“Don’t take this the wrong way, Caroline, but your condo is kind of depressing. I have a loft one-eighth the size of your condo, and I’m really happy there. But that’s beside the point. Just go ask for an application. Even if you don’t apply, at least you had the courage to ask.”
She rolls her eyes, revealing the snootiness I thought I might have detected earlier. “I’m slightly overqualified for this job, don’t you think?”
“All right, rule number one if I’m going to be your stylist: You’ve got to drop the Entitled Miss Thing act. There is no such thing as being overqualified if it’s something you want to do.”
She doesn’t laugh or smile. She seems to think about what I said. “Yeah. I guess. I’m sorry. The way I was brought up makes me think that way.”
“So go. Ask for an application.”
“I can’t. Look at me. No one would ever hire me here. I am deeply uncool.”
“No, you’re not. Ask, seriously.”
She squints her eyes at me and scowls. “I don’t think Auntie Diana’s paying you to needle me into doing something I don’t want to do.”
I shrug as though I don’t have an answer for her. Because the truth is probably yes, this is exactly what Auntie is paying for. To make her do all the things she doesn’t want to do, to push her to grow and find herself.
She meets my eyes with a resolute expression and marches over to the front counter. She says, “Hey…are you hiring? I have an extensive knowledge of music and eight thousand records at my house. I’d love to find out if there are any job opportunities here for someone like me.”
Why did she have to say “someone like me”?
I walk up to her and whisper, “Just ask for an application.”
“May I please have an application?”
The clerk’s eyes flit up and down her body. I watch Caroline cower a bit. “Yeah, sure,” he says. “The manager is here Monday through Friday from open to close. That’s the best time to drop it off.” Then he smiles.
She grabs the paper from his hand and says, “Thank you very much.”
I follow her as she scurries toward the exit. “Geez, it looked like you were auditioning to be the leading lady in a Brad Pitt film, you looked so scared out of your wits!”
“I despise Brad Pitt.”
“Really? You despise him?” Who despises Brad Pit!? She keeps walking ahead of me. “Wait, hold on,” I say as I grab her hand and spin her around. “Listen, I’m really proud of you. I’ve known you for less than one day and look how much you’ve accomplished. That took a lot of guts. I understand you feel a little out of your element, but you did great back there. And you have a lot going for you. How about we get a burger and a beer and talk about it?” I smile wide, attempting to goad her.
She hesitates, then nods, and I’m glad. It’s time for me to do some ego boosting.
We end up at Vortex Bar and Grill. I order us both Coronary Bypass burgers and twenty-two-ounce beers. She looks at the beers and burgers like they are the strangest things she’d ever seen.
“They’re delicious, trust me,” I say. “After that day of shopping, I think we’ve both earned a treat.”
“How am I supposed to even eat that?” She tilts her head down near the plate, inspecting every inch of the double burger like she’s afraid to touch it. “Is that a fried egg in there?”
“Yes.” I say with conviction. “Just pick it up and take a bite. Wash it down with that deliciously refreshing pilsner I picked out for you.”
“Do you eat like this all the time?” Caroline asks skeptically. She still hasn’t touched the burger.
“No, otherwise I’d need an actual coronary bypass. But I don’t shy away from this stuff anymore. I was anorexic for six years. I don’t let myself go to that place again. So I’ll eat part of this tonight, maybe even treat myself to a little ice cream, and then during the week I’ll eat healthy again.”
That gets her attention. She’s staring at me intently. “I’m sorry about your anorexia.”
“It’s okay, it’s in the past.” I take a bite of my burger and she follows suit. As I chew the delicious food, I wonder, not for the first time, how my mother never noticed that her five-foot-five, seventeen-year-old daughter weighed eighty-eight pounds. I guess she was so busy working for the money to take care of us that she couldn’t actually take care of us.
“Oh, my,” Caroline says with a dreamy expression on her face. “This burger…it’s like sex in my mouth. Wait…no. This is better than sex.”
“I told you. Small pleasures, Caroline.”
She eats about three-quarters of the Coronary Bypass, but drinks her entire beer before ordering a glass of wine. One glass, then two, and then three, all while she talks my ear off. Who knew she had it in her?
