“Oh, and I can pay you cash,” she says. “Keep it under the table.”
Little dollar signs dance in my eyes. My finances have dwindled to the last bit of cash Mom left, and I’ve used my credit card sparingly, but rent will be due soon for Bea, and I want to at least contribute something toward it. I don’t know how long I should stay here to make my story about why I came back convincing enough not to raise suspicion when I leave, but I do know I’m not comfortable staying in the apartment any longer with no income to contribute.
“No pressure, of course. Take the time you need,” Sula says, even as she smiles at me like she already knows I’m going to say yes. Then she helps herself to what smells like a chai doughnut and mercifully changes the subject. “So. Bea. How are things since reuniting with that tall, dashing beau of yours?” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Makeup boinking is the best kind of boinking, isn’t it?”
“All right,” Bea says, taking Sula’s shoulders and gently turning her toward the back of the store. “That’s enough out of you. Take your doughnut and get number crunching. This place doesn’t bookkeep for itself.”
Sula throws a scowl over her shoulder as she tromps toward the back hallway. “Cruelty, thy name is business management.”
Toni shakes his head. “It’s like a cosmic meddling void was created after Jules left, and now Sula’s filling it.” Turning to me, he says, “She just wants you to feel welcome and included. Whether or not you take her up on the job offer, I hope you spend as much time here with us as you want.”
“Toni,” Bea singsongs. “Why don’t you just say what you’re buttering her up for?”
Toni laughs nervously. “Who, me? Last time I buttered up something was my morning croissant.”
Bea snorts a laugh. “Just ask her.”
“Okay.” Toni drops his doughnut and faces me, slapping his palms together in a prayer. “I might be massively behind on content for the store’s social media.”
“Ooh, Sula’s gonna get you,” Bea croons.
“You hush your mouth,” he hisses, then turns back to me. “But if I had someone with your creative credentials, your photographic finesse—”
Bea snorts again. Toni gives her a death glare, then smiles widely at me.
“—I’d have a prayer,” he continues, “of digging myself out of this mess.”
“For pay,” Bea says pointedly.
“Of course for pay,” Toni tells her, then says to me, “Do you accept baked goods as currency?”
“Toni! You can’t ask her to do your job, then pay her in doughnuts.”
“Well, I’m sorry, okay? I never even wanted to do social media content, but no one else around here seems inclined,” he says, widening his eyes meaningfully.
Bea’s jaw drops. “I’ve been a little busy! Sorry I’ve only been making art for the place and selling it, not marketing it on social media, too—”
“I’ll do it!” I say, loud enough to bring the bickering to a stop.
Toni snaps out of it first. “Oh my God. You’re a lifesaver, a goddess, a—”
“Woman who requires payment in cash, not doughnuts,” Bea tells him, poking his side.
He yelps. “Of course. No, you’re right. I’ll pay you—”
“As a consultant,” Sula says from just a few feet behind, startling all three of us and making us spin around. “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but you’re all unavoidably loud. I know things have been chaotic this fall, and we’re all wearing a lot of hats right now.” Gently, she squeezes Toni’s elbow. She gives Bea a soft smile.
Then she turns toward me. “Still no pressure to answer today, but we’d love to have you taking photos for our social media. You’d have carte blanche. Get creative, have fun. I’d also love to update the website photos, too, but we could discuss that separately, if you want. I’m a shit baker, so my offer stands to pay in cold hard cash.”
I feel a little kick of excitement, a flutter in my belly like a kaleidoscope of butterflies taking wing. It’s been a long time since I did the kind of photography she’s talking about—purely aesthetic, just for fun, playing with light, experimenting with perspective. For years, I’ve taken job after job, staying too busy to process the emotional toll of covering such intense material. The news is often focused on the worst in the world because that’s what sells, and I do believe in shedding light on what’s bad to wake people up and compel them to fight for change, so I’ve sought out those hard stories. And yet, while it’s been a privilege to try to do something, to uplift voices and advocate through my camera, it’s also worn on me. I told myself that it should, that I should feel burdened and sad and angry about the injustices and human failures that I captured, that I shouldn’t feel joy after seeing firsthand how much is profoundly broken in this world.