Three
He used a key card on a large white door and pushed it open for her. He had her duffel bag slung over one shoulder, the weight of it every bit as heavy as it had sounded when she’d dropped it in the back seat of the jeep. They stepped onto plush red carpet, the living room and the kitchen with its marble island counter in their immediate view.
“You can take the bed tonight. It’s down that hall to your right and the bathroom’s right before it, and there you go, simple.”
“Oh, it’s so warm in here,” Fiona said, looking around. “Mind if I take off some of my clothes. I mean, just to get comfortable.”
“Mi casa su casa.”
“Works for me,” she said, pulling off one of her sweatshirts just to reveal another light one beneath.
“Toss it over here,” Dennis said, lifting his hand.
“Go long,” Fiona said, balling it up. Dennis backed up down the hall and she tossed it. Dennis caught it easily and took it to the bedroom with her backpack. He placed the items on his bed and came back out into the living room. Fiona was rubbing the arm of the sofa with her palm, and stopped when she noticed him.
“Do more than just rub it,” Dennis said. “Sit.” He chuckled, and strolled into the kitchen to prepare for a writing binge. He made coffee, mixed in whiskey from a high quality bottle atop the fridge, made several sandwiches and placed them on a giant plate on the kitchen counter, then moved to the east side of the room where the wall embedded desk was located.
“What do you watch on this,” Fiona said, pointing to the widescreen TV. He turned to her, halfway to his desk.
“Nothing, really. I spend most of my time writing when I’m here. By the time I’m done I’m so exhausted I go right to bed. Anyway, make yourself at home. I’ll be done in probably three or four hours.”
Fiona nodded. “See you soon.”
When he sat down at the desk he went to work, opening up his laptop, and working on his story. When he finished he could barely keep his eyes open, and the thought of bed seemed better than another bestseller. Then he remembered that he’d told Fiona that she could have the bed, which of course meant that the couch, which folded out into a bed, would be his.
When he made it back to the living room he saw Fiona seated on the sofa, watching a program on birds on National Geographic. She looked at him and smiled.
“So,” she said, stretching her arms. “Did you get a lot of work done?”
“Yeah, a very productive day. You ever been on a laptop or computer extensively?”
Fiona nodded. “Yes.”
“Isn’t it funny how you can be on one all day, just sitting down the whole time, and be dead tired by the time you’re done?”
Fiona giggled. “Yes. That happened to me all the time. A lot of mental activity, you know? Actually more tiring than physical activity, I think. I remember being tired after staying up in high school to finish assignments at the last minute. I did that more than I even care to remember. But I remember those being the kinds of days that wore me out the most.”
“So it’s about nine o’clock right now. If you weren’t staying in a shelter on a night like this what would you be doing right now?”
“It depends,” she said, touching the lobe of her right ear. “Right now I might be sitting outside somewhere eating the food that I managed to purchase with some of the money I was given.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’d be in a McDonald’s eating. It really just depends where I happen to be and how much money I was able to get from someone.”
Dennis took a seat on the sofa, leaving two feet of space between them.
“How much do you make on an average day panhandling?”
Fiona scratched the tip of her nose, furrowed her brow in thought. “Twenty five dollars a day on average.”
“Yeah? You just buy food with that money?”
“Cleaning products. Soap, deodorant. Sometimes I take my clothes to the laundromat, throw them in the wash and take a nap while I wait. They don’t bother me because they assume I’m some teenage mother from down the street that lives in whatever broke down apartment complex that happens to be nearby. And if they wake me up that’s the exact kind of story that I play up.” Dennis laughed. “You ever hear of Versha Mitchell, Dennis?”
He shook his head.
“Yeah, she’s not mainstream but she makes a lot of money. Is even on certain money magazines which you can probably get by typing her name into Google. Anyway, she’s probably the key reason I’m able to keep doing this. What I mean is she keeps me strong. Because of her story. She’s a black woman. Late thirties and was homeless at one point, but stopped when a string of murdered girls showed up around the Interstate where she frequently hitchhiked. What she says in this interview is that if it wasn’t for her life as a homeless woman she would’ve never developed the strength to build her own business.” She chortled. “She goes out of her way just to hire black people too, which is something else I like about her.”
“Think she’ll hire me on as a writer.”
Fiona laughed. Slapped his knee gently. “Now you know you don’t need a job, kid. Anyway, the company she owns funds startups for young black entrepreneurs. She’s all about helping a person be the best they can be and stay that way, no matter the stakes. Because it’s not until you change yourself that anything around you can change.”
“Wow,” Dennis said, nodding. “So with all that knowledge, it’s amazing that you can be so accepting of your current position.”
“I think part of the reason that I’m out here, doing what I do, is to find myself. Let’s not be mistaken. I have some aunts and cousins I could move in with right now and I’d be off the streets. They’re way in the south. But I don’t consider them good people and if I lived with them I think I’d eventually end up in a very bad place in my life.” She smiled. “And yes, there are things out there far worse than homelessness.”
Dennis nodded, looking at a bird grab a large fish from a body of water. The next scene was of another bird attempting to do the same thing and failing.
“Okay,” he said. “Name one.”
“Loss of identity,” Fiona said. She clapped her hands together one hard time. “Boom.”
Dennis cackled. “That’s good. It is. Elaborate though.” He propped his elbow on the back rest, resting his head on his palm. “Seriously, what you’re saying intrigues me.
“All right,” Fiona said, rubbing her hands together. “I intrigue a bestselling author. Awesome!”
“The challenge is can you keep me intrigued though.”
“I think I can.” They grinned at each other and a moment passed between them, a shared-flicker of the eyes. “Loss of identity, Dennis, happens to people who put themselves in circumstances with other people that allow them to feel trapped. Or put them in danger. It doesn’t need to mean having someone take your social security card or something.”
“Mmm. Okay.”
“Loss of identity is when you live for someone else, whether it’s a husband, a wife, your employer, a best friend, or even worse, the justice system. Key reason to do whatever it takes to stay out of prison in this world. It’s when you put your life in someone else’s hands, though there were signs all along that this person could be a danger to you, that they were not good to you. It’s when you make stupid, unnecessarily, risky decisions. I know people who do it all the time, who had a good thing and blew it.”
“What you say about the justice system though. You’ve been in and out of jail.”
“Yeah, but that was necessary. And I didn’t go to prison, just jail. The things I did to get put into jail were to survive. You remember what I told you Dennis, about a free room, bed, and security being the reward for committing a crime. Either that or take your chances out in negative degree cold.”
Dennis thought of the one time that he had been to jail, only he’d actually been taken to Juvie, because he had been a minor at the time he’d committed his crime. He’d stolen a pair of sneakers and a watch from a clothing store. Had attempted to, anyway.
“Here’s something that might surprise you, Dennis. I’m not homeless one hundred percent of the year. I’d peg it more at sixty percent. I have mountains and valleys to conquer in life, and being homeless, in my humble opinion, is a way to quicken the process.”
“You’re definitely going to have to explain that one to me.” She had him intrigued, but his eyes were beginning to feel heavy. As satisfying as his writing binges were, they sure exhausted the hell out of him. And these days he was working harder than ever
“Are you sure you want me to,” she said. “You seem tired. Go to bed. I’ll sleep on the couch if that’s okay with you.”
“No,” Dennis said, shaking his head. He cocked his thumb over his shoulder. “The bed’s down the hall. That’s where you’re going to sleep. No exceptions.”
Fiona giggled. “I saw that bed. It’s a king sized. More suitable for you, kiddo.”
“This couch, right here, is plenty comfortable.”
“All right,” Fiona said. “I’ll make you a deal, and I know I’m not the one in the position to be presenting such a thing, but listen. If you agree to sleep in the bed, I’ll sleep in it too.” She smiled and Dennis suddenly felt guilty, like to do so would be to take advantage of a girl who only needed food and a place to sleep.
Dennis shook his head. “No, sorry. I can’t do that.”
“You don’t have a choice,” she said. “Now, anyway, I’m stinking up your place. Is it okay if I use the shower?”
“Crap,” Dennis said, shooting up from the couch and making his way down the hall. “I feel like an asshole! I didn’t even think about that. Of course, you can use the shower.” He flicked the bathroom light on, pulled out a towel and washcloth and placed them neatly on the sink.
"Don't worry about it," Fiona said, approaching the bathroom. "I'm not someone who trips over these kinds of things."
"Still," Dennis said, stepping out into the hall. "You're a guest."
"Thank you," she said, and moved past him, the fabric of her sweater brushing against his V-neck T-shirt.
Dennis left her alone and tried to decide where he was going to sleep.