The Green Ticket (2 page)

Our father, Marcus Abrams, was madly in love with our mother. Alicia would tell me stories of how they would dance around the living room at night when they thought she was already asleep. How Marcus was the kind of guy who never missed her birthday or forgot flowers on their anniversary. My parents were high school sweethearts and married just weeks after graduation, welcoming Alicia eight months later. Marcus went a little crazy after she died, not being able to handle the grief. He tried hard to stick around and be a good dad, but left right after Alicia turned seventeen. I really didn’t miss him as much. My memories of him aren’t very good ones. After Mom passed away, he took up drinking too much whisky every night to hide the pain, and I remember him yelling at Alicia all the time. He wrote Alicia and myself a letter when he left, saying he couldn’t stand the physical reminders of Mom–– which apparently were us. He eventually remarried and now lives in Georgia with his new wife and her children. I hadn’t spoken to him since he left, and Alicia was no longer in contact with him, either.

Alicia was my hero. We had an aunt and uncle that took us in for a year, until Alicia turned eighteen. After that, we moved to Des Moines from our hometown of Baruva, Illinois, population just under 1,000 and not much opportunity. Alicia secured a job at the capitol building, starting as a typist and working her way up to secretary, then an office manager. It was there that she met Craig Bowersworth, and they immediately fell in love and were married. Alicia worked her ass of as essentially a single mother for years, helping raise me, enrolling me in school, keeping me clothed and healthy. I loved my sister with all my heart and missed her terribly. I had thoughts of moving to Seattle to be close to her again, but I loved Kaufman College and Lila and my other friends and really wanted to make it on my own. I wanted to stop relying on her for tuition and rent money and health insurance.

“Those are all great suggestions, just not for me. I was thinking about choosing a different major, maybe trying to narrow it down or something. Business is so broad, so general. Maybe that’s part of the problem.”

Lila carried our bowls to the sink, adding some dish soap and running water over them to “let them soak.” Lila’s version of doing the dishes.  “That’s always a possibility. Let me look at the job quick that you mentioned. What was it for?”

“A manager at a spa and salon.”

“That would be perfect for you! You love those places. And see ––your major could help you out here.”

“Don’t get too excited. I can’t see a whole lot of owners putting an inexperienced twenty-year old in charge just because she loves getting pedicures.” I pulled up the bookmarked page and Lila started reading, running her eyes across the page.

“Alex, are you kidding me? It says right here, ‘no experience required, business degree preferred.’ That’s you! What are you waiting for?”

“First of all, a lot of job postings say they don’t need experienced people, but if someone walks in and has ten years working at a spa under their belt, they will get the job. And secondly, I don’t have a degree yet. Or have you forgotten that minor detail?”

Lila shooed off my concerns with a wave of her hand. “Big deal. You’ve nailed every interview you have been on. You’re enthusiastic, hard-working, and personable. You have to at
least
apply for it. Just give it a chance. You’ll never know unless you go for it.”

“I already put getting my résumé together on my to-do list for today.” I hesitated, weighing the pros and cons in my head. “And I do interview well.” I once landed a job as a hotel clerk, even though I interviewed in a mini-skirt. In my defense, I never meant to interview, or even apply for the job when I left my apartment on the way to the mall that day. I saw the Now Hiring sign from the road and decided to stop in for an application. The manager was there and not busy, so I filled out my app, did the interview, and scored the job the next day. “I’ll get it done by the end of the week,” I decided, causing Lila to squeal and clap her hands together. “But I’m not going to get overly optimistic about this. And I’m going to keep job hunting. Waitressing is just not for me anymore.”

“I agree. I’m getting tired of it too. I feel like something positive could happen here. You’re focusing on getting a fab career, and I’m going to up my chances of getting discovered. I feel good. Things are about to change for us, Alex.”

“I hope you’re right, my friend. I hope you’re right.”

Chapter 2

The following day was a Friday, which meant the night shift for me and Lila. We worked as waitresses at Tastie’s, which we described as a classy Hooters. It was a sports bar and restaurant, with polished wood booths in the restaurant part, a full circle bar in the middle of the lounge that was always full after nine at night, and pretty girls in short black shorts and tight white tops taking your order. At least we didn’t have to wear the hideous orange hot pants and long socks, but the shorts were still short and our low-cut tops were designed to do the peek-a-boo bra thing. The tips were pretty decent though and the manager wasn’t a sleaze, so Lila and I had stayed on for the past six months. Neither of us had managed to snag a job or internship in our majors–– me in Business and Entrepreneurship, Lila in PR/Communications, but it was a job. For now.

“Where the hell is my bra? Alex, do you have an extra Tastie bra?” Lila was shouting in her bedroom while we got changed and ready to drive to work. I popped my head through my white shirt, adjusting it so you could just see the top of my lacy black boob holder, and approached Lila’s disaster of a bedroom.

“My extra one is still on the rack, probably damp. How could you have lost both bras?” I questioned my friend, stepping carefully into her room to avoid stepping on a bottle of hair gel, a plate with a sandwich on it, or the mound of dirty laundry that was littered across her floor. Lila stood outside her closet, rifling through a drawer of bras and underwear. It was times like these that I was grateful we had lucked out and gotten a dorm with separate bedrooms. Our bathroom was tiny compared to others with only a toilet and sink–– meaning we had to shower in the community bathroom–– but I much preferred my own clean and organized bedroom.

“I don’t know. They might both be at Joel’s. I swear his bedroom eats my clothes.” Lila stopped throwing undergarments out of the drawer, turning to face me. She wasn’t wearing a shirt or a bra, but I was unfazed. Lila was a free spirit. I think all of the girls in our dorm had seen Lila topless multiple times by now.

“Well, we have exactly eleven minutes before we need to leave. I can check and see how damp my other one is. But we don’t have time to find an open dryer.”

“Maybe I’ll get more tips if it looks like we’re having a wet T-shirt contest night,” Lila said, racing out of her room to grab my bra off the drying rack we had set up in the living room. She clasped it quickly in the back, then proceeded to feel herself up. “Yep, it’s going to be a great night. I have a feeling. Big tips coming my way.”

“All right, please stop touching your boobs. Let’s just get out of here. Maybe Big Frank will let us cut out early tonight.” Big Frank was our boss and the owner of Tastie’s. He never missed a Friday or Saturday night.

“Doubt it, but I hope so. Carmen and Emma are having margarita night in their room, and we need to be there.” Lila was finally dressed, and we grabbed our purses and headed out the front door, down the three flights of steps and out of Wacker, the laughable name of our dorm that was a constant source of comedy.

$$$

Lila’s vibe was right, as that Friday night was one of the busiest yet. It was mid-October, and with the temperatures in the Midwest dropping by the day, more and more outside bars were slowing down and establishments like Tastie’s were seeing more patrons come through the door. Lila and I bustled around our sections, and I smiled every time I saw her tugging at her chest. The damp bra could not have been comfortable. She was just lucky we were both a small C, or she really would have been out of luck that night. And Big Frank hates it when we show anything other than black underneath our work shirts.

“Hello, gentlemen. Welcome to Tastie’s. My name is Alex and I’ll be your girl tonight. Can I start you off with some drinks? We have two-dollar tall boys on special right now.” I recited my opening line for about the fiftieth time that night to a table of four guys probably in their forties. Big Frank wanted us to say we were “their girl” for the night, not just their server or waitress.

“First round on me, fella’s. Order to the pretty lady,” one guy said, who was just slightly overweight and just slightly balding. All the men ordered Bud Lights, and I flashed them my perkiest smile, stuck out my chest like we were taught in training, and scooted away. I tapped their order with lightning speed into the machine and shouted, “Four tall Bud Lights!” at the bartender, Carl, who was on duty that night along with Brad. He gave me a nod to show he had heard me, and then I walked quickly across the floor to check on another table, this one also with four guys. I refilled one water, brought out ketchup and extra napkins for the messy eater, then shot up to the bar to grab the four beers. After delivering those and taking down the food orders, filing those in the machine that would spit out the ticket in the kitchen, I checked on my largest table, a party of six men in the back, who shouted more beer orders at me, plus two tequila shots. My evening went on like this–– without a break–– for the next four hours, and I could see Lila was having a similar night. We passed each other a few times on the floor or in the kitchen, giving each other the “will this night never end?” look each time.

Finally around 11:30, Big Frank started letting girls go. Lila was able to sweet talk her way to getting us to the top of the cut list, and just before midnight we were free to leave. We rushed out to my white Toyota Camry, a newer model but still practical enough when it came to safety and gas mileage that Alicia and Craig footed the bill, and sped back towards campus.

“I need a drink! Are you ever going to turn twenty-one so we can finally do damage at the bars?” Lila asked, tugging her long hair out of the elastic holder.

“Soon enough. I’m itching to get there myself. At least I won’t be the last one who turns legal. Hannah’s birthday isn’t until June.”

“Yeah, but Hannah barely drinks. She probably won’t even do the bar scene when it’s finally her birthday.”

I took a right onto the interstate, increasing my speed and feeling the Camry smoothly chug along. “True, true. Oh, well. Less than six months now. We should start a countdown.”

“I think you can do that on Facebook. I’ll make one for you tomorrow.”

“You’re such a doll.”

“What are best friends for?” Lila batted her lashes at me as her phone started ringing. She dug around in her purse, finally pulling out the device that was belting Black Eyed Peas. I fell silent as I listened to her phone conversation with Joel.

“I won’t be over tonight. We’re having margarita night with Carmen and Emma.” Pause. I could hear Joel’s voice but couldn’t make out his words. “I told you last night that Carmen wanted to do this.” Joel’s voice got a little bit higher. “That’s not true! I know I told you last night. And what’s the big deal? We’re not going to the bar; we’ll still be at the dorms. And we have plans tomorrow anyway for brunch with Carli and Lucas.”

I rolled my eyes, continuing the drive on the interstate while Lila and Joel argued. Joel always wanted to be around Lila from the moment they started dating, which used to seem sweet. But in the past few months, it had bordered psychotic smothering. Lila couldn’t spend more than twenty-four hours away from him. And it usually ended up in an argument of some sort.

“Joel, I am not ditching my friends just to go to your place and sleep. I can’t believe you would even ask me that.” I drummed my fingertips on the steering wheel. I really wanted to compare tips with her, something we usually did at the end of the night. Lila’s predication of a good tip night was certainly right for me. And Lila never had trouble raking in the dough. Her looks were gorgeous, even though she was always complaining about needing to lose weight. Her size varied from a very small four to a six, and I thought she was beautiful and didn’t need to lose a pound. She wasn’t necessarily voluptuous in a va-va voom way, but she certainly wasn’t big-boned like she called herself.

“You’re being ridiculous. I can’t even talk to you right now. I’m going to Carmen’s and I will be at your place ready for brunch tomorrow at 10:30, just like we planned. And don’t you dare think of showing up and ruining girls’ night for me. I don’t barge in on your study dates.” And with that Lila snapped her phone closed, leaning back in the seat and closing her eyes. “Why is having a boyfriend such hard work?”

“Wouldn’t know, sista, haven’t had one of those in forever,” I replied, finally pulling into our parking lot outside of Wacker. We climbed out of the Camry, strolling with ease to the front door. “And from the way your relationship works, it’s better that way.” I couldn’t resist a little dig. Lila knew I didn’t enjoy Joel, especially when he was acting how he was that night. But I wasn’t up for a fight right then.

“I know, you’re right. I don’t know why I stay with him sometimes. It’s just this feeling that I have that he’s the one. I can’t shake that.”

“Babe, your feelings aren’t always right. Remember the scene you caused on the plane to Cancun?”

“I really thought there were snakes on the plane, Alex. I could practically feel them slithering up my legs.”

“Or you had watched the movie too many times in one month. Regardless, our plane was delayed, on the news, and we missed a full day in Mexico.”

“All right, all right.”

“Or the time during our first year where you swore up and down that Professor Lytle had made all his multiple-choice final exam answers the letter C? Me, you, and Emma all practically failed his class because of that.”

“Fine, fine, fine. I get it. My vibes aren’t one hundred percent. Neither are psychics or fortune tellers.”