Grease and sweat left over from her six hour shift at the diner slicked the dial on her lock as she fumbled to get her locker open. It didn’t seem to matter how hard she tried, the oily sensation never left her skin.
The lock gave with an audible click and she wrenched the metal door open. Her purse was carelessly hung on one of the spare hooks while she kicked off her shoes and reached with her free hand for the maid uniform. The simple gray and white ensemble was a drastic change from her scratchy waitress one. The material was softer and comfortable with a neat little collar that matched the cuffs on the short sleeves. The flat, pearly buttons slipped easily into each hole from hem to throat. She dusted a hand along the front before tying her apron overtop and starting round two of her day.
Being a room attendant took no real brain power, but the manual exertion of it was exhausting.
Most of the customers weren’t too bad, like the older couples who were neat and orderly and only required minimal attending. It was the frat boys, the rich and sleazy assholes who partied hard on their daddy’s dollar and thought they owned the damn world that she couldn’t stand. Walking into one of those rooms always made her want to dress up in a hazmat suit first.
Used condoms, discarded panties with questionable stains, filthy clothes, drug paraphernalia, the stench of sweat, pot, and sex were just some of the things that greeted her when she opened her first room. It was policy to shut the door behind them while they worked, for their own safety as well as the privacy of their clients, but the smell was just unbearable. She wasn’t sure she’d survive being locked up in there.
Going against the rules, she propped the door open with her cart and got to work stuffing everything into trash bags. Personal items were put aside or tossed into the laundry pile. The bed was made, all surfaces wiped down and the floors vacuumed. But it was all done with a quickness she normally didn’t show in her work. Each room would take an hour, two if it was really bad, but she usually took her time and made sure she did everything perfectly.
She didn’t have time for perfect.
Checking the rooms off her clipboard, she grabbed her cart and hurried her way back down through the service elevator. Her foot tapped anxiously on the sheet of metal as she watched the numbers descend.
On five, the doors opened and one of the servers pushed his empty food cart in next to hers. He took ages aligning it perfectly.
“Busy night, huh?” he said unexpectedly as the car started its descent once more.
“Yeah,” she mumbled absently, eyes never steering away from the blinking numbers overhead.
“Are you almost off?” he asked.
She looked at him then, taking in his boyish face, mop of golden brown curls, and sparkling green eyes. Practically still a baby, she thought, judging his age to be roughly nineteen.
“Almost,” she answered.
They approached their level and he let her out first. Juliette propelled her cart straight into the stock room and hurriedly refilled everything she’d used. She emptied the trash, dumped the laundry into the chute and returned her cart to the store room manager, who barely glanced up from his magazine. With five minutes to spare, she bolted towards payroll like her pants were on fire.
“What’s the hurry, chica?”
She ignored the question thrown her way by one of the servers in passing and pumped faster.
Martin, the floor manager and all around douchebag, took his break at midnight and usually didn’t return until six in the morning. If she didn’t catch him before that, she would have to wait to see the accounting clerk and those bastards didn’t come in until nine.
“Martin!” Panting and wheezing, Juliette skidded to a clumsy halt just outside his door and doubled over. “I need to talk to you.”
“You have two minutes,” Martin stated, never once glancing up from his paperwork.
“I need an advance,” she said, staggering in a few steps deeper into the eight by eight room consumed mainly by the metal desk and wall of filing cabinets.
“I’m not payroll,” he muttered.
“No, but they need your verification.”
Round, ruddy face lifted and she was pinned by a pair of sharp, clear blue eyes. “Didn’t you get an advance last week?”
And the week before that, she thought miserably, but didn’t say as much. “It’s an emergency.”
One eye squinted at her warily. “How much?”
“Six,” she said, deciding to go with the high amount and work her way down if he said no.
“Hundred?”
Inwardly, she grimaced. “Thousand.”
“Jesus Christ!” The joints of his chair shrieked when he threw himself back. “What the hell do you need that kind of money for?”
“I told you, it’s an emergency or I wouldn’t be asking.”
“Christ!” Martin said again, rubbing his palm over his pudgy face. “No. Absolutely not. I am not going to be responsible for you paying that kind of money back.”
“I’ll pay it back!” Juliette promised. “You know I will. Come on, Martin. I’ve been a model employee. I’m always on time. I finish my work. I’ve never had a complaint. My work is exemplary. You know I’m good for it.”
Martin kept rocking his head from side to side. “Can’t do it. Not only because I won’t, but because payroll will never agree to that amount. Are you crazy?”
“Well, what about three thousand?”
Martin sighed. “The most I can do is maybe five hundred bucks.”
“Five hundred?” Disbelief and outrage rang through her voice even as dread coiled in her chest. She felt the urge to burst into frustrated tears and swallowed it back quickly. “Fine.”
Five hundred bucks wasn’t enough to pay what she owed, nor was it enough to appease Arlo when he came knocking. But maybe it would be enough to give her a few days to come up with the rest.
By the time she shuffled home to the only place she’d ever lived, the clock was sitting at well after three. Shadows spilled along the walls like black paint, obscuring the worn, second hand furniture she’d picked up from street curbs and dumpsters. The original items had been sold off to pay for the overdue mortgage. She hadn’t gotten nearly as much as her parents had paid for them, but it had kept the bank off their backs for a little while. The only things she hadn’t gotten rid of were her and Vi’s bedroom sets. Both had been birthday presents and the last gift their mother had given them. But everything else was gone, leaving empty rooms throughout the house, giving it the appearance of abandonment. Maybe in a way, it was. Juliette certainly no longer lived there. It was a place to keep her things mostly. But it was the one piece of her old life she fought desperately to cling on to.
Careful not to make a sound, she started up the stairs. She knew from the discarded backpack next to the stairway, that Vi was home and already in bed. Her entire body ached. There was a numbness behind her eyeballs that she was certain wasn’t normal and all she wanted to do was curl up and sleep. Instead, she staggered her way into the bathroom, careful not to make too much noise as she locked herself inside.
The bags beneath her brown eyes had bags and each one was a darker shade of purple. They stood out against the dull, lifeless white of her complexion. Dirty blonde wisps stood in erratic, frizzy waves where they had escaped the elastic restraining the unruly curls. She’d taken a shower that morning, but the strands were dull and lanky from sweat, humidity, and grease. She ripped the band out and tossed it down on the counter before shoving away from the mirror to undress. Her waitress uniform hit the floor and was left there as she turned away to climb into the tub for a quick shower.
It was after four in the morning by the time she fell face first across the bed.
True to his promise, Martin had left a note with the accounting clerk regarding her five hundred dollars. The check was waiting for her when Juliette returned to the hotel the next morning. She signed for it before making her way to the staff lounge and the coin operated phone mounted t
o the wall.
Juliette didn’t own a cellphone. It was an extra expense that she couldn’t afford. Vi had one and only because it gave Juliette some piece of mind knowing her sister could use it in case of an emergency, even though, at the end of the month, Vi racked up a bill fit for six cellphones. But Juliette had no problem using a payphone if she really needed to. She very seldom ever had anyone to call anyway.
There were still three hours before her shift started at the arcade and fun pit. Thankfully, unlike her commute from the diner on the outskirts and the hotel smack dab in the very heart of the city, the arcade was a reasonable twenty minutes from her house by bus. The bank was ten minutes. But she still had to call Arlo and hopefully talk him into taking the five hundred for the time being. The very thought made her insides writhe.
The staff lounge was occupied by one other person, a woman in a maid’s uniform. Realistically, for the amount of time Juliette spent at the hotel, she should have at least known some of the others. Some she did recognize on sight, but others were new or she never paid attention. Maybe that made her an antisocial weirdo, but she rarely found time to sit down and have a proper meal, never mind an actual conversation with another human being.
The woman never glanced up when Juliette hurried across the worn carpet to the tiny alcove cut into the other side of the room. The phone booth hung over a small, wooden table containing a tattered phonebook. It was flipped open to a cab company ad. The number was circled with a bright, red pen.
Juliette ignored it as she snatched up the phone, inserted fifty cents and punched in Arlo’s number. After seven years, it was as clear to her as her own name. She didn’t even need to look at the dial pad.
A man answered on the fourth ring.
“Yeah?”
Juliette had to swallow hard before she could answer. “This is Juliette Romero. I need to speak to Arlo … please.”
The gruff man said something away from the phone. There was some scuffling and then Arlo’s voice was in her ear.
“Juliette. Do you have my money?”
Nausea soured the contents of her empty stomach. The plastic handle squished beneath her clammy palm as she gripped the phone harder.
“Not exactly,” she murmured unsteadily. “I have some of it, but—”
“Juliette.” Feigned disappointment crackled between them in the single exhale of her name. “I don’t like hearing that.”
“I know, and I tried, but it’s a lot of money to get in a single night.”
Arlo sighed. “How much do you have?”
More and more, it was becoming increasingly harder to breath around the sickness climbing up her throat. Dull, gray fingers had begun to creep up around the edges of her vision and she had to struggle not to pass out.
“Juliette.”
Oh how she hated when he said her name like that, in that sing-song manner.
“Five hundred,” she said. “I have … it was all I could get.”
There was a hiss of air being sucked through clenched teeth.
“Oh that isn’t what we agreed to at all, is it, Juliette? That isn’t even half.”
“I’ll get the rest—”
“You know, it’s not about the money, Juliette. It’s about keeping your word. I was really good to you, wasn’t I? I gave you time—”
“One day isn’t—”
Arlo kept on talking. “I thought for sure we had some kind of understanding when we spoke yesterday. But maybe you just don’t care about your sister as much as you claim. Maybe you’re hoping I’ll take the hindrance off your hands.”
“No! Please, Arlo, just give me a little—”
“The time for bargaining is over, Juliette. I want your sister delivered to me by six PM sharp tonight or I will get her myself.”
Chapter 2
The shivering wouldn’t stop. It ravaged the length of her body in rivulets of hot and cold so severe, it was worse than the time she’d had the flu and had to be admitted to the hospital. Every inch of her hurt with a viciousness that felt stifling and unbearable. She couldn’t breathe and the world kept going in and out of focus.
Somehow, by some miracle, she found herself at home. Its emptiness seemed to howl around her in a cruel sort of silence. Puddles of light and shadow spilled across every room in a filmy dark gold. The previous night’s supper, something cheesy and creamy, lingered through the space, yet despite the fact that she was starving, the scent made her queasy. Her insides roiled and gave her just enough warning to get her sprinting for the bathroom.
Dear God, this can’t be happening.
Partially wheezing and partially sobbing, she huddled down next to the toilet with her legs drawn and her clammy face mashed into her raised knees. Her body heaved with every struggled breath until she was certain she’d pass out from lack of oxygen.
Somewhere deep in the house, hinges squeaked. A floorboard creaked. Any other time, the sounds wouldn’t have filled her with unimaginable dread, but in that moment, it only made her want to cry harder.
“Juliette?” The raspy voice soaked up the silence. “Juliette, are you home?”
Pulling herself together and scrubbing away all lingering signs of her weakness, Juliette twisted her face into a smile and stepped out of the washroom.
“Hello Mrs. Tompkins! Did I wake you?”
As small and frail as a child, Abagail Tompkins stood barely at five feet with fine, white hair that hung in straggles around her withered face. Her blue eyes had faded to gray, but still sparkled in a way that always made Juliette envious. She stood in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, clad in her floral housecoat and pink slippers.
Mrs. Tompkins rented the one bedroom in-law suite in the basement. It worked out for both of them, because Mrs. Tompkins was on a fixed budget that barely covered the cost of a matchbox and Juliette needed someone to be home with Vi when she couldn’t be.
“I was up,” the woman croaked. “Joint pains,” she explained with a miserable shrug. “But how are you?” She looked Juliette over. “You’re not at work today?”
The arcade.
Juliette wanted to swear and kick something, but that would only concern Mrs. Tompkins all the more.
“I’m going in a few minutes. I came home to change.” She paused before adding. “I’ll be working a triple shift tonight. Do you think—?”
Mrs. Tompkins put gnarled hands up. “Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll make my chicken casserole and make sure Little Miss does her homework.”
Grateful not to have to worry about at least one thing, Juliette smiled. “Thank you.” She started for the stairway. “Let Vi know that I put you in charge and she has to listen.”
Thin lips pursed and Mrs. Tompkins huffed. “I raised five children and six grandchildren. I know how to put down the law.”
Laughing, Juliette climbed the rest of the way to the top. The moment she was out of ear and eye shot, her smile dissolved. Her shoulders drooped. She stumbled into her bedroom and shut the door.
She knew she needed to call Wanda at the arcade and let her know she would be late, but there was a lack of energy to do anything. Normally, each day was done with a sort of numbness that didn’t end until she was face flat across the sheets. But that protective veil had been ripped away and Juliette was exhausted and yet, oddly, highly alert. Her mind was a tangled knot of everything and anything she could possibly do to get Arlo his money. There was still seven hours before she had to see him and she knew she wouldn’t be able to rest until she’d tried everything.
She could get an extra two hundred from her overdraft protection at the bank. It was a risk, because the bank had already warned her they would shut her accounts down if she did that again. But what choice did she have? It was either her bank account or her sister. There really was no other option. Still, that left her five thousand, three hundred unaccounted for and nothing short of selling the house was getting her that. Even if that was an option, seven hours wasn’t enough time to d
o it.
Pacing, she slid sweaty fingers back through her hair and fisted, ripping out strands from their roots, but not caring. Below, she could hear Mrs. Tompkins puttering around the kitchen. Cupboards opened and closed. Dishes rattled. She heard the beep of the oven being preheated. Then the quiet hum of some lullaby song Mrs. Tompkins always hummed while cooking.
Juliette dropped down on the edge of her bed and stared absently at her dresser. Most of the drawers were empty whereas once, they barely closed. She had sold most of her high end, brand named stuff and lived off thrifty jeans and t-shirts, much to Vi eternal disgrace. But they were cheap and practical. She withdrew a fresh pair of pants and a top and stripped quickly out of her sweat drenched clothes. She combed out her hair and refastened it in a ponytail before grabbing her purse and hurrying downstairs.
“Mrs. Tompkins, I have to run to the bank, but I’ll be right back.”
She heard all right, dear just before she shut the front door behind her and bounded down the front steps.
The bank was around the corner from the house, a white building lined with sheets of glass that were tinted a green-blue against the sun. Juliette went to the teller first to cash the check before making a straight line for the machines. Her fingers shook as she inserted her card.
The two hundred dollars went into the envelope along with the five hundred from the hotel. It was stuffed back into her purse before she left the building and made her way home.
“I don’t want your stupid casserole!” was the first thing Juliette heard when she stepped back into the house. “I’m going out with my friends.”
Dropping her purse down on the table next to the door, Juliette followed the shrill sound of her sister’s screeching and found the blonde looming over the island while Mrs. Tompkins diced chicken into neat cubes on the cutting board.
“Your sister put me in charge,” Mrs. Tompkins said evenly. “That means I want you at that table doing your homework.”
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