Starving
"Hey, Dave."
"Hey, Angela! I didn't know you were working today."
"I'm not." For some reason Sasha hadn't put her on the schedule the last three days. She was on for tomorrow, but only four hours.
"Um, so, when do we get paid?"
"Dancers get cash every night. Everybody else gets a check every two weeks. Next payday is a week from Thursday."
It was only Monday. That was... ten days. "What am I supposed to do until then?"
"Aren't you getting any tips?"
Well, yeah, but after buying gas, and the ten pairs of stockings one of the other waitresses told her to buy -- "bigger tips than pantyhose" -- and she'd already wrecked three of them... and giving the bartenders their share...
"Yeah, but it doesn't go as far as you think."
Angela recognized the rhythm of his voice -- shoot, the machine again.
"Hi, this is Jason. Leave a message. I'll call you back." [Beep!]
"Hi Jas- I mean, Mr. Truman. It's me. --Angela, it-it's Angela. I was wondering if... if... Um... if you had any news about the house. Anyway, call me."
Well, a few more Noodle Nights wouldn't kill her, right? As long as she had her Sapphires and her new meds she was okay.
Except that she'd eaten the last Cup O' Noodles two nights ago.
She looked at the bottle of pills on the counter. After what she'd paid for them, she should try to stretch them out whenever she could. At least at first -- no sense taking more than she needed. Just enough to get by. Maybe just when she was Sapphire. And when she was working. And when she felt anxious. Yeah.
Four hours since the last pill, and she was still doing all right. Maybe if she took a nap she could kill a few hours.
If only she could sleep through to Wednesday.
Angela woke up on the couch. How long had she been dozing? The cool-blue light coming through the drapes suggested twilight.
Someone knocked. Angela opened the door.
"Hi."
Ricky.
Of course. It was Tuesday. Wasn't it?
Angela expected immediate tension, an emotional panic response. But she felt strangely calm, and saw the same in him.
"Come in."
He walked over to the kitchen bar.
After last week on her porch, she'd assumed she'd never see him again.
And in a sense, she wasn't seeing him now.
Ricky was different. He'd always been quiet, but today he was... still.
Detached.
Damaged.
She'd seen him like this before once. Once. After... That. This was like That all over again. An echo.
Him being here was somehow worse than not seeing him at all. The young man standing in front of her was just a ghost of past promise. A token of what she'd lost.
No, not lost. Thrown away.
The difference in Ricky made Angela want to cry.
She'd spent the last week trying to forget the crushing blow she'd dealt their relationship. Selfish thoughts that blamed it all on him helped her pretend to move on, but now those lies snapped her back to stare misery in the face.
For his part, Ricky didn't seem emotional. Somehow he'd already recognized the break, and he'd dealt with it.
Or maybe he was just being strong for her. Angela never saw a tear, but his eyes seemed unusually glossy -- wet.
When he did look at her, his expression was colorless.
The words they spoke lent a surface calm to the situation -- as if two mature adults had logically concluded their romance had been a misunderstanding and thus nothing to pine for, and they could now treat each other as dear friends with nothing to regret.
But, at least for Angela, it was just a play she put on to keep from acknowledging how deep she felt the loss, and how bewildered she was that it had ended without a fight, without a word, without so much as a whimper.
Of course, in truth, it had ended before. The last few weeks had just been the two of them realizing it.
"Aren't you grounded?"
"Dad went up to Sacramento, some special task force assignment. I'm staying with the Robinsons."
"So you're not grounded."
"I snuck out. Becky's covering for me."
"Becky?" Mock jealousy revealed friendly ribbing. Which hid real jealous hurt.
"Their daughter."
Angela dimly remembered the girl at the end of the pew. She was cute. But: "Is she cute?"
"Jealous?" Half-hearted joking. "Relax, it's not like that. Besides, their family is very religious."
"That doesn't mean she is." Banter shielded genuine worry.
"What's with you? Why so cranky?"
"I'm just hungry."
"So eat, I won't stop you."
"I need to go to the store."
"Oh. Fine, I can take a hint." A wry smile. But lifeless.
"No, it's not that... stay..."
His eyes fell to her trembling hands.
But he bit his tongue.
"I'm just hungry," she affirmed, denying the other thing.
He accepted it.
"I'll cook for you."
He moved purposefully into the kitchen. A quick survey of the cabinets revealed the real problem.
"Come on. I'll buy you dinner."
Angela ripped the paper off the burger, taking a huge bite.
"Wow, you really are hungry."
Angela's eyes slipped to the side of the table, where she'd already discarded two cheeseburger wrappers. But hunger trumped manners or shame, and without a word she quickly swallowed and bit off another hunk.
They'd picked McDonald's because it was literally the first place they'd spotted.
"When was the last time you ate?"
"Sunday," Angela said through a mouthful of cotton bun. "No, Saturday."
"Maybe you should slow down. You're gonna get sick." He reached out and took her wrist in his hand, gently guiding her to put the burger down.
His hand cradled hers on the table. She looked into his eyes. It was a brotherly gesture.
She couldn't bear it.
Angela withdrew her hand, covering by taking a sip of soda.
"I got a job," Angela said hopefully.
"That's good. Where?"
"A night club. Waitressing."
"Money pretty good?"
"It will be, but I just started. I don't get paid for almost two weeks."
"No tips?"
"Yeah, but so far just enough to pay for uniforms and gas and parking." And Perfectua.
"Well, you have to eat."
Ricky's hand took hers again. She shrank back at the contact, only to find a thick fold of money between her fingers.
"Ricky, I-"
"Don't." He gave her a very sad look. "Just don't."
She needed the money, but... it was just a substitute.
She needed so much more from him now.
But she was past the right to ask for it.
She looked up, catching and holding his gaze for the first time all night. She searched for a glimmer of hope, but was too afraid to try to draw it out.
A cell phone ring broke the heart-wrenching moment. Ricky looked down. "Oh, shit. I gotta go." He stood up. "I'll drop you off out front."
"No, I can walk. You go. Don't get in trouble on my account."
Ricky quickly bent across the table. His lips touched her forehead with heartbreaking tenderness.
His last words were whispered. "Take care of yourself, Angela."
Angela watched Ricky leave her through a curtain of silent tears.
< < Friday night. Noel was home; she'd heard the garage door a few minutes ago. That creak in the hallway just now was probably him. Ricky'd been home for a couple of hours, not that it mattered. Angela hadn't spoken to Ricky since their fight the night before. And she wasn't in any hurry to start.
She knew who she was. If he couldn't accept that, well... it was just too bad.
Angela stopped applying eyeliner long enough to dab away a tear.
No. She'd spent all day crying about it. She was finished crying.
Superheroines don't cry.
Angela took a step back and looked at herself in the mirror. Damn, I look good.
You look like a tart.
Shut up. The makeup's supposed to be heavy so people won't recognize me.
And the tight miniskirt and see-through top?
I'm going out.
To fight crime, or to turn tricks? You can barely move in that skirt.
Shut up. I've got a Sapphire skirt tucked in my coat. I don't want the Aquinos to know what I'm doing.
I thought you'd decided they were just going to have to deal with it.
Well, I don't want to deal with them right now. I don't need to hear a lecture tonight.
So you disguise yourself as a hooker. Good plan.
Ricky and Noel were in the living room. The air was thick with tension.
They were talking. About her, no doubt.
She should have just walked out, but some part of her wanted them to recognize her. As if she wanted them to see how she was dressed, just for spite.
"Hey," she said, breaking the uneasy silence between father and son.
It occurred to her that there shouldn't be anything for them to argue about now. If Mr. Aquino was giving Ricky crap over the condom wrapper, Angela figured Ricky would have told him about the breakup, and the two men would be looking harshly at *her* instead of each other. Then again, guys always seemed to prefer brooding in silence instead of talking through their problems...
No matter. She needed to get out of here before her hostility faded and she fell back into self-doubt and depression. A night out as Sapphire would make things clear.
"I'm going out," she announced.
Ricky didn't look at her. But Noel did. She felt his eyes slide up and down her body. His look of parental disapproval had a weird edge to it. "Out where?" he challenged.
Noel's judgemental tone gave Angela's flagging resolve a shot in the arm.
She wasn't his little girl. She wasn't anybody's little girl.
Her words dripped with disdain. She didn't care whether he believed her or not, and she wanted to make sure he knew it. "Corey Feldman movie marathon at the Guild Theater. Don't wait up."
And with that, she turned on her heel and left.