{{Ginger & Chris}}

{{Ginger}}

I pulled my coupe up to the store, anticipating a stereotypical hippie lifestyle; hem shoes and canvas bags, smart cars and earth tones. Surprisingly, the clientele is quite the opposite, for the most part. In between the tree-huggers walk New York's elite. Birkin bags and red-soled shoes, E-Classes and dark Gucci shades. This lifestyle is gonna take some getting used to, but I have a funny feeling I'm going to fit right in.

{{Chris}}

The job of Regional Trainer is tough, but enjoyable. Most of the trainees are teen-aged and fidgety, and it gets tiring asking them to put away cell phones and stop popping gum. Some don't even stay awake through the sessions. It's slightly frustrating, but it also has its perks. The company car is complete with gas reimbursement, and the salary is not half bad, either. My condo overlooks the city, I eat the best meals with my friends and co-workers. Traveling is done for work and for leisure, but still, something is missing. There is nothing I would love more than to come home to a warm body at night, instead of my prized Bull Terrier, Exige. 


I've never been able to find that certain someone, and dating within the company is not only a serious fail, but a strong risk to take. My ex still works for Wildwood, Inc. and let me tell you, corporate meetings became extremely awkward. At twenty-eight, my life plan is almost complete. Great job, awesome home, financial stability - all I need now is the woman of my dreams to knock the wind from my chest. And I think she just bounced through the door.


The smallest feet step into my office wearing army green Nike Air Max. I look up to see a red-haired angel peeking through the glass doors. 
    'Hi Chris, I'm Ginger, the new accountant. Day one of training?" 
She smiles and exposes her pearly whites. Most New York City women have the same veneer smile. Hers were perfectly imperfect, straight with the brightest wattage. Her eyes light up as she reaches out to shake my hand. Freshly manicured hands, french tips, soft fingers. Her acrylic nails are a bit long for a business setting, but otherwise near perfect. The loose shirt isn't fooling anyone, either - I can tell she's stacked, but it leaves her shape a mystery. I shake off the thoughts in my head and get back to business.
     "Welcome to Wildwood, you are definitely going to be an asset to our company."


After a quick introduction to the the admin team, I lead Ginger to her office down the hall. I know nothing about accounting, but I show her how to navigate her company MacBook and iMac, run the CPA programs for her and give her a tour of the store. She's going to be handling all their money, might as well put a face to the name. A very beautiful face, by the way...

{{Ginger}}

"Left, right, left, right - one, two, three - down!" Verona yells from below.


I climb as high as the rooftop, grab hold of the rafters, and swing as hard as I can. Wrapping my legs tightly around the pole, it's time for the finale. One release of my thigh muscles, and I'm flying down to the ground. 
"STOP!" 
At the sound of her voice, I tighten up - and barely miss my head on the stage. I did it. A sigh of relief escapes me as I ease my feet down to the floor. 
"Good job, thought you were going to bust your head on the floor again," Verona says as she slaps me on the butt. I thank her and head off to the showers.


Six years as a "dancer", and my body is paying the price. I know it's time to leave the field, but where do you find money this good? It started out as a way to pay for tuition; go-go dancing at night clubs, mermaid swimming at mansions. Then, I got an offer to work at King of Diamonds - one of the country's largest and highest grossing strip clubs. The Miami scene was intense - we always had to keep up with the latest trends, perfect our skills - stay on top. Bringing in at least $500 a night is great, but after graduating with my dual-degree in Accounting and Business Management, I am ready for a career change. 


One of my clients suggested I get into the high-end retail industry, and I found a posting at Wildwood for Regional Accountant. Since moving here to NY four months ago, this is the first job interview I'll be going on - the cash I brought from Miami has yet to be depleted. This dance scene is just not the same, and I know I can't do this forever. My fancy sports car and Midtown apartment aren't cheap, though - and I need a job that will balance that. 


I dry off and get dressed in the locker room. Perfections is a nice club, but the girls here just don't bring in the money I'm looking for. Hopefully tomorrow's interview goes well, and the next time I step in this place - I'll be making it rain off the stage...

{{Rashid}}

I hate this place. Nobody pays attention to me. All I do is dirty work and get nothing but this measly paycheck. Ten hours a day - I wash dishes. Wash, dry, wash, dry. Do you think my boss even says hello? Of course not. I get treated like an animal, and I am fed up. Today, I clock out to smoke a cigar in the parking lot. I let the Nicaraguan tobacco bring my mind back home, they would never treat me like this, but I can't go back there. Ever. They exiled me. Well - I had to run away. Nobody can make me re-live my past, but I can't let this continue to be my present. This thing I call life is worthless! For two years I have been here in America; I thought I could start a new life and become a greater man. But I get paid in beans and can't seem to get any benefits. I feel like less of a man here - I don't know how much more I can take. 

I finish my smoke and head inside to continue my shift. As I walk into the back entrance I see my boss, Rafael, getting out of his red Jaguar. Imagine that. All he does is tell people what to do, and he has enough money for an X-Type Jaguar.  How the world turns. Guess I'll get back in there and work the rest of my shift. Three hours won't be so bad, at some point I'll have to see the bright side in this. 

Ten o'clock rolls around and I hang my smock and gloves up, slip out of my boots and reach for my punch card. Time to go home and relax. As I swipe my card, I'm already thinking about pouring myself a nice glass of rum and sitting out on my fire escape. Shoot, I might even call the girl I met at the bar on Saturday and take her out on a date. I won't let this country get the best of me, I have got to calm down before I snap. I promised I would never lose my cool again - where will I go if America rejects me? From now on, I vow to be calm and try my best to stay happy. 

I stroll out to the parking lot, where my shiny "new" 1999 Honda Civic waits for me. I saved up for six months to get this car, and I finally got the money to pay for my inspection and tags. The body kit is nearly perfect, 17 inch rims, and  a nice speaker system. All I want to do is speed out of that lot and get home. Right before I get to the driver's side, I realize there's a car parked way too close to me. Of course, my boss is over the line and I have to climb into the passenger side to get in the driver's seat. I race out of the lot and head home, music loud and bumping heavy. 

The Bronx is always busy, no matter what time of night. My neighbors sit outside sipping beer, one of them comes over to admire the new car. 

  "That's a hot whip, bro - what you got under the hood?" 

We talk pistons and coils as he checks out the body, he hands me a beer and circles the new ride. 

  "This kit is tight, the owner gave you a deal with this scrape on it?" 

WHAT SCRAPE?

Rushing over to the driver's side, I'm shocked to see a red line running across the door. Red paint? Red paint. That asshole Rafael scraped my car. The last swig of beer is wasted on the sidewalk - I am pissed. I say goodnight to my homeboys and march up three stories to my apartment. Forget going out - my night is ruined. I toss and turn in bed as my thoughts race back to the parking lot. Of all the spots - why next to me? Just my luck, as usual. 

He won't get away with this. 

Wildwood - Chapter 2: Hot Foods

Welcome to Wildwood's world-class dining center, where we specialize in all types of natural and gourmet cuisine. Our chefs are internationally trained, and  bring the flavors of the world to your neighborhood cafe. 

Feel free to acquaint yourselves with our chef, cook and wash team - they're here to satisfy your every taste bud... 

Our Back of the House lead team: 

Rafael P. - Lead Chef

Catalina P. - Assistant Lead Chef

Kyle J. - Chef

Margaret W. - Chef 

Our chefs and crew will work nonstop to make sure you leave Wildwood with a smile on your face. Top notch skills, the world's best meals - and the best team around. It's guaranteed that we've got the sharpest knives in the New York region...

||Wildwood Vol. 11||

||Girtrude||

Over the years, I find that the Wildwood cafeteria has the best lunch specials in the city. I especially love the New England clam chowder, so I bring my neighbor Susan to eat with me twice a week. We usually stop by the nail salon for manicures - but today we decided to go later. 

I get my lunch and save Susan a seat - but I'm so hungry that I eat right away. In my haste, I spill my chowder on my brand new chiffon blouse. Not only that, I drop my wallet under the table. 

What a sight.

I struggle to get under the small space, but my hand is met by another. Startled, I lift my head and bang it into the table. Slowly, I draw myself upward and my head is throbbing! Rubbing the nape of my neck; I open my eyes and see stars. Soon as they clear up, a handsome man is standing in front of me with a concerned look on his face. 

" That was some bump! Are you alright, miss? 

Miss? This man must be blind. At 73 years old - I am the definition of "ma'am." He was young - had to be about 60, but no match for me. I smile and fix my hair; 

    "I'm fine, thank you. Appreciate your help, though. I could've never reached that purse." 

He hands the purse to me, and I gently take it from him. 

What next?

I fumble through my brain for the next line - but I've got nothing. I'm too old to be flirting, he's better off not going any further. 

    "Well, that purse was quite heavy - maybe you can treat me to lunch with all that money one of these days? " He said with a confident grin.

"Well, back in my day, young man - that wasn't the way things worked. I don't think your skills of persuasion are working very well." 

Hmmm. Why can't I play his game? A little fun can't hurt, right? 

Just as he starts to speak, Susan walks up with our lunch trays, 

"Outside looks lovely, should we eat in the garden cafe?" 

I hook my arm around hers and grab my tray. Nameless Guy still stands there, grin on his face and all. I pull Susan towards teh exit and smile,

   "We will continue this conversation another day - shall we?"

I keep walking out; waiting on his response, but hearing nothing. Looking back, I see the salt-haired cutie standing in the same spot; mouth wide open. I yell behind me,

"Maybe tomorrow? Yeah, maybe. We'll see."

Wow - this is fun!

||Wildwood, Vol. 10||

||Ayanna:||
One of the pitfalls of working in retail is – you never quite have enough money. I’ve been working here for two years now, and I always feel like my paycheck is inadequate. The trouble with that is - you start looking for alternate ways to get extra cash, especially when you have a mouth to feed. Some of the girls on my team do hair on the side, others bartend and waitress at local clubs, some even have other eight-hour jobs. I’ve tried being one of those girls, but for some odd reason – those methods never worked for me…


I can’t lie – I think I’m a pretty attractive young lady. I’m twenty-three, tall, slender – light skin tone with long, flowing hair. My father is Armenian, and my mother is from Nigeria. I’ve always been led to believe that appearance gets you ahead in the world. I have customers, male and female – who will only shop with me, because of my looks. I’ve never been into modeling or anything of that nature, so I haven’t really known how to use my looks to my advantage, until two years ago.  A customer came through my line that truly changed my life. 


His name is Bruno. He’s a 55 year-old conglomerate king, although I didn’t know it when I met him. He approached my line with a simple purchase; a bottle of pinot noir and a small glass of caviar. As I rang him up, he stared at me the entire time, and when I finally looked up, his smile said that something was on his mind. 
“How’s your day going so far, sir?” I asked him politely. “All is well, especially since I’ve seen you,” was his slick reply. I couldn’t help but smile, and my light-skin makes it almost a guarantee that I was blushing. “What are you doing working here, anyway? Someone should be parading you on their arm right now.” He said with a grin. I laughed, “Things like that don’t happen to me, plus I like working here – it’s one of the best paying jobs in the city.” As he slid his card across my counter, he gently placed it into my hand, “Well, I’d love to take you to dinner one of these days – what do you say?” Mind you, no one has ever made an offer like that to me – so I was caught off guard. I stammered and took the card politely, “Don’t you think I’m a bit young? What would we possibly have in common?” Bruno smiled and turned to walk away, “I’m sure we can find plenty of things to talk about” as he grabbed his bag and exited the store. 


I was flabbergasted. 


Needless to say, I had no plans on calling him, until I saw his Bentley Arnage pull slowly past the storefront. I thought about the women who came in with their “sugar daddies,” women in their twenties like me – who managed to get spotted by some old rich guy. Their lives are perfect; lavish meals, European sports cars, designer clothes that didn’t debut at Fashion Week yet. Like I said, things like that just don’t happen to me. It’s not in my cards to be well taken care of. If I gauge my future on the luck I’ve had in my past – there’s nothing but disappointment waiting ahead.  My daughter’s father is a no-show, and my son’s father is in jail. For the past five years, I’ve been working my ass off to keep their mouths fed and their stomachs full. When I told my former boyfriend that I was pregnant – his first response was, “Is it mine?” This was the guy I dated from junior high school up until my last year in high-school. He was my first at everything, although I can’t say the same in return.  Years of infidelity left me broken and unsure of myself, but the issue of our child was the last straw. After I gave birth to Amaris, I signed the birth certificate and decided to leave his name off the paper and out of my life. I didn’t need him dragging me down in front of my child. Three years later, I was blessed with Joel, my son. Shortly after his birth, his father was knocked on drug charges and sent to prison. That’s when times got hard. 


There were times when I was gathering money from friends to keep the lights on in my apartment. When the lights would get shut off, I would send the kids to my mother’s until I could get things sorted out. Some days, the fridge was empty – other days Mother would demand that she buy groceries for me and the kids. She has been my savior until now.  I have been so used to being independent all my life; I refused to ask for her help.  Sometimes she would slip a hundred dollar bill in my pocket as she left the house, other times she would have my father show up unexpectedly with food. It killed me to know that I couldn’t feed my children on my own.
That’s when I decided to give Bruno a call…

||Yvette:||
Last night’s dinner left me feeling a bit wild when I got home. The idea that all of my friends were out, in their ripe, “cougar” ages – having fun and enjoying life – excited me. I went home with the notion that I was going to bring the spark back to my marriage. I got home and opened the door gently, sliding off my pumps and tiptoeing through the foyer. Robert was on the computer as usual, typing his soul away, the clicks of the keyboard matching intermittently with his darting eyes. I snuck upstairs and showered, all the while plotting my next move. Opting for the red-lace, I paired my teddy with black peep-toe kitten heels and sauntered down the stairs. The room was dark, save for the dim desk light and the illumination of the computer screen. I softly wrapped my hands around him, walking my fingers down his chest and kissing him lightly on his neck. His response startled me – as he gripped both my hands and pulled them away from his body. “Vette - you know I’m busy. I have to have these proposals in by tomorrow.” Without flinching, he let go of my hands – now red- and continued typing. I’m not one to be easily discouraged, so I went for the kill. Dropping my robe, I spun his leather office chair around abruptly, and sat myself firmly onto his lap. “Richard – I’ve been lonely lately. Take care of your wife – won’t you?” As I turned around for a kiss, he took a deep breath, stood up and put both hands on my hips. I was ready to go. “Yvette. I don’t know what menopause is doing to you – but my midlife crisis hasn’t taken place yet. I’m still working – so kindly save this for some other time.” After his monologue, he promptly packed up his laptop, snatched his flash drive from the desktop, and marched towards the door. “I’ll be working from the office tonight – don’t wait up.” He only called me home so I could give him some documents out of my car. My evening ended with the slam of the double doors, and the beep of the ADT alarm. The roar of Richard’s Corvette rumbled loudly then faded quickly into the darkness. I poured a glass of Pinot, sipped myself to sleep and came to a strong conclusion.  I need a boy toy. 
All morning while grading papers, I thought about last night. It baffles me that Richard would treat me this way, after all these years.  Twenty plus years of marriage, as I allow Richard to pursue his endeavors – I spend hours in the gym, making sure I look presentable for my husband. Trips to the spa are like scheduled maintenance on his Porsche – I keep myself in top shape so that my value to him will not depreciate. It seems to me, though – that he loves his toys and gadgets more than he cares about his wife.  Ignoring stares, catcalls and car horns has been mastered in my world – I only have eyes for my husband. These designer threads and European shoes – I wear them simply because I want to look appealing for him – and not a soul more. As time wears on, though – I am beginning to think that all of this effort is in vain. What am I doing wrong? I call my girls on conference for advice. 


{{Katrina:}}
    “Yvette – I’ve told you before, dump his ass. Why do you keep wasting your time trying to entertain him? Unless you’ve got a plasma screen as a face, and a plug coming out of your butt – Richard is not going to touch you. He’s on another planet right now, and you know it.”


{{Martina:}}
     “Hun, all you two need is some alone time. Hawaii has a wonderful vacation package for this time of year. No TV, no phones – take him out to the wilderness and attack him like an animal. I guarantee he’ll be a different man after your Tarzan Jane vacation.” 


{{Josie:}} 
    “If you ask me, I still think you need to check out that mechanic of yours. Whatever Richard’s messing up in your love life – I’m sure he’s got a tool or two that can fix it.”


   We all erupt into laughter, and I take the phone off of speaker to cease the glances into my office.


{{Martina:}}
    “Yvette – have you ever thought that Richard may be cheating on you?”
Silence. 
“In all honesty – the signs are there. He’s always at the office. He never wants to touch you romantically. Sometimes he doesn’t come home until sunup. Those are characteristics of a cheater. I would be concerned, sweetie.” 
Now that the bug had been put in my ear, I can’t help but explore the idea of his possible infidelity. I mean, why wouldn’t he want to touch me? My personal trainer told me I have the body of a twenty-two year-old and the stamina of a jackrabbit. As much as I know he likes to work – most men want time to make love to their woman. Unless, well – he’s gay, which is an option that may not be too far from the truth.  Crazier things have happened. 


Continuing my day, I took Josie into Wildwood to pick up catering for a University luncheon. We laughed about the idea that Richard was secretly dating one of the many drag queens that were parading around the store. As usual, I struggle to balance myself on my Chinese Laundry heels and balance the cheese platter in my arms. I look to Jo for help, but she is busy checking out a muscle-bound gentleman in the supplement section. Quickly – I look for a spot to place the platter, and find an empty lane. As I place the dish onto the belt, my cashier walks up with a smile. “I thought I was going to have to rescue you again with all that food.” I smile, “I wish you could rescue me, it’s been a long day.” Small talk ensues, and as he cashes me out – I feel that rush of bravery come over me again. “I’d love to have you over for lunch one of these days  - to discuss your options at our University, of course.” His puzzled expression is replaced with a dimpled grin, as he asked, “Can I call you later? May I call you?” 
Times like this – I wish I wasn’t white. I know my face had to be beet red.
I give him the green light, and tell him that my cell phone is always by my side. His bagger helps me to my car, and Josie hops into the passenger seat. “So, who is that brown-skinned beauty that you were flirting with? You guys looked pretty comfortable. Wait – is that the hottie you were talking about? My goodness, he’s gorgeous!”  I giggle and nod. “Why haven’t you jumped his bones yet? He looks more than worthy to be your boy toy, Vette. If you won’t – I sure will!” We laugh all the way back to the office, but in the back of my mind I wonder – why haven’t I?

||Wildwood - Vol. 9||

||Alena:||

I've been studying the manual Jessica gave me for weeks now, and I'm starting to feel ready for this interview. Been working here for a year already - I need more money and responsibility. I've been dreaming about a new car for the longest - and my apartment's finally looking like a home. I moved out of my foster parent's house as soon as I got enough dough - I appreciated the space to lay my head, but I'll never go back to that place. I had no life; all us foster kids did was rob and steal to get by; our government alotted money spent on new clothes and cars for our "parents." Never going back. I've got a new life - a life that I control - that I created. Nobody's going to change that.


I never knew my real parents. All I know is that my father was from Panama, and my mother was from Haiti. I don't know how or where I was born, I just know I'm here. If you ask, though - I was born in Tokyo when my father was stationed there in 1985. I am a Japanese citizen; I even memorized a few phrases. The life I created. Something about the stories I tell make me feel good, I mean, they could be true - how would we know? 


Maya comes over and asks me to help a wheelchair customer. She walks away, and her hair brushes against my face. She always smells, looks, speaks - so pretty! How can one person do everything so right? Her life must be perfect. I want to trade with her so bad. If i could spend a minute in her shoes, I know my life would be better. The way she speaks is so put together, her clothes are so stylish and unique - I wonder if she ever has a bad day. Maya just looks so - happy. I long for that feeling. And I'm gonna get it -by any means necessary. 

||Jessica||


I woke up with the sharpest pain in my stomach. I slip out of bed, gently, so I don't wake Brent - and head to the bathroom. Quickly, I check for my period. Nothing. It's been three months since my last cycle, and I'm starting to worry. I keep telling myself to relax and it will come - but there's so many things going on. I know I'm not pregnant, so a test would just be a waste of money and electrolytes. As I pull up my panties and wash my hands, I reach for my phone to check the time. I'm startled by a bang on the door, and my iPhone slips into the sink.
    "What the hell you doin' in there, Jessica?"
"I'm using the toilet, you need the bathroom?"


I stepped out the bathroom, wiping my wet hands on my jeans so I wouldn't wet my phone. 
    "You in there calling some guy, ain't you." 
"What? Of course not! I just wanted to check my period and mark it on my iCalendar." 


Hi southern drawl was what lured me in when we met - but now he just sounds like an ignorant redneck. I can't understand where he gets these ideas from when he's under me twenty-four seven. I've got to stay calm, and hope he'll do the same.
    "You lyin'.  I know you was in there talkin' to someone. Why you gotta be like that, Jess?" 


I slide past him and walk into the bedroom. Time to get dressed for work. 
    "Now you know I'm not talking to anyone else, honey. You're just - paranoid." 
As I lean down to get my pants on - I feel a hand and Brent's firm grip on my face. 
   "You tryna say I'm crazy, huh? And where you think you're going?"
I tell him I'm leaving for work, but he protests. Tells me to prove there's nobody else. Instead of me pulling my pants on - I am being shoved onto the bed - and Brent is slamming himself on top of me. The rest - I'd like to forget. 


I unhook his fingers from around my throat as he sleeps, shower and quickly dress for work. Limping out the door - I spot his handprint on my neck - I'll fix that in the car. I'm so tired of this. 


As I sit in the driver's seat, a wave of nausea comes over me, and I heave onto the pavement. This can't be happening. I fix my face and head to work. I can tell this is going to be a long day. I clock in, and see Alena trying to fluff her hair in the hallway mirror. There's an afro pic in her back pocket - but that girl's hair is long and wavy. I walk past and wish her luck. Something is definitely off with that girl. I love her dedication, though - and that's why I accepted her request to train for supervisor. I think with some fine tuning, her quirkiness could make her an excellent manager. I see a little bit of Maya in her sometimes; ambitious and goal oriented. She's got a great life story, too - that can motivate anyone. 


I feel sick again - and rush past everyone to the executive lavatory. I wash my face afterwards and do a "spot check" on my neck. A little green - but no one will notice. I've got to get over this stomach virus, though. Yeah, that's what it is... 

||Jamie||


As I walk to my car from campus, I get a text from Yvette.
    "Don't forget about me. Registration starts tomorrow. Have a         good day!"
Seeing her message makes me hear her voice. It's crazy how she's helping me with this school deal. And I wonder - what does she want with a guy like me? She says she sees potential, but there's plenty of other kids out there with just as much talent - more, even. Is she attracted to me? I mean, I see the way she glances at me, the way she touches my arm when she laughs at jokes I make. I thought it was all a part of the recruitment game. Now, I'm seeing it another way. She never talks about her husband, any mention of him is about what country he's in at the moment. How can he leave her alone so much? No wonder she checks me out - she's lonely. What would she do with such a young guy? I can only imagine. I'll call her in the morning and let her know my decision. The ride from the Bronx is easy on the train; I could leave my car at home til winter. Partial scholarship beats all the financial aid I'm using right now. Everything's so enticing - why should I say no? Studying law has been one of my biggest dreams, now I can pursue it and make music happen. Shoot - I should call her now...


I get home and pour myself a drink to unwind. I bust my ass this week - finally got a weekend off. Gotta call my boys and hit the clu tonight - because from here on out, it's strictly business. I hop into the shower, spray on some cologne, and throw on something fresh. The club's full of tens - but none that really catch my eye. I grind on a few cuties and then situate myself at the bar. My boys are out there getting numbers by the dozen. I have to chuckle when I see Chris propose to one of the big booty girls - he's a character.  I look around one last time for a chick I could holler at - one girl winks at me from across the bar. I smile, and she makes her way over to me. We dance for a few songs, and it was cool - until Uncle Luke's "Doo Doo Brown" starts playing. Baby girl hit the floor like she forgot about her dress, and broke into a split like a gymnast. She turned around to smile at me, but I was already walking away. Classless, just like I thought, these girls weren't doing it for me - so I told my people goodbye as soon as a slow song hit. 


Three a.m. and I'm showered, laying in bed, while my homeys party it up. I grab my phone and maybe it's the liquor - but I text Yvette. 
    "So, if my answer's yes - can I make you dinner tomorrow?"
I lay back down, and hours pass with no response. Guess her husband must be back. I doze off, thinking about her. Dreams of new music and riches dance through my mind. Eight a.m. and the buzz of my phone shakes me awake. 
Quickly, I snatch it up to check the alarm - a little envelope blinks on my screen. A text. 
    "Dinner sounds wonderful. I'll bring drinks." 
My god. Drinks. Exhale.