The only one he’d been close to was Jessie. He rolled his head to look at the phone. He could call. In twenty seconds, he could be talking to her. What would he say? She hadn’t believed him before he left. For all he knew, she had a boyfriend now. It had been a year. Hell, she could be married. Mark shifted on the bed and swung his legs over the side. It was only a little after seven p.m.
He rubbed his hands on his thighs, then reached for the phone. It took him a minute to recall her number and another minute to work up the nerve to dial it. After four rings, a machine picked up. Mark slumped as he listened to Jessie’s voice asking him to leave a message. He couldn’t do it. Not without knowing what her life was like now. The phone made a gentle click as he set it onto the cradle.
Well, that was that. There was nobody else to call. He flopped back on the bed and sighed. It was just as well. Better to start over fresh with no reminders of his previous life.
***
He awoke to bright sunlight streaming into the room. His melancholy mood from the night before had passed and he felt a spark of energy. After dressing, he grabbed his duffel bag and left the hotel. Hopefully, he’d find a cheaper place today. First on his agenda was breakfast and a newspaper. He obtained both at a diner a few blocks away. Over a plate of pancakes smothered in syrup and a side of sausage, he perused the help wanted section. The waitress lent him a pen, and he circled some possible opportunities. There were a couple of warehouse jobs, just like he had expected, but the job listing that piqued his interest was one for a photo lab. The pay wasn’t great, but it would be a step in the right direction.
After noting the location of the lab, he looked for rooms to rent. He saw a couple that sounded decent, but decided he should find a job before he committed to an apartment or room. Location had to be a consideration and walking distance to the job was first priority. After that was price. As he circled the phone numbers, it occurred to him that he had no way for any prospective employers to contact him. He couldn’t get a room until he had a job, but he couldn’t get a job until he had an address and phone number. Shit. Mark slapped the pen down on the paper and blew out a breath.
“Something wrong, hon?”
Mark turned to the waitress, who stood beside the table holding a pot of coffee. She frowned and looked genuinely concerned. He shook his head and tried to muster a smile. “No. I just…I have a small problem I was thinking about.” He reached for his wallet. “I guess I’m ready for the check.”
“Sure. You want a refill on the coffee?”
He thought for a second. It was foolish to waste time, but then again, he’d wasted over a year in prison; what was a few more minutes lingering over a cup of coffee? Just the luxury of being able to sit and watch people come and go while sipping the hot brew was something he wanted to savor. “Yeah, another cup would be great.”
She poured, then before moving off to the next table, paused. “I’m being nosy, but if you want to share your problem, I’m a good listener.”
Surprised, Mark glanced from the sugar packet he held in his hand up to her. He hadn’t had anyone to share a problem with in a long time. She was probably just being polite, but he shrugged and answered anyway, “I just got into town last night. I don’t have a job yet, and haven’t found a place to stay tonight-I have money, that’s not the problem,” he added hastily, not wanting her to think he might stiff her on the bill. “I was looking in the paper for both a job and a room, and realized I need one to get the other.” He shook his head and poured the sugar into the cup. “It’s a catch-22.”
“Hmmm…it is.” She put a hand on her hip and cocked her head. “What kind of job are ya looking for?”
“Anything, really.”
“Well, what have you done before?”
“I was a photographer, but it’s been awhile. Someday, I’ll get back into it, but for now, I’m not picky.”
“We get lots of folks from the neighborhood, and one of the regulars was just moaning about having to work all the time because he couldn’t find good help. You might try him. He runs a camera shop around the corner.” She pulled out her pad of paper and jotted something down and tore it off, handing it to him. “You just give this to Gary and tell him Lois sent you.”
“I-I will. Thanks.” He glanced at the note. She had written that Gary better hire Mark because she was tired of listening to Gary’s complaints. Mark grinned. “He’d hire me on your say so?”
Lois shrugged. “Sure. Why not? I know a good guy when I see one. Serving people all day, you get an instinct.” She tapped the eraser on the pencil against her temple. “Besides, I got a son about your age. You remind me of him.”
Touched, Mark smiled and tried to cover his emotion with a joke. “So he’s a handsome son-of-a gun too?”
The waitress threw her head back and laughed. “You bet.”
He tucked the paper into his wallet, took out a twenty and handed it to her. “Here’s for my meal. Keep the change.”
“But breakfast only cost about seven bucks. This is an awfully big tip.”
“Nope, for what you’re doing for me, it’s not big enough.” Feeling better than he could remember in a long time, he left the diner and headed around the corner.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“You look familiar.”
Mark shook his head, at a loss. “I’m sorry, I don’t recall ever meeting you. I did have a photography business a few years ago, but I used a different place to process my photos.”
The manager of the camera and film store shrugged. “Maybe it’ll come to me. So, your application looks impressive, but…” He paused and cleared his throat. “I gotta admit; I’m a little leery of the big break in your work history.”
Mark scratched the back of his neck. He’d known this could be a problem, but didn’t know how to answer. He’d never been convicted of anything, let alone a felony, so he truthfully answered no to that question, but the whole truth was complicated, and he didn’t think he should reveal it. Not if he wanted to be hired. He sighed and met the younger man’s eyes. “I know. I totally understand your reluctance. All I can say is it was a personal issue. It won’t happen again.”
His leg bounced as he waited for the man to make a decision. “Mr. Parker, I’d appreciate if you gave me a chance to prove myself to you. Please.” He didn’t want to sound like he was begging, but when it came down to it, that’s what he was doing. His future rested on the shoulders of a guy ten years younger and with half the experience.
“Gary.”
“Excuse me?” Mark leaned in, his hands resting on the store counter.
“Call me Gary. It feels kinda weird being called Mr. Parker. Makes me feel like I’m your ninth grade English teacher or something. And if you’re gonna be working here…”
Mark’s fingers pressed against the glass, and his leg froze mid-bounce. “You mean I got the job?”
“Yep. You’re hired. You know it doesn’t pay much? Just ten bucks an hour, but if you take up photography again, you can use the equipment to develop your prints.” Gary smiled and stuck out his hand. “Free processing is one of the perks. Not much of one anymore though.”
Mark shook the offered hand. “Why? Sounds good to me.” Right now, everything sounded good. He had a job. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
Gary shot a look around the store. “I shouldn’t say this ‘cause it’s probably gonna put us out of business one day, but if I were you, I wouldn’t even bother with film anymore.”
“You think digital is going to be that big? The quality of the prints isn’t nearly as good.” He’d looked into digital a few years ago, but hadn’t liked the fuzziness of the photos. It was fine for family snapshots, but not professional photos.
“I know you’ve been out of photography for a year or so, but haven’t you kept up at all?”
Mark tensed. What if the kid withdrew the job offer? “I’m afraid I haven’t. Tell me what I missed.” He hoped his appeal to Gary’s knowledge would flatter the g
uy.
Gary grinned and came around the counter. Apparently he liked the role of teacher. He pointed to a row of cameras on display. “My pleasure. These babies are going to be the future of photography.” He picked one up and showed Mark. “All digital. You’re right, it used to be that pictures printed from digital looked bad, but that’s changed.” He tapped a framed photo beside the display. “See how crisp that looks?”
Mark picked up the photo. The colors were bright, the image sharp. “You’re right. This is gorgeous.” He glanced at the camera in Gary’s hands. “One reason I didn’t switch was because I had lots of different lenses. I couldn’t see investing in all new ones just for the digital cameras.”
Gary held up a finger. “Ah, but now they fit. They wised up.”
“No kidding? That’s great.” He set the photo down and picked up another camera on display. It felt good in his hands. Automatically, he raised it and looked through the viewfinder. His finger twitched on the shutter button, and he accidentally snapped a photo. “Aw, shit. I’m sorry.” He set the camera down and stepped back.
Laughing, Gary set the one he held down and grabbed the one Mark had used. “It’s not a big deal. We can just erase it. That’s the beauty of digital. No more expense of paying to process bad shots.”
Mark wiped his hands on his thighs then shoved his hands in his back pockets to keep from touching anything else. “Yeah, I guess that could be a good thing.” It had only been a little over a year, but he felt like so much had changed. Would he ever get caught up with all that he’d missed? “So, when should I start?”
***
“I’ll take it.”
“I need first and last months’ rent up front.” The landlord held out his hand.
Mark reached for his wallet. That would take almost all of his money. “Can I give you the first month and then give you the rest when I get my first paycheck?”
The landlord folded his arms across his ample chest and scowled. “I don’t run no charity house here, buddy.”
Mark forced a smile. “I realize that, sir. It’s just that I’ll need to eat in the meantime.”
“Try the soup kitchen around the corner.” The man rubbed his fingers together in the universal sign that meant money.
Mark, hands on his hips, surveyed the dingy walls and cracked floor tiles. Roach motels decorated the corners of the studio apartment. A layer of dust covered the windowsill and the glass was so smudged with dirt that the bright sunshine only supplied a dim murkiness to the room. A battered sofa matched with a scratched end table were on one end of the room, an old chest of drawers on the other. The dining area consisted of a rickety table and chairs pushed up against the wall by the kitchen.
The apartment was a shit hole. It galled him that the greasy little guy had the nerve to act like an ass. Mark’s jaw tensed as he tried to check his anger.
“You know what? I just changed my mind. I think I’d be better off sleeping on the streets.” He shoved his wallet back in his pocket and turned for the door.
“You ain’t gonna find nothin’ better if ya can’t afford this.”
Mark lifted his hand and waved it dismissively. Whatever. He was down the steps and had his hand on the door to leave when the landlord came puffing down the stairs.
“Wait. I’ll let ya have it for the first month and only half the second month.”
Mark released the doorknob. “First month’s rent, and I’ll paint the place, clean it up.”
The guy cocked his head, considering. “You buying the paint and supplies?”
“We split the cost, but I get a hundred bucks off the second month’s rent for my labor.” Mark calculated that even with the price of the paint, he’d still be ahead. He didn’t think he could live in the place looking like it did. The ugly, drab little room wasn’t much better than his cell had been and in some ways, worse. At least the cell had been relatively bug-free.
“Fine.”
Mark paid the agreed amount. “I can get started cleaning this afternoon. Is there a broom around?”
The landlord handed him a receipt. “I might have one in the basement. I’ll check.” He reached in his pocket and took out the key. “Here ya go.”
The key warmed Mark’s palm. He took a deep breath, easing it out as he squeezed the piece of metal. He had a home. Not much of one, but he had the key and he could come and go as he pleased. “Thank-you, sir.”
***
The landlord had surprised him by dropping off not just the broom, but sponges, a bucket and a mop. The rest of the day, and into the night, he scrubbed walls, windows, and floors. Finally exhaustion and hunger brought him to a halt. Scrounging into his meager stocks he came up with a couple of peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches and a glass of milk, which he ate sitting on the floor so he could survey his progress. The window sparkled, the floor was clean, and the walls weren’t quite so dingy, although they still needed paint. That would have to wait until the next night.
There were a number of things that would have to wait their turn and the list grew. He had taken so many things for granted his whole life. Now, he was happy for the sliver of soap he’d found stuck to the shower caddy. He should have thought to take the soap from the motel, but at least he had snagged the shampoo.
The mattress in the sofa bed looked suspicious so he slid the mechanism back and replaced the cushions. The couch would do just fine. It would feel as luxurious as a bed at a five-star hotel. Before settling in for the night, he went to the refrigerator and poured milk in his lone glass. Tilting his head back, he downed it in four satisfying gulps. Gasping, he swiped his arm over his upper lip, and grinned despite the brain freeze.
Easing down on the couch, he kicked his feet up, wrapped his coat around him and tucked his head into the crook of his arm. For the first time since his release, he slept through until morning.
Sun glinted through the windows, filling the apartment with a warm glow. He blinked at the brightness and rubbed his eyes. A surge of adrenaline shot through him. Today was his first day at work. The thought propelled him off the sofa, and he rummaged through the clothes in the dresser, pulling out his least faded jeans and a plain black sweater. He made a mental note to ask the super about the closest laundry facilities. It would be too much to hope there was one in the building, not that he was complaining. As an afterthought, he grabbed a clean pair of sweatpants to use as a towel. It was one more thing to add to the growing list of necessities.
After showering and shaving, he stood in the kitchen, a glass of milk in one hand, a granola bar in the other. As he crunched the bar, he gazed out the window onto the street below. Mornings in his loft, he’d often awakened early, catching the first rays of the sun as they gilded the waves on Lake Michigan. He’d loved that loft. By some stroke of luck, the view of the lake from his windows had been unimpeded. He missed sipping a cup of strong black coffee as the city stirred awake. It was his time to think, to let his creativity take flight as he planned the day’s photo shoots. Taking the last bite of the bar, he washed it down with the milk.
Between getting the job and finding the apartment yesterday, he’d gone to his old apartment building. The super was a different guy, someone Mark had never met. The man had checked the records, and confirmed the eviction.
“It says here that since nobody came to claim the belongings, they were put on the curb.”
“What about my car?”
The guy had simply shrugged.
“So, that’s it? There’s nothing left?”
“Sorry, buddy. It was all legal.”
It was all gone. His apartment, his equipment, his photos, his business, his old life.
A taxi blasted its horn, and Mark started. He blinked, dragging in one long breath and then another. Life marched on. There was nothing to do but stumble along and deal with it. His earlier eagerness faltered with the memories. Trying to regain it, he glanced around the kitchen. Sure, it wasn’t his old loft, but it was his new home and things could be a
lot worse. He set about making sandwiches for lunch. Peanut butter and jelly was quick and cheap, and he rounded his meal with an apple, tossing it all in a bag.
His spirits perked up as he stepped into the crisp morning air and took a deep breath. Above the smell of exhaust and stagnant puddles scattered on the pavement from melting snow, came the scent of spring. Bicyclists sped past, seemingly unfazed by the early morning chill in the air.
A bike would be great. He wondered what had happened to the one that he’d kept in his loft storage area. He hoped it had gone to a kid. He mentally added a bike to his wish list. Food, shelter and clothing were the priority. He had those three now even if the clothing and food weren’t in abundance.
After work, he’d stop at the store and get some more basics for meals. He planned to hit the thrift shop again, see if he could afford some sheets and towels. So much to do, so little time. It hit him how much he’d missed having plans. To having a purpose to each day. It was what life was all about.
The walk to the camera shop only took about twenty minutes. At an intersection, he stopped for traffic and took a moment to turn his face to the sun. It didn’t have much heat, but the light against his eyelids warmed him. Opening his eyes, he smiled at an old lady waiting beside him. She scowled and tottered off the curb, muttering something about young people on drugs. His smile stretched to a grin. Life was good.
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