THAT WEEKEND, BRIDGETTE came over for our study date and we stuffed ourselves with pizza while pursuing the wanted ads for job possibilities.
She shoved the paper in my face, a red circle around one listing. I took it and read. "Dog walker needed for our three babies. Must be good with animals and be available three times a day." I dropped the newspaper. "Dogs hate me. Besides, walking three mutts isn't going to pay the bills or tuition."
Her shoulders drooped. "This is so boring. There's nothing here that would work with your classes. All the halfway-decent jobs are nine to five."
We gave up for the night and popped in our favorite romcom,eating popcorn and drinking red wine while I pretended I wasn't about to be homeless and kicked out of school.
In a rare show of affection,probably because I actually fed him, Crackhead curled up on my lap and purred. I couldn't even afford to feed myself, but with Vi gone, I couldn't let the critter starve. And, if I was being honest, I liked the company.
On Monday, in between classes, I grabbed a cup of much-needed coffee from Lucky, who ran a coffee kiosk in Harvard Square.
"Hi, Catelyn. The regular?"
I nodded and pulled out my wallet but he waved my money aside. "You know I can't charge you. You always brighten the place around here."
Lucky stood out at Harvard like an Ivy League CEO would stand out in prison. In his mid-thirties, he looked a good ten years older, with a weathered face that had been through a lot of hard life. His dark curly hair always looked mussed and a bit oily, and he had an unconscious habit of rubbing his finger over his mustache when he was nervous or thinking.
I often heard the students talking crap about him, but he'd always been kind to me.
"Where you headed?" he asked, handing me a steaming cup of liquid deliciousness.
"I need to talk to Professor Cavin about getting more work as his assistant."
He handed me another cup of coffee. "You'll need this then."
"Thanks, Lucky. Have a great day."
Professor George Cavin kept regular office hours, according to the sign on his door. Actually catching him during those hours was a different matter entirely. Today I got lucky; he was just about to lock up his office when I arrived.
"Catelyn, what can I do for you?" White tufts of hair flopped over his spectacles—which is what he called his glasses because he thought that sounded more scholarly. He didn't have as many wrinkles on his face as you'd expect of a man his age, but when he smiled his laugh lines became more prominent, making him look like a wizened wizard who lost his magic staff.
"Do you have a minute?" I pointed to his sign, which said he still had two hours left.
"Right, of course, come in. I was just going for some coffee, but it can wait."
I handed him the spare cup Lucky had made, and he smiled and inhaled deeply, escorting me in.
His tiny office would have felt more spacious if not for the wall-to-wall bookshelves housing hundreds of first and rare editions of his favorite books.
I sat across from him, fidgeting with my bag as I explained about my tuition and my roommate, and how I needed more work to make it.
The clock in his office ticked away loudly in the silence. I cleared my throat and shifted in my seat, wondering if he'd forgotten what I'd asked.
After another moment he looked up with heavy eyelids, his blue eyes still alert despite his slightly eccentric behavior. "I wish I could, but we've all felt the budget cuts of late, and I have no more money for assistants. As it is, I'm paying part of your hours from my own pocket, because I knowyou need them."
"Oh. I didn't know. I feel bad for asking now." I stood to leave, not wanting him to see my hopelessness.
He patted my hand. "I'll keep my ears open and let you know if something comes up."
I left his office knowing nothing would come up, that I was on my own and if I wanted to stay in school and become a lawyer, I would have to do things I never thought I'd do.
Hunger gnawed at my gut when I got home that night. A search through the kitchen revealed some old ketchup, a half eaten yogurt, two olives and a few cans of tuna. I gave the tuna to the cat, ate the yogurt and olives myself and stared longingly at the ketchup, but decided I couldn't ingest it and set it aside in lieu of drinking a lot of water. When I logged online to check my bank account balance in hopes of finding a few extra dollars for the dollar menu at a fast food joint, I discovered my account was overdrawn by $70.75. I'd gone over my balance by 75 cents when I'd bought lunch the other day, and my bank had charged me two $35 overdraft fees as a penalty. They would keep charging these fees until I brought the account current.