The next morning I shake off the thought of those bad guys as I tuck my money—every bit of it—deep into my purse before I head to the mall. I like the idea of going to the mall and actually having money to spend. I’ve been a mall tagalong with Cassidy since sixth grade when her mom would drop us off for a couple of hours. Cass would try on clothes, buy outfits, sample perfumes, and look at shoes while I sat off to the side, smiling and telling her how cute she was.
Today it’s my turn.
It’s a whole different experience, this mall thing, when there’s money in the purse. When I walk in, it’s a skin care kiosk I stop at first. The guy squirts some lotion into my palm and goes into his spiel about it being European and having all natural ingredients . . . there’s nothing on the market like it. He tells me I have pretty hands then starts showing me “packages” available for purchase. I lose interest, but walk away smelling the top of my hand and smiling at the fact that I could buy one of those packages if I wanted. I have the money.
I go to the big department store and pass through the makeup counters then find my way to the shoes. Fall boots. Tall ones, short ones, suede, and leather. I find a gorgeous black pair with a zipper all the way down the back and flip them over to check the price. $279.
I meander around and settle on a trendy, tan suede pair, and sit down to try them on. $174 dollars seems like a bargain after checking prices and comparing. The salesman shows up to help me, a guy with white hair spending his golden years passing out hose footies. But I get it—the bills, the insurance, the need for basic things like food and electricity. This gets me to thinking . . . I wonder if they get commission and if Dad would do better here than the convenience store.
He asks, “Can I help you?” in a robotic tone.
I ask for my size, and he disappears in the back.
I can’t remember anyone ever asking if they could “help me.” Yes, it is just grabbing a pair of boots. But he is helping me.
He brings out my boots, and I slip them on and walk to the mirror. I’ve seen Cassidy do this a million times so I know this is what you’re supposed to do when you go out shoe shopping. I look down at the reflection and smile because they are just that fabulous. New boots. For me! I take a few seconds to stare down at the boots before I slip them off.
“I’ll take them,” I say excitedly. He wraps them back in tissue, tucks them safely into the long box and walks to the register. While he rings me up, he looks at his watch twice—counting down the minutes, I’m sure, until he walks out the door to forget about smelly feet, until the next time.
Skinny jeans and leggings are a must with new boots, and I find the perfect store for those. In the dressing room I peek my head out and ask the clerk if I can pull out my boots to see how they look with the jeans.
“No problem,” she says. She swings a flannel shirt over the top of my door, and asks if I’d like to try it with the jeans. I feel like royalty at this point.
“Sure,” I reply, and I can’t pay for the whole ensemble fast enough.
The shopping gives me hunger pangs, and I start making my way toward food, but first I get sidetracked with accessory purchases: bracelets, earrings, and a couple of to-die-for chunky scarves. I throw in a bottle of new nail polish at the last minute.
It’s usually a ninety-nine cent corn dog and a water to go, but today I wander around the food court and decide to get the most expensive gyro on the menu, along with potato chips, a large Dr. Pepper, and a chocolate chip cookie for dessert. Twelve bucks. Which is next to nothing compared to the wad of cash I have deep in my purse. I even add a dollar to the guy’s tip jar.
I take a deep breath in. I love this new position I’m in. Money . . . Nate . . . poker . . . it’s as if I’ve stepped away from my old shell and entered into something brand new.
The tables are crowded with hustle and bustle so when I sit down to eat I crowd my bags close to me, around my feet. I’ve never had bags! I’ve had a bag. But never, ever, in my whole entire life have I had bags. I stare at my food tray a few seconds before I begin eating because I don’t ever want to forget what this feels like, this first experience of luxury I’m having.