Made in America Read Free Page B

head to the side like a Labrador. I reach into my purse and pull out a copy of the receipt suit guy left me.
    Huffman, Grant. No idea who that is, but it even sounds rich.
    Tito takes a look at it. Reads the note Grant left instead of a tip.
    “Get rid of those tattoos and maybe people will respect you more?”
    His eyes snap up and meet mine, which by this point are accepting, though I do raise my eyebrows. “Yeah,” I say. “Can you believe that?”
    “Oh no he didn’t!” Tito shouts, checking the receipt once more as if to validate its authenticity.
    “He did,” I say, brushing past him and heading for the kitchen. If there was any day that warranted a drink, this was that day.
    Tito’s hot on my heels, sitting me down before I can reach the fridge. “I’ll get it,” he says.
    I laugh, loving how he knows me so well.
    Tito’s a hoot. Totally gay, Spanish, with a heart of gold. I met him shortly after arriving here. We took classes together over at Columbia. Both going for our Bachelor’s in Art. I thought I wanted to be a graphic designer, and Tito thought he wanted to be a famous photographer. A year in and we both realized that neither of those things were what we wanted, so we dropped out and joined the working class citizens of the world. Now we’re both trudging through life until we can figure out just what is it we truly want. It’s a good thing I have him, too, because without him I don’t know how I’d be able to afford New York’s exuberant rental prices.
    He lowers a bottle of Jack Daniel’s Watermelon Punch in front of me and I snatch it off the table to guzzle a quarter of it down. The alcohol warms my system. Calms me slightly. I put the bottle down and sigh as Tito takes a seat across from me, still holding the receipt.
    “Huffman,” he says. “I recognize that name from somewhere.”
    “Yeah, well, who cares, right? Story of my life.”
    “Was he hot? I bet he was hot. No ugly guy would do this.”
    “Yeah,” I smile and take another swig. “Totally hot. Like, monumentally hot.”
    “Maybe you should track him down,” Tito grins.
    “Are you kidding me? I’m not going to sleep with someone like that.”
    “True,” he muses. “After doing something like this, there’s no doubt he’s probably selfish in the bed, too. I bet he’s never made a girl come in his life.”
    “Tito!” I chide, but I can’t help but smile at his naughty humor. I’m the same way when I’m not exhausted and my feet aren’t aching from standing on them for six hours.
    “I’m just saying,” he jokes. “Still, there must be some way we can get back at him.”
    “ Him? We? I don’t even know who he is, and besides, even if I did, what could I possibly do to get back at someone like that? You didn’t see this guy. He probably has more money than God. Blokes like that don’t give two fingers about what someone like me thinks of them.”
    “Maybe not, but it’d still feel good, right?”
    Can’t disagree with him there. I take another pull on the bottle and belch.
    “At least post something on Facebook. That always makes me feel better.”
    “Facebook. Everything with you is always Facebook, Facebook, Facebook.”
    It’s true. He’s on there more than Mark Zuckerberg, I’m sure. Posting pictures of his food, writing status updates about how well him and his boyfriend, Frankie, are doing. It’s enough to make me gag, and not in the oh look, a big cock in my mouth , sort of way.
    He runs out into the living room, snatches my phone out of my purse, and hands it to me. “Trust me,” he says.
    “Fine,” I growl, yanking the phone out of his hands.
    “Don’t forget to take a picture. People love pictures.”
    I do as he asks, snapping a photo of the receipt. Then I write something to accompany it, click Post, and voila!
    “Feel better?” Tito asks.
    “A little.”
    “Good.”
    I finish off my watermelon punch and stand to bring it to the recycling bin.
    “What was it you wanted