Not worth the time

Drunks wandering out of Chilton’s at closing time across the street would notice the flickering blue glow of the television which lit Janine’s living room window on the third floor. They wouldn’t see her sitting in front of the television, though. Instead, she was across the room, hunched over the tiny pressboard desk her computer sat on.

               She had started with a glass of wine but now just sipped from the bottle. Her screen scrolled before her bloodshot eyes, though she was mostly tuning it out. When her feet started to tingle she knew she had been sitting long enough. As she did every night after her 16-hour day, she pulled up her website, the one she had made for her tiny salon when she and Louise had started it, before the whole mess that followed.

               Squinting against the bright screen, she scrolled quickly to the customer reviews. Even after a half bottle of wine, and sitting in the dark, her eyes were immediately drawn to it – a one star review. At first her body tingled. Then came the sensation of a cold sweat, like she would get when Louise would ask her about certain clients she seemed awfully close with. She stared at the one star for only moments, but it felt like an eternity.

               Beside this anonymous slap in the face were the words, “Not worth the time.” And that was it. No explanation, no follow up, just four words and a glaring, singular yellow star. A giant middle finger from some anonymous bitch for the entire world to see. Forcing her eyes away from it, she glanced around the screen for a second before looking at the review once again. Now it felt even worse.   

               Janine sat back in the chair and glared at those four words, her mind racing. It had been posted earlier, at 10:23 AM. Like a Rolodex, her mind flipped through all her clients that day. It had to be someone from earlier in the morning, but her first two clients were long time patrons who she knew were satisfied. Thinking further, she realized it could have been anyone from the last week or longer; a cunt having a bad day at work remembering the time she got a subpar blowout and deciding to make her day brighter by shitting on the stylist.

               There was a slap as Janine’s palm hit her forehead. Then her eyes glanced at the dark shape of the bottle beside the monitor, and she grabbed it, taking two large mouthfuls. In one swift movement she stood up from the chair and made several long strides with her gangly legs to her handbag laying on the couch. By feel, she rummaged through it until her fingers closed around her pack of cigarettes, and she dropped her handbag to the floor and in a few more long strides she was standing in the kitchen.

               There had been that one Asian woman who didn’t speak during her entire appointment. Janine thought perhaps she was unhappy with her style, but she had tipped Janine well enough and didn’t mention anything. That was over a week ago.

               Slamming drawers but finding no lighter or matches, Janine lit the burner on the stove and held the end of a cigarette to it. As the kitchen window slid open, a frigid draft fell in, along with the scent of used cooking oil from the Thai place at the end of the block. Janine exhaled slowly, watching the smoke drift away into the darkness.

               A thought caught Janine suddenly. She could easily enough delete the review – or rather, Louise could delete it. Janine wasn’t good with the web stuff. That had been Louise’s realm, and she loved to handle it all. Janine just did the hair. She hadn’t even thought about it since Louise had moved out two months ago. She had the number of an acquaintance who was willing to help with the website, though she hadn’t bothered to call her.  

               Janine’s body ached from standing on her feet all day. She leaned heavily against the counter, smoking, listening to the infrequent sound of cars driving by on the wet pavement. The flowerpot Louise used to grow jalapenos sat blankly on the sill, now full of cigarette butts and a bottle cap. She unceremoniously plucked it from the sill and dropped it into the trashcan, gazing at it briefly before she fell out of the kitchen in a stumble now that the wine was working. Down the hallway she staggered, running a hand along the wall to keep her from tipping.

               Janine had never gotten a bad review. In the two and a half years the salon had been open, she had gotten no less than three stars from all 34 reviews that had been posted to the website. This was mostly by design – she rarely took on new clients who she didn’t already know in some capacity.

               Janine spilled into her unmade bed and stared at the ceiling which was beginning to spin. Her back hurt and her legs were aching, and in a more sober moment she realized she only had about six hours before she had to be back at work. Her frustration was slowly baking into dread, unable to decide what that one little star meant for her future as a hairdresser. But Louise would know what to do about it, she thought. Or at least she could take it down. Sure, it went against the agreement they had when they made the website, but it was fine. It was just one review, and it was the worst one. She could leave all the three-star ones.

               Struggling to dial, Janine did her best to compose herself as it rang. It had been weeks since they had spoken, and that had been more of an argument than anything else. As one ring followed the next, she was suddenly panicked at the thought of Louise not answering. As she was about to hang up and dial again, she heard the groggy, “hello?”

               Sitting on the edge of the bed, swaying, Janine was suddenly at loss for words. Her mouth hung open, but no words slurred out.

               “Hello?” came Louise’s voice, this time agitated.

               “Uh, hi. Hi. It’s…me,” started Janine.

               “What is it?” Louise replied flatly.

               “Uh so, so I need a favor,” mumbled Janine. She attempted to stand to pace but found herself sitting again.

               Only silence.     

               “So someone posted a bad review of the shop on the website, and, and I was hoping that maybe you would get it off…”

               After a moment there was a sigh, followed by, “So, more cheating, then?”

               Janine bristled drunkenly but let the comment go.

               “It’s just that it’s the only bad review and I don’t want to take them all down but just that really bad one,” she slurred.

               “And you’ve been drinking, of course,” came Louise’s reply.

               During the pause that followed, Janine felt her eyes closing. She exhaled loudly, holding the phone down and glaring at it for several moments, tempted to hang up.

               “Look, can you just do it or not?”

               Louise was quick to answer.

               “No Janine. I don’t have anything to do with the shop anymore. It was just like our relationship: it wasn’t worth the time then, and not worth the time now.”

               Before she realized it, the call was over. Janine sat on the edge of the bed, still swaying, the phone sitting in her lap. Louise had hung up without another word. But something had struck her about what Louise said, something that she could have pinpointed faster without all the wine. She gave into the swaying and fell backward onto the bed, the ceiling spinning out of control now. Trying to think of anything other than the spinning room, she suddenly heard it in her ears as she repeated Louise’s words.

               Not worth the time now…

               Janine groaned loudly to herself and laid on the bed until she fell asleep.