Ronnie and I began discussing household finances. Out of the $5,000 I had saved, he stated that there was only about $175 left. I hadn’t worked in over two months, and we were living solely on that money. I still had no clue how he afforded our living, but he always had his contribution ready and on time. He would leave at the strangest hours, claiming he was off to work, while I would turn in application after application, praying that someone would actually call me in for an interview.
Never had I been in such a predicament. I had never dealt with payments such as rent, cable, phone, food, or gas, much less a car note and insurance. I knew it was bad karma—punishment for my selfish actions and disgraceful behavior. I wept like a small five-year-old lost and separated from her mother.
Ronnie carried me from the deck to our living room, where the skylight gave life to our soft and plush almond-colored carpeting. We lay staring at the moon while he convinced me that all would be okay.
“What’s for you will be for you. Remember that,” he said, reassuring me.
That’s really all it took for me to fall asleep in his arms. As we headed to the Pancake Factory the following morning, our conversation about finances continued.
“Mia, don’t take what I’m about to suggest the wrong way,” Ronnie began. “Try to analyze my ideas with an open mind.”
“What is it, baby? What were you going to say?” I asked. Ronnie hesitated for fear of my reaction but pressed forth anyway with carefully chosen words.
“Did you ever think about dancing?”
“Honey, you know I love to dance! But how can you make money dancing? In music videos? In plays? It’s a bit farfetched, don’t you think?” I asked.
“No, Mia. I mean dancing in a night club, as an exotic dancer.”