“So, are you really going to be in a commercial?” she asked. “Or have I been hallucinating all that?”
I had mentioned my big break Tuesday morning. “If you’re hallucinating, so am I. But yes, as of now, I’m stepping into the spotlight. You might be sitting next to the next Julia Roberts.”
Abby made a sound that might have been a laugh or might have been a death rattle. “Ah yes, the big commercial break. Who knew you were a star in waiting?”
“I minored in theater,” I said with a shrug. “Although I rarely let anyone see that side of me.”
“Ina, the first thing you did when you moved to New York was blow half your savings on Broadway tickets. Before you even had a roommate confirmed. You literally showed up to look atthe apartment carrying a tote bag from the Book of Mormon gift shop.”
I laughed at the memory. “I was excited! And I’d never been to New York before. What if I never got another chance to see Broadway shows?”
The truth was, I’d been obsessed with theater since I was a kid growing up in Wyoming. Back home, the closest thing we had to Broadway was the high school’s annual spring musical. I’d done every school production, taken every drama class, and spent hours watching bootleg recordings of shows I figured I would never get to see in person.
I had seen a few of them now. Because I’d taken the biggest risk of my life and moved to New York. I was living my dream.
Unlike poor Abby, who was currently disintegrating in the chair next to me. I felt a wave of affection for my new roomie.
Meeting Abby had been my second biggest risk. Finding a roommate on Craigslist, when you’d never set foot in the city and had no way to verify whether the person was legitimate or a serial killer with a skin-lamp collection, was objectively insane. But I’d gotten the job offer from Norma right away and I had exactly two weeks to find a place to live before my start date.
So I had prayed there was still some goodness left in this world and scrolled through Craigslist. Abby’s posting caught my eye, looking for a roommate in a fifth-floor walkup on the west side, so I sent her an email. We video chatted once. I smiled remembering how Abby looked exhausted in her chef’s whites. Apparently, I was the best option because she immediately offered me the room.
We had clicked immediately. Now, we were each other’s emergency contacts.
“Ina Lavin?” a tired-looking physician’s assistant called from the doorway.
I helped Abby to her feet and guided her into the examination room, where I proceeded to list off every symptom I had observed with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for describing a surprise party. I was thorough. That’s what made me a good assistant.
“Fever, chills, cough. Deep and rattling, very concerning. She’s also got fatigue, body aches and I would guess a sore throat based on the way she keeps wincing when she swallows. General malaise. You know.”
The PA looked at me, then at Abby. “And you are?”
“Dying,” Abby croaked.
“Her very concerned friend,” I added quickly. “I just wanted to make sure you had all the information.”
The PA gave me a look that suggested she’d seen this exact scenario about a thousand times, then proceeded to examine Abby while I hovered anxiously in the corner.
Fifteen minutes later, we had a diagnosis. My poor roomie had a nasty case of bronchitis, possibly heading toward pneumonia. She was given a prescription for some heavy-duty medicine.
“Listen,” the PA said, pointing at Abby. “You are not going to work for at least three days. I’m writing you a note.”
“But—”
“Three. Days. Minimum. Or you’re going to end up in the hospital, and that’s going to be a lot more expensive than missing a few shifts.”
Abby looked heartbroken but she nodded.
A simple visit to urgent care on my insurance wasn’t a big deal. But a hospital stay would be way too risky. I wasn’t trying to commit any major felonies If I could avoid it.
By the time we made it back to the apartment it was past nine and I still needed to get Abby’s prescription filled. The pharmacy on the corner was open twenty-four hours. It was moderatelysketchy but it was close and Abby needed the meds. Plus, I had committed some light crime today. If anything,Iwould be the sketchy one in the Walgreen’s.
I got Abby situated on the couch with strict instructions not to die while I was gone. She promised she would do her best.
The pharmacy was blessedly empty, and the prescription was ready within twenty minutes. As I was leaving with my little paper bag, my stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten since the sad desk salad I had for lunch.
More importantly, Abby needed to eat something with her antibiotics. And wasn’t chicken noodle soup a known cure for everything?
The bodega next door sold everything from sandwiches, to batteries, to individually wrapped roses. You could get groceries, a cell phone, and a payday loan. I’d been there once before and had been completely overwhelmed by how many people could pack themselves into such a cramped space.
