Her Turn Page 2

  “Hey, Dorothy.” My voice is emotionless.

  “Addie, I’m just calling to check in with you. Are you doing alright? I miss you.” She sounds loving. Her tone is so overly saturated in sweetness that I might actually get a cavity. But it’s a lie, just like everything else about her—cue my exaggerated eye-roll. There was a time when I thought we might have a nice familial connection, but what I have learned is that under Dorothy’s compassion, an ulterior motive is always at the root. She’s the type of person who presents herself as someone she’s not. People gravitate to her. She spins lies like cotton candy—and they believe her. It took me a long time to figure out that she wasn’t a safe person, so I disconnected, except for the “loaning” part. Somehow, it keeps them from inserting themselves into our lives. It gives me a slight reprieve—family in name only, but family, nonetheless. This process is exhausting, and so are my mixed feelings about them.

  “We’re doing well. How are you all?” I ask, but I don’t care. I am currently having an inner argument with myself for even answering the damn phone.

  “You are so sweet to ask. We’re struggling. Matthew lost his job, and it’s really hard for us.” Whenever she is trying hard to put on her “sweet” personality, she tends to use her fake Southern accent. I sigh.

  What a surprise. Matthew loses jobs like water through a sieve. I wonder if the ink has ever dried on any of his applications before he’s been let go. I don’t take the bait. I know she wants money. The suggestion is there.

  “Gosh, that’s too bad. I’m sure he’ll find something else.” I say it with such conviction that I almost believe my own bullshit.

  “Of course. I know you’re right. It’s just so hard living in a place where I don’t know if we can even make our rent. It is so scary. But we can’t move to another place with lower rent. Those places are sketchy and riddled with crime. No matter how badly off we are, we simply can’t put our lives at risk. And even so, if we…”

  At this point, I am no longer listening, and I’m itching to end this conversation. But with Dorothy, it’s difficult. She talks endlessly, and I often wonder how she accomplishes it when she rarely takes a breath. It is a talent. She is completely self-absorbed and irritating.

  I listen to her chatter, and when I feel a pause coming, I jump in with a resounding, “Dorothy, I have to go. Someone is at the door.” Okay, label me a liar, but I prefer to call it self-preservation. Don’t tell me you’ve never done the same thing. Anyway, she reluctantly releases me from the current hostage situation and promises or threatens—depends on your outlook—to be in touch soon. I can’t wait.

  On the bright side, I didn’t take their financial crisis bait.

  Baby steps.

  Dorothy

  That bitch. Ugh. I didn’t even get a chance to ask for money before she disconnected the call. Honestly, we deserve that money. Her ungrateful mother should have left something for Matthew. After all, he is her only nephew. Margaret Snyder always thought that she was better than everyone else. She had her nose stuck up in the air, always looking down at me as if I was trash. Sure, I grew up in a trailer park, but at least I had the ambition to get the hell out of there. And Matthew was my ticket. I mean, I was attracted to him and even fell in love with him, but it was what he could do for me that was the hook.

  I remember when I first met him back in high school. Matthew was a football player. Guys wanted to be him, and the girls just wanted to be with him. Tall and muscular, he oozed sex appeal. He was the most popular boy in school—a true bad boy. A bad boy with money, or so I thought. You see, his parents weren’t in the picture, so he lived with Addie. Their mansion boasted a pool and décor that made my mouth water. So I zeroed in on my mark. Since I was the head cheerleader, the process was easy. I mean, come on—who else would he even date? I am a total catch. We were the “it” couple all through high school. College wasn’t in the picture for either of us. Matthew flitted between jobs, and I didn’t think much about it, since his family was loaded. He got a monthly allowance that made my minimum-wage job at a local boutique seem like chump change.

  Before I knew it, we were engaged and planning a small wedding. But I wanted an extravagant wedding. You know, something that would make a statement to all of those haters who didn’t think that I would amount to anything. It would have been like flipping off everyone who had dismissed me. However, cheapskate Margaret Snyder wouldn’t bend to my will, and I was stuck with an unmemorable ceremony and an even more mundane reception. I muddled through it while keeping my eye on the prize.

  Tapping my fire-engine red, acrylic fingernails together, I decided that I need to be more persuasive in my loan presentation with Addie. “Borrowing” items from stores isn’t as lucrative as it used to be since my arrests, and the pawnshops are onto my game. I need another means, and if Addie doesn’t cough up some cash, I will have to put my plan in motion. But first, I will put Matthew on task since family reigns supreme in Addie’s eyes. She has always had a soft spot for Matthew. Of course, their relationship changed once I came into the picture. I hate Addie. I hate everything about her. She is such a goody-goody. Naïve. Oh, and don’t get me started on that her disabled brother. Owen gives me the creeps.

  The front door of our modest apartment opens, and in walks the man of the hour. I smooth my blond bob and stick out my ample chest. He loves me in short designer skirts and stilettos, which happen to be my standard form of dress. Matthew is still as attractive as he was in high school, but his lack of social status clouds the appeal. I put on a fake smile, walk over to him, and rub my hand down his chest.

  “How was your day, baby?” I don’t care, but he has gotten a new job that I am hoping he keeps longer than the last one.

  “It was fine until my boss criticized the way I was loading the boxes into the truck, so I quit. I mean, why’d he have to be so picky? He should have been grateful that I was loading them at all.”

  I try to keep my reaction in check. Nothing good ever comes from me pointing out the obvious: he is the problem. Now, if we had a ton of money, this would not be an issue, but obviously, if I’m shoplifting and playing nice with Addie in hopes of a “loan,” that isn’t the case. My patience is wearing thin. So I do what I do best. I manipulate.

  “Oh honey, that’s too bad. Their loss, right? Well, don’t worry about it. Why don’t you just pay a visit to Addie? You haven’t seen her in a while, and I bet she would help us out until you find something else. That’s was family does, right? We help each other.” The words almost choke me.

  “Thanks for your support, babe. You get me. You understand that these places refuse to see my worth. Yeah, I’ll go visit Addie. She owes us since she’s got her hands on what should have been my inheritance. That bitch of an aunt didn’t leave us shit. I mean, I took care of her, too.”

  “It just isn’t right that you were left out, so I bet Addie will be happy to give us a helping hand in our time of need.” I coo.

  “I’ll go and see her tomorrow.”

  Matthew is such easy prey. I just hope Addie is as easily manipulated as my gullible spouse. Momma needs a new Prada bag.

  Addie

  Owen became my priority after our mother crossed over to the afterlife. Okay, he has always been my priority, but now, I am his sole guardian. Legally. Honestly, I’m not sure where my mother ended up, but hopefully, the restraining order God had in place has been lifted. She was the most ungodly woman on the planet. I guess that makes me a bad daughter, and I’m sure there is a place reserved in hell for me, too. I hope it’s in the front row.

  Most mornings, I revel in the quiet sanctuary of my apartment, but there are days when I take a field trip to the Coffee Shop on the Corner. No, that isn’t my nickname for it. It is literally a coffee shop that resides on a corner, and that is the clever name the owners, Mike and Sal, decided on when they opened this gem in our neighborhood. Mike is fit, burly, an
d extremely good-looking, while his partner in life and business, Sal, is physically slight in appearance and rocks his intellectual vibe. His classic uniform consists of khakis and crisp Oxford button-downs, while Mike goes for jeans and tight-fitting T-shirts.

  The first time I met them was at the grocery store where Owen works, where we bonded over our mutual adoration of liquor-infused sorbet. If you haven’t tried this delicious concoction, you must do so. But not right now, because I’m in the middle of my story and I need you sober. Anyway, they told me about their quaint coffee shop, and I will admit, I was a little giddy.

  So, it has been a ritual of mine for the last few months to settle into one of their cozy chairs and create some magic. When I arrive, there is always a piping hot cup of java waiting to jolt my brain into the creative process along with one of their homemade chocolate croissants, served warm. The coffee shop is a slice of heaven with its mocha walls that host colorful art created by Sal, along with black-and-white photographs of various European cities that he and Mike have visited. There are several intimate seating areas that invite customers to sit and relax. Mouthwatering pastries, muffins, and scones peep out from glass display cases.

  I visit the cafe when I feel stuck or lack the inspiration to put some life into these characters. Sometimes, I think my characters judge my ability as a writer, and most of the time, I’m right there with them. Writer’s block is no joke. For me, it means that my characters have gone radio silent. Maybe they’re pissed about the directions that their stories are going. But there is something about this coffee shop that turns my garbage into magic.

  The aromas of coffee and warm baked goods caress my senses as I open the door. Mike strolls over and envelops me in a comforting hug. Another bonus of coming in here is the abundance of love and kindness these two have for me.

  “Addie! So happy to see you. How are you?” he asks me.

  “I’m good. Just hoping your coffee and croissant will inspire me to finish up this book. I’m close, Mike.” I exhale. While I don’t have the experience of delivering a baby, this book feels very much like giving birth. It’s years of work and emotions that have bled onto the pages. My pride and joy. My labor of love. Once it leaves my hands, I am powerless over the outcome and that scares the living shit out of me. My stomach knots at the thought, but it subsides once I touch my chocolate croissant.

  Diligence pays off as I plow through chapter after chapter, revising, editing, and developing my characters. On this gloomy Monday afternoon, I exhale in triumph. It’s done! I’m grinning like a fool despite efforts to maintain my composure. I lean back in my chair and close my eyes. While intense relief overwhelms me, it is peppered with anxiety at the idea of releasing it to the world. Now it’s just a matter of sending it to my close friend, Nina Wentworth.

  Nina is a literary agent who just happens to own The Wentworth Agency. We met at a writing workshop six months ago. I pitched my story idea, and she was very interested. We just clicked. Odd, since we’re total opposites. She is poised, gorgeous, and fashionable with sleek, long black hair that accentuates her olive skin and slender figure. She probably wouldn’t be caught dead wearing yoga pants or a T-shirt. She probably doesn’t even own any. I imagine she sleeps in her Chanel suits. Kidding. Well… maybe. Still, she is kind, sweet, genuine, and encouraging. Honestly, she is the first person in a long time who has believed in me.

  Matthew

  Approaching Addie’s apartment, my anxiety quickly dissipates as I rationalize the reasons why I’m entitled to my aunt’s money. Honestly, I should’ve known my aunt wouldn’t leave me anything, but my monthly allowance was the least she could’ve left. Without that, I had to start working…for other people. I mean, I wasn’t meant to be told what to do. I was meant to be a leader.

  A sexy woman is leaving Addie’s apartment building. I take the steps two at a time to catch the door before it shuts. I wink at her as she holds the door for me, and she blushes. I’ve still got it. My power over women is how I managed to score Dorothy. All charm, all the time. I hustle up the four floors to Addie’s apartment, grateful I didn’t have to press her buzzer. Sometimes I think that Addie ignores me when I come over. The element of surprise is on my side today.

  I knock and wait. She never asks who it is, which is another bonus. The door swings open, and there stands my cousin, who, by the way, doesn’t look the least bit shocked to see me.

  “Matthew, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Her face is a blank slate, not betraying the slightest emotion.

  If I didn’t know better, I would think she was annoyed with me.

  “Addie, can I come in? We haven’t seen each other in a while, so I thought I would come by and check on you.” I smile at her warmly, throwing my charm her way.

  Sure enough, she opens the door and gestures for me to enter. I enter and head for the couch, where I make myself comfortable. Addie follows suit, and we settle in awkward silence.

  “So, what have you been up to? Are you still ‘writing’?” I do air quotes because “writing” is just a lame excuse not to work. Okay. I know what you’re thinking. You think that I shouldn’t judge because I don’t want to work, and she doesn’t need to. But it’s not that I don’t want to work—it’s that I don’t want to work for someone else. If I had the money—the inheritance money I’m owed—I could start my own business. What kind of business you ask? I want to start a consulting company. Sounds a little vague, right? Well, I didn’t say I knew what I wanted to consult on; I just know that I want to be the boss.

  She smirks at me. “As a matter of fact, I just finished my book and sent it off to a literary agent.”

  Whatever. Sending it off to some lame agent in the hope that someone will buy it is pathetic. It isn’t like she needs the money -what a loser.

  “Oh, well, that’s great. Let me know how that goes,” I say acting as if I am interested.

  “How’s your job going? Are you still a customer service rep with that medical device place, or did you already quit?” She scrunches her nose at me.

  “Oh, I moved on to a company where I was loading trucks, but that didn’t work out. They didn’t see my potential.”

  “Well, that’s unfortunate. So, let’s cut the shit. Why are you here? Need a handout? Following up since your wife wasn’t successful yesterday?”

  She can be a bitch when she feels like it. She reminds me of her mother.

  “We could use a little help. With me between jobs, things are tough.” I try to look sincere, but it’s hard. That money is owed to me, after all.

  “Since I’m in a good mood, I feel generous. This is the last time, Matthew. You all need to get your shit together.”

  She goes over to her bag to retrieve her checkbook, and I hope she’s making out the check for at least the same amount she always gives us. She hands it to me. Yup, same amount. I take the check.

  “Always a pleasure, Addie. Thank you so much.” I turn away from her and leave with a smile on my face, not bothering with goodbyes. Dorothy will be pleased.

  Addie

  Sucker. I have sucker written on my face. Honestly, I wasn’t surprised when Matthew showed up. Since I interrupted Dorothy in her quest to ask for monetary assistance, I figured she would manipulate her spouse into doing her dirty work. I know I should stop the cycle. Sometimes, it is just easier to give in, as it will give me a reprieve for a few months. And at least I plucked up the courage to tell him it was the last time. He won’t listen, but I did try.

  I am baffled as to why my mother didn’t leave anything to Matthew. She wasn’t a fan—I do know that, but he lived with us for several years since his parents weren’t in the picture.

  “Addie, Matthew has hit his peak,” she would say once in a while. These were the moments when she wasn’t criticizing me.

  “What do you mean?” I would ask.

  “He’s popular. He’s the football star.
He has it easy. He has too much. After high school, he won’t amount to anything. He’s weak and lazy, and all he’s learned is that he doesn’t have to try. That’s going to hurt him in the long run.”

  I look back on those conversations and wonder if she was psychic because she was weirdly on target. Maybe that’s why she didn’t leave him anything. I guess I will never know. Just another mystery left behind by my dearly departed mother.

  Addie

  It’s been three months since I sent my book to Nina. Waiting is hard. Sure, she is encouraging and keeps me posted. We made a pact that we would not insert our business relationship into our friendship. Besides, she knows how annoying I would be if that boundary hadn’t been set. I pass the time by escaping with my book boyfriends and their adventures. When I was in college, my intellectual classmates would discuss their latest literary exploits. They would drone on about the impact authors like Sylvia Plath and Ernest Gaines were making on their lives. While they rambled on, I was quietly pining for the romance novel left under my pillow. I don’t apologize for my lack of literary savvy, but I don’t advertise it either. I would nod in agreement and insert things like, “Their words are so profound.” I like to think that they thought I was more of a quiet intellectual.

  My trip to love town is interrupted by the loud blast of “Baby Got Back.” Owen has been playing with my phone again. Sigh. I see that it’s Nina, and my heart starts to pound. My inner dialogue is at war. If I answer it and it is bad news, then what am I going to do? But if it is good news, I will miss out if I don’t answer the phone. Maybe she wants to meet for a drink. Jesus. My inner bitch screams, “Answer the fucking phone!” So I do what she says. She’s scary.

  “Hey! What’s up? How’s your day?” I try to sound calm, cool, and collected. Instead, I sound like a wound-up talking doll.