Finding Rhythm

EPISODE 3: ROSES CAN’T SAVE

THE HOT COFFEE smell wrapped around me like a blanket, it gave me a bittersweet feeling. I took a sip from the mug.

“Gosh! These numbers are ridiculous, I swear, Kylie, I’m never pulling myself out of this shit.” I cried. I shook my head at the calculations in my notebook while biting my pencil.

“Don’t be so negative, this is a minor setback, my dear. Think of it as a dip, and when money starts pouring in, you rise and you shine,” she answered, not taking her eyes off the novel she was reading.

I bet she thought she was making sense. “Uh, can we be realistic about my situation? This is not a blockchain. I have fifty grand debt, I’ve not come across that kind of money in my life.”

Kylie sighed, "Girl, you have the pot, you just need to get the ingredients and cook.”

“So what are the ingredients?” I asked her, puzzled.

“The red ruby.”

“Ugh..”

“I’m dead serious, Aria, you could make some cool cash as an escort. Hell, you’d pay off this debt within a month with the caliber of men that come to the speakeasy.”

“Why aren’t you doing it then?”

“Who says I'm not?”

I stared at her in amusement. I wouldn’t put it past her, I’d seen her flirting with some of the female customers.

“Is that how you got that?” I teased pointing at her new airpods.

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

I was taken aback. She finally closed the book and started telling me all about her nights as an escort after work. She described it as a win-win situation for her. How she could make money at the Red Ruby, how she goes to five-star hotels and gets paid five grand.

“Wow,” that was all I could mutter.

“By the way, I think you have a secret admirer. You could stick your tentacles on him and make some cool cash.”

“Eww… no. Who are you talking about though?”

“There’s this guy, he drops heavy tips for you. He comes in on Fridays, he’s kind of new too.”

“Crazy, I get only five percent of my tips. After cutting money for the roses, money for self-promotion, and several other silly things. It’s extortion, but there aren’t any jobs available. I need to find a white-collar job soon.”

“No, no, no! That’s the killer of dreams, that’s the trap. Forget your music career, forget being able to express yourself how you best know-how. You’ll literally forget how to be you.”

I laughed at my crazy friend’s words. As much as I knew them to be true, it wasn’t entirely true because I’d already forgotten how to be me.

“He wore a cashmere suit last night, and his hair is so luxurious I get the urge to just dig my fingers in and rustle it. Always has shades on too. It’s giving mysterious.”

“Do you have a crush on this man?”

“I’m homosexual, vixen.”

“You could be bisexual.”

“Trust me, I love me some oysters.”

I threw some of my fries at her chuckling. The babe was so unhinged. I stared out of the window at the flower shop opposite me.

“So, do you know him?” Kylie asked me. I frowned and tore my eyes off the laptop that I was studying with.

“Know who?”

“The huge tipper. Your titan.”

I rolled my eyes. “Kylie, how would I know him? There are spotlights on me when I perform, I can’t see beyond me.” I lied through my teeth. I knew who she was talking about. I see him put wads of cash on the tray when Kylie takes it to him. She clung to the man, taking her tray to him week after week before anyone else got to him.

The more tips on the tray, the higher the waitress is tipped. Another silly thing they always deducted from my tip.

The man always stood out to me in the crowd, I could hardly make him out with all the lights in my eyes, but I recognized his hair. I wouldn’t admit it to Kylie, so she doesn’t get encouraged by her talks of me being an escort.

I did my laundry and browsed through an old magazine. Kylie and I left the cafe when we were done with our readings. I got a brilliant idea—a way to stack up some cash. When I told Kylie about my idea, she found it ridiculous. But it wasn’t more ridiculous than hers, talking about how I should be an escort.

Since the flowers at Le Rubis Rouge were thrown to me, I could always pick some of them to take home and resell to the flower shop.

I had Kylie follow me there and strike a deal with the florist. Although it wasn’t a great price, I’d get it in return for it because, by the way, I acquired them. Which I understood, I guess.

I picked up the bouquet I’d put in a jar of water, Kylie had given them to me after my performance yesterday after, I’d had to leave in a hurry. She told me someone wanted me to have them. Today at the cafe, she revealed it had been from my secret admirer.

So, I felt a bit guilty, I was selling the roses to the florist for two hundred bucks. I’d drop it before I went to the store in the morning. I needed food at home. Money from the speakeasy strictly went into my savings. I made $500 to $1500 every night I performed at the speakeasy. I performed at Le Rubis Rouge on Wednesdays, Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. It was good for me, if I kept at it, then I’d be able to pay the gang members what I owed.

I wandered down the street, a bouquet of roses cradled in my arms, everyone was going about their evening. I hadn’t been able to go in the morning because I had gotten a surprise visit from the Miami Blues, my house had been marked. Blue paint that had been mixed with s**t was smeared on the door, it was an X mark they painted on. It smelled awful. They were doing too much now, the pigs.

I had it in good mind to stomp over to the hideout and yell at them to give me a bloody break. But who the heck was I kidding? The moment I got there, I would freeze up, and then they’d probably barbecue my body parts to make beef burgers.

I spent the time I could have gone to the florist, scrubbing the vile paint off my door. Luckily it was still wet and hadn’t stuck on. I was fifteen minutes late for work by the time I finished.

Kylie walked beside me, her arm linked with mine, as we hurried to the florist’s before she closed so we could head to work in her scary truck. The beef between myself and that truck was real to the T.

I once had a nightmare that it was trying to eat me with its bumper. Then another time, I had a dream, and the seat swallowed me up. Nothing could disabuse me—that it wasn’t a human-eating truck.

“Are you sure about this?” Kylie asked me.

“Sure about what?” I replied, trying to sound casual as we approached the store.

“Don’t play dumb, you know what I mean.”

“I can assure you, I don’t,” I answered innocently.

With a defeated sigh, Kylie said, "About selling the roses." I mean, they were a gift,” she said, eyeing the bouquet in my arms.

Aww, my poor Kylie, did none of your escorts get you roses, and now you want mine to live rigorously through it. “Okay, because I love you. I’ll let you take a couple of selfies with it.” I said to her, smiling sweetly at her.

“You’re sick,” she said scorningly. With finger triggers to my forehead, she imitated the sound of a gunshot and pushed my head backward, pretending she had just given me a headshot.

We stepped into the flower shop. The bell above the door chimed softly, announcing our arrival.

The shopkeeper, an elderly woman with tired yet kind eyes and a warm smile, welcomed us. “Ah, back again,” she said, her gaze falling on the bouquet in my hands. “That’s a lovely bunch you’ve got there.” I handed it to her.

She inspected the roses and carefully ran her fingers over the delicate petals.

“Yeah,” I answered. Kylie unlinked her arms from mine to look around the shop again. I shook my head at her, she was such a romantic, and it baffled me why she chose to change partners like a game of Tag. I once asked her if it was because she was a lesbian and perhaps wasn't comfortable having a genuine and open relationship, and she had gotten so pissed and refused to speak to me for a week. I knew I had hit a sore spot, so I watched her continue playing the role of a playboy off her handbook.

“I’ll give you two hundred for them,” she said. The cheating old hag, she knew this was way more than that.

“That’s fine,” I said quickly, I didn’t want to haggle.

The old woman, whose name I found out to be Martha, returned to Kylie and me. She counted the cash and handed it to me. I smiled, relieved, as the bills touched my palm.

“You know, he wants you in his pocket,” Kylie said bluntly.

I stared at her, wondering what she was talking about now. She started the most random, out-of-pocket conversations and expected me to follow.

“The admirer, he’s probably a music executive. You’re probably getting scouted. How about you speak to him and find out what’s up?” she told me.

“Life isn’t a movie, babe. I would have received a call by now if he was scoping me out. And, no. I’m not speaking to him, the last thing you ever want to do is give attention to a crazy fan.” I answered.

“Actually… The last thing you want to do is not give attention to a crazy fan. A crazy fan builds you an army. Imagine like five crazy fans. They talk about you in their crazy circles, and boom! Like a virus, everyone knows the name, Aria Smith.”

Hmm, that I did see. The Aria Smith is shining in neon lights in the clouds. I put my arms in front of me and pretended my hands were a screen, my name shining brightly.