A Pick-Up that Lined Up to a Hookup

She opened the box, took her house-key-and-ID-cards necklace, her prepaid cell with five minutes left, and a twenty dollar bill from her nonexistent saving; she threw the box back onto the shelf while walking in the opposite direction.

"Not again, not again," she ran out of the house looking at her watch and trying to figure out a train time as she went down the stairs with her toothbrush in her mouth.

She was in the subway car teasing her hair with her fingers before she realized she had forgotten her underwear.

***

"I'm sorry Ms. Freeman, but the conditions of the merger do not allow us the liberty to continue to pay you for a position that is overstaffed. We've given you an ample six month benefit package." The business man was giving her a lecture as if he understood the cause of medicine or the use of the word 'ample'.

She knew, damn well she knew, that every able body was needed on the ICU floor. In fact: The hospital was understaffed with properly trained personal.

"...but newer hires cost less money," she thought to herself, finishing his unspoken words silently. "You need me, you're understaffed," she snapped to the suit.

"We don't need your tardiness or your attitude. You are unpredictable, Bridgette," he was acting like her friend, "This is a workplace issue, you should be glad you are even getting benefits. You should have fallen in line."

"So not even severance? Those bennies aren't worth a shit and you know it. Are you serious?" He tossed a folder on the desk in front of her, and spun his chair around. No wonder she did not get a wake-up call. "You mean I shoulda fuckin' let people die."

Bridgette took the folder, harshly, and stormed out of the office to the elevator. The sad faces of the other nurses in the hallway only made her angrier.

***

She had little clue what she was going to do as she walked with the folder under her arm and out of the doors of the hospital, slowly shuffling her feet towards the pretzel cart outside.

"Oh you look so cute," a doctor said rhetorically as she walked past and into the building.

"Thanks," Bridgette replied absently and late enough to not be heard; her anger had been replace with fear and worry. She stepped to the food cart, bought a coffee and a pretzel - her meal for the day - and walked with her sixteen dollars, and almost gone cell phone, back to her home as the keychain-ID-necklace swung along and her mother's watch ticked away.

No one wants to ride the crowded underground at lunchtime; Bridgette had left her moist used toothbrush on the suit's desk.

***

By the time she walked up the last flight of stairs to her apartment, she had figured out, that with her last paycheck, she could cover her rent for the shitty apartment a mile from the ghetto where she grew up, but not the electric bill - this month or last.

She stepped to the door with her key in her hand, but she froze. Her door was slightly parted.

"Oh my goodness..." Bridgette did not remember if she had pulled the door until it clicked.

"Oh please, oh please, oh please..." she repeated as she pushed open the door in prayer.

It clanked against the wall to take-out menus fluttering from the breeze of the open windows. Her lower lip began to quiver while she stood in the doorway.

Every cabinet was open and barren; the fridge was open as well, and equally empty. Her clothes were gone, as was her laptop, TV, CDs, books, dishes and sheets. The mattress was on the floor and the bed frame was gone; her broken dresser was empty; her closet as well, including her shoebox with all of her personal information and the rest of the upper shelf.

Every thing she could see except for that awful yellow dress - the one she swore she would throw out - that she wore to homecoming just over ten years ago - was gone; it was piled on the floor without a hanger. The only other room, the bathroom, came next.

She pulled back the world's worst shower curtain - that no one would steal - and sighed; they had left her used bar of soap, her broken hair pick, and the shampoo/conditioner in the shower. The two bottles were one use from empty.

They did, though, steal her butter and her salad dressing.

With her fridge, windows, and front door still open, she stripped and jumped in the shower hoping to dull her insides, too angry to cry at the smashed houseplants and floating litter that was once filed.

Wet and naked and air drying on her uncovered mattress a few minutes later - almost sobbing from knowing her hair was going to be frizzy wild without her blow dryer - Bridgette sat and flipped through the four names in her prepaid phone's contacts. There was her job, her free clinic counselor, that lady from work, and Robert.

Bridgette would call Robert. He could help; he slept over three nights a week. It had been three months, and he was turning out to be the only serious thing in her life, especially after today.

Her first attempt brought her down to four minutes. Her second attempt brought her down to three. Robert finally answered on the third attempt.

"He's married you know." It was not Robert on the phone, but a woman. He was in the background.

"Honey," came muffled through the earpiece, "let me do it."

"He's fucking married home wrecker. Didn't you see the ring mark when he stuck his fingers in your ass, whore."

***

"He was married? No way... Wow.. Bridgette.. Just... I'm sorry."

"Thanks, Bill, but it wasn't your fault. Besides, that wasn't the worst part." Bridgette was laying naked and on her belly, her bottom and sleek back were highlighted by the early moonlighting while she played with her slightly chipping nails - they had stolen her make-up case.

"What? No way, it can't get worse, can it?" He had gotten up to her words and floated to the cordless hotel phone on the end table, half a cloud away, bringing the device back with him.

She had started giggling with her tears long since used up during the earlier tale telling, "Yep. It sure can. When I was walking to the bar, I got mugged."

William's face fell as he turned to her.

"Yeah, yeah. This druggie creep punched me in the stomach and stole my mother's watch. He would have gotten my sixteen bucks, too, if it hadn't been in my fist 'cause I had no pockets." Bridgette had rolled onto her back, looking serious as she stared at the inlayed ceiling and soft spot lights. "It was an antique..." she sighed hard. "At least he didn't rape me."

"Right?" William got serious for only a second. "Do you know what kind of watch it was?" he said, glancing over at the clock on the wall.

"Yeah, it was a Tiffany. Oh it was beautiful... the nicest thing I've ever owned. It made me feel so important." Bridgette closed her eyes, quivering her lips for an instant.

"So you would know it if you saw it?"

"Are you kidding? Absolutely," she started touching her chest lightly, skimming it and causing goose flesh.

William picked up the phone after she replied, speaking into it a moment later. "Yes, can you send a representative from Tiffany's to the suite at say, four o'clock tomorrow? Someone good. That'll do. Yes, there will be, hold on one moment," William covered the mouthpiece to the phone. "What do you want to wear?" He directed the question to Bridgette.

She pointed her right pointer finger at her naked chest with her arm extended.

"Yes, you," he spoke, admiring her frame and still covering the mouthpiece.

"If you put me in Armani, I will marry you." Her eyes we still closed, and she was still relaxed.

"..and can you send up an Armani catalog at about one. Yes.. yes..Thank you." William hung up the phone while holding back a laugh at her bulging eyes.

"Wh- wha- psht- Why?" She had rolled back over and hopped onto her hands and knees to face him while he set the phone aside on the cloud.

"Because you chose that seat," he was speaking in all seriousness. He put his hands behind his head, flashing an addictive grin to go with his warm hazel embrace.

"Well what am I going to wear until tomorrow?" Bridgette was swaying naked on the cloud, upright from her knees, fondling a cup and teething a nail in seduction.

"As little as possible."