She laughs. “Yeah, I can see that.” Then she points to a woman with a young boy. “What about her?”
I offer her a big grin. “Oh, that’s easy. Her son wants a toy and she has somewhere to be so she’s telling herself she’s compromising but really she’s bribing.”
She nods again. “Fascinating.”
We go through a couple more rounds and she gets the idea and begins trying it on her own.
That gives me a chance to take a good look at her. She’s cute with dark brown hair and freckles. I’d guess her age at no older than twenty-four. She has an innocence about her that reminds me of Dahl when she was younger.
“I’m Ben.” I reach my hand out.
“Ruby,” she smiles.
“Nice to meet you, Ruby.”
She blushes and I laugh. I haven’t met someone like her in a long time. We talk for about an hour before she looks at her watch. “It’s getting late. I should probably be going.”
I stand up and shove my hands in my pockets. I don’t try to dissuade her or ask her out. “Yeah, me too. I’ll see you around.” I extend my hand again.
Her grip is weak. She’s timid. And she’s blushing again. After spending the past sixty minutes talking to her, I realize she’s not as similar to Dahlia as I first thought. But that’s okay. She was refreshing to talk to. Even though she seems like a nice girl, any kind of romantic entanglement is the farthest thing from my mind right now. I’m not looking for a love interest—girlfriend or otherwise.
“Yeah, see you around.” She smiles.
I’m thinking about heading over to Beck’s as I leave the coffee shop but decide I’ve had enough to drink for a while, and need to be clear headed for my new job on Monday.
***
I could always schmooze a congressman’s wife, a publicist’s sister, even a former teacher’s husband, with a few carefully crafted words. Well-rehearsed flirtation is what Dahl used to call it when she heard me in action. When there was a story, I knew how to set about getting it. It was my calling. I can only hope it still is.
After a week of training for this fucktastic job, I’m finally on my own. Taking in a deep breath, I tell myself I can do this. I can get the story, regardless of what type of story it is. Today should be like going after any other piece—but I know it really won’t be.
I button the last two buttons of my shirt and comb my fingers through my wet hair without glancing in the mirror. I shaved for work today, something I rarely do. The worn leather of my messenger bag in my hand makes me smile. It was the one thing I searched for in the boxes of my stuff that my mom had stored in her attic when I first returned from New York City. I grab it and sling it over my shoulder before walking out the door of the fleabag hotel that has become my home. I decided to stay here until I figure out what’s permanent in my life. But I know I’m stuck here at least until after the trial. Once it ends, I’ll be able to decide if I’m staying in California or heading back to New York City. Who knows, I may even go back to Australia.