“If you need anything, call me. I mean, I’m also jobless and broke, but I’ve weathered storms like this before. I know which dollar store cat food tastes all right.”
That broke through some of the fog in my brain. I turned to look him in the eyes. “Rodney, promise me you won’t eat cat food.”
“Of course, I promise.” He winked at me.
I shook my head. “I’m serious, Rodney. Look at me. If you’re ever at that point again,youcallme. We’ll figure something else out, okay? Neither one of us will be having cat food Christmas, all right?”
“All right. Thank you, Clara.”
We sat on the bench, discussing potential options for keeping the theater going, but neither one of us came up with anything. Rodney said he would talk to a lawyer. He would talk to the mayor. All of that sounded like it would take a long time, assuming it would even work, and time was not on my side.
The rent was due when it was due. I would have to figure out something no matter what happened with the Helios. Best casescenario, I got rehired in spring. Worst case, I had to start over from scratch.
A while later, I walked into my basement office on wooden feet. The cramped space was in the haunted bowels of the theater, full of cobwebs and crates, but I had made it cozy. A few well-placed lights and some hanging fabric had done wonders. Now I had to box up all my stuff, in case I never got a chance to come back.
I dreaded the inevitable conversation with my family. My parents and brother would be sympathetic, but they were also going to tell me, “I told you so.” They had warned me many, many times that a degree in theater would only end in debt and low-paying jobs, but I had followed my dreams, just like everyone had told me to do growing up.
At twenty-six, I was unemployed—again—and lived over a garage apartment that always smelled like grease because of the diner it shared a parking lot with. And I wouldn’t even be able to afford that roach trap soon.
I had nothing but eighty grand in student loan debt and two grand in savings to show for it.
Two grand I now had to make last until I could find another solution. Two grand I had been saving for my big, life-changing move to New York.
LA hadn’t been my cup of tea for lots of reasons, but part of the problem was I wasn’t all that interested in movies. I liked stage plays and New York was the place to be for that. If I was going to keep chasing my dream somewhere else, it had to be there. After this most recent setback, though, that goal had never felt further away.
I dropped off my stuff at my place and texted my best friend, Jessie. Without hesitation, she agreed to meet up with me at Tipsy’s, our favorite spot for after-work drinks. I drove over in a daze, still unable to believe my terrible luck.
Tipsy’s was a total dive with peanut shells on the floor and the smell of stale beer floating through the air. Jessie was already there. A frosty pitcher of frozen margaritas waited for me on the table.
“You know me well,” I said, sliding into the seat. “Also, you’re paying tonight.”
Jessie laughed. “Uh oh. What happened?”
“I got fired. Well, I was let go.” I explained all the details between sips of my frosty beverage.
“Poor Rodney,” she said once I’d finished.
“I know,” I said. “But also, poor me.”
Jessie shrugged. “Sign up for substitute duty at my middle school. We always need subs. I know it’s not what you want to do, and it’s not the steadiest income, but it’s something. Why not try that for a while? Then we can get lunch together and I can tell you which kids I’m beefing with.”
I laughed into my cup. “You probably shouldn’t be feuding with children.”
“It’s not like I’m fighting them in the parking lot. It’s like, when treat day rolls around, I know who’s getting the crappy candy.” She giggled. “Enjoy your Milky Way.”
“I like Milky Ways,” I said.
“Looks like I’ll be adding you to the list,” she said with a grin.
“Anyway, I’ll think about subbing,” I said. “I’m not making any decisions tonight.”
Jessie raised her glass and clinked it against mine. “I’ll drink to that.”
Right after starting our third pitcher, two familiar men walked into the bar.
“Is that who I think it is?” I asked her.
Jessie glanced at the men, squinting a little. “Well, I’ll be damned. It’s the Whitaker brothers. Well, Troy and Chris.”
