The Green Ticket (3 page)

Soon enough, we were back up in apartment 12, peeling off our work clothes that smelled of burgers and beer, and into comfy Margarita drinking clothes.

“I’m just saying–– don’t stick with one guy just because you have a feeling about it. Focus on how you actually feel when you are with him. Are you happy? Overjoyed? Blissed out?” I threw my black shorts and white top in my laundry basket, grabbing a pair of pink yoga pants and a white tunic from my closet and slipping into them. “Do you miss him when you’re not together? Can you see a future with him?” I continued, walking into Lila’s room and using her perfume to mask the stench of grease.

“Jeez, I get it, Al. But why do you think I should take advice from you? You said it yourself, you are one dateless sista.”

“I did not say I was dateless. I just haven’t had a long-term boyfriend in a while.  I still go on dates,” I defended myself, thinking about my lousy track record with men.

“It’s because you got daddy issues. I’m telling you, just go on Oprah. She’ll help you figure it out. Not all men will run away. Look at my dad. Still happily married to my mom. They even have date night a few times a month!”

Even just a few years ago that sentence would make my insides curl. I didn’t like to be reminded of happy families when mine turned out to be such a shithole. I had taken therapy for it––obviously, who could survive a mother’s death and father’s hightailing without a few sessions–– and the pain in my heart was slowly residing. I knew I was lucky that Alicia took me in. And paid for my school. And bought me a nice car and sent me a monthly allowance. Not everybody had that kind of support in their life. I never wanted to take my sister or my nice life for granted. But when it came to love and men, the idea of it freaked me out. It was hard for me to trust and fully let my guard down.

“Let’s not dissect my love life now. I need a marg, and you need, like, seven so you can be black-out drunk to stop your snoring,” I said, grabbing my cell phone and slipping black flip-flops on. Carmen and Emma lived just two floors down from us, so we didn’t even have to bother with real shoes or sweatshirts. The perks of dorm life
.

“I do not snore, you bitch. But seven margs will probably be enough to get my mind off Joel.” Lila paused with her hand hovering over the doorknob. “Are margaritas healthy for you? How many calories do they have?”

“I’m going to go ahead and guess they are way unhealthy for you. Especially when Carmen makes her special spicy cheese sauce to go with all the corn chips we eat.”

“I thought I read somewhere that spicy foods speed up your metabolism. Maybe I should work something spicy into my meals each day.”

“You would need to use someone else’s bathroom then if you did that,” I responded, swatting her on the butt. “Now get going, I’m thirsty!”

Carmen Morales and Emma Burton were our closest friends at Kaufman. Carmen was a riot; a feisty Latina who always rolled her Rs and loved to stereotype herself. Her long black hair, coal eyes, smooth skin and painted-on eyebrows completed her look. She was on the chunky side, but on her it looked voluptuous instead of just large. And she loved her curves. She always had a drink in hand, usually a margarita, and no one was really positive if she attended classes. We always saw her in the hallways, lounge, visiting other dorms, but never in a classroom. I was sure she did attend class–– otherwise how could she possibly live on campus–– but it was the running joke amongst us anyway.

Emma was the complete opposite of Carmen, but they got along like margaritas and nachos. Emma’s full name, Emma Burton, reminded everyone of the Spice Girl Emma Bunton, and weirdly enough, they could pass as twins. Both Emma’s were petite, blonde, and had killer blue eyes. The nickname Baby Spice suited our Emma perfectly, and we treated her like our fragile, innocent daughter. Well, our twenty-one year old fragile, innocent daughter who loved to drink and whose sex life could only be described as promiscuous.  Emma could drink everyone ––except for Carmen–– under the table, and she loved her men. All of them.

We gathered in their room that Friday night, and both girls were already well on their way to becoming toasted. They were arguing about the pros and cons of buying a gigantic wedding dress. Odd convo, as both girls were very single.

“At my cousin’s wedding, she had to have two people lift up her dress to help her pee! Just what I want on my wedding day, someone other than
mi amor
to see
mi muchacha!”

“But you’re supposed to be a vision on your wedding day. A big white vision of Barbie Doll bliss. I want people to be able to fit underneath my dress!”

“I want something slinky, showing off all the proper assets. My husband should look at me and think I’m fuckable, even in the church.
Lo siento Dios!”

“Whoa, whoa, ladies! You have company.” I announced our arrival as we let ourselves in the unlocked door. “Emma, I’m with you on the big dress. Carmen, I’m not sure you’re supposed to look fuckable on your wedding day. Aren’t you supposed to look like a virgin?” I headed straight for the kitchen in search of our drinks.

“Nah, I’m with Carmen on this one. I’ll be going for a sultry Barbie when I take the plunge. Think silk, tight, and low cut. That’s my version of a perfect wedding dress,” Lila said, taking a seat on the brown leather ottoman, provided for by Carmen’s wealthy parents. Regular dorm furniture for their girl was not an option.

“Seeing as you’re the only one with a man in this room, you’ll probably be the first,” Emma said, taking a sip of her strawberry marg.

“And we’ll just be the single bridesmaids looking to get laid!” Carmen chimed in, causing all of us to laugh. Then quiet down as we thought about what she was saying. Would we all be single in a few years? Five years? Ten years? I quickly filled the rest of my glass with the regular margarita mix and took a big gulp, quickly ignoring my previous train of thought. The yummy yellow drink was ice cold yet warmed my belly. Much better.

Lila sighed, accepting her strawberry drink from me. “I don’t know about that, ladies. I fear it’s coming to an end for me and Joel.”

“Oh, come on. You say that, like, every other week and you’re still with him,” Emma said, taking the words out of my mouth. Lila was always complaining about Joel, but did nothing to change their relationship dynamic.

“I know, I know. But I have a feeling that something is about to change with us. Or maybe just me. I don’t know, but I don’t think we’ll last too much longer.”

We spent the rest of our girls’ night doing girly things–– dissecting Lila’s relationship, wondering who Emma would hook up with next, drinking way too many margaritas, and finally passing out in the living room. Not only could Lila and I not make it back up the two measly flights to our rooms, but Carmen and Emma couldn’t even make it back to their bedrooms. In all, another successful college night with the girls.

Chapter 3

The weekend passed like it usually did: relaxed, uneventful, and full of drinks. Lila spent most of the day with Joel, so I tackled items left on my weekly to-do list: start marketing project, schedule a haircut, and finish laundry. My to-do lists were my best friends. I had daily, weekly and monthly to-do lists that I couldn’t live without. My friends liked to poke fun at me for them, but I loved being organized.

Saturday night I attended a house party with Carmen, Emma, and Hannah. Hannah Lovington was the fifth girl in our group, the classic overachiever. Hannah was not one to imbibe often, so she usually acted as our DD when we went to parties. Her father was a neurosurgeon and her mother a psychiatrist, so she had a lot of expectations to live up to. She was attending Kaufman to get her generals out of the way, then transferring on to med school at the University of Iowa. When Hannah decided to let loose and party––which happened about once every other month––she was a blast. We still loved her even when she wasn’t in Hardcore Hannah mode (she hated the nickname, said it made her sound like she was making a porno) and we understood why she didn’t hit the bottle as hard as the four of us. A surgeon and psych for parents? Daunting.

Lila and I both had off from Tastie’s on Saturday, which meant we had to work Sunday. Our shift wasn’t bad that day, 11-4, and I even dragged Lila to the gym with me that night. I didn’t know which was harder–– getting her to the gym or getting her to make it onto a machine once we were there.

“Lila, get your ass on the treadmill. You can still read the magazine while you walk.” I was jogging lightly on one of the five treadmills Kaufman had in their student gym. The place was quiet–– most students probably still recovering from their weekends and frantically trying to finish homework for Monday morning classes. Only one other girl was stationed in the back corner, doing sun salutations on a yoga mat.

Lila was lying on the carpeted floor on her back, reading last month’s People magazine. She was supposedly also doing crunches while reading, but I had counted maybe two so far. “I will, I will. I just want to finish this article. Did you know Lola Haloshi is pregnant? How could someone that skinny be knocked up?” She continued to read the article, engrossed about how the “allegedly” anorexic supermodel could be with child.

“What happened to the workout schedule we drew up for you? Are you following it at all?”

“Yes! I took a thirty-minute walk with Joel around campus last night and checked it off the calendar.”

“What about your strength training? I thought Joel was going to accompany you to the weight room yesterday after your brunch date.”

Lila groaned and got to her feet, reluctantly stepping on the treadmill and keying in her weight, age, and desired length of workout. “We got into an argument at brunch, so I did some shopping to cool myself down instead.”

“But you won’t be able to check that off your calendar!” I had helped Lila make a fitness calendar, similar to the one I had made for myself. I scheduled cardio days, strength days and workouts for Pilates and yoga. I marked days off as well so I didn’t overexert myself. I had the day’s color coordinated and left a little box next to each workout so I could check them off as I completed them. Lila called it my “anally organized workout death calendar.” But since she wanted to drop some pounds, she asked me to make one for her. I was disappointed she was already wandering off schedule. Disappointed, but not really shocked.

“My calendar will survive. I’ll try to make it up today,” Lila said, barely shuffling her feet on the treadmill. She flipped another magazine page. Staying up to date with all things Hollywood was important to her. She wanted to be informed at all times, just in case she were to get discovered in little ole Des Moines. That way, she could spout off all her knowledge of fashion, baby names, and celebrity hookups and land her dream job.

“I wasn’t going to go to the weight room today, but I can take a yoga mat down with me while you lift,” I offered, upping my speed on the treadmill. Trying to motivate my friend to do the same.

Lila didn’t take the hint. She continued at her snail pace, not even breathing heavy or breaking a sweat yet. “Hey, did you ever apply for the manager job at the spa?” Nice change of subject.

“I got my résumé all ready to go. I wanted to get Hannah to proof it for me before I send it off. I have it down for tomorrow to get it emailed. But I really don’t think I’m even going to get an interview. Who hires a college student to run a spa and salon?”

“I bet it happens more than you think. They can probably get away with paying you a bit less if you don’t have a degree yet. Then by the time you do graduate, you can get a raise and they have a fab employee who knows all the ropes already, so they won’t be losing any money from the deal. It’s basically a win-win for everyone.”

I thought that over. Why didn’t I think of that? I was the business major after all. “Well, I guess that makes me feel a little better. The worst they can say is no, right?” I continued without letting her answer. “And maybe I can at least get an interview, get some practice for my interviewing skills. That’s never a bad thing.”

“Right. I learned in class last semester that you’re supposed to go on a job interview like twice a year or something, even if you’re happy with your job. It helps keep those skills alive. Or something.
Maybe it was more times a year. I don’t really remember. But anyway, good plan. I say you can count on at least getting an interview.”

“You don’t have the vibe that I could get the job?”

Lila paused, putting her index finger in the air like the (non-existent) wind would give her the answers. “I’m sure if your résumé is good and you fly through the interview like you always do, you could be a definite contender.”

I smiled while continuing my run. I knew Lila was saying that as my friend, not as some hocus-pocus psychic. She was always one of my biggest supporters, and I was grateful for that. While Lila came from a close-knit family –– mom and dad happily married, two younger sisters that were close in age to her –– she understood my family complications. When I couldn’t make it to Seattle to visit Alicia and my family over holidays or school breaks, Lila took me back to Okana to stay with her family. The Medlin’s were like my surrogate family. And I loved them for it.

We finished up on the treadmills–– me wiping sweat from my forehead, Lila still not breathing heavy–– and made our way down to the weight room. I loved that Kaufman promoted health and wellness on campus. We had a workout room with plenty of treadmills, ellipticals, stationary bikes and a full weight room. In addition to those, we had a back room that had a TV and DVD player, and students could either bring their own workout DVDs or use the ones Kaufman supplied. There was also a gym that was used for basketball and volleyball games, and intramurals were popular on campus. The lounge on campus gave nutritional value of foods that were served, and only one pop machine was on campus.

Once we got back to Wacker and showered, I texted Hannah and asked her to come up to our room. Hannah lived by herself on the top floor of our dorm, where all the rich kids resided. No sharing a shower for her. She got her own bedroom, living room, kitchen, and full bathroom. Oh, to have parents with cash. Lots of cash. We could never hold that against her, though. Hannah was too sweet to dislike.