Esme and the Money Grab: (A Very Dark Romantic Comedy) Read Free Page A

actress who had seen her brightest days when my grandparents (long since deceased) had been children. Eight hundred dollars a week for the same hours I had been putting in at the pizzeria. Yes, it required multiple bus transfers to get from the Valley to her home, but it was well worth it.
      When my first paycheck arrived, I took my landlord out to dinner at what I considered a fancy restaurant. I would learn over the years that it a mid-level chain. But it felt like a big deal at the time.
      He celebrated with me, telling me how proud he was, but then… the conversation drifted. What were my long term plans? Where did I see myself in ten years?
      I didn’t know. I was riding high with my sweet new job. I kind of felt like I had made.
      “Do you want to be changing the diapers of old people when you’re forty?” he asked.
      I wasn’t going to mention that part to you, dear reader. Sorry.
      “For eight hundred dollars a week? Yes.”
      “I see what you mean,” he laughed gently, “You could do more. Go back to school. Get your BA. You don’t know what you’re going to want in ten years. Be prepared.” He shrugged.
      You know what the difference between rich people and poor people is? Rich people are always prepared for everything. They’re always buying insurance, saving for a rainy day. Must be easy when you have all that MONEY.
      But he was right, and practically an angel in my eyes. Sainted, like my beloved parents. I signed up for city college the next day, cut back on my work, and lived more frugally than ever before.
    Rush, rush, rush. I hadn’t made any real friends in all these years. Jack came and went, disrupting my life, borrowing money and never returning it. He was my tie to the past. I couldn’t let go.
      And here we are. Present day. Two more quarters at UCLA, and I’ll be a college graduate. Quitting my biggest paying job yet, 1,000.00 a week for twenty hours work, may have been a mistake. College is expensive and the only grant I qualified for was, first in family to go to college.
      Living in Los Angeles, even frugally is very expensive, everything is so expensive. But at that moment, sitting on the bus, I felt truly happy for the first time since my parents had died. To never have to see Mr. Galloway again was surely a gift from the Gods.
      This feeling would last for about thirty seconds after I entered my apartment.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter Three
     
      Mr. Galloway’s home had Artic Circle levels of air-conditioning. The walk to the bus stop had been along a canyon with a canopy of hundred-year old trees and a gentle breeze. The bus had the windows open and the air rushing by was pleasant.
      My home on the other hand was an inferno. There were no trees on my street, and like the apartment I had grown up in, the walls were thin and felt built to hold in heat. The tiny windows were not aligned with each other to allow a breeze to run through the small and cramped rooms.
      Still, I was happy to be home, until I opened the rickety front door. A powerful wave of marijuana hit me right in the face. I coughed lightly and swatted my hand back and forth to rid myself of the sweet skunky scent. The living room was so filled with smoke that I wondered for a moment if there had been a recent kitchen fire.
      My roommates had not mastered the fine art of cooking, or much else. They were a few years older than me, but their future was set. The two girls, Belinda and Mara, were perfectly happy in their dead end jobs, perfectly happy to turn their weekends into an extended highlights reel from a beer commercial. It was always Miller Time with those two.
      “Could you guys go smoke out on the balcony?” I asked with what I hoped was a light and friendly tone of voice.
      “You’re home early.” Belinda walked out into the kitchen in her bikini. A good choice for the oppressive