Tremble For Me

Ella

A loud banging at the front door woke me up from my sleep. I bolted upright in a terrible panic, my head whirling around towards the sound.

The landlord!

That was my first thought. He had come to kick me out of my apartment. Heart pounding, I stared into the darkness. My chest rose up and down. I glanced at my bedside table clock.

Four freaking am!

No way was it the landlord. Surely, they're not allowed to harass their tenants like this by law. I waited, hunched inside my duvet. Silence. Jesus, it had just been another nightmare. A nightmare so real, I had believed it was a banging on my door.

I fell back onto my bed with a sigh. This was no way to live. My life was in shambles. No wonder I was getting nightmares every night. The rent had been due two days ago and I had no money. My life which had been so orderly, now seemed like it belonged to someone else.

Fuck Stan. He had played his games, messed up my brain, and caused trouble at my workplace. Then I had to get a restraining order on him, but it was too late. I'd been fired from my last position in the real estate company I worked for. Which would have been understandable given the poor state of the economy, except I had been one of only three people laid off out of a hundred and ten.

And the other two were ladies in their sixties, and one of them had already mentioned wanting to leave.

There seemed to be no point in trying to sleep when clearly, my brain was done with any thoughts of sleep. I swung my legs off the bed and padded to my minuscule kitchen to make some coffee.

In my tiny living room, I opened my laptop and checked my email for job offers. Given the number of interviews I'd done, surely there had to be an invitation somewhere. None. Zilch. My heart pounded hard against my chest as the implications of this sunk in.

I would be kicked out of my apartment. I'd be homeless. Sweat gathered under my armpits. I wanted to kick something, but I restrained myself. The last time I'd given in to the urge to hit something two years ago, I'd ended up with a broken toe after kicking a brick wall.

Think, Ella. Think.

There must be something else I could do besides sell real estate. I thought of my dream to be a fashion designer. Then I shoved it out of my mind. Fashion design was for people who were born wealthy, not people like me who needed to work at real jobs to feed, clothe, and put a roof over myself.

I opened a browser and typed in 'available jobs in South Carolina.' I clucked my tongue at the results pages. Most were domestic cleaning type jobs, which I was starting to consider. If the pay was good enough why not? I wasn't too proud to be cleaning homes for a living. Then in the sea of domestic help needed ads, a different type of advert caught my eye.

Nanny urgently needed.

Excellent pay and benefits.

HMMM... interesting. What could be difficult about watching a child or children? I was good with children.

My sister, Angela's three children loved me. I was their favorite Aunty. Not that there were any other contenders. Still, I felt certain I would have been their favorite aunt if we had more sisters.

My interest was further piqued as I read the job description.

The child that needed minding was five years old, just like my niece Charlotte. True, I had rarely seen my sister's family during the last two years, but I facetimed or Skyped Angela a lot and always got to speak to the children every time too.

However, I was aware, this probably wasn't enough to get to know the ins and outs of being a nanny to them. If I were being honest, I had no idea what five-year-old girls were like, but there were lots of books I could read on the subject and I was once a little girl. I made a decision there and then to apply for the position. It would be a stopgap until I got something better in real estate.

I poised my fingers over the keyboard as I thought of what to say. Then I wrote an email to the contact email given. When I read it through, I realized that even I wouldn't hire me. So, I exaggerated my experience somewhat. Okay, maybe I went overboard and did more than a bit of embellishing. I couldn't help it. As my grandma used to say, you can't polish a turd. As I re-read my email, I felt an almost desperate desire to hire myself before someone else snapped me up.

Good. I hit send. They were all white lies anyway.

wo hours later, I got an email requesting me to attend an interview. The wording gave no clue about the potential employer, other than a name. Luke Meyers and a work email address. Excitedly, I quickly penned back a reply. The following day would be

awesome.

Just as I hit send, my cell phone vibrated from the table. I reached for it and smiled when I saw the caller. My best friend, Ruby.

"Don't tell me the slave driver has left," I said referring to Ruby's boss, a workaholic woman who owned the beauty salon where she worked.

Her laughter crackled through the phone. "No chance. I'm between clients."

Ruby was a makeup artist and one of the few people I knew who really loved her job. And she was really good at it. When I got married, I was having her do my face.

"Anything new?" she asked, referring to my jobless situation.

I sighed deeply. "None. Not one. Anyway, I might have found a temporary situation." I told her about the nanny position I had applied for.

"God Ella, what do you know about kids? I want to be supportive and all, but a nanny?" She ended the question with a laugh.

I threw my shoulders back. "I'll have you know that I do have experience with my sister's kids."

Ruby went silent for a few seconds. "Is that all of your experience? Watching your sister's kids whom you see once a year?"

"Well, I kinda made up some stuff," I admitted.

"You didn't!" she gasped.

"I did, but I figure it isn't exactly rocket science. I mean, I saw Mary Poppins and there must be a bunch of books on the subject. I'm going to read until my eyes bleed."

"I don't know. I still think you should wait for a more suitable job," she said doubtfully.

"At this point, Rubes, I'll take anything. Rent was due two days ago, and my bank account is crying."

"Hey, stop being so proud and let me lend you some money," she offered softly. "It's not a big deal and I do have plenty."

Ruby was a saver, unlike me. I spent it as quickly as I made it, but this experience of being so close to homelessness had taught me a big fat lesson. After this, I intended to start religiously saving at least twenty percent of what I earned. But first, I needed to start earning. "No, it's okay. That's another slippery slope I don't want to get on. I'll be fine." I refused to take advantage of my best friend's kindness.