A Not-So-Simple Life (5 page)

“Great belt too.”

Now I was stumped. I couldn’t remember the designer.

“Gucci?”

“Oh yeah,” I said casually, like no big deal. Still, this whole designer name game is so ludicrous. I can’t believe I’m even willing to play.

“See you ’round,” she called out as I headed for the door.

So, feeling slightly reassured, I raced home. Okay, I didn’t race straightaway. The first thing I did, once I got a few doors down the street, was remove the three-inch-heel sandals, which were cutting into my feet (they, too, are Gucci and a half size too small since they’re Shannon’s). I slipped them into the bag and pulled out a well-worn pair of flip-flops instead. Now, I can’t believe these “experts” who are saying that flip-flops aren’t good for your feet. I mean, have they tried wearing three-inch heels? And maybe they don’t know the difference between the Payless kind of flip-flops and Earth Shoe flip-flops. Anyway, with happier feet I hurried home, where I carefully filled out the application, using my neatest penmanship and exaggerating my job experience and education. I actually wrote “retail sales experience in the
music industry” as one of my jobs because I used to help my dad sell CDs at his gigs. I even listed Nick Stark as my employer. Hopefully this Vivian person wouldn’t go over the application too carefully. And I must admit, it looked impressive to have more blanks filled in.

I waited until three thirty, and then after checking my hair and makeup (wouldn’t my mom be proud!), I headed back down to Rodeo Drive and the chichi boutique that I normally wouldn’t be caught dead in. And to be fair, it’s not actually on Rodeo Drive proper—it’s on a side street. Still, it felt wrong. So wrong.

The shop, once again, was empty. Once again, the soft jazz music played, and the air conditioner felt way too cold. If I got hired there, I would try to sneak the thermostat up a few degrees.

This time Em was standing by the cash register looking slightly bored. “You’re back,” she said cheerfully.

“Yes.” I took a deep breath and focused on appearing older than I was as I held up my application form. “I have my application all filled out.” Okay, that’s a big duh.

“Vivian,” she called over her shoulder, “here’s the girl I told you about.”

An older woman, fortyish, came out of the back room. Her hair was long and straight and about the color of a pomegranate. Suddenly I wondered if you had to dye your hair to work here. In that case, I wasn’t interested. A girl could
only go so far. This woman peered curiously at me from behind narrow, purple-rimmed glasses.

“Hello,” I said in what I hoped sounded like a professional yet friendly tone. “I’m Maya.” I held out my application again, but she didn’t make the slightest move to take it. Instead, she just stared at me, like she was literally taking an inventory. I felt certain that I must not be measuring up. I wanted to turn and run.

Finally she spoke in a sharp tone. “Have you worked in sales before?”

I smiled nervously and moved toward her. “Yes. It’s on my application.” I sort of waved the paper in front of her, then realized that was stupid. Okay, I was in over my head, and I knew it.

She moved to the side of the counter but was still staring at me like I was an exhibit at the San Diego Zoo. Was this how zebras feel?

“She’s also a shopper,” Em said, obviously trying to be helpful. “Isn’t that a great bag she’s got there?”

Without moving her eyes from my face, Vivian nodded, then slowly took my application from me with her thumb and forefinger, as if it might be contaminated. Feeling like I’d invaded her space, I took a quick step backward, but the heel of my sandal caught on a thick Oriental runner in front of the counter, and I nearly fell. Fortunately I caught myself on the edge of the counter, but I upset
a basket of beaded bracelets as I did this little acrobatic act.

“Sorry,” I muttered as I knelt to pick up the bracelets. I took my time to carefully return them to the basket, arranging them like a beaded rainbow and not looking up, although I knew they both were staring at me. All I wanted was to get out of there ASAP. But I simply stood and put the basket back on the counter. Avoiding Vivian’s eyes, I thanked her for her time and began to make my way to the door.

“Bye,” Em called in a less hopeful voice. Vivian said nothing.

Well that’s that. I took my time walking home. I felt hopeless. But I was barely in the door of my house when my cell phone rang. Assuming it was Shannon and hoping it wasn’t anything serious, I quickly answered.

“Maya Stark?” said a sharp-toned female voice.

“Yes?”

“This is Vivian Demarco.”

It was the woman I’d just humiliated myself in front of, and I timidly said, “Yes?” again.

“I noticed on your application that you say you worked for Nick Stark.”

“That’s correct.”

“I also noticed that your last name is Stark…Are you any relation?”

“He’s my dad.”

Then it was silent on her end, and I wondered if she thought I was lying. “Look, you probably don’t want—”

“I’d like to schedule you for an interview tomorrow morning. Around ten thirty?”

“Sure,” I said quickly. “That’s fine.”

“See you then.” And she hung up.

So there you go. One minute you’re ready to give up on something completely, and the next thing you know, you’re getting a second chance. This actually kind of relates to my next green tip.

S
hannon came home late last night. As usual, she didn’t say a word to me, just slipped into her room like all was well. Still feeling slightly stunned that I had a job interview with Vivian in the morning, I didn’t feel as concerned about Shannon as I usually would. Perhaps working would be a good diversion for me.

When I got up this morning, Shannon was still holed up in her room. No surprises there. But that was fine with me, since I had borrowed a couple more items from her yesterday. Hoping to make a good impression on Vivian, I snatched a paisley blouse with a label called What Comes Around Goes Around (seriously, that’s the name of the designer, and it seems to be appropriate) as well as another pair of shoes, a pair of cork wedge slides by Prada (I’m trying to memorize the names). I put these together with a slim brown skirt with a designer name I can’t even pronounce and gold-toned costume jewelry that seemed like something Vivian might approve of.

I felt like a complete phony as I sneaked out of the house. Even with the Prada shoes still in my bag, I felt more like my mom than myself as I slunk down the driveway. I hadn’t worn anything made of leather for nearly two years, and here for the second day in a row, I’d compromised myself like this. Truly sickening! As I walked down the hill (wearing my flip-flops to preserve my feet), I felt I was about one step from going out and prostituting myself on Hollywood Boulevard. Seriously, I felt like I’d lost it.

Not that it stopped me. With visions of earning my own money, getting my own car—hopefully a hybrid—and having my own place to live, and finally being free from Shannon, I was a driven woman! And as I marched down Rodeo Drive, I felt like I could even eat meat. Okay, that’s probably an exaggeration. But I was determined, ready to do whatever it took to get myself to a better place.

At 10:25 I stopped at the same bench where I’d changed my shoes yesterday, and making sure that Vivian was nowhere in sight, I quickly slipped on the Prada slides, trying to ignore the soft strips of brown suede (and that some poor cow had sacrificed itself for these stupid shoes). Then after pausing to catch my breath and center myself, I carefully proceeded to the boutique. I hadn’t considered the height of these wedge heels. They must be more than four inches, which probably makes me about six feet tall. But I was thinking, Hey, I may be only fifteen, but at least I’m taller than Vivian
and Em. Then I reminded myself to watch my step on those Oriental carpets. Balance, it’s all about balance.

“Vivian said to go into her office,” Em said as soon as I came in. “It’s the red door back there.”

So watching my step, I went through a small back room and knocked on a shiny red door, then cautiously opened it after I heard a female voice calling, “Come in.”

“Hello?” I peered in to see a shiny black enamel desk offset by a couple of red leather chairs. In one corner was an Asian folding screen of black silk with a red embroidered dragon on it. But as far as I could see, no one was there. “Hello…”

“Just. Sit. Down,” called a rather uptight-sounding voice from behind the screen. I assumed it belonged to Vivian.

So I sat in a leather chair and waited until she finally emerged wearing a fitted sleeveless dress with a bright geometric pattern. “Help me with this zipper,” she commanded as she turned her back to me.

I hurried to get up and zip the snug dress. “That’s pretty,” I said, although I actually thought it was pretty ugly. Hypocrite. Liar. Phony.

She turned and held out her arms as if to model it. “It’s a new design from What Comes Around Goes Around.”

Without batting an eyelash, I said, “I thought so.” Another lie. “Same as my blouse.”

She narrowed her eyes, as if to scrutinize me, then finally nodded. “Very nice.” She pointed to a chair. “Now sit.”

Feeling like a trained dog, I sat.

“Okay, Maya, let’s get right to it. You’re only fifteen. Do you have a work permit?”

“Well, no…”

“And you’re really Nick Stark’s daughter…” She said this more like a statement than a question, so I simply waited. “I know this for a fact because I did some checking on you.”

“Oh…”

“My question is, why does Nick Stark’s daughter want to work here?”

I forced a smile. “I thought it would be fun. And good experience. I want to learn more about fashion.” Lies. Lies. Lies.

“Well, you seem smart. And I’ve been a Nick Stark fan since the eighties.”

I smiled with a bit more confidence. “I’m a hard worker.”

She looked doubtful. “Well, you’re a pretty girl. And very fashionable. I’m willing to give you a try.” Then she handed me another form. “That’s for a work permit. Get it taken care of, and I’ll see how you do.”

“You mean I’m hired?”

“Em will train you. I’d like you to start tomorrow if you can get your work permit. I’m expecting a busy weekend.”

“Tomorrow?” I blinked in surprise.

“Are you telling me you don’t work on Saturdays?”

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

“Because I don’t need any princesses working for me,
Maya. Just because you have a famous father doesn’t mean I want you to go around here acting like Paris Hilton.”

“No, of course not.”

“We open at ten.”

“Is that when I’m supposed to be here?”

“Have I been unclear?”

“Not at all.” Okay, that was another big fat lie. I still felt pretty confused.

Vivian stood now, as if she was done. Then she suddenly paused to look directly into my face. “By the way, I hope you’re not a thief.”

“Of course not.”

She looked skeptical. “Most of the girls who’ve worked for me have tried to steal from me at one time or another. But I have hidden cameras. I always catch them.” She narrowed her eyes. “And I always prosecute.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not a thief,” I said quickly.

“Let’s hope not.”

Then I thanked her and was about to leave.

“How tall are you?” she demanded suddenly.

I turned to look at her, then shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Well…the last time I was measured I was about five-six.” I didn’t admit that I was only thirteen at the time.

She laughed in a harsh way. Was there some sort of height requirement in her shop? Perhaps she was accustomed to
hiring short girls with colorfully dyed hair. Maybe she hadn’t really offered me a job after all.

“Is my height a problem?” I asked, suddenly slumping. Then I pointed to the tall wedges of my Prada slides. “These make me a lot taller. I could wear flats if you like.”

She gave me a look that suggested she was questioning my sanity, or maybe she was wondering if I’d dropped down to Earth from a different planet. Mars perhaps.

“Your shoes are fine,” she said in a bored tone. “Good day.”

Feeling excused, I hurried out. Vivian would never be a candidate for Miss Congeniality. On the other hand, I’ve had lots of experience with difficult people. Beginning with my mother.

“How’d it go?” Em asked when I emerged. “Okay…” I spoke quietly, noticing that a couple of shoppers were looking at shoes. “Did you get it?”

I gave her the thumbs-up. “Vivian said that you’re supposed to train me, and it looks like I’ll start tomorrow.” Then I held up the work-permit form. “That is, if I can get this taken care of, although I’m not really sure what needs to be done.”

So she explained that all I needed was to fill out the blanks on the form and then have my mom go with me to the employment division to verify her signature. “Easy breezy. I had to do one, too, a few years ago.”

I tried not to look alarmed about this bit of news. Shannon had to go to the employment division today? Like that was going to happen. I thanked Em and told her I’d see her tomorrow but seriously doubted I would. I walked a few doors down and sat on what was becoming a familiar bench. Maybe I should give it a name, like Harry or Ben or maybe Bernard. Yes, Bernard the Bench.

So I sat on Bernard and switched out Shannon’s Pradas for my comfy flip-flops. Then I took time to read through the work-permit application, thinking maybe it wasn’t as hopeless as I’d assumed. But when I finished perusing the form, I knew it was impossible. For starters, the employment division wanted to know about my schooling. Where I had attended, with dates. What was I supposed to put there? More challenging, how would I get Shannon out of the house? And how was she going to be fit to drive me downtown to the employment division, not to mention stand before a witness to sign a legal document? No, I just wasn’t feeling it.