Page 24 of Falling Slowly
“Tell me, Bess. Help me understand. I’m aware of my privilege, and I know it’s the biggest roadblock for me with this campaign. I don’t get it, but you do. Your reality is different, isn’t it? There’s a reason you’re not that chill about finding another job.” I was shooting in the dark, but as her eyes flashed with pain, I knew I’d hit something.
A cold sensation engulfed my stomach before she even opened her mouth. I needed to hear this, but could I handle it?
“Listen, Charlie. I’ll tell you, but you have to promise you won’t make me your project… or charity case. Nothing like that, okay?”
“Okay,” I managed, my windpipe tightening.
Bess finally looked me in the eye, those deep greens holding a film of tears that wouldn’t spill. “I was married. My husband died, and I was left with the debt from our failed startup business. I sold everything of value, but I couldn’t cover it, and now I’m dealing with the debt collection agency, compounding interest and all those fun things. I have to make the weekly payments. I have to. I’m not able to save much, so I wouldn’t survive unemployment. I don’t have enough to bridge the gap. Not right now. I have nothing left to sell. But I’m saving as much as I can and taking extra jobs on the side.” She cast a half-horrified look at me. “Small business stuff, people who couldn’t afford to work with the agency. I’d never?—”
“Relax. I’m not going to report you.”
Her shoulders dropped. “Anyway, I haven’t had much extra work and it’s hard to find the time. But I’m okay, I really am.If I can keep my job, I can keep making the payments and everything will be fine.” Her eyes glowed with resolve, and she resumed eating, wiping her plate clean with a piece of bread.
I pushed my plate aside. I’d suddenly lost my appetite. Bess needed her job more than I’d ever needed anything. A job she’d already lost. In that moment, everything made sense. Her willingness to jump through any hoop, her fear of putting a foot wrong with me.
“Thank you for trusting me with… that,” I said clumsily. I wanted to say ‘her story’ but it didn’t feel like a proper story, only a depressing litany of facts. “The debt collection agency… how are they operating? Are we talking about threatening letters or a man with a shotgun?”
Bess tried to smile. “So far, it’s just been letters. But I know if I miss any payments, they’ll come to collect anything I have, starting with my laptop, which is not worth much to them, but to me…”
“It’s your one chance to make more money?”
“Exactly.”
“So, if you lose your job, you’ll lose your laptop and can’t use your skills to do any freelance work while you’re looking for another one?”
She nodded. “It’s not the best scenario.”
My lunch tried to travel upwards. “You can’t ask me to not do anything now that I know. I mean, I can get you another laptop. I can?—”
“Charlie. You promised. No charity.” Her eyes were hard. “I have skills and I work for everything I have. That won’t change.”
“But—”
“No.”
With great difficulty, I closed my mouth and nodded. She wouldn’t accept any offer. Not now. But I couldn’t let this nightmare play out for her or her daughter. I’d find a way.
Chapter Eleven
Bess
Why had I told him? I’d sworn I’d never burden anyone at Wilde Creative with my tragic story. If they didn’t know, they didn’t have to treat me differently. They thought I was boring and a bit of a workaholic, but nobody felt sorry for me. As soon as I saw the shock and pity in Charlie’s eyes, I remembered my rule. This was why I didn’t tell people.
Now I could never go back to how things had been. Being equal.
Had I ever been equal to Charlie, though? Definitely not. The thought gave me the surge of energy I needed to launch myself up from the chair. “I think the next session is about to start. I read on the wall that we have a visiting teacher from Estonia.”
“Oh, really? What wall?”
“That giant timetable they’ve got up on that screen in the hallway.”
“There’s a timetable?” Charlie blinked, oblivious.
He seemed a million miles away, maybe still processing our conversation. Although his general lack of attention to mundane details was nothing new. The man floated through life, buoyed by his own creative brilliance, while others took care of the rest.
I couldn’t help it; I felt compelled to memorize every detail I knew he wouldn’t. If every woman around him had this same urge, he’d never have to do anything non-creative or remember anything at all. We were all enabling him, enjoying the fleeting moments of gratitude and attention he showed in return. Even if I didn’t believe half of his praise.
The attendees trickled back into the art studio and settled at the same tables. I noticed the gay couple and two of the ladies gathered around an iPad, and tiptoed a little closer, curious.
