This one I felt needed to stay in the vault. It took me YEARS to get over this, let alone stop thinking about it. Here and there, it pops up in my mind and I’m like, “who summoned you?”.
This is one of those “shoulda, woulda, coulda” joints.
This “friendship” was the root of my believing that New York City is Fraud City aside from my banking experience. I could not for the life of me understand how a friend could conspire against me and sit there trying to help me find resolve. It’s giving neurotic.
Let’s take a step back.
A twelve-year step back.
I met her in community college. I wanna say we had English and Music History together. We bonded over the English professor being a d*ck and advised each other on what to write. We were both spectacles to each other because of our nails.
Her having ’em long with 90’s airbrush and line work.
Me doing ’em myself.
Now that I think about it, we truly had nothing beyond that.
Slowly but surely, she became one of my first nail clients. A real one. I can remember the first time I did her nails.
$20.
And I continued this for her even after raising my prices for everyone else because I’m like, sis supported me when I was new to the market and could barely file straight.
(I’m a licensed nail tech, if you didn’t know.)
Anywho,
Nail appointments were regular and we started sharing other things. I knew about her boyfriend. She knew about mine. We shared bits and pieces about our families. She met my grandmother. I met her best friend and a few others who became nail clients. We were on a roll! Also, ten consistent clients? Get outta here.
I was sure that sis was my friend once she invited me to brunch.
Then it turned into game night.
Superbowl party.
New Years Eve.
She even called and cried to me about John*.
She’s my friend all right.
It was March 19, 2016. (I know you’re like, “get over it, Ella!” Hush.)
Early morning appointments were our jam so I grabbed a Lyft and some breakfast and made my way over to her house. She was getting ready for a wedding in the afternoon. (So she say) She asked me to go with her to get a pedicure. I was cool with it. More time for us to gab alone, to the pleasure of her boyfriend. As he sketchingly sat on the couch with his laptop, I grabbed my ID and a 10-dollar bill, leaving my wallet tucked in between my nail supplies in my tote.
It’s my friend’s house, right?
I can leave my wallet behind, right?
I’ve been to all the things.
Ha.
(Think the skeleton cab driver from Halloweentown when reading that ‘ha’.)
She sketchingly texted her boyfriend the ENTIRE time we were at the nail salon. I thought, well damn they’re really into each other like that? They lived together. Again, ditzy me not knowing they were plotting.
Against me.
Got back to her apartment, not thinking about my wallet, unpacked my nail supplies and got to work. (Two hours passed; now Ella grabs her wallet to put back her ID)
Low and behold, my wallet is in a doozy! Cards upside down, pictures lopsided, extra cash, gone. I was confused all hell but my stomach flopped knowing EXACTLY what had happened.
During the nail session, I noticed her text John*, “So are you going to order the sneakers now?” Mind you. He’s sitting on the couch, about a foot away. Wouldn’t that have been something to say aloud? It’s not like she was asking, “So we f*cking when she leaves?” I then put two and two together.
I began to panic and suffer mild heart palpitations but had a clear enough mind to open my banking app. Voila. A charge on my credit card for $334.73 to PayPal which I swiftly googled. A sneaker reseller.
[In addition, I found a charge on another credit card a few days later for a T-Mobile bill. J*sus.]
Nice.
I was in the house of sneakerheads so it came at no surprise. At this point, my crybaby ass cried. One, because this dude stole my cash, credit card information, and my f*cking dignity. Two, because now I’m sitting in the house of scammers and scared to address it because they could do whatever they wanted to me, like throw my ass over that 14th floor balcony. Three, this bitch just got her nails done by ME, the f*cking goofy!
She sat there, with the “I’m empathetic” face as I cried and even offered to call PayPal for me when John* abruptly asked, “Call them for what?” [BINGO. Time to go. He’s bugged.] I sat there and called Chase and reported my card stolen and immediately got the charge reversed. [Bitch.] She ushered me out of that apartment with the quickness, claiming she had to get ready for the wedding.
To this day, I still feel like she ain’t go to no damn wedding, but I digress.
A few hours passed and I called my mom, my aunt, my best friend, the whole world.
My mother and aunt squeezed her phone number out of me. [Long story short, my cousin filmed as my aunt was on the phone with her to which Ms. Davis* replied, “Let it be” and hung up.]
At 4:08pm, she texted,
“Hey I know I am the last person you wanna talk to… But do you feel anything towards John* and I?”
Admission of guilt?
Nah.
By the time I went to reply, my messages went green.
*insert Chrissy Teigen smile*
She’s not your friend, that girl…
Til the rusted police report flies,
Ella.
*names changed to protect the less than innocent.
The Daily Ella 