Work

Chapter 2

The bells jangled as I entered Trés Chic. I walked in and saw Hillary at the desk.

"Hey you!" She exclaimed.

I gave her a "sup" nod. She laughed, then proceeded.

"Um.. I was actually wondering if you could cover for me later. I have a date with Jase, you know, so yeah." She twirled her blonde hair. "Thanks in advance! I knew you'd say yes. You always say yes. That's what I love about you!"

Confused, I said, "What? I haven't said yes yet..."

"But Berlin, you always do!"

I shrugged. "I guess."

"Thanks for doing this. Wait. Why am I thanking you? I'm the one doing you a favor. You're welcome that I let you do the register, then not snitch."

I gave her a bewildered look and went into the back room.

I have five brothers- Martin, Christian, Nick, Dean, and Carter. Growing up we wrestled, and fought, and were really rough with each other. They called, and still call, me Barry, and told me I could only play with them if I wouldn't be such a "girl." So growing up, I wasn't a girly girl, but sporty, outdoorsy, and tough. They protected me, and swore they'd kill my boyfriend if he ever hurt me. I was stubborn, smart, and I could say no. They would probably be upset to hear that I'm working at a very fashionable clothing store and giving in so easily. I hate it about myself, I really do, but there's literally nothing I can do about it. If I want to make it in this place, I have to start somewhere. My dad told me once that nice people finish last, and they get walked all over on in the process, and that's what happening to me right now. Ugh. My family would be so disappointed. They'll think I've turned soft.

The scariest part? I think they'd be right.

I sat down in my homey little corner of the room and sat at the table. There was a pile of clothing, sitting there waiting for me to attack. I looked around, let out a huge sigh, and picked up my first item of clothing. Eduardo walked in a second later with two cups of coffee. He looked at me and snorted.

"Hmph. Try not to mess anything up, Porter."  He motioned at the clothes. "Those are some fabulous pieces there. I hoped you washed your hands first." He walked out and Hillary met him at the door.

"Ah! Thanks Eddy! Is this nonfat café mocha extra whip just for me? You shouldn't have!" She hugs Eduardo, and he says, "Of course, hun. You do so much around here, especially when you close- I can't thank you enough."

My mouth drops open. I want to say something, a few choice words, but I remember this is my main source of income, I'm poor, and cant do that. Guhhhhh. I glare at them as they walk out, happily, leaving the little slave to do all this unnecessary crap.

I'm stringing, stringing, stringing. Scanning, scanning, scanning. Its finally time for my break, and I jump out of my seat and run out before Hillary can stop me.

I'm pushing the door, purse over my shoulder, when Hilary calls out to me.

"Hey, Ber, I actually need to shop. Think you could cover for me this break?"

Looking out the door at wonderful LA, I scowl and breathe and angry breath. "Sorry, Hill, but I want to enjoy my break." I turn around on my heels and face her.

"I get it, Ber, but I hardly ever ask you for favors! C'mon! Pleeeeeease?" She says, batting her lashes. Dressed in all pink, I can't even take the girl seriously.

"Ugh. What do you need to even shop for?" I ask.

"Nothing in particular. I just kind of feel a shopportunity in the air. Gotta take em, yanno?"

I squint at her. Must be nice to have money to shop whenever you feel like it. She grabs her keys, purse, and heads toward the door. "Love ya, Bryn. You da bomb hun."

She's long gone before I can call out after her, "You're welcome, you little bitch. Its also BERLIN you blonde."

I look out and turn back toward the cash register. I'm so frustrated! I sit down and put my head in my hands. I had to will myself not to cry.

My mom told me tough girls don't cry. Tough girls get over themselves and don't make excuses. But right now, I don't want to be a tough girl. My eyes glazed over.

If you never get hired as a writer, Barry, you'll live like this the rest of your life, I thought. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of this. I'm resigning. That's it. I'm resigning. I'm done, I quit. I'm sick of being these peoples minions that are walking all over me. No one ever messed with me back in Alabama. I was the tough, brutally honest badass that people would go by and say, Oh, Barry? She's a tough cookie. Now? Probably something like, Oh, Berlin? Not much going on up in that pretty head of hers. She better get her life together real quick or she'll be livin off Taco Bell for the rest of her days. I'm so done. But I just can't quit. I'll be unemployed and then what; my situation would be worse than what it is now. I'm so determined to get a job.

The rest of the day drags on. I string and string, and close up as Hillary runs out happily for her date and Eduardo grumbles about. I lock the door head to the bus stop.

I wat for a few minutes, sitting on the bench, and the bus finally comes by. I get on and sit, waiting for my stop. I hop off silently, and plop myself down in the kitchen. I grab some trail mix from the pantry, a water, and snack while I preheat the oven. I take my shoes off and put them in the closet. I change out of my clothes and into some sweats and a tee shirt. I pull my hair up into a messy bun, put on some fuzzy socks, plug in my laptop and begin to write.

When the oven is ready, I put some lasagna in. Lasagna is one food I can cook well and can affofd. Its sad, cooking for one, but one can I do?

I begin writing my original story, Older and Wiser. I sit, and write myself to sleep. I sleep, and dream of a place where my hard work pays off.

It was a very unrealistic dream.