Brooke

One hundred twenty-six dollars and eighty-seven cents. That's how much I have in my checking account for rent. Which won't cut it in the slightest, so I'll have to cry to my parents for another loan. Just something else to chalk up on the unsuccessful limb in the family tree. They should've just named me that. Oh, you see my daughter Elizabeth and her beautiful husband and precious babies? Then my son, Owen, well, he's in Africa right now using that well-earned medical degree. We're so proud. Then people will point to my picture and say, who's this? Well, that right there is Miss Unsuccessful. She has no clue what to do with her life, so she takes out a million student loans and jumps from job to job. We can always count on Miss Unsuccessful Brooke to give us a call on the fifth of every month because she's short on rent.

Yet, here I sit with my girls, Tasha and Morgan, drinking an eight dollar margarita because searching Monster.com endlessly hasn't worked. Maybe a cute blue drink will! (Their logic, not mine).

I sigh and tap my phone away from my sad bank account over to my calendar, marking down goal twenty-two for the week. Find a damn job! I can't wait to put the cute little check mark in that one.

"Are you kidding me?" Tasha yanks my phone from my fingers, and my hand chases after hers. Oh, rule number one, don't take my phone or your drink will be all over your face. Too bad her glass needs a refill.

"Give it back," I say with a light smile, leaning off my seat and grabbing her wrist.

She pushes my chest, cocking her head to the side enough her black curls hit her bare shoulder. "Only if you promise to put it away. We're not thinking about anything else but booze and boys, okay?"

I roll my eyes and lunge for my Galaxy. She whips it from one hand to the other, slipping it into Morgan's open palm.

"Say okay, or our waiter gets a shiny phone as his tip." Morgan grins, wiggling my cell by her ear.

"Fine." I laugh, letting go of Tasha and sitting nice and straight in my own chair. "I promise I'll put it away."

They watch my face for a second. I try to pull off the innocent look and after they exchange nods, it's back in my hand. I immediately put it on vibrate and stick it snug in my pocket. I'll look at it when I go to the bathroom.

Ladies and Gentlemen, if you'll kindly take your seats, the show is about to begin.

The lights dim, and Tasha quickly waves to the bartender because she needs a refill stat. She also winks and casually touches the top of her left boob. He ends up over pouring the glass he was filling and quickly fumbles around to clean it. We all laugh, and Tasha's out of her seat to go hit on the cute dorky barman, even though the announcement said to take our seats. Does anybody follow rules anymore?

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I wonder what alert just went off. I don't remember putting something in the agenda, other than feed the cat, which I did before I left, so I've checked that off. I also bought tampons-that alarm went off an hour ago, so no. My fingers itch to look at it, but Morgan's talking about how she needs to get laid before her panties become the Mojave desert, and I feign interest while secretly screaming at myself, "Why the hell did my phone vibrate?!"

"Um," I interrupt, "I think I'm going to go to the bathroom before this thing starts."

"Okay, I'll save our seats." Morgan kicks her legs up under the table and smacks them on Tasha's abandoned chair. "Hurry up. The opening act is always kickass."

I nod, curl my hand around my purse strap and force my legs to stand, even though the announcement told me to stay put.

Weaving through the crowd of people who don't know how to listen, I make it to the bathroom in record time, my phone out before I have the chance to swing the door open.

Account activity: Withdrawal at X Marks, Nevada

All that over a stupid VISA transaction. I knew I should've paid in cash. But I only carry twenty bucks, and I want to use it for my share of the cab fare.

Without going into the bathroom, I spin around, checking my calendar on my phone one more time to make sure there won't be any more vibrations, and I walk right into a set of boobs.

"Geez, watch it, bitch."

"Sorry!" I mumble, scooting back from her barely covered bosom. My face fills with heat, and I try to laugh about falling into her cleavage.

She throws me a look like I'm insane and gives a demeaning little wave for me to move my ass. I want to tell her she shouldn't even be walking around because the show is about to start, but hypocritical much? Oh well. She looks twelve and tipsy. I'll chalk it up to mean drunk instead of her just being a bitch.

I take a step to the side, and right as she passes me, she gives an overly sweet smile over her shoulder and a one-minute finger. I follow her line of sight to grey high top shoes, up holey jeans, and unkempt hair. He gives Bitchy Boobs a smirk, and then his eyes meet mine.

I'm not sure if he recognizes me. I'm not exactly in interview attire. I have dress pants on, but that's because I'm always prepared in case something pops up unexpectedly. My jacket is back at my table, so my green silk off-the-shoulder blouse adorns my top half, exposing more than I would if I were somewhere more professional. And my hair is down and styled for the night life-my night life-and so not interview-esk. He probably doesn't even notice I'm the same girl.

He however seems to have only changed his shirt, and traded his cigarette for a clutch purse. He actually looks pretty darn cute.

Since I'm so obviously staring, I give a small smile as if we were just two strangers staring at each other, tuck my hair behind my ear and march forward.

"Hey, wait a second."

I turn, eyebrows shot to the ceiling, and point at myself. "Who, me?"

"Uh, yeah." He walks to me, instead of waving me over, and I'm kind of surprised by that. He seemed like someone who'd want me to cater to him. But what the hell do I know? I sat in a room with him for twenty minutes.

He rubs the back of his neck, glancing over his arm. "It's Brooke, right?" He looks back at me as if he genuinely doesn't know if he got my name right or not. Well, I guess that answers if I got the job question. Not that I didn't know I totally screwed that up.

"And it's Nate, right?" I throw out, crossing my arms. Seriously, what does he want? He already made me feel like an ass. Is he going to give me crap for running into his girlfriend?

He smiles, but it's sort of twitchy and kind of cute on him. Maybe he's only an ass at work. Or maybe I've had too much margarita. "I could use your help, if you don't mind."

"I'm not holding your purse for you while you pee."

"Funny." His lips curl up, and I can't tell if he actually thinks I'm funny, or if he's being a smartass like me. "Can you just... play along with what I'm about to do?"

"What?" Hell, no. I'm not going to nod and go, "Okay! Make me do whatever because you were so nice to me the other day." He can shove it. "Um, no-"

"I'm baaaaaack," overly lip-glossed girl sings over Nate's shoulder as she grabs her purse from his hand. She sort of tips her chest into Nate's side, and a wrinkle pops above his nose. He gives this half-ass smile at her, and I'm thinking... okay, maybe she's not a girlfriend.

The lights flicker, and with that I take a step back toward my seat. I'm already up to awkward level ten.

"Hey, uh..." His voice stops me, partly out of curiosity, and partly because I think he's talking to me, but I can't tell. He's looking at me, but then his direction shifts to the girl on his arm. "This is Brooke. She works for my mom and there was sort of an emergency. I'm sorry, but I gotta run."

"Photographers have emergencies?" she asks, laughing a bit loud in his ear. I press my lips together to keep from laughing too, because the look on his face says he's ready to get on his knees and beg me to get him away from her. Huh, that's actually a nice image.

I clear my throat, even though he made fun of me for it, and straighten my stance. I'm good at "business woman."

"Mr. Alexander's photographer dropped out at the last minute. His fiancé demanded professional photos for his bachelor party. I think she wants to use them for blackmail later. But she hired us, she pays us for it, and we deliver." I tap my phone a few times and put it to my ear. "I'm calling a cab. You have two minutes. Please don't make me call your mother." I shrug around them and laugh to myself when I'm out of range. I had to add that last bit in there, just for my own satisfaction. But he's not allowed to be embarrassed or give me crap for it, because damn it, I helped his ass out.

I get to my seat right as the lights go completely out. Tasha and Morgan are whispering about Tasha's date she has planned for after the show, and before they catch me with it, I put my phone back in my pocket.

I wonder if he meant what he said, or if he was just using me as his "emergency call." Guys should learn from girls and always have an out if they end up with a date they don't want. But I figure if I really did work for his mom, I would've known it by now.

The spotlight on the stage goes up, the crowd cheers and claps, and a flash of movement to my left scares the crap out of me.

"Holy shit!" I scream in Nate's face. He jerks back, knocking over Morgan's vodka all over his holey jeans. "Oh dammit, I'm so sorry." Fumbling all over the table, I reach for napkins or something, but there's nothing but the miniscule ones they give as coasters. My hands shake as I pat all over his legs, and when I reach the hole right above his knee, I shoot upright, because what the hell am I doing?

"Uh," he says, grabbing the napkins from my hands. "I came over to say thanks. Didn't mean to scare you."

Tasha and Morgan look at me with wide grins, and other tables are laughing at us. I give Nate an awkward blush-filled glance before grabbing my jacket and getting my ass out of there. Let's see how many times I can wreak confidence and then completely botch it. I'm up to fifty something, I think.

But that's not in my calendar, so I don't have an exact number.