain’t right here, I thought, not for the last time.
Chapter 12
Back at home, I was exhausted. Crash, on the other hand, seemed to have plenty of energy. He swam in circles and made his patented fish face. I tapped the glass lightly. “Hey buddy, I missed you.” I shook the cheap fish food into his bowl. Crash didn’t hold it against me. He knew I was on a budget. “How was your day?” He just swam some more.
I collapsed onto my futon and seriously considered filing a police report on my car. Maybe they would actually find it. The subway was killing me. But then I thought about all of the paperwork that would go with it and compared it to probability of the police actually finding my car. It didn’t seem like it was worth the effort.
Instead, I picked up the stack of mail: Phone bill, credit card bill, and electric bill in a pink envelope so you know they mean business. I noticed a blue and gold envelope from the Council. Probably another notice about my dues, which were more than a little bit late. I threw the whole stack in the trash. “Out of sight, out of mind, right Crash?”
Before he could answer, there was a knock on my door. I seriously considered ignoring it. I hadn’t ordered pizza. I never had guests over. I didn't live in the type of neighborhood where people came over to borrow a cup of flour. Even if I did, I didn’t have any flour because I didn’t cook. So my choices were either a very polite murderer or my landlord. And quite frankly, I’d rather it be the murderer.
While I pondered, there was another knock. Then from the other side, the
landlord’s thick Jamaican accent. “Hey I know you’re in there, Audrey. Open up.” I considered the fact that he didn’t know if I was really there or not. Then I remembered that he had a key and would probably come in if I didn’t answer.
I opened the door and saw the short Jamaican man. I remembered when I met him, he had a big smile. He seemed like a happy guy. Of course, the last time I saw that smile was when he rented the apartment to me. Since then, it had been all scowls and frowns.
“Oh hi, Todd. What brings you down here?” I tried to make my tone sound friendly and conversational but we both knew why he was there.
“You saw the notice? I need the rent, Audrey.” Todd was clearly not interested in playing any games with me.
“Oh yeah, the rent.”
“Yeahhhh,” he repeated. “The rent. Do you have it?”
“No,” I admitted. “I’m having problems at work, again.”
“You’re fired again?” The disbelief in his voice made me feel bad about the all the times that had been true.
“No, not this time. Actually, there’s been some mix up in HR and my check didn’t come through again.” I shrugged, trying to sell my lie as best I could.
He wasn’t buying it. “Again?”
Damn, I thought. Have I used this one before? There is something about lying so often that you can’t even remember the lies you’ve told that makes you want to go to bed and hide under the covers. And yet, I pressed on.
I threw my hands up and shook my head in what I hope was believable disgust. “Yeah, man. They really need to get it together. I mean, I’m pretty upset about it. I told them that if they don’t get their stuff together, I’m getting another job. And I’m serious about that.”
Todd paused and I could see disbelief passing through his eyes. “Audrey, I like you. You seem like a nice girl.” I visibly cringed at his tone. When you’re lying to someone, it only makes it worse when they’re saying nice things about you. “But I can’t let you live here without you paying the rent. I have a mortgage. I have a wife who yells at me every time I come back without the whole rent. You’re always late and most of the time you’re short. You know you owe me more than two months’ rent now?”
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