Citizen Girl Read Online Free Page B

button and drops the phone beside him on the futon.
    ‘Oy,’ I mutter, my mouth full of muffin.
    ‘When was the last time you changed these sheets?’ he asks, distastefully lifting the duvet.
    ‘You were eleven. Want one?’ I hold out the rapidly dwindling stash.
    ‘If I have another muffin I’ll puke. Got any more Mallomars?’
    I motion him to scoot over as I pass him a fresh yellow package. We sit and munch, glancing about at my living room-cum-bedroom-cum-kitchen-cum-shower, the two hundred square feet that, in a previous incarnation, was my neighbor/landlord’s closet. Jack reclines, his baseball cap tilting up as he takes in the peeling paint, tattered ceiling, crumbling exposed brick, and duct tape that blocks the draft. ‘You’re totally killing every desire I have to live in the city.’
    ‘If it’s any consolation –’ I reach for another muffin – ‘I’m killing my own, too.’
    ‘Ever consider working for profit?’ he asks.
    ‘Every day, asshole, every day.’
    ‘Language. So what’d Grace say?’ he asks, licking chocolate off his fingers.
    ‘She wants me to start my own organization.’
    ‘She wants me to start my own soccer league,’ he shrugs, passing back the package as he jumps off the bed. ‘She suggest a nonviolent coup?’
    I smile, happy to be talking to someone who isn’t a beleaguered receptionist. ‘This is nice.’ I tap the brim of his cap. ‘Ooh, I think I have a packet of popcorn left.’
    Jack looks at his watch. ‘Nope – no time.’ He claps his hands. ‘Hit the shower. We’re goin’ out.’
    ‘Out? Out out?’ I stuff the remainder of the muffin in my mouth.
    ‘Just get up.’ He tugs the duvet off and proceeds to strip the cloud-patterned flannels from the futon with me still on them.
    I grab the remaining corner of the fitted sheet by its elastic. ‘Jack—’
    ‘G, I am the emissary. I have the power of Grace behind me.’ He yanks the cotton from my grip. ‘You’ll feel better when you’re clean,’ he adds, unconsciously mimicking her.
    ‘No, actually,’ I ball up the sheets he’s tossed to the floor, ‘I’ll feel better when I’m employed.’
    ‘ I’ll feel better when you’ve brushed your teeth.’
    Dumping the bedding in the hamper, I attach the hose to the kitchen sink faucet, turn on the hot water, and pull the step stool over. ‘You know the drill.’ Jack turns away and tugs his Cubs brim low as I clamber gingerly into the old porcelain sink, toss my bathrobe, and pull the eyeletshower curtain closed. ‘So, did Grace give you a budget for this rescue effort? ’Cause I’m in the mood for Chinese.’
    ‘We’re going to a Job Fair,’ he calls from the other side of the plastic.
    ‘What! No – not tonight. Come on, let’s eat Chinese and watch Schindler’s List .’ I stare at the plastic, hoping for an answer. ‘Jack, I got six rejection letters this morning. Six. What do they do in person? Spit on you? I don’t know if I can.’ I lather my hair. ‘So, it’s what … like in a gymnasium? With tables? … What kind of jobs? … Jack?’ I stick my sudsy head out to see him flipping disdainfully through my CDs.
    He holds up the Chicago soundtrack and rolls his eyes.
    ‘ Hello? What kind of jobs?’
    He waves a torn announcement from the newspaper circled in the familiar red ink. ‘We just have to go. It’s a job thing. You need a job. I need a weekend, so let’s get on with it. We have to make a list.’
    ‘Of what?’ A rivulet of shampoo drips into my eyes and I pull my head back under the water. ‘Why?’
    ‘Grace,’ he answers definitively. I blow a raspberry to the chipped paint. ‘One: find job,’ he prompts. I offer him my middle finger through the gap in the shower curtain. ‘Two?’
    ‘Two: start an organization. Three: start a company. Four: secede from the Union. Five: cure cancer. And, uh, six: free Tibet.’
    ‘Six: free Tibet. Done!’
    I coax the conditioner out with the last dribble of hot