"More," she repeats, and I groan.
"You said the same thing about Jacob yesterday. Now Greg? I'm seeing a pattern here."
She sighs. "Just living vicariously."
"Well, stop," I say. "You too can have a life if you'd just jump back in."
"Right. So. How is Greg's place these days, anyway?"
I consider calling her out on the change of subject, but decide to let it slide. Joy's last boyfriend experience was about as shitty as they come, and she's taking a self-imposed sabbatical. Personally, I think it's time she tested those waters again, but if she's not ready, I'm not going to push.
Instead, I tell her that Greg's house is coming along. "All the structural stuff is done. Everything now is cosmetic. Floors, countertops, walls."
"Can't wait to see it," she says, and I nod.
The truth is, neither can I. I've known Greg since high school, though we really didn't become friends until a couple of years ago when he took a part-time job bartending at Blacklist. He's an aspiring screenwriter who's living rent-free in his seven hundred square foot house in exchange for doing the renovations for his landlord, something he has the
skills to do since he grew up working in his family's construction company.
He'd helped me with the work on my house, and we got along so well doing it, that he asked if I'd help with his house project. We've been working on and off for five months now, documenting every step of the project with pictures. When it's done, we'll both have a nice portfolio. And, with any luck, one day we intend to go into business together--investing, renovating, and selling houses. He doesn't plan on giving up the writing, but flipping houses is the kind of job that lets him write on the side. Plus, Greg is realistic enough to know that even with talent, he might not make it as a writer.
As for me, I never had a dream job when I was growing up. And it wasn't until after I dove into renovations on my own house that I discovered how much I love doing it. With my house, it was cathartic--a way to not only save my home, but to work through the pain of my memories. With flips, it's about the plan and the execution. About envisioning something and seeing it through.
So, yeah. I want the business, too. And I'm grateful to have a partner like Greg in my corner.
Of course, at this point it's still all baby steps. But we'll get there. Our plan is solid.
"Want to watch a movie or something after?" Joy asks. "Movie and martini night?"
"I would," I tell her. "But I'll probably watch something with Greg if we finish in time." Lately, our routine has been to work, then relax with whatever movie he's currently analyzing. "Besides, you forget that I've got my own martini night planned."
She stares blankly for a minute, then her face clears. "Oh, right. You've got a ten o'clock shift at Blacklist. Damn."
"Not damn for me," I say. "House. Money. Remember all of that?"
"Like four hours at Blacklist is going to make a difference."
I tug on Lancelot's leash to turn him around as I shoot Joy a scowl. "Hello, Miss Negative Energy. The tips will be good, and you know it."
But as we head back toward Jacob's apartment, I can't deny that good isn't good enough. Not even close.
"Do you want me to call Marjorie? Get you another gig soon?"
I draw a deep breath as I think about my house. And about how much money I'll still owe on the loan, even after I make a huge lump sum payment today. Then I think about Lyle, and for a minute, I'm actually excited about getting another gig from Marjorie.
But then I remember that he won't be the client. That if I do this thing, it's going to be some other man kissing me. Touching me.
I'll save my house, yeah. But the price will be more than just dollars.
"Laine?" Joy prods.
"Yeah," I say quickly, before I can change my mind. "Make the call."
Why not? Lyle Tarpin is a fantasy, after all.
But the debt on my house is about as cold and hard as reality can get.
6