Made for the Rich Boy -Temporarily On Hold for Editing-

II

Made for the Rich Boy

Chapter Two: The interview

Ten twenty seven....ten twenty eight....ten twenty nine - tick, tock, tick, tock.

The pesky tick tock sound of my raggedy old clock - hung on the plain walls that surrounded my room, filled my private, closed space. I wasted each passing second that went by, strutting into my tiny closet to, obstinately change outfits. And each tick and tock that echoed through the chipped walls was a reminder of how late I was and how I was putting this job opportunity on the line, slipping from my grasp each minute. I glanced at the clock - again - shit, the clock read ten thirty two, and I was supposed to be at the bus stop at ten am sharp. My interview at the Moretto family mansion was scheduled for two in the afternoon and it took three hours to arrive at Miami Beach. Now, my last alternative would be to unfortunately, take the eleven o'clock bus and due to all the stops it would be required to make, I will be approximately thirty minutes late to my interview - double shit.

If I would've known choosing a suitable outfit would be this hard, I would have woken up earlier than nine. It has been an hour and a half and I am still in undergarments. I have no clue why I am having so much trouble deciding. Yes, I have had a fair share of interviews at deli's, gas stations, café's, but here in Seminole Heights, the perfect outfit for attending an interview is plain jeans with a much too loose t-shirt regardless of your social status. However, the job would be with the Moretto's - high class family of the century, there is no way I would show up with my regular dress wear. Mom was right, I should have went to the thrift store across the street to buy myself something decent - I do have a couple of bucks saved after all - but unluckily, at the exact moment I was going to take off, the old Ms. Loufhag and her geezer showed up at my doorstep, pounding loudly on the door complaining about the dead rat and the stolen flowers, yelling various insults of how I am a poor excuse of a daughter, how I should be locked away serving jail time for life and blah, blah, blah. I've heard the same vilifications millions of times, and they never affect me.

Of course, the day ended badly. We spent about an hour arguing, there was a point where I flicked her off and walked away, but that had gained a mean look from mom and nasty curse words from Ms. Loufhag. To say I was dismayed by her comments was an understatement. It does not cross my mind how or why a lady her age knows of such words. My evening then consisted of mom apologizing for my actions, her old geezer giving me a little too much attention, me being completely and utterly disgusted, and Ms. Loufhag yelling once again for 'seducing' her geezer - as if, that last comment earned a chunk of hair pulling from me, which caused mom to yell at me and again, apologizing - but no longer hiding a chuckle once she saw the fake wig on the floor.

I laughed so hard, tears left my eyes, even her geezer laughed a few times. He obviously was not aware of the fake hair that invaded her almost bald head.

"Now give me my flowers back you little demon," she spat before taking off into the kitchen and grabbing back the flowers I stole from her garden.

"You forgot your hair," I yelled after her. She stopped her tracks and marched back into the living room, picking up the red colored wig and messily placing it back onto her head.

My evening did not turn out good, but at least I had the high satisfaction knowing I ruined Ms. Loufhag's night and let's not forget the scare I gave her with the critter I left on her mailbox - that was a bonus.

The soft knock on my door interrupted my chuckle as I thought of last night's events with the old hag, "Yes?"

Behind the door was mom - she peeked inside before opening the door completely giving me her warm smile, "Honey it is ten thirty why aren't you dressed yet?" she asked. I groaned and flopped onto the bed, covering my face with my hands.