Fuck. I forgot all about that.
I wiped my eyes and looked again. Yeah, that was my shit. Even Crash was sitting there in his bowl giving me the side eye. He swam in angry circles that said, “Where the fuck have you been?”
For some reason—Let’s call it one last bit of optimism--I tried my key in the door. It didn’t work. I was officially homeless.
For a moment I considered calling the landlord. But even I have some shame. I didn’t think it would do any good, anyway. I was too tired to lie, too tired to beg. So I did the only thing left to do. I grabbed as much stuff as I could carry, including Crash, and walked back to the subway, my back complaining the entire way. At least I had enough on my MetroCard to get me out of there.
***
Without thinking about it, I headed to Brooklyn. I boarded the train and settled my garbage bag of personal belongings and Crash’s bowl on the floor in front of me. The train was pretty empty because it was so late. There were only three other people in my train car and two of them looked like they lived on the train. We even had matching garbage bags. I had a passing thought about asking them for tips on how to be homeless. And that was the last straw. I finally burst into tears.
There are those who say that you’re not a New Yorker until you steal a cab from someone. I don’t believe you’re truly at home here until you can ride the subway as if you’re alone in your car. Crying is one of those things you do when you’re all along. And even though I was sitting in a metal tube with at least three strangers, I was most definitely alone.
One of the nice things about taking the J train is that it goes above ground. After the train passed the 121st street stop and we were above ground, I pulled out my phone and stared at it for a bit. Then I realized it wasn’t going to call anyone for me and made the call I’d been avoiding all alone. I dialed my dad’s cell phone number. He answered on the first ring. “What’s wrong?”
I hesitated. “Why does something have to be wrong?”
“Any time your kid calls you after midnight, something is wrong,” my dad replied. “And any time you call me voluntarily, Audrey, no matter what time it is, something is wrong.”
I couldn’t bring myself to tell him why I had actually called him. So I started with small talk. “So what are you doing?”
I could hear the bed creaking through the phone as he sat up. “I was sleeping. Because I’m old. Old enough to know when somebody is bullshitting me. Now I’m sitting on the phone with you waiting for you to tell me what’s wrong.”
I thought about him sitting up in his bed and immediately my thoughts went to my mother. “Where’s Mom?”
“Sleeping. You know she might as well be dead once she closes her eyes at ten every night. What do you want, Audrey?”
“I-I-uh,” I stammered. Then I just blurted it out. “I lost my apartment today.”
There was a long pause. “And you’re calling me for directions back to it?”
Not for the first time in my life, I thought I knew where I got my smart mouth from. “No. I didn’t lose it that way. I, um, got evicted.”
“Why?”
“For not paying the rent,” I mumbled.
“Why?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I know you have a job. Why aren’t you paying your rent?”
“Well, my rent is cheaper than if I lived in the city but it’s not that cheap. And it’s not free. I don’t really make that much money. And when I left the last job I was out of work for a couple of months. I have to eat and get around. I’m behind on all of my bills. I haven’t paid my Council dues in like four months—” Dad interrupted me with a groan that seemed to come from the bottom of his toes. “I didn’t mean to get this far behind on everything. I keep losing jobs and then I have to catch up. And I guess I never got there.”
“How much money do you need?” he finally asked.
“For the rent?”
“Everything.”
“I don’t know.”
“Guesstimate.” I did a few quick calculations and gave him a number. He whistled. “Okay then. Come home for tonight. We’ll figure it out.”
In all honesty, this is what I wanted him to say. Yet when he said it, I didn’t feel as relieved as I thought I would. In fact, I felt worse. “Thanks. I hate having to ask like this, you know.”
He paused. “But you do ask, don’t you?”
I winced. “Hey that’s not fair.”
“No, what’s not fair is that instead of asking for a little bit of help when things are getting kind of bad, you always wait until it’s an emergency. Then we’re stuck cleaning up a lake instead of a puddle.”
“Because it seems like no matter what happens, it’s ‘Oh, here comes Audrey the Fuck Up.’ I’d rather wait until I absolutely have to ask before dealing with that,” I said. “Just admit it, Dad. I’m the black sheep of this family. Compared to Ella, I’m the one that’s always messing up. You don’t know what it’s like to be always trying to play catch up. My life sucks! I can’t seem to get anything right. It’s exhausting! You don’t understand.”
Dad didn’t answer right away. He cleared his throat. Then, “Audrey?”
“Yeah?”
“Suck it up.”
“What?”
“You heard me,” he said. “I know you’re having a really, really bad day today. But you have to know that even though there are a lot of bad things in the world, there are also a lot of very good things. And you can’t get to the good without dealing with the bad when it comes along. No one expects you to be Ella. I keep telling you that. She has her own set of problems she’s dealing with. You need to deal with yours. I think that you decided a long time ago that you were the black sheep in this family and now you do everything possible to be the biggest, baddest, blackest sheep possible.
“But you’re not a black sheep. You’re my daughter and I love you. I hate to see you fighting life so hard but I can’t live it for you. You have to decide that you care about yourself and you have to decide to do better. And I’m your daddy so I’ll do whatever I can to help you figure it out. Even if you were supposed to be an adult five years ago.”
I didn’t even bother to try to hold back tears now. I was too tired to do it. Besides, the three people on that late-night train had already seen me cry. We were cool like that now. As the tears streamed down my cheeks, I choked out, “Thanks.”
“You still have your key?”
I checked my key ring. “Yeah.”
“Then, I’m going back to sleep. You just let yourself in whenever you get here. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Ok. Thanks,” I said again because I really didn’t know what else to say. Then “Hey, Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m gonna be an adult one day really soon,” I promised.
“I know you will. But you’ll always be my kid, too. I love you.”
I looked around at the other riders to make sure no one was paying too much attention to me. When I figured the coast was clear, I mumbled, “I love you, too” and hung up the phone.
Because even though I was a technically homeless 30-year-old riding the train with her goldfish and a trash bag of her belongings, I still had my pride.
Chapter 22
Since I was already on my way back to Brooklyn and now completely awake, I decided to go back to the office like I originally planned when I left to go pick up my suit. I could knock off the last couple of things on the list, change clothes, and then go to sleep at my desk. It would look like I was there bright and early, which would hopefully impress Cammie and Larry. If things went well, I’d just be homeless and not also unemployed. And I could save the talking to from my parents for another 18 hours or so. I’d still be an adult then.
When I got back to BK Paper, the building was quiet. Most of the other tenants worked office hours. The other ones were pretty small and kept to themselves. I used my key card to open the door from the street, access the elevator, and unlock
the office door. The motion-controlled lights came on when I opened the door. I looked around as I walked to my cubicle. I was the only one in the office.
I sat down at my desk, pushing my garbage bag underneath. I situated Crash on the desk and threw a few fish flakes in his bowl. I gave him a little bit more as a bribe for all the drama I was putting him through. “I’m gonna get it together, Crash.” He swam away from me as if to say “Yeah, right, bitch.” Man, he was one sassy little fish.
I booted up my computer and immediately checked the email. No file from OJ. But there was a mass email from Larry. He’d closed the Green Bank account. We’d go into production immediately. The email went on to say that sales reps should let clients know that lead times on deliveries might be longer than anticipated. We were to do whatever we needed to keep our clients, though. No exceptions. And the merger would proceed as scheduled.
Well, I didn’t have any clients at the moment. But maybe I’d get some if I could survive this merger. But that meant I needed to finish my list. And where the fuck was that email from OJ?
Then I got an idea and checked my SPAM folder. There it was. It’d been there the whole time, too. I opened it and quickly clicked “Download.” It would take a few minutes with our crappy Internet signal. So I checked my list again.
One of the things I hadn’t done that day was check all the windows to make sure they were all locked properly. That could be done in the few minutes while I was waiting for the download. Two birds, one stone, and all that. There were only four or five windows in the whole office. One was in Larry’s office, one was in the conference room/Cammie’s office, and the rest were along the other side of the floor. I checked the outer ones first and then went to Larry’s office. His door was locked, though. Ok, I’ll have to lie about that one.
I almost didn’t even bother with Cammie’s office because I thought it would be locked as well. But the new homeless Audrey was a little more diligent than the one who’d had a place to sleep. So, I tried the door. It was unlocked.
I entered and the lights came on automatically. For all of Larry’s talk of Cammie needing an office to work in, she hadn’t done much with the place. It still looked like the conference room. The conference table did have a few items on it--stacks of paper, files, and an open laptop. But it was all placed so neatly, it had Cammie’s name all over it. I walked past it and went over to the window. It was locked.
Good.
I quickly walked back to the door and was about to close it when I saw a folded piece of pink paper on the ground near the door. I hadn’t noticed it when I first came in. I was sure I hadn’t moved anything. Cammie seemed like the type of person who would notice if something was out of place. She also seemed like the type of bitch that would blame it on me. So I picked it up. It looked like a list of some sort written in Cammie’s magenta pen. I recognized the name of a few places. They were paper companies and sellers. It looked like BK’s competitors. Or maybe possible clients. Most had checks next to them.
I walked over to the makeshift desk. I paused, wondering where I could put this piece of paper so Cammie wouldn’t freak out. It all looked so perfect. Finally, I just decided to put it in the box labeled “IN” on the table. I took a step back. It looked good to me. I turned around to leave and accidentally clipped her penholder with my hand. The pens went flying and I let out a deep sigh mixed with some choice curse words.
I put all the pens back into the cup. Then I noticed her laptop was lit up now. Maybe I hit mouse and woke up the computer when I was knocking shit over. I couldn’t help but notice that she’d left her screen on her email account. She only had one email left in her inbox and the subject was, “Cancel Tonight’s Production.”
I don’t know what made me click it but I did. I skimmed the email thread and saw it was between Cammie and the warehouse manager. She was telling him to hold off on the production of the Green Bank paper order until the next day. He had written back a series of protests—any delay would hurt the production schedule, he’d already lined up his employees to work overtime, Larry had already told him to start production. The last email exchange was her firing him. The timestamp said Cammie had sent the last message hours ago.
What exactly is Cammie’s job here? It seems like she was in on everything now, not just the merger, I thought as I stood up and walked to the door. But I quickly let it go. I had other things to do. I needed to focus on keeping my job and let Cammie worry about her own.
***
Back at my desk, the file had finally downloaded. I pressed play then fast-forwarded at 40 times the regular speed. I popped a few Gummy Bears from my stash and trained my eyes to look for something suspicious all while begging myself not to fall asleep.
I almost did, too. But then I saw Cammie on the screen. She was walking out of the office toward the elevator when a large guy in a hoodie walked up to her. Not that I hadn’t seen her in the video before. I’d seen all of my coworkers coming and going. The cameras watched people come in and out of the office all day. I’d even seen myself and decided that my daily last look in the mirror to see if I was wrinkled was not doing the trick. I was most definitely wrinkled.
But the difference between all of the other times I’d seen Cammie on the video and the moment in question was that she wasn’t alone. Most of the time Cammie speed walked in and out of the building without speaking to anyone. But here she was on camera interacting with someone.
I leaned closer into the monitor. I’ve never been the best at reading body language but a blind man could see Cammie and her friend were looking slightly off. Cammie’s body language immediately stiffened and she rushed him off to side, almost off camera. They talked for a minute, both gesturing animatedly. Finally Cammie said something to the guy, jamming her finger into his chest to punctuate her point, and then speed stalked back into the office.
Her visitor stood where she left him for a minute and then got on the elevator, passing closer to the cameras when he did. As the door closed, the camera caught a glimpse of his exposed left forearm and the anchor tattoo that decorated it.
Chapter 23
The next thing I knew, I was running down the hallway to the elevators. I wasn’t thinking. I had no plan. I didn’t know what I was going to do when I got there. I just knew I had to get to the warehouse before Cammie did anything that couldn’t be fixed. After waiting a few minutes for the elevator, it finally came. I stepped in and hit the button for the first floor. The doors closed but the elevator didn’t go anywhere.
Dammit!! After six, the elevators in the building stop working without a security key card and I’d left mine in the office. And since I needed the card to get back into the office, I couldn’t go back to get it, either.
I got out of the elevator and ran toward the stairwell. Then I sprinted down eight flights of stairs and burst out of the side door to the building. I came out on Front Street and immediately tried to hail a cab, forgetting that cabs never stop for me. I must look shifty or something.
After two cabs passed me, I got desperate. Just as the third cab was about to pass me, I stepped out into the street with my hand raised in the universal stop sign gesture. The driver hit the brakes hard enough to leave skid marks on the ground and squeals in the air. He leaned out of the window and screamed with a Middle Eastern accent, “What the fuck are you doing??!!”
I ran to the back of the car, yanked open the door, and gave him the address of the paper factory. “No!” he screamed. “No! I am not taking you anywhere! I will not reward this bad behavior! You could have gotten someone killed!”
“I’ll give you a big tip.”
“No! Get out of my car!”
“I’ll pay twice the fare.”
“No!”
“I’ll pay three times the fare.”
“Fine.” The driver put the car in gear.
I leaned forward. “But I’m in a hurry. A big hurry, okay?”
“No kidding,” the driver mumbled under his breath. But at
least he hit the gas and we started moving faster.
We were driving for maybe 15 minutes when I glanced at the meter. I went to dig in my purse to pull out the cash I had left from Mom and Dad’s double payment. That’s when I realized I’d left my bag back at the office. I thought about explaining the situation to the driver but something told me that he wouldn’t be that sympathetic and he wouldn’t take an IOU. He’d probably throw me out of the cab. Or call the cops. Or both.
There was only one thing to do. At a stoplight on 1st Avenue, I jumped out of the cab and took off running. Behind me I heard the driver screaming and calling me names in his native language. I only speak English but I’m pretty sure he wasn’t asking me to come back so he could take me on a date.
Wait. Maybe this is why cabs don’t stop for me, I thought as I huffed my way through the intersection.
***
I ran for a few more blocks before I stopped to catch my breath. Wasn’t it just a few hours before that I’d been shot in an alley? Well, it didn’t feel like it. I wasn’t in pain. I wasn’t even sore. But I was still a shitty runner.
I checked my surroundings. I wasn’t that familiar with the area but I knew the factory was on the water so I headed east for another block or two and got lucky when I saw the Brooklyn Paper Logo on a building.
And that’s where whatever was driving me finally hit the brakes. I had no idea how to get inside or what I’d do when I got inside. Hell, Cammie might not even be there. But sometimes the plan is just, “Go see what’s what.”
I knew the factory was closed. During a company picnic I remember getting drunk with one of the warehouse workers and him mentioning that he doesn’t have to work nights because there’s only one shift and it ended at 6pm. That seemed to be right because all of the lights were out and the front door was locked. But if Cammie was in there, she got in somehow. I started to check the other entrances. There were a couple of side doors but both were locked tight. Around back at the loading dock I found a door that was open. Bingo.
Super Page 10