“Me too,” Peter whispered back, squeezing her hand.
A month had passed and Mr. Babbit had finally decided to look for tenants for his new complex.
Peter and Katerina stopped to sit for a moment on a seat near the window in the living room that looked right out at the ocean. Katerina’s thoughts drifted her current circumstances.
She had made enough money from the waitress job Peter had gotten for her with him at a new restaurant in town called “Club 99”.
In fact, it had been a good past few months, job wise, for everybody.
Micky was working part-time at an auto shop downtown and Adriana still had her at the local paper. Mike got a job at the record store down the street, “The Spinning Top”. Davy even managed to find work at Ursula’s college assisting at the coffee bar in the Student Center.
“Everybody’s doing pretty well,” Katerina thought. “But, this place sure is expensive.”
She had saved most of her paychecks and tip money the last few months. It would cover the first month’s rent, but after that, she didn’t know if she would be able to afford it.
Katerina sighed deeply.
“What’s up Kat,” Peter asked, reaching to turn her face from the window.
“It’s kinda expensive,” Katerina said, “and big too.”
“Well, maybe you can get a roommate,” Peter suggested.
“Where am I going to find a roommate in a month,” Katerina asked, “and a dependable one at that?”
“It is possible,” Peter said. “When I found the Pad, Mike and Micky had only been there for a month.”
“Really,” Katerina asked.
“Yep,” Peter confirmed.
“It would take some work,” she said, thinking back. “There would have to be a rigorous screening process. I’ve seen ‘Single White Female’”
Peter answered her with a puzzled look.
“Nevermind,” Katerina said.
“We’ll find somebody,” Peter assured her.
Katerina smiled brightly. “Well,” she said, “let’s go tell Babbit I’m gonna take it!”
January Miller stood on the corner of Beachwood and 1st, staring at the apartment in front of her.
“Single female seeks same to share spacious two bedroom apartment. 1304 Beachwood. References required. Call for appointment. 555-1236,” she read to herself again.
The call had been pleasant enough, but January didn’t like the idea of sharing a living space again. She’d done that at the commune, and that didn’t get her too far. However, the price listed had been one of the only affordable ones in what appeared to be a decent area of the town.
There were times when she wished she had never left home when she was 16. Would she have faired better staying with her abusive uncle than she did at a hippie commune where an assortment of people abused her in one way or another?
“Who knows,” she said to herself, gazing up at the building, pushing her sunglasses up on her nose to shade the glare of the setting sun.
Looking down at her worn watch, she discovered that she had a little over an hour before she had to meet the girl who was looking for a roommate.
January looked down both sides of the street and decided to head south.
“At least this place is in my price range,” January thought. She had just enough money to cover the first month’s rent that the girl had quoted her over the phone.
It would be nice to have an address to give to that lady at the clothing store she visited when she first got to town. They wouldn’t hire her because she didn’t have a steady address.
“I guess the YMCA doesn’t count,” January thought as she continued down the street. “Not that I really liked that store anyway. Uniform clothing is boring anyway.”
It had been a long trip from San Francisco to this rather small, seaside city. January figured it was time to stop for awhile. She believed she was far enough away from her past and besides, the money was running out.
After a bit more walking, she came to another clothing store, but this one was much different from the one she had visited earlier.
“The Silver Hanger” the brightly painted sign read. January stopped to stare at the beautiful, lively, psychedelic clothes hanging in the window. The colors were so much more vivid and the style much more interesting and contemporary than the other store. January immediately fell in love with the place.
“Help wanted”, a small sign in the corner of the window read.
Without hesitation, January walked into the store.
At the counter stood an exquisite looking, older woman, maybe in her late-thirties. She wore a classy dark green mini-skirt outfit with small white flowers lining the lapels of the tapered jacket. Her light brown hair was cut in a pixie style. January couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated as she walked to the counter.
“I’d like to apply for the job,” January told her.
“Do you like fashion,” the woman asked her.
“Oh yes,” January said, nodding emphatically, “I’ve always designed my own clothes…”
January stopped when she noticed the woman eyeing her shabby wardrobe, one eyebrow raised.
“Well, I know it doesn’t look like it right now,” January said, looking down at her worn bellbottoms and white dress shirt, which happened to be the best outfit she had to her name.
“You see…,” January started, ready to spill out how much she loved fashion and how much she really needed this job.
The woman put a hand out to stop her. “I understand,” she said, her face softening and a small smile finally appearing, “I can see it in you.”
January smiled curiously at the woman. She had kind eyes. January hadn’t seen that in a long time.
“It’s odd hours and lots of stocking work,” the woman said, leaning her elbows on the counter. “Do you think you’re up for it?”
January blinked in amazement, “Sure,” she said.
“What is your name,” the woman asked, taking out a piece of paper and a pencil.
“January Miller,” January answered.
“What an interesting name,” the woman commented then continued with a smile, “I’m Dawn Clayton.”
“Okay,” January answered, almost in a daze, scarcely able to believe her good fortune.
“Now, all I need is your address and phone number,” Dawn continued, looking up from the paper briefly.
“I don’t have a phone right now,” January admitted quietly.
“No phone,” questioned Dawn.
January just shook her head, biting her lip as she waited for what was sure to be a disappointing response.
“Well, how about an address,” Dawn asked with a shrug, “surely you have one of those.”
January looked all around the store. She couldn’t pass up an opportunity like this. Her eyes wandered to the newspaper sticking out of her bag.
“1304 Beachwood,” she said quickly.
January grinned and took a deep breath as she left “The Silver Hanger”. Letting it out slowly, she leaned against the building and wondered how she had gotten so lucky.
Looking at her watch, she discovered that she still had about a half-hour to kill.
Feeling better than she had felt in weeks, January saw that next door to “The Silver Hanger” was a record store.
“The Spinning Top,” she mused, reading the sign above the door, chuckling to herself a bit.
January opened the door and was greeted by the sounds of Jefferson Airplane.
She wandered through the racks of albums. It had been a long time since she’d heard any good music.
January smiled as she flipped though some Nat King Cole records. She closed her eyes for a moment and pictured dancing with her father to “Unforgettable”. As a little girl, she loved to dance. Dancing was another amusement that she had forgotten as the years passed.
She didn’t have many memories of her parents, but the ones she did have, she cherished with all her heart. Especially the times when her father would dance with her to that song. He would take her hands and hold her up while she stood on his feet. She felt like the most important person in the world then.
“Somebody to Love” ended and the soft strains of another Jefferson Airplane song began to play. She paused from flipping though the rack as the music flooded her with sadness.
January jumped with surprise and turned to look at the voice.
He looked just like Jim. Tall, dark hair, dark eyes, slim figure.
She didn’t know if it was the combination of seeing this man and the music that played, but feelings of part anger and part fear began to burn within her.
“No,” she said bitterly and turning on her heel, she bolted out of the store.
Mike nodded slowly, watching the girl with the long dark hair vanish down the street and out of sight.
After she was at an acceptable distance from the record store, January stopped running and sat down on a bench near a shoe shop.
Glancing at her reflection in the glass of the store, she reached up one hand and gingerly touched the scar on the side of her face. She then looked down to the one on her right hand. The ones on her back were not visible, but they each held their own pain.
A single tear trickled down her scarred cheek. January angrily wiped it away.
She hated him. She hated men. She didn’t trust women. She hated herself.
Not even her recent success in the job market could restore her faith in mankind. Seeing that man at the record store seemed to bring it all back.
Standing up and straightening her blouse, January headed back. She had an appointment in five minutes.
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