"Remind me again why you're riding deliveries with me when you could be doing anything else in the world?" I asked my best friend.
Natalie and I had been friends almost since birth. We'd grown up in the same trailer-park together. We had the same dream - to escape the shit-hole we'd lived in our whole lives. We'd settle for living in a real house but our ultimate dream was to own homes of our own.
In Drafting class, we had learned to create floorplans. Natalie and I had spent nearly every waking moment since then, designing our dream homes. Hers was a mountain cabin by a lake - far from the oppressive sounds and smells of the city we lived in. My dream house was a treetop mansion that would encapsulate the treehouse-retreat that she and I had built in middle school and turn it into something that any kid would drool over - complete with hot tub and Olympic-sized swimming pool. (I was still kind of working on the logistics for the pool.)
Both of us had been convinced by our teachers, through the years, that the only way to make our dreams come true was to go to college and get a decent job. We were poor enough that college was pretty much paid for. Our grades were good so there was no fear of failing to meet the requirements that came with the finances. The problem was affording the laptop we needed to do our schoolwork on - and making sure our moms continued to pay the rent and keep the utilities turned on.
"Your deliveries take you to shitty neighborhoods..." she began.
"Like where we live?" I asked, laughing.
"Yes. And robberies are on the rise again..." she continued.
"Which is why you have a Taser and pepper spray?" I asked.
"Yes. And you owe me $20," she finished.
"Got it. That makes total sense," I said, snarkily.
"Fuck you, bitch," she said, laughing. "Can I not just hang out with you?"
"You know you don't have to?" I asked, growing more serious.
"I know. I DO worry though. You need a different job," she said.
"Or just a better neighborhood?" I asked her.
"Yeah. It'll all be better some day."
"Some day," I agreed, checking the address again.
Finally, I pulled up to where the house should be - to find that there wasn't a #22 Concord Court.
"Shit!"
Natalie looked at my phone and back at the houses around us. The numbers were hard to read - if you could find them - because the streetlight had been shot out and nobody had ever reported it - or the city didn't care. Probably the latter. They'd probably gotten tired of replacing it every month when the newest crack dealer decided to use it for target-practice.
I dialed the callback number as Nat and I watched a few faces appear behind curtains (if you can call a bedsheet hanging over a window a 'curtain') or mini-blinds.
"Hello? I've got a pizza here for #22 Concord Court but I don't see your house."
I looked at Natalie as the woman told me the correct address.
"Boulevard?!" I gasped. "Hang on."
I stuck her on speakerphone and entered the new destination into my GPS-app.
"Ma'am, the must have entered your address wrong. Your pizza came out of the Southtown store and it should have come out of Bridgerton."
"Can you still deliver my pizza?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am, I can but the GPS says it'll be another half-hour. You might be ahead to order again and get a hot pie. I'll call this in as an error at the home-office and you'll get refunded."
"It's always too hot to eat anyway," she said. "If you'll drive it up here, I'll tip you handsomely. I realize you'll be giving up deliveries to bring that to me. I used to deliver pizzas, once upon a time."
"I can do that," I told the woman, glancing at Natalie, wondering how much money "handsome" translated into. "Let me call my boss and let him know what I'm doing and I'll head your way."
"Perfect. What's your name, young man?"
"Max. Maxwell, ma'am," I replied.
"I'll see you soon, Max," she said, before hanging up.
"What the fuck?!" Natalie said, as I hit the number for the store.
I looked at her and shrugged.
Three minutes later, my boss was unhappy but - after checking the computer to see the address they'd entered - and then confirming the address the lady had given me - and looking back through her MULTIPLE weekly orders - he told me to get my ass on the road.
Natalie and I had been sitting on our seatbelts - which makes it easier to pop in and out of the car with deliveries but we'd have to take the bypass to get to the north side of the city with any speed - so we belted up and headed to the closest on-ramp.
"I don't know if I ever even been to Bridgerton," Natalie said, as we merged into freeway traffic.
"I know I haven't," I replied, checking my mirrors again and setting the cruise, praying it wouldn't short out the electric system in my shit-box of a car.
"You done after this delivery?" Nat asked.
"Yeah. Greg said that, by the time I dropped this off and drove back, I'd have like 10 minutes left in my shift."
"Surprised he didn't make you come in," she said.
"Me too."
~~~
Twenty minutes later, we left the freeway and eased into Bridgerton. A patrol car pulled up next to me at the traffic light and I began sweating - nervous that he'd be able to tell that I was not from anywhere around here because of the condition of the wreck I was driving. I was already practicing my speech when the light changed and he eased ahead. I made sure to stay a couple miles under the speed-limit in case my speedometer was off.
"Do they even have trailers here?" Natalie asked in a hushed voice as we drove past house after house that all seemed like mansions compared to where the two of us lived.
"I don't think so," I said, just as quietly.
When we finally found the address, I was speechless. It had a gate across the drive - with a LCD monitor and speaker mounted in the side of the brick archway that held the gate.
An older woman's face appeared on the monitor as I reached for what looked like the call-button.
"Max?"
"Yes, ma'am," I replied, belatedly remembering to smile.
"Come on up," she said.
The gate began opening even before the screen went dark.
I looked over at Natalie but she was busy, staring at the massive building at the top of the drive. I've never been to the Whitehouse but I'll bet this thing was bigger.
"Shit, Max!" she gasped.
"We should probably not cuss," I advised her.
"Yeah," she said, still staring at the building.
The mansion grew larger and larger as we got closer and closer.
The drive brought us under a covered entrance - with steps leading up to double-doors. The architecture of the house made me think of England - the pictures of where those dukes and duchess people lived. It wasn't brick; it was stone. Even in the wildest dreams and designs that Natalie and I had come up with, I had never even considered the amount of money that it would take to build something like this.
I dropped the car into 'park', opened the back door, and grabbed the thermal pack with the pizza inside.
"You coming?" I asked Nat.
"No," she said, trying to hide.
"Come on!" I told her. "This is once in a lifetime!"
"I'm underdressed," she complained.
"And I'm the fucking doorman?" I asked.
"Language," she said, smirking.
Just then, the front door opened. An older guy in one of those fancy suits peered out at us. The doorman was dressed significantly better than me.
"Max? Young miss? Mrs. Wellington would be delighted for you to join her in the lounge."
"Are... you sure?" I asked him.
"Quite sure, young man," he replied, smiling.
I had no idea how somebody who looked like he did could smile at somebody who looked like I did the way he was - but I immediately felt at ease. I was still uncomfortable about how I was dressed - and the rusty box of bolts that I'd arrived in - but this guy didn't seem to care.
"Grab the keys," I told Natalie.
Her eyes were as big as dinner plates. She nodded and - still watching the butler (or whatever he was) - she reached over, grabbed my keys, switched off the car, and tried to climb out. She wrapped herself in the seatbelt that she'd forgotten she was wearing but the doorman didn't react. Natalie scowled at me when I snorted.
When she stepped up next to me, the guy in the suit, pointed to the left and said, "Right this way."
My best friend and I stepped into an entry hall that had one of those staircases that's wide enough for ten people to walk side-by-side that leads up to a balcony on the second floor. The place looked like money, smelled like money... and the carpet felt like money. If I had to guess, the carpet that I was standing on was softer than my mattress.
"Do... uh... we need to take off our shoes?" I asked quickly.
"No, young sir," the man replied. "If there's anything that needs addressed, Greta will see to it but you needn't worry."
I assumed that Greta was the older lady in the maid outfit that we passed on our way to our destination. She smiled and nodded to Natalie and me as we passed. She was holding a feather-duster and appeared to be busy - although I hadn't seen dust on anything so far. Even the massive chandelier over the huge stairway had been radiant and spotless.
The lounge looked like a sports bar. There were a dozen tables scattered through the room. Every wall was covered in massive televisions with a different channel, sport, or game on each one. At the end of the room was a wall of shelves with more liquor than I had seen in my entire life. My mom would have shit herself.
Our hostess set down her drink and stood from a chair at a table near the bar, smiling broadly.
"Max! And who is your pretty friend?"
"This is Natalie," I said, turning to glance at my childhood chum and confidante.
"Are you two dating?" the woman asked.
Natalie and I glanced at each other and fidgeted nervously.
"Uh... Nat and I are best friends - have been since birth," I spouted.
The woman's eyes flitted between our faces.
"Come," she said. "Please sit... Max and Natalie. Can Reggie get you something to drink? I won't tell, if you want something stronger, but we have Coke or Diet Coke as well. Reg makes a vanilla Coke that's to die for."
"I'd be happy with a water but vanilla Coke sounds good," I said, looking at the butler/doorman whom our host had indicated was Reggie.
"Yes, thank you," Natalie said.
"Come," the woman said again, "sit. I'm hoping that I can convince you to share the pizza with me. Reggie and Greta will refuse and I'll be tempted to eat more than I should."
"Not to sound picky," I said, smiling, as I slipped the pizza box from the insulated carrier, "but what did you order?"
"Pepperoni and sausage," she reported, smiling, as she pulled Natalie's chair out a little to encourage her to sit next to her.
Reggie arrived with plates, napkins, forks, and two vanilla Cokes.
"Mrs. Wellington," he said, looking at her. "You still haven't told them your name."
"Ack! Thank you, Reggie. My apologies! My first name is Lenora - which you are welcome to use but I'm hoping we can be much less formal with one another and that you would call me Lynn."
The butler served two slices of pizza to each of us and then looked at his boss.
She finished the bite of pizza in her mouth and said, "Thank you, Reggie. You and Greta can retire for the evening. You really should have been relaxing hours ago instead of tending to me."
"Have a good evening, madam," he said, bowing with a smile, before disappearing.
"Max, I'm hoping you're not required to do any more deliveries this evening?"
"No, ma'am," I replied - and then immediately realizing I'd talked while chewing.
Lynn didn't say anything.
"Friends since childhood, huh?" Lynn asked Natalie.
