My eyes were blinking out of control as my pulse began to skyrocket. “What? I have less than one thousand dollars in my purse. I can’t buy a plane ticket with that!” She was insane, crazy as a cockatoo!
“You can in coach.”
My ears caught on fire for a second. I’d flown many times on commercial airlines, but I couldn’t recall a coach experience. But you know what? I could do it. Of course, I could. “I can do that, and then I get my life back, right? And can I buy a plane ticket with cash?” My mother’s secretary had always arranged my travel. I had no flippin’ clue what I was doing.
“Yes, if you deposit the one thousand dollars into your checking account that will be the only money you have. Buy the ticket online. You get your life back after you see your father.”
Yeah!
“But.”
“No, no buts. I go, and my life becomes normal again.” My voice was strong, even though my legs were shaking like trees during a tornado under the table.
“Until further notice, the apartment you were in today is yours. You may only use what’s in it and nothing else.”
Her words came out in slow motion, and I was immobilized by fear as I gulped the air. “Oh, no. It’s like a biohazard in there.” My chest tightened while my throat was as dry as the Sahara. “I think someone was murdered there.”
“Nobody was murdered.” She shook her head likeIwas crazy.
“But I’m pretty sure there’s blood on the wall and a bum passed out by the dumpster.” My voice cracked, and the room blurred while a tear escaped my eye. “And the clothes…what’s in that closet should be burned.” My shoulders shook with the shock of it all, and more tears rolled down my cheeks. “It was like a fucking bloodbath of tie-dye in there.”
I wiped my eyes while she grabbed a jar behind her and put it in front of me. “Somebody owes the swear jar a dollar.”
“What the?—”
She wagged her finger at me. “Don’t make it two. You’re on a budget now.”
I realized this was the day I may go down for murder. The psychic was standing on my last freaking nerve, so much so I spoke through gritted teeth. “I can’t do that apartment.”
“Then I suggest you get yourself on a plane and out of the city as soon as you can.”
“Can I please just grab a few things from my real apartment?” My plea came out in a desperate whisper. “Don’t make me wear somebody else’s underwear.”
“No. Only what’s in the apartment. There’s a stack of quarters in the kitchen and a coin-operated laundry room on your floor.” She stood up. “You’ve got this; I know it.” She turned on her heel, walked to a side door, and disappeared.
I sat in the chair, seething and stringing together profanities like a truck driver—or Zoey.
* * *
The taxi driver argued about my choice of stop but finally gave in and dropped me at my shitty apartment door. He said he’d feel responsible for my demise if the worst happened. I assured him that someone would pay the price, but it wasn’t him.
I’d left the door unlocked, thinking I’d never return, and miraculously nobody wanted to steal anything from that place. I’d deposited my cash into my account on the way ‘home’, went online, and bought my plane ticket, which left me with enough money to get me to the airport, but that was about it. I was heading out tomorrow at seven in the morning, so only one more night in hell.
I weaved through the living room to the bedroom. I had dread in my stomach while I looked through the Goodwill finds in ‘my’ closet. As hard as I fought to keep them at bay, the waterworks started again as I made a pile on the bed of clothes I would wash and wear, along with the sheets on the bed, which were the same shade of yellow as the high lighter I used when I marked the clothing I liked at Paris Fashion Week. Again, a few more tears escaped.
It was slim pickings in the closet, but I ended up with an array of tie-dye shirts, two pairs of denim overalls, aPizza Slutshirt, and anI’ll Cut Yousweatshirt.
In the bottom of the closet were fishing boots, black tap shoes, and Zebra slippers with googley eyes.
Sure enough, I found the quarters in the kitchen as well as the coin-operated laundry room down the hall. As sad as it was, I hopped on the dryer, protecting my repulsive wardrobe with my life because I couldn’t imagine what I’d have to wear if some dumbass stole my laundry.
While I sat there, I knew it was time to send my dad a text. I know, I know. A mature person would call, but not me.
Me:
Hi, it’s Madison. I hope it’s okay if I come to the wedding because I already bought the ticket, arriving tomorrow.
A heavy sigh escaped when I pressed send and waited. After two long minutes, my phone buzzed.
