And everything, for a single moment makes sense.
The quiet.
Before the deluge.
NOEMIE
“Come on, Noemie. I’ll pay yo-…” I cover my ears before my boss can finish the sentence. Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it.
“No. Abso-fucking-lutely not in a million years. Not even if there were an infinite number of universes. In none of them am I going to work a single extra second tonight.”
“Well, in an infinit-”
“No!” I hold up both hands in front of my face. “Stop. I don’t want to hear the science behind it. I don’t want to hear you beg. I especially don’t want to hear how much you’ll pay me to do it, because I don’t want to know. These hands, have shoveled enough lentils for the week. The only sound I want to hear in the next 15 seconds, is me, throwing my apron in the basket, and the little ding-a-ling of the bell as the door closes behind me.” I undo the strings of my apron and throw it into the laundry basket, liberate my hair from the hairnet, and throw my bag over my shoulder, practically running toward the door.
“But-” is the last sound I hear before I walk out the door.
It’s cold out. Just the way I like it. I take a long, deep breath, trying to empty the grease steam clinging to the inside of my lungs.
I check my watch. One a. m. Seriously? It is literally a different day since I started work at eight this morning? One whole day has passed and I’m still no closer to becoming a billionaire with an entire house just for my shoes. I look down at the oil splattered shoes I do have and for just one tiny split second, consider going back to work for a few more hours, just so I can afford a new pair. My phone buzzes and distracts me from the fact that I am basically considering a self-lobotomy. Who the hell is calling me at this time?
I try to ignore it as I pull the hood tighter around my face and start the twelve block walk home, hoping my feet will just go numb from the pain soon.
Bzzzzz, bzzzzzz! The phone insists. It occurs to me it may actually be something important, and I sigh, pulling the phone from my bag’s outer pocket.
My roommate’s face complete with snap chat bunny ears flashes on the screen, smiling at me. I roll my eyes and press the accept button.
“What do you want, Paige?”
“WHERE ARE YOU?” she yells, and the background noise is so loud I wonder if she can even hear my reply.
“I’m going home, just finished work,” I tell her, already knowing what’s coming.
“NO! I’m just around the corner! At Gators, come join me! It’s crazy in here right now! Everyone is here.”
Yeah, every reason not to go. People. Lots and lots of people. I tell her so. But it doesn’t seem to make a difference. I tell her again. It seems to just egg her on.
“Come on! Just for ONE drink. My shout. It can even be one of those depressing, adult drinks you insist on having.”
“Nothing wrong with what I drink. And for the last time, no! I’m going home to stand in the shower until the smell of month-old grease and mushy beans washes off me and then sleep until the landlord comes in and discovers my body.”
“WHAT? YOU WANT TO SLEEP WITH THE LANDLORD? I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” She yells into the phone so loud I have to hold the earpiece away from my face. “Please, Noemie! Just one drink and then I’ll drive you home.”
“In what? Isn’t your car in the shop?”
“Daddy got me a rental while my car is being repaired. I called him and told him if he didn’t, I’d walk home at night and then sent him a whole bunch of mugging news stories and the next thing a car appeared,” she giggles.
Of course, it did. I’m not complaining. I’m the appreciative beneficiary of Paige’s manipulation of her Dad and his credit card. Like now. Car. Means no walking twelve blocks.
“Just think about it, sitting back against the leather seat, taking your shoes off, butt getting warmed by the seat warmer. One drink and I’ll have you home in time to watch the end of Seth Myers.”
“Bitch.”
“You adore me,” she says, and for the first time, she’s not yelling.
“Why’s it so quiet all of a sudden?”
“Cos I’m outside, waiting for you.”
I sigh. Pretending this isn’t going to happen is just going to take more energy. “Fine. I’ll be there in five.”
I hang up the phone just in time to save my ear being abused by her high-pitched squeal.
***
It actually takes me ten minutes to walk there. Walk barely three blocks. The sidewalks are packed with people and the streets are jammed with cars, filling the night with sounds of honking horns.
I turn the corner and even Gators has a line curling around the block. It’s a good thing we’re regulars. Or not. I could use an excuse just to go home.
“Noemie! Over here!” I hear Paige call my name and she’s leaning against the wall of the entrance, dressed like she’s on her way to a gig as a go-go dancer. I wave to her and she runs over to me.
“Hey, girl! I’m so glad you came.”
“ONE drink. And then HOME. I mean it,” I warn her, and she just giggles and lays her head on my shoulder, squeezing my arm. I feel myself thaw a little, feeling bad for being such a grouch. We’ve been roommates for three years now and I probably wouldn’t still be living in L. A. if it wasn’t for her. I didn’t know when I answered the ad for a roommate that I’d be ending up living practically rent-free with a spoiled socialite who needed a friend. A spoiled socialite and her gigantic shoe closet. And trust fund.
“Fine, fine! Come on!” She pushes us through the entrance, giving Paul the doorman a wink and giggle as he waves us through.
“Why is it so busy tonight?” I ask her as we elbow our way to the bar.
“You’re serious?”
“Wha? Is the Queen in town or something?”
“No! The Grammys were on tonight.”
Oh god. I totally forgot. And good thing too; if I’d remembered there wouldn’t be a chance in hell I’d be out. Grammy night is stay off the streets of downtown L. A. night. Between the celebrities and the celebrity spotting tourists and the paps, it’s pretty much an introvert’s (read: me) nightmare. It’s nights like these I wonder what I’m even doing living here.