Sophia and the Automat
Sophia stepped off the bus, nearly tripping on the last step and approached the automat. She knew there was at least fifty cents in her left pocket, plus the ten or so dollars in her purse. Pressing her hand to her hat to keep it from blowing off of her head, she cursed herself for being such a good girl. Of course, she reasoned, running away was not exactly good, but she should have been brave enough to take more money. Her parents were more than well-off; they certainly could have spared any amount of cash and probably not have even noticed its absence.
She walked back and forth in front of the boxes containing various meals and beverages. Then she settled on the coffee. It was more expensive than a sip from the water fountain, but she had nearly frozen outside during her transition from the bus to the automat. She needed something hot if she was going to keep going.
Sophia nearly burnt her fingers on the cup. She hurried to place it on the nearest table and then sat carefully, crossing her legs and digging in her purse for the map she had folded up messily before leaving.
Boston was another fifty miles. She could be there in less than an hour, she supposed. But maybe she did not want to go to Boston anymore. New York sounded so much more exciting.
Or maybe something tamer, like Rhode Island, would be better.
The entire world was at her fingertips, figuratively and on paper. She could go to Hong Kong or Brazil or England. She could visit Versailles or the Grand Canyon or Taj Mahal. All of these places she had read of in books, but never did she expect she would have the opportunity to actually visit them. Now she did and she did not know where to start – or even if she wanted to.
It occurred to Sophia that maybe she should just go back. She knew it would only be a few days and she would run out of money, even if she was conservative with it.
An elderly man approached the cubbies and paid for a chocolate cupcake. Sophia expected him to sit down, perhaps at the table next to her, and maybe even give her a heart-to-heart, but he did not. Instead, he left, letting cold air into the room in a severe gust.
Sophia stirred her coffee absent-mindedly while still gazing at the map. Maybe Boston was the place to go. She could always start there and if she wanted to leave, she could. There were probably jobs available there – even if it was low-paying, she did not need much.
When she looked up to rest her eyes, she spotted a payphone by the door. She had not seen it when she had first come in and she was glad she had not. She had been miserable then: cold and with wet shoes and hungry. Now she was at least warm and her shoes were drying. Had she not been, she would have called her parents and apologized, sobbing into the phone with a curved, shaking back, and begging them to come and get her.
Sophia recrossed her legs and took a sip of her coffee. By now it had cooled to a more tolerable heat. It warmed her throat and then her stomach, spreading throughout her body in a pleasant wave.
“God,” she said. “What the hell am I going to do? Whose dumb idea was it to run away anyway? What twenty-one year old woman runs away from her parents’ house?” She shook her head, disgusted with herself, then stirred her coffee some more, desperate to have something to do with her hands. Then she traced the path from her house to her present location on the map with her index finger. “God dammit,” she swore, biting her lip.
“Now that’s my kind of girl,” a woman across the eating area said. She had a voice with a sort of twang to it, but it also had a clear New York accent.
Sophia eyed her. Most of the woman’s body was in shadow, but from what Sophia could see, she wondered if the woman was a prostitute.
“Excuse me?”
“Taking the Lord’s name in vain and all that,” she said, getting up. When she reached Sophia, she stuck her hand out. “Loretta,” she said. “That’s my name. You need a place to stay, kid? I got a hotel room about a mile down the road. ‘Fraid I don’t have a car to get there, but the walk ain’t bad. Got two beds in it, and I only use the one. Don’t have a man friend at the moment.”
“Are you a – excuse me, but are you a prostitute?” Sophia realized after it was probably not appropriate to ask. She sighed, embarrassed for herself.
“Gosh! You really thought so? Not on your life. I’m an actress. Travel loads. A girl has to know how to protect herself out here. Figure if I look a little roughed up, won’t get approached, see?”
“I guess so.”
“So,” Loretta said, pulling up a chair. “What’s your story, kid? Look pretty young to be out here on your own. Run away from your husband? Get a little heavy on the drink, maybe? I’m a drinker myself. Hope you don’t mind. Not a lot, mind you, but enough to take the edge off. Cigarette?” Loretta held out a cheap cigarette case, pressing it close to Sophia’s face.
“No, thank you. I’m actually from Connecticut. I was thinking of heading to Boston—“
“Well, golly, girl! That’s where I’m headed. You see, there are lots of actin’ jobs there. I bet we could get you one! You’re pretty enough. Got a nice figure and all that.” Loretta held her hands up, framing Sophia with her fingers. “Yeah! You’d make a fab actress. What do you say, kid?”
“How’s the pay?”
“Oh, it’s here and there, you know. Not steady, but if you catch a break…”
“I accept.”
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