Vote Then Read: Volume III

by Aleatha Romig

Eyeing up a rack of recently ordered sneakers, I decided on a pair of white ones with rose gold piping—something I would never be allowed to wear as the figurehead of a billion-dollar company.

  I’d worn heels every day of my life since I could remember. The only difference was they were lower when I was a child, and now, they were soaring, sharp stilettos.

  Taking my new wardrobe into one of the changing rooms, I once again found myself assessing the locks on the doors and the wobble in the mirror from the second-rate glass. No flaws should exist in any aspect of our sales experience.

  I made a note to have all the mirrors replaced next time we overhauled this department.

  Slipping from my pencil skirt and black blouse, I rolled down my stockings and frowned at my underwear-clad form. The black bra offered support to my generous B-cups, but would the straps look hookerish peeking out from the off-the-shoulder top?

  I had no experience dressing like this, even though I’d gone to countless runway shows and hand selected the latest fashions.

  Suck it up and stop procrastinating.

  Tugging the tight jeans on, I slipped the top over my head and secured the lacy scarf around my throat. I made sure it hung loosely so as not to cover the blue star glittering on my skin.

  Ugh, no.

  I yanked the scarf off again and draped it over the door.

  It wasn’t needed.

  I touched the sapphire star. This would kill my father if he knew how unhappy I was after he’d given me everything. I could never explain the emptiness inside when I was so blessed on the outside. And I could never admit that I’d heard him discussing my love life with Steve the other day. Wondering if now was the time to parade me in front of New York’s finest bachelors in order to find a willing right-hand partner to run Belle Elle.

  I shuddered as I traded my stilettos for the white sneakers. The thought of giving my life to a company that’d always been there was one thing. The idea of sharing my life with a man who would never understand me was appalling.

  A meow sounded, followed by the streak of silver fur as Sage appeared under the changing room door.

  I scowled. “What are you doing down here?”

  I ought to regret teaching her to jump up and swat the buttons on the elevator. She was like Houdini with her ability to chase me down anywhere in the building, no matter if I’d kept her in my office or taken her to a meeting.

  “You know you’re not allowed on the shop floor.”

  She flicked her tail and leaped onto the small stool where I’d placed my pencil skirt. She meowed again then licked her paw.

  “You also know you can’t come with me tonight, right?”

  Her head wrenched up as if I’d uttered some terrible curse.

  She spread her claws and licked between them, daring me to say such blasphemy again.

  I ignored her display of feline annoyance, pushing her off my uniform. “You heard me, Sage. Don’t pretend otherwise.” Bundling the clothes up, I took one last look in the mirror and decided I looked sufficiently teenagerish. I sure looked nothing like the head honcho of Belle Elle.

  “Good.” I nodded, fluffing up my blonde hair that cascaded down my back to my waist. Dad constantly moaned for me to have it cut, but it was my one rebellion. The length wasn’t practical, and most of the time, I just let it air dry into messy waves. The only part of the perfect rule-abiding CEO that was wild.

  Heading back to the shop floor, I grabbed a shopping bag from beneath one of the many cashier stations and tucked my expensive clothes inside. Once folded neatly, I tucked the glossy bag into the cupboard beneath the till where manila folders rested with daily tasks and checklists.

  Two more things and then I would be ready to go.

  I need a coat in case it gets cold and some cash.

  I hadn’t brought my handbag down from my office. Not that it would’ve made a difference if I had.

  I had no cash. If I needed something, my assistant bought it for me. I only had a credit card for emergencies (not that I’d ever used it), and my I.D badge to access restricted parts of the building.

  Sage joined me from the changing room and prowled down the aisle, dragging my attention to a small table with funky purses on display. Seeing as I’d stolen jeans, a top, and a pair of shoes already, I supposed taking a purse wouldn’t matter.

  And hell, while I was at it, I might as well take some spending money, seeing as there wouldn’t be anyone to buy me anything tonight.

  Using the universal key attached to my lanyard and badge, I unlocked the cash register and looked at the float. There were no big bills, only regimented change ready for a new day of transactions. The rest of the day’s takings would already be counted, bound, and in our vault, ready for a bank run.

  No matter.

  Three hundred dollars in twenty-dollar bills would be fine.

  Taking the wad, I wrote a quick note on a Post-it: Noelle Charlston borrowed $300 in petty cash. Please contact her assistant, Fleur Hemmings, on extension #4456 to reimburse for morning business.

  I placed it where the bills had been (so no one would get into trouble for missing money), closed the till, and headed toward the purse display. Selecting one with a graffiti skull on a black background, I tucked the cash inside. The loneliness and strange lostness inside me slowly trickled away, blossoming into fear and excitement.

  I flashed the skull wallet at Sage. “See, I can be a rebel if I want to.”

  She licked her lips, her whiskers quivering.

  Stepping around her, I beelined for the final thing on my list.

  I’d never worn anything less than thousand dollar cashmere coats. However, tonight I would wear…

  I tapped my fingers, deliberating the jacket choice.

  Tonight, I’ll wear a patent leather black bomber with a price tag of $19.99.

  Pulling it off the hanger, I fondled the cheap material. I’d always wanted to wear something like this. As I slipped it on, two emotions skittered: terror and the sudden desire to return all the clothes to where they belonged, and eager frustration to begin my exploration of the Big Apple.

  I was afraid.

  I was excited.

  I was so sick of being sheltered and only being good at one thing.

  It’s time for that to change.

  “Happy birthday to me.” I tucked the wallet into my bomber jacket pocket, scooped Sage from the floor and rubbed her nose with mine. “I love you, but you can’t come.”

  Her little face pouted.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I won’t be gone long.”

  She meowed sadly.

  My heart squeezed, but I steeled myself against her guilt trip and headed toward the elevators. Walking was so much easier and comfier in sneakers than heels. No wonder people choose them over fashion.

  “I’m sorry, Sage, but it’s only one night.” Holding her firm with one hand, I pressed the button to summon two elevators.

  One to go up and one to go down.

  The up one came first, and I plopped her into it. Giving her a smile, I pressed my office level on the top floor. “Go back. Curl up in your basket. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

  She meowed again as the doors slowly closed.

  I whispered, “Don’t look at me like that. It hurts too much.”

  I hugged myself the moment she’d gone, feeling utterly alone and terrified.

  Why am I doing this?

  I should forget it and just go home.

  But then the down elevator pinged and waited for me to be brave and commit to one night away from Belle Elle.

  Hesitantly, fearfully, I stepped into it and prepared to become someone else.

  Someone free.

  4

  EVERYTHING seemed different.

  Everything is different.

  The air tasted richer. The traffic sounded louder. The temperature felt cooler. Even the sensation of cheap vinyl around my shoulders and cushy sneakers on my feet was different.

 
Nineteen years and this was the first time I’d been introduced to the world without finery or rules keeping me barricaded from living.

  I inhaled deep, coughing a little as a taxi spewed exhaust. The burn in my throat was so foreign to the filtered air of the Belle Elle building that I grinned rather than grimaced.

  The purse with its cash whispered to be spent, and my identification badge remained hidden in my pocket, reminding me who I was and how irresponsible I was being.

  I had no phone for Dad to contact me. No method of communication or way of calling for help if I got lost or into trouble.

  I was willing to put myself at risk just to live a little; to taste a different life to the one I’d been given.

  I couldn’t lie and say it wasn’t exhilarating, but it was also absolutely terrifying.

  Those first few steps away from Belle Elle physically hurt. The ache in my chest at disappointing my father hollowed me out until even my excitement at doing something new couldn’t fill.

  A few times, I second-guessed myself and almost turned around. I stopped, spun, and looked back at the huge hulking building where the shopping mega store was run.

  But then I reminded myself if I didn’t do this, I would never know what it was like to be normal. So I sucked it up, turned back around, and put one sneakered foot in front of the other, slowly entering the empire of downtown New York.

  Strangers bumped into me, tourists asked me to take their photograph, and street vendors yelled about their wares directly into my face.

  The sensory overload slowly eroded my shame for sneaking out and forced me to pay attention to every minor thing.

  For hours, I walked.

  I stared.

  I breathed.

  I let life take me wherever it wanted for a change. I had no idea where I was going or how to get back, but I let my feet get me lost because I had money to catch a taxi home. I knew my address—I wasn’t that sheltered. I could afford to go wherever I wanted, and at the end of my adventures hop in a cab and return with a new depth to my existence. And a secret I would happily harbor forever.

  At some point, I must’ve done a block and looped back on myself, so instead of turning left when I arrived at Times Square, I turned right and continued letting the city show me what I’d been missing.

  Flashing billboards tried to convince me I needed the latest Jeep and Hummer. Hollywood stars and starlets glowed in LED wonder with snippets of upcoming movies. Madame Tussauds promised wonders forever encapsulated in wax, and Ripley’s Believe It or Not! beckoned me to see things not common in everyday life.

  Walking past a souvenir shop, a bunch of clocks held up by mini Statues of Liberty showed I’d wandered for a while.

  Ten p.m.

  By now, if I’d stuck to my routine, I would be at home, fresh from a quick treadmill-run and shower. I would answer a few last-minute emails and crawl into bed to read the latest romance before my eyes closed and the e-reader bopped me on the head.

  Not tonight.

  Tonight, strangers smiled or yelled—depending if they wanted me to do something for them or get out of the way. I either moved too fast or too slow, unable to fall into the rhythm of the mismatched crowd I’d adopted. My jacket overheated me from walking and being cramped into streets with sweaty people made me claustrophobic. My feet were flat, and my tummy was empty.

  But nothing could detract from how freeing and awe-inspiring every experience was.

  Turning another corner, I spotted a food truck promising the best Mexican this side of the border. Hadn’t one of my bucket list items been to eat from a street vendor?

  It might make you sick.

  Yes, it might. But food poisoning would be yet another adventure I’d long been denied. Pulling the purse from my pocket, I joined the queue and waited my turn. As I shuffled to the front, I craned my neck to look at the guy leering down in a grease-spotted apron.

  “What can I getcha?” He chewed a piece of gum, fingers twirling his pencil in impatience.

  I narrowed my eyes at the menu behind him. “Um, what do you recommend?”

  He scoffed. “Recommend? Lady, do I look like I have time to shoot the shit with you?” He pointed at the crowd behind me with his pencil. “Hurry up. I got paying people to feed.”

  I opened my wallet and pulled out a twenty. “I’ll just have something chicken.” I handed him the money. “Oh, and not hot. I don’t like spice.”

  “Got it.” He snorted. “Chicken and bland. Boring order for a boring girl.”

  I tensed. “Excuse me?”

  He looked me up and down. “Beat it, princess. Your order will be ready in five minutes. Pick-up is at the window down the truck.” He tossed me a dirty ten-dollar bill. “Here’s your change.”

  I curled my fingers around the money, annoyance and hurt making equal acid tracks inside me. I’d never been talked to that way. No one dared.

  The fact he’d called me boring, when I completely agreed with him, pissed me off even more. I wadded up the money and threw it at him. “Know what? Add a beef something or other to that order, too. And make it extra spicy.”

  I walked off toward the collection window before he could insult me anymore.

  5

  THE BEEF WAS a bad idea.

  After collecting my dinner, I strolled toward Times Square where a few tables and chairs had been placed for milling pedestrians. The table was filthy, the chair rickety, but I’d never eaten with such vibrancy as my entertainment before.

  The tinfoil wrapped burrito steamed with flavor as I opened it and inhaled. Determined to prove the greasy man wrong, I took a bite of the beef, chewed, and grinned.

  It’s not so bad.

  Then the heat began.

  My tongue shrivelled up.

  The Mexican food kicked me hard. Quicker and hotter until my grin switched to a gasp, wheezing in spicy agony.

  Water!

  Oh, my God, I need water.

  My eyes streamed with tears as I grabbed both burritos, left my commandeered table, and bolted toward the convenience store blinking with billboards of ice-cold water and cola bottles.

  Charging inside, I yanked open a glass-fronted fridge, grabbed a water, and tore off the cap. I downed it in three seconds. And still, the fire burned my tongue and lips.

  Gasping, I grabbed a chocolate milk.

  Struggling with the cap, I finally got it open and took a few greedy sips. The full-fat milk helped temper some of the hateful rage. I exhaled a sigh of relief.

  “I hope you’re going to pay for that.” A shop girl with pink hair raised an eyebrow.

  Wiping my lips with the back of my hand (something I would never do in my real world), I nodded and collected another water bottle while somehow hugging my mostly-untouched burritos. “Yes, sorry. The spice caught me unaware.”

  She grinned. “Oh shit, did you piss off Pete?”

  “Pete?” I placed the two water bottles (one full, one empty) and the half-drunk chocolate milk onto the conveyer belt.

  The shopkeeper passed them over the scanner, ringing up the sale. “Yeah, the guy who owns the Mexican street meat.” She giggled. “He makes a mean taco, but man, he’s cruel on the hot sauce.”

  I ran my tongue over my still stinging lips. “I kind of asked for it.” Shrugging, I smiled. “I don’t get out much. I wasn’t aware not to antagonize food sellers.”

  She bagged my purchases. “Yep, everyone knows that. Especially not to piss off the street kings.”

  I dug into my wallet and pulled out a twenty. She took it, opened the register, then passed me my change. The fact she spoke to me with no tension or concern made me relax.

  I was so used to talking to women from a boss-employee relationship. No one joked in my presence or told me what to do in case I fired them. And those who did try to befriend me only did so for a promotion or raise.

  I could taste fakery like a rotten apple.

  We shared another smile before awkwardness crept in. I didn’t know h
ow to end a friendly conversation or even when to leave after buying something.

  The girl saved me from standing there like an idiot. “Well, you have a good night. And don’t piss off any more people, you hear?”

  I nodded. “Got it. Thanks for your help.”

  “No sweat.” She gave me a small wave before disappearing from the till to finish stocking a shelf with chips.

  Making sure I had both burritos and my valuable liquids to get me through the fire-breathing dragon of Pete’s revenge, I left the shop and re-entered the manic world of shoppers and tourists.

  I ducked and jived through the crowd, intending to sit back down and try the blander chicken burrito, only to find my table and chair had been nabbed by a family with three young children who blinked glassy-eyed with tiredness in the glow of the bright neon lights.

  All the other tables were occupied.

  Oh, well.

  I don’t mind. I can walk and eat.

  Laughter caught my ears. I glanced at a table two down from where I stood, where four teenage girls sat. My lips twitched to share in their joke as I looked at what they were laughing at. Horror slammed into me instead.

  They sneered and giggled at an elderly homeless man picking up aluminum cans in a trash bag.

  I ached for him and the hopelessness of his situation. He was fully aware of the jokes and whispers, doing his best to ignore the girls as he chased a can caught in a puff of wind.

  I’d been on the opposite end of homelessness all my life. I’d been born into a role that would ensure I’d never know the pain of cold and hunger. I’d been given so much, and what had I done? I’d run away for the night like an unappreciative teenager.

  What was I thinking?

  Embarrassment coated my insides. I couldn’t look at the clothes I’d taken from Belle Elle or the food I’d bought with money grabbed from the till. Things I had every right to use but somehow felt like I’d stolen and broken my father’s trust.

  The girls continued to laugh as a can rolled out of the man’s trash bag through a tear in the bottom.

  I wanted to slap them for their immaturity and lack of empathy. I wanted to forget I’d ever thought I wanted to be a typical girl rather than who I truly was: a capable young woman who would never stand by while another was ridiculed.