Chapter Four
The first step was to figure out how to get a roof over my head again. A couple of the long-timers would crash in the Garage, but that wasn't an option I wanted to take for several reasons. There was another option, also a bit distasteful for a couple of reasons, but as a temporary solution, it was probably as good as I was going to find.
I debated calling first, but it was Sunday and a holiday. He'd never be up before noon. Anyway, it's not like I had a better plan B. My few friends from high school were scattered about at their own colleges, and I'd put little enough time into trying to make new ones at college.
On the way south, I stopped at the fast-food restaurant that had been my employer, went inside, proverbial hat in hand, and told my boss I'd be a good girl from now on, and could I please come back to work. He gloated a bit, said he would think about it, and would give me a call later in the week.
The little git was so chuffed with himself I was able to nick a few breakfast sandwiches and several bottles of juice before ducking out the back and passing them out to the usual collection of homeless people there.
I went back to my car, took my uniform out of the suitcase, deposited it on the strip of grass in front of the restaurant and lit the fuckin' thing on fire before driving off. If I wasn't going to let my mother run my life for a free ride through college, I bloody well wasn't letting some arsehole assistant manager with a Napoleon complex run it for eight bucks an hour.
I have to admit, I was singing happily as I kept going. After a half-hour of driving, and a few hours letting myself work up a worry again, I shook my head and got out of my car, heading up the stairs to knock on the door of my brother's apartment.
He opened it, a sleepy expression on his face, wearing a pair of boxer shorts and a t-shirt reading 'DBAs do it on tables'. The shirt must've been a XXL at least. Given what I'd come for, I really should have said something other than, “My God you've gotten fat.”
He gave me a bemused look, answering, “I love you too, sis.”
I winced and said, “Sorry, sorry mate, just...well you kinda have.”
“I don't deny it,” he said dryly, shaking his head, “Oh, last night was the tourney, wasn't it? How were the matches?” He paused and said, “Wait, why are you....oh, she found out, did she?” My brother was many things, but slow of wit was not one of them. I nodded and opened my mouth, but he said, “Wait, let me guess. Ultimatum?” I nodded again. “Not surprised. Well, not by her. A little surprised you told her no. You never wanted to stand up to her.”
“Not precisely correct, brother dear. I never wanted to take a side in your fights with her. Is it all right if I come in?”
“Oh, sorry, of course. And of course you can stay, too.” I have to admit I let out a sigh of relief at that. Gotta give the lad credit, he knew how hard it would be to ask, so he saved me the need. Closing the door behind me, he moved a pizza box off of the couch, set it on top of another pizza box on the floor, apparently to give me space to sit down. I declined to comment, since I had bigger problems right now than crumbs on my arse, and sat. “So what's your plan?” he asked.
I'd had some time to think about this, and while it was easier said than done, the idea was simple. “First, find a job that I can live off of. Second, find some apartment situation, probably with room-mates. In the meantime, I can cook and clean to earn my keep here.”
Nathan frowned. “I don't need a live-in mother, Callie.”
“I didn't say you did. I said you need a cook and a maid. I swear you've gained three stone the last few months, and this place is a shit-hole.”
Nathan looked at me oddly, “And this is the quiet one, talking.”
“You always wanted me to speak up, well I'm getting in the habit.”
“You know,” he said, “you don't have to do it the hard way. I make bank. If our company takes off, I'm gonna be able to retire in five years when all my stock options vest. Let me give you the...”
He stopped as he saw me shaking my head. “I know you've a good job, but putting me up for a year or two? If your company DOESN'T take off, you'll be fucking glad you held onto that money. Anyway, Mum was right about one thing. I have a choice: her way or my way. It isn't my way if you're bankrolling it.”
He seemed to accept that, and it was a good thing, too. There was another reason, one I didn't want to tell him. His fight with Mum and my fight were two separate things. I was here because I needed to be, not because I was taking sides with him against her. I would crash on his couch, and pay for it with housework, sure, but taking money from him would be losing my fight and winning his.
“Well, if you won't take money,” he said, “will you at least take a referral?” I raised a querying brow. “We're going the whole 'real office' route at work, so we need an office manager-slash-receptionist-slash-whatever-needs-doing person, filing, typing, et cetera. You can type at least forty words per minute, right?”
“Well gee,” I said sweetly, “I wasn't doing all that well in maths class, but seventy-two is more than forty, right? Tee-hee!”
Nathan gave me a sour look but went on. “My boss was gonna just go to a temp agency and set up a temp-to-perm thing, but they're really expensive. We're using a lot of our cash flow to move office. Be nice if we could just hire direct. It'd be an eight to five gig, so your evenings'd be free for training, and of course your weekends for the shows.”
I agreed to interview, and asked him where he kept his vacuum. After sheepishly admitting he didn't have one, HE agreed to go buy one.
It took me most of the week to get his apartment into liveable status, and while he complained about my propensity for including “too many vegetables” in the dinners I made, (“It's a fucking salad, you big twat!”) he admitted it was a nice change from pizza and fast food.
That Friday, I had an interview...of sorts. Apparently the company only had one boss, the company founder, and he did the interview himself. The first question he asked was, “If you were marooned on a desert island with a hatchet, a ballpoint pen, and a badger, what would you do?”
”Is he just fucking with me?” I thought, but I endeavoured to answer the bizarre question. “Kill the badger with the hatchet, use its skin as a sail and its intestines as line, and chop enough wood to make a sail boat. The boat's not going to be big enough for ME, of course, but I'll use the pen to write a note on the sail.”
He chuckled and said, “And you think that'd work?”
I said, “Probably not, but a million to one shot is better than a million to nothing, isn't it?”
He laughed, “So your brother told me about you and wrestling. Is that your million to one shot?”
“I'd hope the odds aren't THAT poor,” I said with a smile.
“So if I hire you and you get a call and it's the WWF calling, I'm going to need a new office manager, right?”
“Most likely.”
He laughed again, “No no no. You're supposed to say, 'Oh of course not. I'd love this company too much!' or something like that.”
“Why?” I said, putting on a mock-innocent face, “Does this job require me to bullshit you?”
He hired me right on the spot.
