was never fond of that expression.
“Want some?” Sylvie asked. “I can open another bottle.”
“No, thanks. I’m driving.” Among other reasons .
I glanced around and took note of the empty Chinese food boxes on the kitchen table—not the kind you order from a restaurant, but the kind you buy frozen at the supermarket and heat up in the microwave.
“I should have seen the signs,” Sylvie said, fretfully pacing around the kitchen while she gulped down her wine. “Damn him!”
“How did you find out?”
“Oh, you know…” She casually waved a hand through the air. “He just started acting all antsy and uncomfortable. He said he never meant to hurt me, but I know he didn’t care about that. He just wanted to have a good time. At least he took me out for dinner before he dropped the bomb.”
She guzzled half the glass of wine.
“So, he never wore a ring?” I asked.
She scoffed at me. “Am I stupid? I wouldn’t have gone out with him in the first place if I’d known he was married. He must have taken it off every time he came into the club.”
Sylvie was a waitress at a chic dance bar downtown. While we were in college, it was a dream job for her because all her friends went there on weekends and the tips were fantastic. But now she was thirty-two years old and her friends were all married and starting families. It wasn’t exactly a healthy environment for someone like her.
“You need to find another job,” I said, leaning back on the counter. “A day job where you can meet people who aren’t just out looking for a party. Take a course or something.”
She shifted her weight and raised an eyebrow. “Really, Jenn? You’re going to kick me when I’m down? Start judging me?”
“I’m not judging you. I just think you’re in a rut, that’s all. A change would be good.”
She rolled her eyes, pulled the towel off her head, and flung it onto the back of a kitchen chair. Her long wet hair fell down her back in tangled blond waves.
I noticed at least a half-inch of dark roots, which concerned me because Sylvie was always on top of her hair appointments. She was gorgeous and took great pride in her appearance. The last time I saw her roots showing, she was heading into a severe depression and ended up on suicide watch.
“Oh, hell,” she said, tipping her head back. “Maybe you’re right. I should get out of there. I’m sick of meeting guys like John. I just don’t know what else to do. I never finished college so I’m not qualified for anything except maybe retail. But I couldn’t live without my tips.”
I followed her into the living room where she continued to pace around. I wanted to tell her to slow down with the wine, but knew I needed to tread carefully to get through to her. I needed to connect and build up her confidence.
“What would you like to do?” I asked in a more cheerful, uplifting tone. “Could you see yourself working in an office? You could wear skirts and heels every day, meet smart professional men. It’s not too late to take your life in a whole new direction, you know. You’re only thirty-two and you’re smart. You could do anything you want.”
“I can’t just quit my job,” she argued. “I have rent to pay.”
I sat down and patted the sofa cushion beside me. “Let’s take this one step at a time. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
She let out a heavy sigh and sat down.
“What do you love doing?” I asked. “Let’s focus on that first.”
She thought about it for a moment, set her wine glass down on the coffee table and shifted to face me. “You know what I love? All those decorating shows on TV. Maybe I could be one of those home stagers for houses that go on sale.”
I glanced around her apartment which was tiny but tastefully decorated. “We could definitely look into that. I’m sure there are courses you could take. And you’re good with people. You have gorgeous taste. That’s obvious from the way you dress and
Phil Jackson, Hugh Delehanty