The Good Kind of Greed

Roxanne was slumped over the desk, staring out the glass doors, the glare so harsh she could barely make out the used Hondas.

A woman entered, heels clicking on the tile, chin held high, so that she was looking down on Roxanne, despite being 5'1". She looked wealthy, but rich people didn't live in this town. They especially didn't get their nails done at Amy's.

Roxanne helped her, then slipped out for her break. The sun was beating down, but she found a little shade by the dumpsters. She leaned against the one-story building, puffing a cigarette.

She wasn't jealous of that woman, for all that she was dolled up, seemingly confident. Under that veneer of leopard print she was probably just scared. There was a reason people like that wore sunglasses indoors.

Roxanne didn't want style for the sake of snobbery, a life spent clutching so tightly to money that you never spent a dime.

What did she want? A cruise. Diamonds. People to listen when she spoke.

She had always planned on going back to school, traveling. Course, she'd always put it off. There was always tomorrow, she'd said, when she found another day had trickled by while she'd stood still. She was forty now, tired, with permanent lines by her eyes.

Her fifteen minutes ended. She stomped the cig on the concrete. Amy said if she worked real hard, she might make manager.

Roxanne chuckled at that. She'd never learned ambition. Wasn't gonna start at Amy's Nails.