Another Bite Of The Apple

An eBook By Robin Slick.

Chapter One

    I wish I could tell you this has been a great year. I wish I could tell you I'm living on New York's upper West side with apartment windows facing Central Park and my paintings adorning the walls of my wealthy neighbors. I wish I could tell you I was even living in New York City, not a five story walk-up in Brooklyn, where I was stupid enough to have said okay to space on the top floor because it was less expensive while I tried not to think just what that meant at age forty-one. I wish I could tell you that living the Zen life without an elevator, a washer/dryer in my unit, and roaches so huge I've named some of them has finally given me inner peace.

     The truth is I'm so miserable there are times I think I never should have moved here at all. I'm a complete mess—so much so that it seems like I can't even make a rational decisions these days. You want to talk shaky? I can't even decide what to have for dinner tonight though at this point I'm so hungry I'd settle for bread and butter. If I had bread and butter that is. But that would involve walking down those five flights of stairs and then three blocks to the alleged convenience store not to mention the trip home and back up the steps again. I've already done that twice in the past two hours doing laundry. I was so desperate for clean clothing and so damn afraid to hang out in the scary basement laundry room that I threw the whites in with the darks, overloaded the machine, and then had to feed the dryer $17.00 in quarters before the whole mess worked its way out of a damp tangled blob.

     I'm seriously considering disposable underwear.

     Anyway, at the moment I'm exhausted, hungry, and wondering how I'm ever going to get the inspiration to paint again. I've finished a grand total of two oils over the course of twelve months, a paltry portion of what I'll need to present to a gallery owner in hopes of a show. I look over at my brushes, crying out to me as they sadly marinate in an empty mayonnaise jar of turpentine. This, of course, is their death knell but I'm too tired to care, though not too tired to feel guilty. But just as I'm about to sink down on my sofa in total despair, the telephone rings and I reach over and grab it.

     It's Rob! The caller ID thing is telling me it's Rob! Rob! My very best friend in the world, and, unfortunately, also my employer. I say unfortunately because I wish he were more than a friend. To say that I am secretly head over heels over this man is putting it mildly.

     "Elizabeth? Marianne here. You free?"

     Bleh. Marianne. Rob's perfect trophy girlfriend. The other reason he's just a pal. She's using his private office phone. Lucky me. Okay. Deep breath. Be nice. You need some good karma, Elizabeth. Start with Marianne.

     "Yeah, I was just hanging out here, contemplating dinner. What's up?"

     "Well, I can take care of your food problem," she says. Her voice sets my teeth on edge and my stomach sinks at what's probably coming next.

     "Two girls called in sick and Rob really needs you back here at the restaurant—we're booked solid through 9:00 p.m."

     "But I worked the lunch shift practically by myself and…"

     "I know, Elizabeth. But we're really short-handed and Rob is counting on you. How fast can you get here? We need you...

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