Breene, K F - Jessica Brodie Diaries 01 (3 page)

It was the least of my concerns at
the moment since she wouldn't beat me up in a public place. I hoped.

"What do you mean Jane told
you?” I turned to a somber Jane. “How’d you know?”

She shrugged. “You were being
secretive. I hacked into your email.”

“You—what the—how do you know how
to hack into stuff? You’re a freaking lit major!”

Jane shrugged again. “One of my
boyfriends was a hacker. I paid attention.”

“Well…aside from the fact that that
is a huge invasion of privacy—“

“We could care less,” Lump
interjected.

“—you’re right. I just… I don’t
know. I need to start over. I need to move on. I am in a serious rut here, and
it scares me.”

“Yeah, wake up wit an ugly lad and
it changes yer perspective, alright,” Claire said as she nodded. “Well, while
we're talkin’ about it, I’m headin’ on, too. Goin’ ta
Australia
.”

“What?” Flem shouted, ripping her
eyes from the table to stare at Claire. “Since when?”

“Well, now, I figure that since
Jess here is goin’, I might as well to. Always wanted to go.”

“But you can’t get back in,” Jane
said reasonably.

“What does that mean, she can’t get
back in?” Lump’s beautiful face took on a scowl as she swiveled her eye, away
from mine. Finally.

“She was allowed three months with
her work visa,” Jane explained. Claire had lost interest again. “She was
supposed to go back. She didn’t, so now, if she leaves, she’ll get a
ten-year-ban.”

“Ban from what?” Flem asked.

“Entering the States. You aren’t
supposed to stay after the three months.”

“Yeah, but…don’t you have a bank
account, Claire?” I asked.

She nodded. “Driver’s license, too.
And I can still use my social security number. But I’m still illegal.” She
shrugged, unconcerned.

“Well, then, you aren’t coming
back?” Flem asked, aghast.

“Ah sure, I’ll just sneak out
through
Mexico
.”

“If she doesn’t get a leaving
passport stamp,” Jane explained, “she can reenter like she’d left on time.
Usually.”

Everyone looked dumbfounded. Then
immediately got over it. It was happened, so we might as well just embrace it.

“So, we’re breaking up.
Officially,” Lump said, looking at me again. Her hostile look was covering the
pain.

“I’m sad. Let’s get drunk,” Flem
muttered.

“Just as long as I go home alone,”
I retorted.

I got snickers.

June had come and gone with a
flurry of excitement. School was done, grades were posted, and I was given a
green light for a job in
Austin
,
Texas
.
Given that I wanted to move away from endless people and traffic, I compensated
by renting a small cottage in Tartin Creek, Texas, which was about ten miles
away from the office. When Flem heard, she’d given me a strange look, and asked
how I would afford it.

“By working,” I’d answered like I
thought she was dense. “I’ll be making three times the cost of rent. About.”

“Tartin Creek. You’re sure?”

“Flem, I am holding a beer, not my
rental agreement. I can’t very well double check at the moment, but yeah,
that’s what I remember.”

She’d shaken her head and muttered
that I must be mistaken.

I wasn’t. It would be my new home!

It was the morning of the big move.
I stood back and surveyed my ancient Honda stuffed to the limits with
everything in my life. Butterflies ran amuck through my ribcage as I headed
back in for my last farewell--Ami.

The girls, who I already missed
even though I wasn't even outside city limits yet, gave me a huge send-off in
style a few nights before, which I hardly remembered. My hangover still
lingered.

I held out my keys for an
uncharacteristically sad faced Ami.

“Well, this is it,” I said as I
dropped the keys into her palm.

Ami nodded and looked down at her
hand.

“Uh, well, hug?” I asked
uncertainly, trying not to dig my hands in my pocket. We’d never been friends,
but we had been roommates for an eternity. You get to know a person after a
while.

“Jessica, listen,” Ami said
miserably, still looking at the dull keys resting in her palm, “I wanted you to
know how much I enjoyed living with you. I only wish you would’ve been home
more so we could’ve hung out. You are a very special person, and even though we
are in no way similar, I really feel close to you.”

Here she paused, having shocked me
mute. A tear rolled down her cheek before she shrugged and continued, “I didn’t
really need a roommate. I brought you in because I saw you looking for a room
on the room board one day at school. I was intrigued. I wanted, and still want,
to reach out and help you. My mom called it charity." Ami rolled her eyes
at that apparently preposterous though. "That's why she agreed to you
moving in. But I want you to know it wasn’t charity.”

Ami’s eyes were solemn and round.
Feeling the expectation of the moment, but also the reminder of the absolute
douche I’d always been to her, I was at a loss. I settled for, “Oh.”

“I really think we could have had a
good friendship if I had been more open,” Ami continued, trying to find middle
ground. “I'm a hard person to get to know because I am so shy, but I wish I
tried harder. Anyway, what I really want to say is,” she wiped her damp face,
“I hope you keep my number and email address and give me a call now and again.”

I stood staring with an open mouth.
“Sorry Ami. I...I honestly had no idea. I thought you just needed a roomie and
were putting up with me because of my off-kilter lifestyle. You know, for
entertainment purposes for you and your mom.”

She smiled through her tears.
“Well, you sure are entertaining. It wouldn’t be so fun to keep track of you if
you didn’t feel abashed for all the things gone wrong. I mean, I can see in
your face when you regret whatever it was that you did. Morbid curiosity drove
me some of the time, I must admit.”

Flustered and crying, Ami pulled
something out of her pocket. “I wanted to give you something to remember me
by.”

She handed me a box with a little
red bow. I opened it in confusion, then froze.

“Ami! You can’t possibly-- No way
can I-- I can’t accept this!”

“Yes, you can.”

“No way. No, I can’t.”

“Yup, you can.” She turned me
around, swept my hair away, and fastened the most exquisite ruby and diamond
necklace around my neck that I’d ever seen. Well, seen on me at any rate. I’d
complimented her on it dozens of times, and even borrowed it once for a date
with an a-hole that didn’t deserve a prostitute, but I'd never owned something
as nice as this.

“Ami, this is too much. I mean, men
don’t give me this good of presents!”

“If you ever dated anyone worthy of
you they might.”

My eyes stung with unshed tears. I
fanned my face, then gave her a tight hug, trying to keep my eyes from
constantly straying to the mirror and the fabulous bling around my neck.

“Well,” Ami said, stepping away and
wiping her face again, “you need to get going.”

I mutely nodded, not trusting my
voice, and looked around. This was it. I was leaving my home of the last five
years, my city, my new friend, and all my old friends. It was time to change my
life around, starting with getting into the car.

Gulp.

My ass fell asleep numerous times.
My butt-sweat bled into the ripped canvas of the driver’s seat. My vocal cords
were hoarse from singing at the top of my lungs for hours straight. It was a
long trip, made longer with the lack of changing landscape in the desert. At
one point I literally pointed out a rock: "Oh, look, a rock! Look how big
the rock is! There it goes, a gray rock amongst all this brown."

Later on I saw another cool sight.
"Oh, look, a cactus! Wow, brownish green, like my eyes. Cool."

New Mexico
...now
there’s a reason to speed.

Three dog years later, I nearly
cried when I saw Tartin Creek, 1Mile. I put down my hastily made noose and sped
to the turn-off. I was almost there!

A couple turns and a million street
signs later, I left the traveler’s world and entered…

“Holy shit—“

Tartin Creek.

Houses loomed and sprawled, pushed
back from the carefully tended street devoid of even one pothole. I didn’t see
one piece of trash. Whereas the trip was a tableau of brown, this town was one
of green. Yards of grass covered front yards, decorated with plants, flowers
and trees. More than one yard had a tire swing gently swaying in the afternoon
breeze. Any cars in sight were luxury models. Any people well dressed. Flem was
right, this place had money.

What the hell am I doing here?

After a double check to my
directions, I finally pulled up in front of one of the massive residences that
made up the norm of this town. The grounds were expansive and green, reaching
to both my left and right as I parked at the curb in front of the walkway. The
landscaping was immaculate, with trimmed bushes, gently swaying trees, and
flowers in beds of soft dirt completely devoid of weeds. The house stood tall,
intimidating in size even though it was so far removed from the quiet street it
should've been smaller. The décor of soft tan and white window lattices gave
the structure a refined look. The money here wasn't splashed around and thrown
in your face, like so many celebrity residences I’d seen, it was subtle.
Sophisticated. Like people who’d been rich all their lives. Here, money was a
default setting. It would never run out. At least in their lifetime.

It took me about fifteen minutes to
get out of the car. I just sat there, staring. I had grease stains on my shirt.
Neither my hair nor teeth hadn’t been brushed in two days. My whole outfit
probably cost under $100.

In this community, one of these
things did not belong. Spoiler alert…it was me!

I pushed open the door slowly and
climbed out. Dusting potato chip crumbs from my pants, I trudged up the walkway
with a slightly ducked head. A neighbor looking out the window was probably
muttering, “There goes the neighborhood.”

Rental agreement clutched in my
hand like a shield, I gingerly rang the faintly lit, plastic doorbell.

“Why, hello there young lady.”

I spun around, losing the spit in
my mouth down my chin, nearly wondering if someone was going to laugh at me and
yell, “Gotcha!”

An old lady was standing just off
of the stoop wearing a kind smile. Her white hair was pulled back from her
smooth, wrinkle-less face and hidden beneath a yellow sun hat with a large
brim. Though slightly hunched with old age, she still showed traces of her once
regal bearing.

“Um, hi--” I stammered stupidly,
scrubbing at my face. A chip flacked off and fell to the ground.

“A young lady should never say
‘um’, it makes her seem dense. And you don’t seem dense to me.” She smiled in a
playful sort of way, no doubt intending that “advice” to go down easier.

I was not impressed. Intimidated,
however, absolutely.

“I’m Jessica, to rent, the uh...the
cottage? I might have the wrong place…”

I scanned the property as if a veil
would lift and reveal the mediocre dwelling in which I belonged.

“Oh Jessica, darlin. Yes, of
course. I figured that was the way of it when I saw ya. I’m Gladis,” she said
in an affluent Southern drawl. She stepped past me toward the house. “You don’t
look like you brought much with ya?”

“Oh, well, no. I don’t really have
much so I thought I would head to Ikea.”

“Of course. A fresh start. And
you’re from
California
?”

“Yes.”

She smiled, her eyes slightly
crinkling in the corner. She’d absolutely had work done to her appearance, but
by expert plastic, and extremely expensive, plastic surgeons. Her face was
nearly ageless. Her neck, however…

“Well, then, let me show you your
new home."

She let me through the front
door...and into a modern museum. The oval entryway could have been its own room
with vast high ceilings and a pillar to each side. A large hall led away into
the house and through the middle of a double stair case leading to the second
level. Everything was marble, stone, and wood. An impressively large chandelier
loomed above us, threatening to fall with the weight of the sparkling crystal.

I gingerly stepped to the side just
in case today was the day for spooky mishaps.

We climbed the stair well and then
turned right, into the large hallway. Since she was older, she didn’t have it
in high gear, which gave me a chance to check out the well-lit and elegantly
decorated rooms. As one would expect of a guest room, most were devoid of
personal affects, but to make up for that lack, there were art and tiny
decorative items that made a person feel more at home. As we walked, we passed
a billiards room, which would have made me gasp in wonder if we hadn’t shortly
thereafter passed a personal movie theater!

She turned into one of the rooms on
the left, which turned out to be the biggest bedroom I had ever entered. Ever.
With the biggest, most extreme four-poster piece of furniture that she
apparently called a bed. And what was a giant, over-the-top bed without
matching night stands? Or a huge dresser for that matter? Forget celebrity, she
probably had royalty staying over. Who else but an excessively rich person
could afford the wardrobe needed for so much space.

Gladis stopped near the window.
“Have a look.

She must have missed my bug-eyed
entrance, because I’d been doing nothing but looking. And fawning. And
drooling. And feeling more than a little out of place.

Still, she stood with hands loosely
clasped in front of her, eyebrows raised, expectant. Like a mime, I elaborately
scanned everything a second time. I was an actor once, after all, I could get a
point across.

Her continued silence meant an
answer was expectant.

“Uh...I mean, it is very nice. Big.
I thought, um--” I winced with that last um and lost my focus as heat rose to
my cheeks. How did one bring up false advertisement to their landlady?

Gladis’s eyes twinkled. “No, honey,
not this room.”

She beckoned me closer to the
window.

I went thither, as one does when
they are awkwardly standing in a giant room, in which they don’t belong,
looking for some answers but too afraid to ask, and followed her gaze to the
ground below.

A surge of excited adrenaline
coursed through my chest.

There it was. My cottage. I fell in
love immediately. It was actually more of a pool house than a cottage, and I
was happier for it. From the window, it looked like a decent size, pushed back
from the pool a respectable distance, with its own little cropping of trees and
landscaped backyard behind it. It was perfect.

“I like to show the cottage from
this vantage point," Gladis said in a hush, which strangely fit the
situation perfectly. “It is a little more dramatic this way. Either you love it
or you hate it, and this view brings out that emotion best. All the kids in my
family hate it, which is why they aren’t invited over more than once a year.”
She scrutinized my face. “But I can see that you love it.”

I had been staring at it like a fat
kid stares in a bakery shop window. In other words, like I was a kid again. All
I could do was nod quickly.

“I love it, too," she said with
a smile, turning back to the window. “Every time me and the mister got in a
tiff, I would hike up my skirts and head out to the cottage for a few days of
peace and quiet. Now that the mister has passed on,” she crossed herself, “I
just don’t go out there much anymore. I thought it might be time to have a
starving student make her way in the world, starting from my favorite place!”

I finally turned toward her. She
was clasping her hands in front of her, looking at me as if through a time
machine.

“Do you believe in fate, Jessica?”

I blinked uncertainly. “I’ve never
really thought about it, actually.”

“Yes, young people not looking for
Prince Charming seldom do, do they? Let me tell you, Jessica. When I put that
ad in the paper, I was praying to God the person that answered my ad would be
starting a journey, like I once did. She, or he, would be taking her first
independent steps in life, with nothing but hope and a dream on her shoulders.