V I C K I G R A N T
40
Like we wanted him there.
Like we cared what he thought.
Like we could afford to eat better with him
scrounging off us.
So Andy smoked in his face all the time just to
make her point—i.e., “you can leave any time.” Of
course, she would have made the point a whole lot
better if she’d stopped paying for his takeout organic
salads every night, but would she listen to me?
On top of that, Andy was screwing up at Atula’s
too. I figured it was because of all those late nights
arguing with Byron, but she wouldn’t tell me much
about it. I’d just catch bits and pieces when I met
her at her office after work. One night—about three
weeks after Byron parked his carcass in my room—I
was coming to get Andy to go to McDonald’s and
I heard Atula really laying into her. I guess Andy
had rolled her eyes at a judge in court that day—not
something you do if you’re actually hoping to win
your case—and Atula was ripping. She was going
on about this being the last straw, about Andy’s bad
attitude lately, about being tired of having to cover
for all Andy’s sloppy mistakes, etc., etc., etc. I had
the feeling Atula was just getting started, but I’ll
never know. She saw me at the top of the stairs and
stopped talking immediately.
