“Sounds like a pain in the ass,” I tell him.

“Is that right?” he asks. “I would have thought somewhere in your past, you were somewhat the same. Not the puppy, but the big dog.”

I don’t appreciate how personal he’s getting. In some ways he’s right, though. In high school and even in college, I had money, I had style and I had followers. Seems like a different lifetime now. In some ways it is. My life is split into Before Ava and After Ava. That’s not to say I’m angry about it, but it’s just a fact of life when you have a child. Your life changes, for better or for worse, but it changes. Nothing looks the same anymore.

“I’ve hit a nerve,” he muses when I’ve said nothing. He can see it on my face, I’m sure. “Sorry.”

I shrug but busy my mouth with more wine.

“Well,” he says, resigned, and lightly slaps his leg, “back to the job search. Not going well?”

“Nope,” I say. “I had one interview for a clothing store but they never called me back. I guess there was just something about my face they didn’t like.”

“But it’s a beautiful face,” he says softly and I look to him, surprised. He smiles gently. “It’s true.”

I swallow and look away, not used to compliments. “Anyway,” I go on, clearing my throat. “I’m starting to lose my nerve a bit.”

“Are you just applying for certain positions, certain fields? You’re in fashion, right?” I nod. He goes on, “No one likes to lower their standards, believe me, but maybe you should start going for something that’s just a bit beneath you.”

“Beneath me?”

“Pride can be a dangerous thing,” he says. “I know this. I know this so well.”

There’s a graveness to his voice that makes me wonder what’s happened to him and his pride in the past.

“Well, like what? I’ve already started to look into waitressing.”

“Good,” he says. “Though that’s a tough job, too. There’s a reason there is such a high turnover rate in the industry. I have no doubt you can handle it – you’re a mum after all, you can handle anything, but its…”

“But the problem is that the lower I go, the more I won’t be hired for being overqualified.”

“Aye,” he agrees, scratching his chin. “I wish I had some contacts here, but I don’t.” He leans back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling for a moment. Then he turns his head to look at me. “What about you?”

I shake my head no.

“No, you do,” he says. “What about James? You know, the pierced fella that runs the Burgundy Lion. Do you think he’d hire you?”

“To be what, a bartender?”

He shrugs. “I know my brother used to work there. So did Stephanie, that’s how they met. What’s wrong with bartending? You’re fucking hot too, so you’ll make a lot of tips. If you show off your nice tits a bit, you could make even more.”

I ignore the “nice tits” comment (even though a terrible part of me is kind of flattered) but I still immediately want to dismiss the idea.

“I don’t think so.”

“Give me one reason why not.”

I chew on my lip. “I don’t know how.”

“They train you, you’d learn in a second.” He snaps his fingers.

“They might not hire me.”

“But they might. And they probably will. I can be very persuasive.”

“I don’t need you to fight my battles,” I tell him quickly.

“No, you don’t. But you do need to know the difference between fighting someone’s battles and trying to help them. James will help you. All you have to do is ask.”

And that’s the problem. I don’t want to ask.

I can feel Bram’s eyes on me and I know he’s reading me. I know he’s figured out some way to get inside my head. “Everyone has to put their pride away sometimes,” he says quietly.

I exhale and close my eyes. He’s right. I don’t want to ask, because I don’t want to admit to someone I know that I need help. But I do need help. And a job at the Lion, as much as it’s something I never planned on, would make a world of difference in my life. It might just put me back on my feet.

“Okay,” I say and when I open my eyes, Bram has my cell phone and is holding it out for me.

“Call him,” he says.

And so I do. With Bram there, I ask James if I can have a job bartending at the Burgundy Lion. I only get so far starting to explain my situation and he tells me not to worry, he’s going to make it happen somehow.

Now I have a job. And as I sit back in my sagging couch, sipping expensive wine, I feel a world of weight lift off my shoulders.

I have a job.

And maybe, just maybe, I have a pretty good neighbor too

CHAPTER SEVEN

Nicola

Three weeks.

I’ve been working at The Burgundy Lion for three weeks now and I’m finally, finally feeling my groove about things.

That said, in three weeks I’ve overcharged five people.

Undercharged twenty.

Overpoured 70% of the time.

Underpoured 25%.

Who knows what happened to that other 5%.

I’ve spilled three drinks.

Two on people.

One on myself.

I’ve fallen down once.

Not sure how.

I’ve been hit on countless times.

I’ve made $800 in tips.

I come home to the apartment absolutely exhausted and pay Lisa – who is more than happy to be back and watching over Ava when she can – or let my mom stay the night because I don’t want her driving back home at that hour. The nights are late now and my feet have blisters but I’m finally making money to start balancing things out. I’m finally feeling a little bit in control. My only complaint is I work three shifts a week but James says he’s working on getting me more. I’m just grateful he gave me a chance at all.

And I have Bram to thank for that. Bram the man. Bram the man next door, who still has loud sex with random chicks and still manages to piss me off from time to time with teasing or overtly sexual comments. But when he doesn’t do it – on those days I don’t run into him in the halls or he doesn’t go and knock on my door – I really hate to admit this, but I kind of miss him. I mean it. The banter and interaction. And yeah, maybe I miss the eye candy too.

But I’m not too happy about that because I have no intention of letting that man get close. As a neighbor he’s great, as anything more than that…he’s bad, bad news and bad for me.

Tonight I have my mother over to watch over Ava. Sandra, the girl that normally works Friday nights at the bar, called in to work saying she had a thing and wouldn’t be able to make it into work until eleven. Even though the shift was just from 8pm to 11pm, James asked if I’d like to come in and he’d pay me for four hours. Naturally I jumped at the chance – I was taking anything he was slinging my way.

“You’ve really made this home,” my mom comments, sitting down on the couch. Just as she does so, I hear a rip. Yet another hole appears in the threadbare cushions. We both look at the tear and at each other and share a small laugh. It’s taken a long time for either of us to laugh at our circumstances.

My mother really had the perfect life when I was young. She had my dad, who, yes, did seem flighty at times, who didn’t always apply himself, who wasn’t a go-getter after the finer things in life. But he had a good heart and a good soul.

I would have thought a forgiving soul too, but I’m not sure how much of that is true. My mother always wanted more and one day she fell in love with the world’s most boring lawyer to the rich and famous. They had an affair, one that lasted years. You’d think I would have known what was going on, but I was a teenager at the time, hated everyone and was completely oblivious to anything around me that didn’t involve me.

Eventually my mother confessed. She and my dad divorced and he took that opportunity to up and leave to find his path in life. It led him straight to India to do charity work. I used to feel slighted that he left so easily – and sometimes I still do. That little sting of rejection, why daddy left, why he didn’t think I was worth sticking around for.