Temporary

Miss Switch jumped onto my lap, mindless that I smelled like a dirty gym sock left in a locker overnight. I ran my fingers down her soft black and white fur, smiling for the first time in days.

“I wasn’t always a bitch,” I told her as if she could understand what I was saying or cared. “I used to be a hopeless romantic.”

Miss Switch settled on my lap and rested her head on her paws, her eyes at half-mast.

I once told Sasha hopeless romantics were once jaded cynics after they’d been hurt one too many times.

I was speaking from experience.

Landon hadn’t been the start to my bad decisions.

The move to New York on a wing and a prayer, hoping and praying, I was going to be the next ‘big thing’ in show business was my first mistake.

I was raised in a California town that consisted of one main street, no stoplights, and sidewalks that rolled up at dusk.

I swam in creeks, ate wild blackberries, listened wide-eyed to thunderstorms and jumped into snowdrifts.

Sounded great, I know, but as a kid I hated all that simplicity.

I’d needed something so much bigger than the small town could give me but now, I was lost in a sea of faces, just another nobody trying to survive in a city where the hustle was real.

I thought of returning home but I didn’t have the money to move cross-country again.

My family didn’t have the money to spare either so I didn’t even bother asking. Besides, I didn’t need the lecture on how I screwed up — I’d already watched that movie and didn’t need the recap.

I was stuck in a cycle of ‘work to live; live to work’ and there was no exit on this train.

In New York City, a car wasn’t necessary but I missed being able to get in the car and drive away.

However, I was a pro at the subway and when I was feeling fancy, I ordered an Uber.

But I didn’t ride a bicycle.

Unless you had a death wish, bike riding in the city was best left to professionals.

My thoughts wandered to the stranger, even though I knew it was foolish to think of a man who was probably a serial killer or at the very least into some kinky sex shit that I didn’t want to know about.

Like…eyeball licking or armpit sniffing. No thanks.

How did someone wake up one morning and realize that licking an eyeball was the bee’s knees of sexual turn-ons?

“This is why you are going to be perpetually single…you use terms like, bee’s knees, in your thought bubble,” I told myself as I gently lifted Miss Switch from my lap and returned to the shower to rinse off.

Here were the facts: I wasn’t going to see him again, whoever he was, so there was no sense in spending the mental energy to wonder what the hell he was after.

I was a card-carrying cynic but in my secret heart of hearts, I still wanted to believe in love.

A love that didn’t end with broken dreams, an empty bank account, and humiliating betrayal.

After my second shower, I left the apartment. I couldn't stick around, staring into Miss Switch’s soulful gaze knowing that in some twisted reality, I might have to share her with the same man who had often forgotten to feed her.

Yeah, it's official men suck — and women are stupid.

4

My shift started at nine and for a Saturday night, it should’ve been bumping but when I entered the bar, it was oddly quiet.

“Oh, my God,” I murmured in despair. Had we been shut down again? Of all the times for the alcohol police to get persnickety, it would have to be the night where I absolutely had to pull mega tips.

But as I made my way to the back office, I realized, the bar didn’t look closed, just empty.

I found Manny, the owner, relieved to see him smiling behind his desk as if he’d just won the lottery. I was confused but tentatively relieved.

“Is everything okay?” I ventured, wondering if I should grab my cocktail apron or consider stripping. I’d heard the Pink Lady was hiring. “What's going on? Why is the bar empty?”

Manny shook his head as if he couldn't quite believe his luck. “This guy,” he said, his thick Jersey accent incredulous “called me up and said he wanted to rent the bar for the night. At first I thought he was just yanking my chain but he threw down a shitwad of cash to prove that he was legit and damn, I ain’t seen this much cash in my whole life owning this shit bar.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” Manny countered, pulling a thick wad free from his desk drawer to let it drop with a thunk to the scarred desk surface. “There’s easily ten grand right there.”

A weird feeling started to rumble in my stomach. “Who would pay that kind of money for this place?” I tried not to eye the money too hard. God, even half of that wad would solve most of my immediate problems but I held no illusions that Manny was going to share his good fortune.

“So…am I working tonight or not?” I asked, dragging my gaze away from the money. “I could stock the shelves or something, sweep the back room…whatever you need.”

Manny tucked his money back into the drawer. “Oh, you’re working, sugar. He asked for you specifically. Wants to have a drink with you.”

Oh, God. It was him. “Me?”

“Yeah, you. I was just as shocked,” Manny answered, shaking his head. “I would’ve put my money on Sasha or Vicks but he was adamant, it had to be you.” Suddenly, Manny remembered his humanity and added as a courtesy, “You okay wit dat?”

What was I supposed to say? I needed this job. If I did anything to ruin this for Manny, he’d fire me in a second. “I guess?”

“Nobody’s askin’ you do to any funny business,” Manny assured me. “He just wants to have a drink and get to know you. Seems like an okay fella, you know?”

“You don’t think it’s a little weird that he is buying out the bar for the night to have a drink with me?”

“Hey, I ain’t judgin’ as long as he’s not a pervert or nothin’. I don’t want no trouble but if he tries anythin’, just holler and I’ll take care of things.” Manny said as if he were prepared to be a hero, that is until he added, “But you’re a good girl, right? Ain’t nothing gonna happen. Just be nice and he’ll be gone before you know it.”

Be nice.

I was pretty sure that was code for: do whatever the rich guy wanted.

My mind swam. Suddenly, stripping didn’t sound like a crazy idea to make a living. At least in a strip club, the dancer got a cut of the cash forked out for private dances.

“Manny, what if he's crazy and he wants to wear my face or something?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. No one wants to wear your face.”

Ouch.

Manny said, “Look, so this crazy rich guy wants to rent out my bar and have a drink with one of my waitresses. Weird, sure, but dangerous? Nahhhh, he seems harmless enough but if I were him I’d spend my cash on something other than this place.”

I nodded, completely lost.

“C’mon, it’s not the end of the world. What’s it going to hurt to have a drink with the guy?”

Jesus, I had no choice but to go through with this crazy night. With any luck, the guy would lose interest fast and leave.

I started to reach for my apron but Manny stopped me. “No apron tonight. You look cute the way you are.

My nose wrinkled. “Manny," I protested, feeling boxed in. “This makes my skin crawl. I feel like a prostitute or something.”

Manny shrugged. “Times are hard, sweetheart. No judgment here.”

Manny was too happy with not having to deal with a full bar drunk and disorderly assholes to give a second thought to my discomfort. By Manny’s way of thinking, all I had to do was have a drink with this guy and be nice. Not so difficult, right?

I glared at Manny. “Fine. Is he here?”

“Yeah, in the VIP room.”

The VIP room at Jimmy's was an inside joke. “So, he's in the back room where you hold poker night.”

I drew a deep breath and prepared to log one of the oddest nights of my life. Maybe someday, I’d retell this story and laugh. But not tonight. No, tonight…I wanted to puke.

I walked into the VIP room, the room smelling of stale cigar smoke, spilled whiskey and musty carpet. There he was, waiting for me with a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses, once again dressed down in worn jeans, a T-shirt molded to his fine physique.

The guy was built. So what? He probably had the personality of a toad. Dark hair, ice-blue eyes and full sensual lips. If the guy was a serial killer I imagine most of his victims went willingly.

“Well, you sure have a way of getting someone's attention,” I said. “What are you doing?”

He smiled, his gaze never leaving mine. “Well, you wouldn't accept my offer of a drink and you wouldn't let me give you a ride home personally so I had to improvise.”