“All I’m saying is you have to step back and look at the big picture, Wes. Your procrastination tendencies are going to ruin your career if you don’t get a handle on them. I’m in your corner. You know that.”
I massaged my temples. “Yeah, I know.”
Was she in my corner, or was she in the corner where the most money flowed into?
“So what are you going to do when we get off the phone?” she asked.
“Write.”
“Good answer. Now, off you go. Set that mind of yours to the task and make those sparks fly!” Harriet ended the call.
I put my phone in my pocket, stood up, grabbed my jacket, and abandoned my loft to go in search of my red-haired muse.
The book could wait a little while longer.
Chapter 9
Briar
In the short amount of time I’d been in New York City, I had come to one borderline-paralyzing realization.
I was in over my head.
That didn’t mean I wanted to go home. Not at all. I wasn’t going to turn tail and run like a coward all because this city, and quite frankly the people who lived in it, intimidated me more than my eighth-grade home economics teacher, Mrs. Richardson. She was someone not to be messed with, and if you did, there would be hell to pay. She threw a pan of fresh-baked cookies across the classroom one time after Will Peterson mouthed off in class. The melted chocolate chips had left streaks on the cupboards and it was a miracle the pan never hit anybody.
It was also a miracle she was never fired.
I didn’t leave home economics because of Mrs. Richardson. I certainly wasn’t going to leave New York all because New Yorkers were abrasive, rude, and a little scary. The pace of everything here was fifteen times faster than it was back in Waynesville. People had places to be. People to meet. Checks to sign. Here, they wore high heels and power suits. Back home, they wore jeans and flannel and cotton T-shirts with puns written on them.
I had to step up my game, and the best way to do that was to be bolder with my look. The red hair helped, but I wasn’t doing myself any favors strutting around town in jeans and a cardigan. I needed to look like I belonged here.
I needed to look like I could fight for what I wanted.
So on Wednesday morning, I took the time to get ready. I curled my hair and put enough hairspray in it to make it as big and wild as a lion’s mane. I swept thick black liner on my eyes and flicked it out on the edges into a wing. I coated my lashes in mascara until they were almost touching my eyebrows.
Then I swept a dark burgundy lip stain on. I’d stolen the color from Madison’s collection. She had a dozen shades that were nearly the exact same hue and I doubted she’d notice it was gone. Besides, I needed it more than she did. I’d never purchased beauty products before. Everything I owned came in gift sets from my old roommates. Sometimes, my mother put the odd skin-care item in my Christmas stocking but that was about it.
Low maintenance was my middle name.
As I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror of my motel room, I acknowledged that the girl staring back at me certainly didn’t look high maintenance.
She looked like she wasn’t here to fuck around.
I stood up straight and put two big gold hoop earrings in. Feeling like I could take on the world, I left the terrible fluorescent lighting of the bathroom, grabbed my purse from the end of my bed, and slung it over my shoulder. I had an umbrella with me this time that I’d purchased last night from a man on a street corner selling them out of a covered trolley. It had only cost me fifteen dollars and I suspected it might be the best purchase I could have made here.
Right before I stepped out the door, my phone rang.
Riley’s name flashed across the screen. I grinned and answered the call, pinching the phone between my cheek and shoulder as I opened my motel room door and stepped out into the crisp late morning air. I’d meant to get an earlier start for job hunting today but the hair and makeup had taken time.
“Hey, girl,” I said as I turned back to make sure the door had closed properly. I gave the handle a sharp tug and carried on down the sidewalk when I was satisfied that all my belongings were safe. “How are you?”
Riley’s voice was thick with fatigue. She didn’t work on Wednesdays or Thursdays and always slept in whenever she had the chance. “I’m good, babe. I’m good. Just sitting in the kitchen with my morning coffee missing you. Usually, you’d be here with me while Madison slept.”
I frowned. “I wish I could be there.”
“Tell me about New York. What’s it been like so far?”
“It’s been great,” I lied. “The city is alive and vibrant and I already made a friend.”
“Really?
“Yep. His name is Wes. He’s super friendly. And he’s a writer.”
“A writer?” The skepticism in Riley’s voice was as obvious as her fatigue.
“Yeah, he bought me a drink the other night and we sat and chatted. It was nice to talk to someone after the day I’d had. Job hunting hasn’t been going as I’d hoped. It’s a bit rough out here. There’s lots of competition and everyone seems to be looking for everything I don’t have.”
Riley made a worried sound in the back of her throat. “Maybe the timing is off. Maybe this wasn’t your big shot at New York.”
“No, I don’t think it’s that. I think I just need to step up my game and use my elbows.”
“Use your elbows?”
“It’s hard to get anywhere in this place unless you’re willing to literally elbow people out of your way to get noticed or served.”
“That sounds fun.”
I chuckled. “It’s been a learning curve. That’s for sure. Back home, everyone gets out of your way and apologizes when you bump into them. That’s not the case here.” I paused as I crossed the street outside the motel. Instead of taking a right, I hooked a left, followed by a right, and I wove down narrower streets toward a part of the city I’d discovered late last night after Wes dropped me off. I’d pulled up Google maps on my phone and made a game plan about where I was going to search for work. This was the place. It was full of one-way lanes with street parking and little businesses all up and down the streets.
There were countless bookstores, hair salons, barbers, antique shops, thrift stores, a bohemian interior design store, a small local grocer, and several charming restaurants with sandwich boards out on the sidewalks.
It smelled like baked bread, clam chowder, and chocolate.
“How are things with you?” I asked, changing the subject. “Any luck finding someone else to rent out my room?”
Riley sighed. “No bites yet. Madison and I have been talking about it. To be honest, we don’t really want to replace you. We want to keep the room open. You know, just in case.”
“In case what?”
“Don’t make me say it, babe.”
I felt my eyebrows drawing together on my forehead. “In case I fail in New York and have to move home?”
Riley didn’t say anything.
“Wow, Ry,” I said, shaking my head as I skirted around a sandwich board. “That’s nice. Real nice. I appreciate the support.”