Read Online I Love My Side of the Story by Sabrina Lacey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sabrina Lacey
Tags: Romance, Contemporary
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shit shit! I can’t call her. No fucking way am I turning
on my phone.
Through the door I see a man who looks
like Super Mario in a suit, walking toward me. He opens the door. “Can I help
you? I’m the manager. You have a friend in here?”
I stammer, “My friend Jess… Jessica
Harper. Seventh Floor. She isn’t answering the buzzer.”
“She left with a new male friend awhile
ago.”
I stare at the sidewalk, not moving and
remember, “Oh, of course. It’s Friday. I forgot.” I see a tear fall onto the
pavement, and hurriedly wipe my cheek, embarrassed.
He says, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I nod several times and
sniff.
He smiles kindly and says, “I remember
you. You came with Jessica when she rented the apartment a few months ago. I’m
Prizzi.”
I don’t remember. “Oh right, of course. Good to see you again.”
“You want to come in and wait for her in
the lobby?”
I shake my head no. Waiting would be
useless. She won’t come home until late, or maybe not at all. What would I do
without my phone to keep me occupied… pull out my fingernails? “That’s okay.
Thank you.”
“Okay. Be safe now,” he says, hesitating
to close the door behind me as I turn around. “Oh, miss?” I turn back, my face
blank. “I remember you very well. I remember thinking, now that’s a strong young woman . Whatever it is you’re going
through, you can handle it.”
I blink, my mouth opens in surprise. I
shut it. Pride pulls at my insides. “What a beautiful thing to say! Thank you.”
“It’s gonna be okay,” he says, the
wrinkles in his face spreading wide, a lined smiling frame around kind eyes.
“Thank you, Mr. Uh…”
“Prizzi,” he reminds me, gently.
“Right. I’m sorry. Thank you, Mr.
Prizzi. Thank you. Really.” My smile is more tentative than his, but it’s
growing. I watch him shut the door and walk back up the hall.
Facing the hustling electricity of
Manhattan on a Friday night, I take a deep breath, let what he said sink in,
and commit to myself that I will survive this heartbreak. I have my friends,
right? I have a job I love, most of the time…right? If Josh doesn’t want to be
with me, then screw him! I’ll give the place to him and move out – start
fresh. I’ve been worrying about his ability to pay the bills on an actor’s
fluctuating and unreliable salary; now I won’t have to. I make more money than
he does, so I can do it without too much trouble. And I mean really - if he doesn’t want to make love
to me, then he’s an idiot! The world is my oyster. I need a drink!
It’s 64º out, but I hadn’t felt chilly
until now. I slip my coat on and wonder how I’m going to get a hold of Nicole
without using my phone. Prayer? Oh no! I forgot. She’s out on a first date with
that ballsy, bartender guy. If I called her, I know she’d come. Same with
Jessica. What should I do?
I mutter aloud, “A hot night with a
bartender sounds pretty fucking awesome right about now.” Some lady, early fifties,
hears me and gives me a reproachful look. “You’re not getting laid, either!
Don’t lie!” Off her look of annoyance, I yell to her back. “See? I knew it!”
I’m yelling at strangers. What is wrong
with me? I have to suck it up and turn on the phone – I need to call
them. I pull out my phone; push the button to power it on. It pops open, and I
see a powder puff and makeup. Why does my phone have… oh… Pulling out my real
phone, I look at it and hesitate. Jessica and Nicole are in here, behind the
darkness. But so is Josh and a million texts and voice mails. Or worse, what if
there are no messages; what if he hasn’t called?
My stomach flips and I shove the phone
back into my bag, shaking my head. “I can’t. I can’t,” I mumble aloud.
Looking up, I see an old couple,
mid-seventies, dressed up for a night on the town, holding hands. The pace with
which they walk, deliberate and steady, is in direct contrast to the frenetic
youthful energy
on my phone.
Through the door I see a man who looks
like Super Mario in a suit, walking toward me. He opens the door. “Can I help
you? I’m the manager. You have a friend in here?”
I stammer, “My friend Jess… Jessica
Harper. Seventh Floor. She isn’t answering the buzzer.”
“She left with a new male friend awhile
ago.”
I stare at the sidewalk, not moving and
remember, “Oh, of course. It’s Friday. I forgot.” I see a tear fall onto the
pavement, and hurriedly wipe my cheek, embarrassed.
He says, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I nod several times and
sniff.
He smiles kindly and says, “I remember
you. You came with Jessica when she rented the apartment a few months ago. I’m
Prizzi.”
I don’t remember. “Oh right, of course. Good to see you again.”
“You want to come in and wait for her in
the lobby?”
I shake my head no. Waiting would be
useless. She won’t come home until late, or maybe not at all. What would I do
without my phone to keep me occupied… pull out my fingernails? “That’s okay.
Thank you.”
“Okay. Be safe now,” he says, hesitating
to close the door behind me as I turn around. “Oh, miss?” I turn back, my face
blank. “I remember you very well. I remember thinking, now that’s a strong young woman . Whatever it is you’re going
through, you can handle it.”
I blink, my mouth opens in surprise. I
shut it. Pride pulls at my insides. “What a beautiful thing to say! Thank you.”
“It’s gonna be okay,” he says, the
wrinkles in his face spreading wide, a lined smiling frame around kind eyes.
“Thank you, Mr. Uh…”
“Prizzi,” he reminds me, gently.
“Right. I’m sorry. Thank you, Mr.
Prizzi. Thank you. Really.” My smile is more tentative than his, but it’s
growing. I watch him shut the door and walk back up the hall.
Facing the hustling electricity of
Manhattan on a Friday night, I take a deep breath, let what he said sink in,
and commit to myself that I will survive this heartbreak. I have my friends,
right? I have a job I love, most of the time…right? If Josh doesn’t want to be
with me, then screw him! I’ll give the place to him and move out – start
fresh. I’ve been worrying about his ability to pay the bills on an actor’s
fluctuating and unreliable salary; now I won’t have to. I make more money than
he does, so I can do it without too much trouble. And I mean really - if he doesn’t want to make love
to me, then he’s an idiot! The world is my oyster. I need a drink!
It’s 64º out, but I hadn’t felt chilly
until now. I slip my coat on and wonder how I’m going to get a hold of Nicole
without using my phone. Prayer? Oh no! I forgot. She’s out on a first date with
that ballsy, bartender guy. If I called her, I know she’d come. Same with
Jessica. What should I do?
I mutter aloud, “A hot night with a
bartender sounds pretty fucking awesome right about now.” Some lady, early fifties,
hears me and gives me a reproachful look. “You’re not getting laid, either!
Don’t lie!” Off her look of annoyance, I yell to her back. “See? I knew it!”
I’m yelling at strangers. What is wrong
with me? I have to suck it up and turn on the phone – I need to call
them. I pull out my phone; push the button to power it on. It pops open, and I
see a powder puff and makeup. Why does my phone have… oh… Pulling out my real
phone, I look at it and hesitate. Jessica and Nicole are in here, behind the
darkness. But so is Josh and a million texts and voice mails. Or worse, what if
there are no messages; what if he hasn’t called?
My stomach flips and I shove the phone
back into my bag, shaking my head. “I can’t. I can’t,” I mumble aloud.
Looking up, I see an old couple,
mid-seventies, dressed up for a night on the town, holding hands. The pace with
which they walk, deliberate and steady, is in direct contrast to the frenetic
youthful energy