voice.
“What do you want to call me?”
“To me, you’ll always be Artemis, girl goddess, huntress of men.” My voice softened.
“Call me Artemis, then. There’s no need for the drama.”
“I hate to interrupt, but we’re on a tight schedule here,” Annie said. “Topher Doyle loved your protest signs. I mean, he wouldn’t shut up about them. And then our store artist, Joaquin, turned in his notice. He’s going to the MFA program at The City College in New York. So I suggested you to Topher Doyle and he wants to interview you.”
“Store artist?”
“It’s like three hours a day of work. You draw asparagus on chalkboards in the store, stuff like that. And then the rest of the time you can do your own work in your office studio.”
“No way.”
“Way. Joaquin created his whole portfolio on the clock. Topher Doyle likes it as he feels like he’s supporting a struggling artist. And it pays. Full benefits. A great salary. Everything. Like, you could pay off your court fines in no time.”
“Does he know I got fired from the deli?”
“He doesn’t give a shit about that. He said he likes your spunk.”
“When would the interview be? I mean, if I decided to do it.”
“In an hour.”
“WHAT?” I said. “I’m still groggy as holy hell.” The espresso was cutting through the fog, but only somewhat. “And look at me.” I was wearing PharmaTrial pajamas and my hair was a mess.
“We need to do it now, before one of Topher Doyle’s nieces pops up and says she wants the job.”
“Roxy, come with me to the bathroom,” Artemis said.
In the bathroom, Artemis pulled out an interview dress for me from her miracle backpack—a vintage-inspired Johnnie Boden number—and black Mary Jane pumps in a size eleven. She turned on her battery-powered curling iron, doused my hair in dry shampoo, and set to work doing my makeup. Once I was transformed, she poured some crushed Ritalin on the sink and handed me a rolled-up dollar bill. “Just this once,” she said. I stared at the Ritalin. I’d taken it a few times before, and I knew it would blast right through the opioid fog. It would make me lively and vivacious for my interview. I took the dollar bill and bent over the sink.
But before I snorted, I remembered the last time Artemis had offered me something—i.e., a can of spray paint—I’d ended up in jail. I love Artemis, but I wanted to do this my way, not hers. I stood up and handed her the dollar bill.
“Come on,” she said.
“No way. I’m seriously never taking your advice again.”
“You shouldn’t,” she said. And we both started laughing.
“Are you gonna snort it?” I asked.
“And risk triggering another manic attack? No way.” She swept the powdery Ritalin into the sink. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
“What?”
Artemis paused. I could see her swallow hard. She looked scared.
It made me nervous—I was used to Artemis always being confident and self-assured, no matter what. “What is it?”
“When I was in Shoal Creek, I started going to AA. Roxy, I’m an alcoholic.”
“Oh, honey,” I said. Her lip trembled. I’ve never seen her look so vulnerable. “I love you no matter what you are.”
“Really?” she asked. She was tearing up.
“Of course. I’ve never met anyone like you. I’m glad you’re sober and getting things sorted.”
She threw her arms around me. “That means so much to me. Sometimes I worry people only like me when I’m off my rocker.”
“If it’s okay for me to be honest, a toned-down version of you would be a little bit of a relief.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not that toned-down. AA is full of hot guys. Addiction is like a whack-a-mole. And once they bash down their alcoholism, it’s sex addiction that pops right up.” She gave me a lascivious wink. “Now I know why I drew The Devil card, if you know what I mean.”
“Because it’s a card about being trapped by addiction?” I asked.
“Because it’s a card about being naked and chained up with a hot guy!”
When we stopped laughing, I told her I was sorry for bringing a tarot deck to the mental hospital. “That was idiotic.”
“Don’t worry about it. I was just grouchy because I was in alcohol withdrawal. I love your inappropriate ways. I wouldn’t stand for a girlfriend who brought me flowers or chocolates or something else really nice.”
“Shut uuuup!” I laughed.
When we walked out of the bathroom, Annie’s jaw dropped. “Wow!” she said. “I’d hire you.” She bought me another latte for the road.
When