I scan the article again. “Doesn’t say, just a vast array of topics.”
“Uh, I mean, you know a lot of random facts about reality TV.”
“I do.” I perk up. “That can be entertaining.”
“Probably not for someone who brings in enough money to afford a twenty-four-million-dollar home.”
“Hmm, yeah, maybe you’re right. Not to worry, I’ll peruse Wikipedia, brush up on some knowledge.”
“Yeah, because Wikipedia is the place to do that,” Kelsey says sarcastically and then stops to face me. “I think we really need to focus here, Lottie. Come up with a valid idea. I know this isn’t what you want to do, but maybe you can ask Ken if you can—”
“No,” I say, turning away from her and continuing to walk down the manicured streets. “I’m not contacting Ken.”
“But he’d have a job for you, you know he would.”
“Ken is out of the question. I’d rather rub my boob on some drunk man’s face than call Ken.”
“Is it because he’s dating Angela now?”
My jaw grows tight as my lips twist to the side. “No, I just don’t feel like crawling back to my ex who left me for my boss after I introduced him to her. Begging him for a job at his lame freight-shipping company is something I’ll never do. Seriously, my boob on a drunk man’s face is so much more appealing than that.”
“You know he’d help you,” Kelsey pushes.
I shake my head and then turn around to head back home. “This is useless. We should be thinking of useful ideas, not walking around, coming up with ideas like calling up my ex for a job. Honestly, Kelsey, you’re not bringing your A-game today.”
“I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night and I think that margarita mix was old.” She holds her stomach.
I take her hand and turn her around with me. “This fresh air idea was a flop.”
“Better than sitting on the couch with a pitcher of margaritas.”
“I beg to differ,” I say as a black car drives toward us, windows tinted black. “You know, that person in that car could be my escape out of this mess. I’m still thinking finding a rich husband is the way to go.”
“You’re delusional. You realize that? Especially dressed like an unemployed vagabond. No one is going to want anything to do with you in that getup.”
“I’ll have you know—these are my nice shorts. They’re only three years old.”
Kelsey slow claps for me. “Bravo, sis.”
We cross the street and head toward the house, and my phone beeps in my hand. We make our way up the sidewalk to the house as I bring my phone into view.
And then I stop dead.
Kelsey notices and asks, “What? What is it? Do Mom and Jeff know we’re home?”
I shake my head and show her my phone. “Angela texted me.”
“Noooooo.” Kelsey takes the phone from my hands and punches in my passcode. Yup, we’re that close. “What the hell do you think she wants?”
“I don’t know, you took my phone.”
Together, we lean in, and Kelsey holds the phone out in front of us so we can both read it.
Angela: Hey, girl, now that you have time on your hands, think you want to help me with the reunion planning? I could really use your magic touch. You’re so good at everything.
“What the actual fuck?” Kelsey shouts. “She has the audacity to text you and ask you for help? Has she lost her damn mind? And time on your hands? Uh, you have no time on your hands because of her; you have to spend all that time looking for a new job.”
I just stare down at the text, unable to move. Stunned that she’d say such a thing to me. That she’d think it’s okay, after firing me.
It’s nothing personal . . .
Yeah, well, it’s personal to me.
I shake my head. “She’s the worst human being I think I’ve ever met.”
“Glad you’re finally noticing that.” Kelsey pats me on the back and encourages me to enter the house, but I stay still.
“There’s no way I’m going to that reunion. Do you know why? Because she’s just going to spend it humiliating me.”
Kelsey turns me toward her and forces me to look her in the eyes.
“Oh . . . you’re going to that reunion. Do you hear me? You’re going, and you’re going to show up with some hot-as-shit guy on your arm who’s going to make Ken look like a freaking troll, and Angela is going to drool all over him.”
“It’s in two months. Currently, I have no job, I live with my mom, and I have zero prospects for arm candy.” I point at her and say, “And if you even joke about hiring an escort, our sistership is done. Got it?”
She nods. “I understand. Escort is not an option.” She taps her chin. “Let’s go inside, figure this out. Form a plan. We’ll get you out of this mess, even if it means you sleep on the floor of my studio apartment for a few weeks.”
“And here I thought I’d hit rock bottom, but you just offered up a whole new low.”
Kelsey: You know, I just measured out my studio. Another twin bed won’t fit in here with my furniture. What if we stack some pillows under my bistro table? Might feel like a bunk bed or something.
Lottie: I’m not staying at your place.
Kelsey: We spent all day yesterday trying to come up with something. That’s the best I’ve got. You know if I could afford to, I’d love to hire you so you could take care of all the business things, and I could focus more on client outreach. But you need money.
Lottie: Working with you would be the dream, but if I want to get out of Mom’s house, I need money. But don’t worry, I have it covered.
Kelsey: What do you mean you have it covered? I told you, no stripping, no matter how nice your boobs are.
Lottie: I’m not stripping. I don’t think my nips are ready for that kind of exposure.
Kelsey: Then, I’m afraid to ask what your plan is.
Lottie: I’m not saying this is the end goal, but at least it’s something until I can figure out more.
Kelsey: Lottie, what the hell are you doing?
Lottie: Just . . . taking a stroll.
Kelsey: Oh my GOD! Are you in The Flats right now?
Lottie: Nothing wrong with a little exercise. Got to get my muscles moving, you know?
Kelsey: What are you wearing? If you say heels and a dress, I’m going to drive over there and pick you up. This is not a Pretty Woman moment. You hear me? Julia Roberts lucked out with Edward. That’s once in a lifetime.
Lottie: That was fictional.
Kelsey: Either way, what are you wearing?
Lottie: [picture] Simple workout clothes.
Kelsey: You’re wearing a sports bra, no shirt. That’s flashy.
Lottie: Yeah, and these people are flashy. High ponytail so I look approachable and fun, with of course a braid on the side. Bright white sneakers, because they scream I like tennis. And I found a Fuji water bottle on the ground yesterday when I was pretending to come home from work, and I brought it home, cleaned it, and I’m carrying it now so it looks like I buy expensive water.
Kelsey: Eeeww. Are you drinking from it?
Lottie: God, no. I’m not ready to contract syphilis. It’s just a prop.
Kelsey: A prop? I’m sorry, are you in a movie I don’t know about?
Lottie: Not yet, but I did apply to some service that gathers extras for TV and film. You can make $40 a day. Score.
Kelsey: You know, I never thought I’d see you like this, but . . . wow.
Lottie: What’s that supposed to mean?
Kelsey: You’re excited about the possibility of making $40 a day, while perusing the streets for possible single, rich men, in a neighborhood you don’t belong in. CALL KEN!
Lottie: OVER MY DEAD BODY. I can feel it, Kels. This is it for me. Today, my life is going to change, even if it means I have to stay out here all day, walking up and down these damn streets. This is my out.
Kelsey: When you come home, don’t be surprised when there’s an intervention set up. Because this is a new low for you.
Lottie: I’m going to make you eat your words. Just watch!
Chapter Three
HUXLEY
JP presses his fingers to his temples. “Hold the fuck on. Let me get this straight.” He looks up at me. “You ran into Dave Toney on the street and told him you were engaged to a girl from Georgia and that she’s pregnant?”