11
Hailey
“So let me get this straight,” I said as Alana and I watched that smiling, petite granny-type at Zarela’s carve up an avocado to prepare our fresh guacamole right at our table. “All that stuff you bought tonight? You don’t really want it?”
“Exactly.” Alana dipped a chip in salsa. “Except maybe for the Burberry. As I said, I’m conflicted about that plaid.”
The Burberry hat had been a “what the hell!” purchase. Otherwise, Alana had chosen her items mostly by price tag, the more expensive the better. We’d quickly cut over to Tiffany’s because she realized that jewelry was compact and easy to carry with the added bonus of being outrageously expensive. As the bell rang to close the store, Alana paid a porter to transport our purchases back to the apartment, leaving us free to cab it over to Zarela’s and join the Cinco de Mayo celebration.
“So you bought the closetful of stuff to return it ...”
“And get cash back. Let me tell you, it’s going to take me a few days to return all that merchandise, but at least it will give me a little liquid cash to get myself going. I tell you, I don’t believe my father. He’s never pulled a power trip like this before.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” I offered. She’d given me just a few salient details as we shopped.
“Honey, I couldn’t bear to give you a play-by-play. Let me just say that he’s going to cover the co-op expenses, so at least I won’t be homeless.”
We won’t be homeless, I thought, recalling that I was a few months behind on the rent I owed Alana. I really, really needed that new contract from All Our Tomorrows.
“But beyond the roof over my head and an occasional salad smuggled in by Mama, when Daddy cuts me off, I’m going to be penniless. No spending money whatsoever. And you know I can’t live that way.”
I shook my head. “I am so sorry. What will you do?”
“Find a job, I guess,” she said airily. I don’t think the real trauma had sunk in yet.
Poor Alana. The question remained, what would she do? “What kind of work were you thinking of?” I asked, recalling that she did not possess any so-called marketable skills.
“I had a tiny epiphany while we were having that lovefest with Marcella back at the cosmetics department. I’ve always marveled at the easy job those perfume sprayers have. Don’t you think I could wax that? How hard could it be to say, ‘Endeavor? Endeavor? Endeavor?’ like, twenty-five times a day?”
She had a point.
“And now that we’ve bonded with Marcella, I figure I’ve got an in at Bon Nuit,” Alana went on. “I’m going to call her in the morning, first thing tomorrow. Or maybe the next day. I’ve got an appointment for a hot-stone massage, and then there’s all that merchandise to return. But eventually, I am going to get myself a new job spritzing elegant ladies.”
“Been there, done that. It was kind of fun, too, but after the Christmas season they let all of us go.” Talk of my spritzing experience reminded me of the lean days before I had gotten acting work. No health insurance, no spending money. I lived in a creepy basement apartment with two roommates who eventually became a couple. I waited tables in a diner, which didn’t help when I sneaked out to auditions smelling of grease. I saved up my change for a cup of designer coffee in the morning, going to Starbucks a little later so I could read someone else’s leftover newspaper. It was not a pretty life.
Those were the days before I’d been adopted by Alana, who let me move into her spare bedroom for a fraction of the Madison Avenue rent. Before I could afford to have my hair set and cut by a stylist. Before I could afford manicures and facials and fabuloso dinners at places like Zarela’s where the little granny makes you guacamole.
If you’ve even been to Zarela’s, you know the woman. It’s her job to go to each incoming party and offer up her fine avocado-smashing services. I have watched her do her thing over businessmen trying to best each other, over the argument of a couple, over a rather lurid conversation I once had with my girlfriends about the hazards of giving blow jobs to uncircumcised men. And no matter what’s going on at the table, the little granny smiles and smashes away. I love the little granny.
“Thank you,” I told her as she finished up. I handed her a few singles and Alana slipped her a twenty-dollar bill. Granny bowed as if we’d both handed her gold bullion, then moved to another table.
“Did I just hand that lady twenty dollars?” Alana asked me. When I nodded she smacked her forehead. “What an idiot I am! I’m poor myself and I’m giving away hefty tips. I wish I could call her back.”
“Consider it a parting gift. Besides, you’re not poor until tomorrow, Cinderella, and the night is young.”
“Exactly what I was thinking, Hailey. Dinner is on me, then after that let’s go bar hopping or out to a club or something. You’ve got your contract coming up and I’ve got my parental problems and I say we deserve a little treat. If this is our last chance for a while, let’s go for it!”
“That sounds more like the Alana I know.” I lifted my margarita glass in a toast, knowing this was a bonding moment. Not that we hadn’t bonded a million times over shopping, but to date, we had not been down and out and broke at the same time. “And thank you. For everything. You’re such a giver, Alana. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”
“Don’t start! You’re going to get me choked up.” She waved a petite hand, rapidly fanning her eyes. “And you’re too sweet to be living without a fairy godmother in New York. Just remember me when you’re up on stage at Radio City, accepting your Emmy Award.”
“Remember you? You’d better be there.” We clinked glasses and some slopped over my hand. We both sipped, then I dabbed at the spill with a napkin.
But Alana, having latched onto something transpiring behind me, slammed her hand on the table. “Damn them!”
“What happened? Who?” I looked over my shoulder but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
“It’s just so typical,” she said, snapping a corn chip in half. “I think my father called in his spies.”