Page 11 of Dirty Money
Toss of a Coin - Dirty Money Part 2
A deep, mechanical buzz sounded and Aullie Greene rolled her eyes. Her phone vibrated hard against the dull, Formica counter top in the tiny closet she called a bathroom. She lined her eyes, some called them blue but she’d always thought they were more of a gray color. The dramatic, thick black liner coupled with her blunt, straight black bangs made her eyes glow like moonstones.
In the mirror, she caught sight of the infuriating painting. The pinks and reds and yellows mocked her, mocked the passion and hope she’d felt after their first date.
‘Fuckin’ Weston’, she griped to herself. Ever since she’d stormed out of his car, he’d been reaching out to her every five minutes. Or, at least it felt like it. She’d considered answering up to the seventh call after she initially marched away, but after that, she just felt too pressured.
Aullie wanted to tell herself that ‘damn, if he was this clingy after one date then you probably dodged a bullet there’, but she didn’t feel it. Sure, she hardly knew him but every time he called or texted, she felt a little stab in her chest. After four days, she still couldn’t help but see the sickening Richie-Rich kid side of the man she’d thought she might like.
Checking her watch, and realizing that she was running late and frowning at the mirror one more time, she clicked off the bathroom light and headed out the door. Aullie struggled with the zipper on her fuzzy jacket, bright and yellow like a baby chick, as she shuffled down the stairs. Her nonslip shoes clanged noisily on the cold metal stairs. A chill wind ruffled her dark bangs as she searched the lot behind the building for her rickety old Accord. She found it, rattled the door open and dropped heavily into the driver’s seat.
‘Another night at work’, she thought, forlornly. Her day of classes had been long, she was still smarting from her Color Theory teacher’s lecture that her shades were consistently too dark.Aren’t artists supposed to be dark and brooding?
The dinged-up silver Accord let out a raucous screech as it came to life but it started, so that was something. As she rumbled down the street to work, Aullie said a little prayer to her own agnostic God that she would finally make some money. To cap off her struggles with Weston, the bar had been slow, tips had been low and her rent was due in a week.
Yeah, see? I definitely have more important things to think about than some boy.
She jerked to a stop in the depressingly empty parking lot behind the bar. Bundling up, Aullie headed into the bar. She said hello to the young blonde host, turned out her name was Calli, and made her way to the back, where the smell of rancid fry grease hung heavy in the air.
Clearly glum, she nodded and grunted hellos to her various co-workers as she shrugged out of her coat and hung it up. As she secured her apron, a nasally voice dropped her low spirits into the gutter.
“See you’re going for the depressed goth-girl look. Again.” Eric wore his trademark sly, demeaning grin. “Yeah, you got that brooding look down to a T.”
“Guess it’s hard to ignore the hunger pains, being a starving artist and all,” she smarted off, meeting his smug little eyes with a steely glare. ‘I need to start selling some art’, she thought, ‘if for no other reason than to get away from this tiny prick’.
Eric chuckled at her dry joke, though she hadn’t meant it to be funny. Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, Aullie turned to walk away from him. Before she could, he said, “You gonna be grumpy all night? Cause that might affect your tips. Wouldn’t want you to have another bad night.”
How could a person be so insensitive and infuriating?
She strode away, not dignifying his bloated ego with a response. She furiously tapped at the POS computer, clocking in, for what she had already accepted was going to be a long night.
One slow hour later, Brittany walked in the door in a flamboyant faux-fur jacket. It was what Britt charmingly referred to as cheap-chic and she actually pulled it off rather well.
Aullie nodded a hello, felt like her first in ages. Brittany had been upstate, visiting her loud, lovable Latino family all week, so Aullie hadn't even had anyone to vent her boy woes to.
After Britt ditched her stuff and clocked in, she made a beeline for Aullie, an anticipatory gleam in her dark chocolate eyes. “How’s it going?” The simple question was clearly not intended to glean information about Aullie’s current state.
“I don’t know. How are the cold, dried up piles of shit in your yard?” Aullie said, sarcastically. Britt lived in a tiny townhome with a tiny yard that was constantly littered with tight coiled little waste piles from her massive pitbull mix named Tinkerbell.
Brittany’s face fell. “What happened?”
Aullie appreciated her empathy but could only muster a shrug. “Well, he came to pick me up Monday. In an Aston Martin.”
Brittany’s jaw dropped, she was obviously thinking about the crappy car Aullie had described the first night and looked as confused as Aullie had been. “Yeah, that’s pretty much what my face did too. So, I tried to play it off, got in the car and he proceeds to tell me that he’s a Calloway.”
She let that sink in. Brittany’s brows knitted, and she suddenly blurted, “Wait, like the Calloway building?”
“Yep! So, he’s not some fancy surgeon or anything like you guessed, he’s actually way richer than that!”
“Only you would sound disgusted by that,” Brittany laughed. “That is really big, though. That’s like… A lot of money. So, let me guess.” She tapped a finger to her full lips. “You got the hell out of dodge didn't you?”
Aullie sighed. “I tried to stick it out. I really liked this guy. And I was all decked out in some of the clothes I made.”
“You should really sell your stuff on Etsy,” Brittany interrupted quickly. “It’s really cute. Anyway, go on.”
“I’m getting a table, shit,” Aullie glanced at the back of a lone man, Calli was guiding to one of her open booths. “Long story short, he made a comment about my clothes not being nice enough, I got mad and stormed off like a child. Felt bad at first, but then he called me eighty-seven-million times and I just haven’t answered. So, that’s that.”
“God, I just can’t stand it when they’re too dirty stinking rich.” Brittany winked. “I am sorry, though. Go get ‘em, tiger.”
