“Don’t worry. He’s just going to look cute in his underwear for you.”
“Oh my God.” Crystal takes a deep breath. “At least I’ll get a free meal out of it.”
Crystal has the biggest fucking chip on her shoulder in the history of chips on shoulders. Maybe another date wasn’t the best way to make her feel better about the last one.
I’m about ready to ask the girl in aisle 5 if she wants to go on a date with Jules Spencer, the underwear mogul, when Crystal manages to drag her ass out of the patio chair. “I’m gonna go splash some water on my face.”
I don’t know if she’s doing that to prepare for the date or to recover from talking to me.
“I need to make a phone call,” Max says from behind a potted palm. I’d almost forgotten he was there. “Chan from the lab keeps calling. I think he might have figured something out.”
I think Walmart just reminded him that he wants to be a scientist, but I wave him off. “See you in a minute.”
I hurry after Crystal and see her disappear into the women’s restroom. I push through the door and knock some kid inthe head. “OMG. I’m so sorry!” The little girl bounces back and then runs out of the restroom, unperturbed. I feel a pang of jealousy. Damn kids and their bouncy, resilient brains.
Crystal is washing her hands when I walk in. I see her face reflected in the mirror and she looks bone tired. Not, like, didn’t get enough sleep tired, but tired in a way only other women can understand. When I peel off her layers of frustration and rage, I realize that she’s me. She’s everyone: trying to decide whether to give up or keep fighting.
If I can do it, so can Crystal. And vice versa. We’re gonna girl-power our way to the end of this day. I can see in her face that she knows she doesn’t have a choice, and as she looks back at me through the mirror, she can see that I don’t have one either.
“Crystal, I don’t know how I screwed up before. I’m so sorry for Kobra. I never should have set you up with him. I don’t know how that happened. But I learned from that mistake. Jules is a good guy. Really.”
She sags over the sink. “I’m just so fucking tired of working doubles, taking care of kids, being late on bills.” She looks up through her false eyelashes. I notice for the first time that they have little crystals on them. “You’re paying me this time, right?”
Am I? I don’t have a clue. “What was our arrangement?”
“You’re supposed to pay me five grand for each date but you haven’t been delivering those checks lately. And I’m sick of trying to impress millionaires. They don’t like me, and I don’t like them.”
Damn it.
“I can’t trick them into thinking I’m something that I’m not. I know that’s what we talked about, but it’s not working. I’m just me. That’s all I can be.”
What is this, an after-school special? “We’re adults, Crystal. We can be anything we want. That’s what makeup is for. And filters. And lying on resumes. And online degrees. It’s 2020. We can all be anything we want to be.”
She hardens a little at mywe’re adultscomment, so I take a deep breath. “Crystal,” I say her name like a teacher trying to reach out to that one student with all the potential who won’t listen. “It’s so easy. All you have to do is try a tiny bit harder. Put on a classy dress, stand up straight, and let them know that you deserve everything.” I gesture to the dirty Walmart bathroom, the wet floor with paper towels stuck to it, the overflowing trash can. “Look, I don’t know much, but I know you deserve more than this. Convince them that you can be one of them, that youareone of them. Don’t give up.”
A beat or two later, Crystal takes a deep breath. “You gotta pay me, though.”
I nod. “I promise that I’ll pay you. We just have to make it through tonight.”
When she exhales, I’m pretty sure she’s done fighting me and I say, “Let me just get you a new dress. If you’re going out with a millionaire, you’ve gotta look like a million bucks.” I brighten a little. Everyone loves a makeover. Crystal should be psyched about this.47
We head over to the women’s clothing section. Our cart barely fits between the rows of clothes, and the hangers scrape the metal rack as I flip through medium-size sundresses.
I text Max.Where are you? Can I borrow your credit card?If she’s going to Mr. Chow’s, a new dress isn’t optional.
He texts:You don’t have any money, do you?
I do, but…Can I just borrow money one more time? $100 would do it. $50 even.
Last time.
“Ooh, what do you think about this one?” It’s body-con and bright pink. It’d be a show-stopper, at least until it shrinks in the wash and fades. Walmart clothes are basically one-use items, according to NPR, which apparently I listen to when I’m not shoplifting.
“Ishedressing up for me?” she asks.
“Of course he is.” At least he will be wearing his very best underwear. “You know who he is, right?” I ask.
“I was joking,” she says.
