Resolved, I walk over to the door, determined to tell him off. After all, this is my apartment. He has no right to do this. I fling open the door, ready to start yelling.
To my surprise, Betty practically falls in, barely catching herself on the door handle.
“Hey!” she yelps. “Take it easy! You’re gonna take my arm off!”
Apologetically, I catch her by the elbow and help her inside, checking out the hallway to make sure we are alone before locking the door behind her.
“What the heck are you doing out there?” I ask her, whispering for some stupid reason.
She squints at me and flaps a piece of paper in front of me. Betty is probably my best friend. She is… Sixty? Ninety? Forty-five? I have no idea.
Anyhow, she is older than me. Kind of my adopted mom. She likes to boss me around and make me dinner sometimes. Really nosy and sweet.
“I’m just checking up on you,” she fusses. “What the heck are you doing in here? It’s hot as hell!”
She strides over to the window before I can stop her and snaps on the air-conditioning window unit, then stands there with her elbows raised and lets the cool air bathe her armpits, sighing dramatically.
“Oh, don’t…” I object, but my voice trails off.
Resolute, I start making us a pitcher of lemonade. Betty loves lemonade.
“Is that for me?” she asks, eventually coming over to me.
The apartment is super small. Only the living room, a nook that serves as a kitchen, and a moderately sized bedroom. The bathroom is all updated, which is great. Sometimes these old houses have really old plumbing. I’m lucky to have my own tiled shower. And three-pronged outlets. I mean, Roger’s done a few things. It could be a lot worse.
Pouring her a tall glass of lemonade, I drop a few ice cubes on top, rip a piece of mint off the plant on the sill to toss in, and hand it to her with a gracious smile.
“Got any whiskey?” she asks with a wink.
“Oh, I…” I say, but it is too late. She has already slipped a flask out of her housedress pocket and is pouring the contents into the glass with a wicked smile on her finely wrinkled cheeks. Before I can object, she pours some into my glass too.
“I figured you needed it,” she shrugs.
“How did you know?” I ask as I take my first sip of the strong, sweet liquid. I have to admit, it feels great to have the cool beverage trickling through my insides.
“Well, I saw it on your door this morning.”
I shake my head. Is that some kind of secret code? Then I follow her eyes as she glances at the envelope in the middle of the table.
My heart sinks.
“Oh, shit,” I whisper.
“He’s an asshole,” she announces.
“Want to tell me what it says?” I ask as I shuffle over to the sofa, landing my butt in the middle of it.
She shrugs innocently. “Well, I don’t know? It could say a lot of things…”
I throw her a dirty look.
“Yeah, okay, fine,” she sniffs. “It’s your standard five-day notice. You have five days to come up with the rent.”
“Five days,” I repeat softly.
“A lot of great things can happen in five days,” she answers supportively. “You could get a raise. You could ask your boss for an advance. You could win the lottery.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Actually, even if you did win the lottery,” she continues obliviously, “the money probably wouldn’t get here in time. I mean, it probably takes like two months to get paid from the lottery. But of course you wouldn’t really care, because then you’d be a millionaire! But still, it probably wouldn’t help you catch up on the rent. So, any chance you are gonna get a raise?”
I have a hard time swallowing.
“No, I don’t think so,” I admit.
“Maybe ask Tim for an advance?” she continues, but more softly.
As she settles into the sofa, I can feel her eyes on me. She already kind of knows. Betty always seems to know what’s going on. She is solid as a rock, and I don’t know what I would do without her. It’s going to suck not being across the hall from her anymore.
“Olivia?” she continues gently. “What happened?”
“I got fired,” I answer softly.
The words are strange, like sticky bubbles that hang in the middle of the humid air. Fired. Fired. If I repeat the word over and over again, it starts to sound like not even a word at all. Faaaaaaa-yeeeeeerd.
“Oh,” she answers.
“Five days. That’s crazy. How do all these things happen at once?”
“I don’t know, honey,” she sighs sympathetically. “Do you want to try talking to him?”
My stomach turns. “Talking to… Roger? Are you kidding me?”
Betty shrugs one shoulder, her floral housedress sliding over her tan, fit arms. She’s really pretty gorgeous, for an older lady. I hope one day I will be a gorgeous old lady too. She’s got that sharp look in her eye. I know there are a million things she wants to tell me right now, but she is perceptive enough to know that I am not quite in the mood to hear them all.