The cab driver glanced at the young woman in back. “You new here?”
Though she tried to appear sophisticated, Kathy knew she looked out of place in the city. “Does it show?”
“Yeah, a little,” the cabbie laughed. ”Let me guess, you’re a runaway from Kansas hoping Seattle is your Emerald City over the rainbow?”
“Something like that… Ohio actually.”
The taxi pulled over. “Here you are, 217 Seneca. Good luck, Dorothy,” he joked.
Kathy paid him, grabbed her suitcase and stepped out. The apartment building looked worn out and dusty, but inside it had an inviting, old school ’80s feel to it.
Her room, however, was a different story with its cold, white walls and bare linoleum floor.
‘Was this a mistake?’ she wondered.
Her Mom had tired to stop her. “It’s crazy,” she’d said. “All you have is a job interview waiting for you out there. No guaranteed work and just a couple months of money. What are you thinking?”
But now, standing in the empty room, 2000 miles from home, Kathy felt like she’d gone to the other side of the planet. Maybe Mom was right.
Taking another look around the room she knew with a little inexpensive decorating she could warm up her two-room apartment. “No,” she said out loud. “This feels right. This little country gal is going to take on Seattle and make it hers.
____________________________
”Tom Bronson hated parties—this one especially. It was filled with socialites, lazy people born into old money, and women trying to be someone, anyone, other than who they were. Hoping to marry into that money, they circled the rich like sharks looking for an easy kill.
“Oh, shit," he muttered to himself, “here comes one now.”
“Tommy, darling, are we having a good time? They told me you’d be here. I missed you at last week’s yacht club gala. Where ever were you?”
“Hello, Cybil.”
He knew those were the only two words she’d allow him to squeeze into their conversation. He tried to keep up, be polite, but as she babbled on about parties, charity banquets, who’s marrying, who’s divorcing, who died—his interest was plunging lower than her neckline.
Finally she took a breath, giving him a brief opportunity to jump in. “Sorry, Cybil, but I have to leave. Here, you can have my drink if you like.”
Before she could answer, he handed her his glass and ducked away, hoping no one would notice his escape attempt. But two sharks were swimming by the door.
“Oh, Tom, we were hoping to…”
“Sorry, I was just leaving.”
“But, really you should stay…”
“No, sorry. Important meeting. Gotta go.”
As he stepped out to the street, he felt like a lucky seal who’d somehow managed to escape the jaws of death.
The wealthiest man in the city, he always felt out of place in so-called ‘high society.’ His was a fortune made from hard work, careful planning, and taking calculated risks––all things he’d learned when a teenager, working on his father’s boat.
His dad had a way of wrapping up a world of wisdom into one simple sentence. “You won’t make it out here, son, unless you keep your eye on the weather, chart a steady course through these seas, and put your back to the work.”
Tom missed him.
____________________________
Kathy put down two grocery bags and then remembered she hadn’t closed the door.
“Hey, neighbor!”
A smiling face peaked in throwing a flurry of non-stop words.
“Hi, my name’s Megan, but everyone calls me Meg. I’m right across the hall from you. Oh, I’m so glad this room will finally have a happy person in it. The old man that lived her shot himself, you know.”
Kathy’s eyes widened, “What?”
“Oh yeah, right there in the middle of the room. Blood everywhere.”
“Oh, my god!”
Meg laughed. “Kidding, kidding. I couldn’t resist.”
“Meg!”
“Sorry about that. Here, I brought you something to eat. There’s enough for two if you...
