Lucky Stiff Read online

  "Oh, God, Erm." A hot blotch of shame crept up my neck. "Look, I just have to go my own way. You know. I'm trying to—I have some things going." How fucking embarrassing. I hadn't thought my circumstances showed that much.

  "Your clothes are shabby." She was looking at the cuffs of my jeans.

  "But clean. A lot of people wear frayed clothes. It's the style."

  "Come on. Even your shoes are frayed."

  It was true, my Bass Weejun penny loafers had been resoled three times now, and yes, the tongues lay soft as mushroom gills. But they were clean.

  In fact, I'd tried. My freelance writing just wasn't bringing in enough money, so I'd applied to several management training programs, one at Comerica Bank, one at J.C. Penney, and one at Midas Mufflers. The tests revealed that I had good verbal skills (news flash there), was lousy with numbers (ditto), and dismal on management skills, however the hell they quantify those things.

  Somehow I couldn't hook into anything solid. I considered trucker school; I considered bartender school; I even considered cosmetology.

  Cops excel at letting you dig a hole for yourself.

  "I'm doing fine, Erma. Really." I sank my cutlery into a meatball and lifted a steaming morsel to my mouth, my saliva almost spurting out to meet it. I wolfed the thing down. "I mean, I'm paying my rent and keeping Todd in bunny chow." I didn't mention that my landlords had reduced my rent so I could afford to stay there, and that I was foraging in people's backyards for leaves for my old sick rabbit. "It's not that I think I'm too good to flip hamburgers or pull weeds, OK? It's just that I'm, I'm just, I'm—oh, hell."

  "No, you're not fine."

  "Well, what, then? Have you been opening my bank statements or something?"

  "Look, Lillian, I can't believe you've let yourself get into such dire straits. You're actually going hungry."

  "I'm a fussy eater."

  "You're not getting enough to eat. Are you depressed?"

  "Jesus, what is this? No, I'm not depressed. I'm happy as a goddamn lark." I kept eating. I hadn't gotten to the point of borrowing money from anyone. I just kept thinking things would turn around. Something would come up. I kept expecting myself to think of a new thing to do: a business to start, or some fabulous idea for a book everyone would need to buy. Something.

  As I sat there talking to Porrocks, what I really wanted to do was burst into tears and wail, "I've wasted my life! A newspaper job I blew, a few crummy freelance bylines, a couple of half-assed warehouse jobs where they didn't even let me drive the forklift, a couple of dollars a night busking on the streets with my mandolin—that's been it! That's been fuckin' it!"

  [End of chapter 1 of Easy Street. Get yours here and now.]

  ALSO BY ELIZABETH SIMS

  Nonfiction

  You've Got a Book in You: A Stress-Free Guide to Writing the Book of Your Dreams

  Fiction

  (It’s not necessary to read either series in order.)

  The Rita Farmer Mysteries

  The Actress (#1)

  The Extra (#2)

  On Location (#3)

  The Lillian Byrd Crime Novels

  Holy Hell (#1)

  Damn Straight (#2)

  Lucky Stiff (#3)

  Easy Street (#4)

  Left Field (#5)

  www.elizabethsims.com

  Elizabeth's Amazon Author Page

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Information

  Reviews

  Also by Elizabeth Sims

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Acknowledgments

  About Elizabeth Sims

  Note From Elizabeth