Darling Rose Gold(27)
This time, dear girl, I promise not to let you go.
8
Rose Gold
August 2014
In Gadget World’s break room, I ate my lunch at the rickety plastic table. Today I’d made a Cobb salad. My cooking wasn’t going to win any awards, but at least my meals were edible now. It’d been a year and a half since my interview ran in Chit Chat. Vinny had claimed he wanted to tell my version of events, but I still came off as a victim in his final article. I was a two-page sob story toward the back of the tabloid. I had six copies of the issue at home.
My life hadn’t changed like I’d hoped it would. No Disney princes were knocking down my door. My neighbors were still nosy. Work was boring.
Across the table sat my coworker Brenda. She’d given birth a couple months ago, so was constantly in the break room pumping breast milk. A blanket covered her boobs, but the machine was so loud, I could barely think. Every time I saw Brenda, she asked if I’d talked to Phil about visiting him yet. I’d made the mistake of telling her I had an online boyfriend a couple months ago.
“So,” Brenda said, “have you asked Phil yet?”
“No,” I said, hoping to cut the conversation short.
“Rose Gold, these are your twenties! Someday you’ll be thirty-five with two kids like me, and trust me, girl, you will want some adventures to look back on to get you through the day. What’s it gonna take for you to ask him?”
I shrugged, uncomfortable. Brenda and I weren’t friends.
She watched me for a minute, head cocked. “Tell you what,” she finally said. “I’ll give you five bucks if you text him right now.”
I pictured my new teeth. Every little bit would help. I took out my phone.
Me: What’s your cabin like in the summer?
Phil: There’s so much wildlife around right now! I saw a black bear and her cub the other day, and a couple of foxes too
Me: Your house is in the mountains, right?
Phil: Yes, not too far from Platte Canyon. My cabin is small, but I like it
Me: You mean your uncle and aunt’s cabin?
Phil: Right. They’ve been traveling so much, I guess the house feels like my own
Me: That’s so cool. Your own mountain cabin!
Phil: It’s really something. . . .
This was my chance. I sucked in a breath. Brenda watched me equivocate. She fished her wallet out of her purse. I rattled off the text before I could chicken out.
Me: Why don’t I come see it for myself? :-)
I showed the text to Brenda. She hooted and handed me a five-dollar bill.
His reply was almost instant.
Phil: I don’t know, Katie. . . .
I had lied to Phil about my name. I didn’t know much about the Internet back when I met Phil, but I knew you weren’t supposed to give your real name to strangers you met online. By the time I was ready to be honest with him, Mom and I were in the newspapers, with headlines like POISONOUS PATTY WATTS FINALLY GETS WHAT SHE DESERVES; JUSTICE FOR ROSE GOLD. I didn’t want Phil to find me. I prayed the newspapers in Colorado wouldn’t cover a story so far away. One of these days I’d tell him the truth.
Me: But you said we’d meet soon. You promised
Phil: I know, honey. I just don’t want to ruin what we have
What did we have? I was twenty years old and no closer to my first kiss. I threw away my empty Capri Sun and put my lunch bag back in my locker. I plopped onto the black fake leather couch and closed my eyes.
“That bad, huh?” Brenda asked guiltily.
I nodded, eyes still closed. What would Alex do? She might not have been the greatest friend, but she had a lot of luck with guys. I thought for a minute. Alex was all about ultimatums. Either he does this or I’m done with him. I’d heard her say that more than once. But Alex was beautiful and cool. Plus she had that hair. She could get away with saying things like that. I was no Alex. Still, maybe she was onto something.
I checked the wall clock. My lunch break was almost over. I pulled myself off the couch, waved to Brenda, and left the break room, walking back to register one. The store was quiet today. Plenty of time to figure out the Phil situation.
I stopped by the kiosk at the end of my register, waiting for a customer. This was Scott’s new rule—he said we needed to appear more accommodating. I watched people browse the video game aisle. They were teenagers, with the exception of one neatly dressed man in his forties. I took a few steps over to check out the DVD aisle: empty, like always.
I peered back down the video game aisle. The man in his forties was staring at me, but looked away when he realized I’d caught him. He was probably from one of the next towns over, here for a glimpse of the freak show. I told myself not to jump to conclusions. I had a bad attitude lately—I hadn’t even told my last customer to have a nice day.
I focused on organizing my kiosk, straightening the magazines and packages of gum. After a minute, I peeked over my shoulder. The man was watching me again. He jumped when I turned. This time, he walked farther down the aisle, away from me. He picked up a video game, then set it back in its place.
The man was average height with blond-brown hair and had one hand in his pants pocket. He was studying his surroundings as though he’d never been in an electronics store before. He looked like someone who gave back dropped wallets, pulled pranks on his wife, enjoyed a water gun fight more than his kids. A TV dad. Not the typical guy to nose himself into my business.