I woke up very late the next morning, foggy-headed. The phone had rudely turned its volume up to 10 — or so it seemed — as it shrieked at me from the kitchen. I staggered out of bed and shuffled to the phone, wondering what on earth could be so important.

“WHAT,” I growled.

“My goodness! Big night, Duchess?” said my best friend, sounding pleased with herself for waking me up.

“Jana, seriously, what are you doing calling me so earl-” I barely got the words out before she started laughing.

“Early, sweetie? Is that what you call 11am? I waited as long as I could to hear all about the big First Night, but some of us have been up since five, so SPILL,” she commanded.

No rest for the wicked, I thought wearily.

“Fine, but can you give me five minutes? I just got out of bed. I need to put some clothes on.” I wandered back to my bedroom-living room-dining room area — it's a pretty small studio apartment.

“Ok, but I want to hear everything! Spare no details.” She hung up.

Had I known she was going to be so demanding, I would’ve held out and bargained for the afternoon. But once that girl sets her mind, you can forget about not giving her what she wants. She was a brat, but she was my brat, and it was one of the things I loved about her. She somehow managed to always get what she wanted. I wish I were more like that.

Twenty-five minutes later, I was happily showered, eating a late breakfast of cold pizza, and describing my night to my best friend. I embellished a little, and felt triumphant that I made it through such a strange experience, and managed to make money on top of it all. When I went to bed last night, I wasn’t sure if it was something I wanted to continue, but now I was convinced I could do this. It was not exactly easy, nor was it the best income in the world, but at least I could use my sex appeal, and end up with some fun stories to share.

Jana seemed impressed with my ability to navigate the Castro, though she played it cool.

“Honey, you’ve never been around gay people in your life, living out in the middle of Nowhere, USA! Did you embarrass yourself asking questions? Did you do that thing you do when you get nervous? You know, that thing with your feet?” she poked at me lovingly.

“Shut up! I don’t do that anymore. I was totally cool. I acted like I’d been to the Castro every day. It really was great, Jana. I met the most wonderful older couple….” I launched into the next details of my night. Jana loved this kind of stuff. I was delighted she was so supportive.

After another 20 minutes of this, she finally asked “So, are you going to work tonight?”

“I don’t know, I guess so. The night manager didn’t say anything about it, and I was pretty out of it by the time I left. I assume I should talk to Selene.”

“Yeah, you might want to call first, check and make sure what the next step is. Though, it sounds like you did well enough, financially.

“Pale, listen: I know you’ve been restless lately because of … you know, this last birthday of yours was sort of important, with your birth mom and everything…” she said gently. “I get it, you are trying something new. It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about that. Just be careful, and have fun.”

I ignored her comment about my birth mother. After all, what was there to be said? Jana was right, I’d just turned twenty-six, which was the same age my birth mom was when she…found me a new home. Except for my first year before my adopted mom ran out on us, it’d been just my adopted dad and me since I was a baby. It was just weird and painful to think that I was the same age she was when it all happened.

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I snapped out of my thoughts when Jana said, “I have get back to work, but I also want to talk with you about boyfriend stuff. Can you free up some time soon?” I could hear her roll her eyes at the term "boyfriend." It sounded like she needed to vent. Jana and Alex were in love, but they had recently moved in together, so they were still "magnetizing,” as she put it, and this process had caused some friction.

“What are best friends for?” I said, and agreed to a day later in the week.

Selene answered when I called the office. We chatted for about 10 minutes about inconsequential things, and then she asked how my night went. I gave her a truncated version of what I told Jana. When I got to the part about whether or not I should come back, I suddenly got nervous.

There was a pause on the phone, then Selene said, “Well, I was looking at your numbers from last night, and they look fine, especially for a Thursday. I'd say you did average for a girl on her first time out. I want to bring you back in tonight, and for the rest of this weekend also. We will see you tonight at 6:30 p.m.?” she asked confidently.

“Sure!” I said, relieved.

“Great. Bonsoir!” she said and hung up.

So, that’s it? I thought. I was employed. Just like that. I was pretty certain that “real” jobs required harder work: snazzy resumes, sweat-inducing interviews, agonizing waits by the phone, all that awful stuff that went with finding the right company to work with. But just like that, based on sex appeal and some sales? This’ll be like taking candy from a baby.

Next I called my dad, relieved that I finally had some good news to share. He’d been down on me for several months over my directionless life, and I wanted him to back off about the job, especially. He wanted me to go back to school and finish my degree and had been nagging me about it — a lot — but the prospect of school just seemed unrewarding, at best. I think he was just lonely, because ever since I moved to San Francisco, he’d been calling more and more, and even threatening to come and stay to, as he put it, “get me back on track.”

The phone rang over and over, and on the 12th ring he picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hi Dad, it’s me.”

“Oh. Hello honey,” he said after a pause. I sighed. He was not exactly sharp today.

“Dad, I’ve got some great news. I started a new job last night, and it went really well. I am going back again tonight, and am working all weekend!”

“What kind of job are you working at night? Is it security? Or a call center, like here in Modesto?” my dad asked. His family came here from Germany when he was a boy, so his questions were very direct, and came out sounding a little abrupt. The accent didn't help either. He didn't mean to be intimidating, and would often soften his tone for me.

I also knew he didn’t mean to ask me if I took the most Boring Job Ever, but I couldn’t help it, I lashed out.

“Dad! That’s why I left Modesto, so I wouldn’t have to take crappy jobs like that! No, it’s more exciting and interesting than all that! God, sometimes I think you want to freeze me in carbonite, like Han Solo,” I said, exasperated.

There was a pause as Dad shuffled around the kitchen. I heard the clanking of jars on the counter and dishes in the sink. I could practically see the dirty yellow countertops, coupled with the dark brown 70’s wallpaper. I sighed again.

“I’m sorry. I just don’t want the same things that you want. Can’t you be happy for me? It took me a long time to find work, and I am going to try really hard to make money.”

There was another long pause on the phone, more clattering. I knew he was trying to think of the right thing to say.

“I don’t want to carbonite you, Pale. But I don’t want you to get into danger and jail and such either. I am your father, it’s my job to tell you these things, okay, Chewbacca?” I could hear his smile at the end. Star Wars was our favorite movie to watch together, and Chewbacca talk at the dinner table was one of the ways we would deal with our loneliness, together.

I smiled, and laughed softly. “RAWWWWRRRR!” I said back, doing Chewy’s roar.

We both laughed.

“Okay, you be careful out there, and tell me all about it in a few days, ja? Don’t make me use The Force!” My dad the comedian, ladies and gentleman, I thought silently.

“Okay, Dad, sure thing.” I hung up, and didn’t give it a second thought. After all, danger was exactly why I took this job.

I packed a bag full of makeup and hair-styling supplies while humming that old song, “I Want Candy.” I walked out the door, excited for tonight’s adventures.