I rolled my eyes. Willie had been obsessed with me since first grade, asking me to every dance from seventh grade through high school and several significant events since. For my part, I never accepted, nor had any intention of doing so.
"…I’ll cut you some slack," he continued. "Give you a few days."
"Great. Now what about reimbursement for my big-ticket items? I turned in the video, remember?"
"I remember. But I can’t forward your paperwork to the national office until your claim’s complete and you get all the receipts to me—"
"And the sooner I get them in, the sooner I get my money. I know! I know!"
"Good." He cleared his throat. "Uh, Lees, my insurance adjuster came back with a few questions."
"Questions? About what?"
"I’d rather discuss that with you in person. How about over dinner? Why don’t I meet you somewhere? My treat."
"Sorry, but I’m not up to going out. I mean, I leave for a minute and homes go up in flames. I can’t leave Dad’s unguarded." I turned over my shoulder and shot a look at Alice, who rolled her eyes and mouthed "lame."
"Um, really?" Willie had a way with the English language. "That’s, uh, too bad. Look, we really need to talk. What say I come over? I’ll bring takeout. How about tonight? I’m off at six."
"How about you just tell me what your adjuster found out?"
"Okay then," Willie sounded disappointed. "Not much to say. The adjuster found the ignition site, or I should say, sites. But nothing points the blame specifically at your contractor. No scorched electric outlets or anything like that. There’s plenty of evidence of accelerants, however—"
"No doubt all attributable to the products Gus used to refinish my floor," I said. "It’s likely that Gus accidentally left something plugged in and a spark ignited the dust they’d kicked up from stripping the floor."
"That doesn’t explain the fire apparently starting in multiple places at once." There was that uncertainty again. What had happened to Willie’s confidence?
"Sure it does," I said, frustrated. "Think about it—dust everywhere. Flying sparks. It’s as good an explanation as any."
"Leesa, the investigators didn’t find any tools plugged in, period. And if a spark had caught fire while Gus was still there, he would have noticed it."
I sighed, frustrated. "Call me when you have news or a check ready for me." I hung up and turned back to Alice.
"Bad news?" Alice asked, eyebrows raised.
"Still no culprits in the towering inferno version of Leesa’s kitchen becomes ash. Now tell me, did Jules tattle on me to you?"
"Jack called."
Uh, oh. That couldn’t mean anything good. My father and Alice had a strange relationship, sort of like a pair of divorced parents who’d never been married. Jack looked after Julie. Alice took care of me. I was acting up so Jack called Alice in.
For a time after my mother’s death, I thought, or maybe wished, they’d marry. There was a lot of suspicious chumminess going on between those two. Alice’s toothbrush had its own hook in Dad’s bathroom. Even though they never married, they remained friendly. I sometimes wondered if she and Dad still slept together on occasion, though the last time I’d had a heart-to-heart with Alice she’d said she’d given up men and become celibate. I focused my attention back on her.
"Dad! Forget about him." I paced. "He just wants me out of his hair. Did I mention that he’s been singing his stupid get-a-job song at least a dozen times a day?"
"Sit down, Leesa." She patted the sofa cushion next to her.
I sat.
"Julie thinks you need counseling." Alice sounded calm, unconvinced, frustrated.
"Julie’s in this get-Leesa-out-of-the-house deal, too."
"The fact remains that you sleep most of the day, and you’re not looking for work."
"Not true! I make my three job contacts per week just like the Employment Security Department requires. I can show you my records."
"There’s a time waster. Who do you know who’s ever gotten a job that way? Precious few people do, I assure you. Stats bear me out." She sighed and squeezed my shoulder. "I didn’t raise you to end up like this. You need to get your feet under you again."
"Sure. Fine. I agree with you. Feet, no problem. But I’m not going to a stupid pop psychology seminar." I paused for effect. "Here’s an idea, why don’t you and I hang out together that day instead?" I gave her a fat grin, hoping to charm her into the idea.
"Can’t. Sorry. I’m leaving that afternoon for a business ethics symposium in Florida." Alice didn’t look at me as she spoke, a sure sign of guiltiness.
I forced a smile. "Sure, but the thing is, late July isn’t the best time for Florida. Hurricane season will be starting. It’d be safer and more fun to stay here." I gave her a playful little bump with my shoulder. "If you don’t stay, I’ll have to run away."
Alice smiled with me. I’d been threatening to run away since I was three. Back then, I got no farther than the curb. I wasn’t allowed to leave the yard. Given my finances, I probably wouldn’t make it much farther now.
Alice sighed. "I have only your best interests at heart. The seminar was my idea."
I stopped smiling. "Yeah, I figured."
"Dr. Raison spoke highly of Ryne Garrett and his Breakthrough to Greatness sessions when he took us through his session on ethics and honesty on campus last spring, before his death." She shook her head. "He was only fifty-eight!"
Alice was a business professor at the University of Washington. She mourned the loss of knowledge as much as the man.
"If this Dr. Raison you’ve mentioned so often recommended Breakthrough, it must be pricey," I said. "Dad probably spent way too much. In consideration of his financial health, I think it’s best if I bow out of this adventure."
Alice shook her head. "Nice try. Your father owes you this one. Jack can well afford to send you to it."
No he couldn’t. She knew that, and I knew that. I wondered just how much Alice had kicked in to make this seminar happen. It would have been impolite to ask, or even hint.
"You’re going." She reached across and squeezed my knee.
I sighed. Alice could ooze simpatico when she wanted to and act as if we were exactly of like mind when my mind wanted to run in the opposite direction.
"I hate seminars," I said. "Besides, I don’t need this one. How many times do I have to tell you that Howard is going to make me an offer?"
Howard Lindberg was my dream boss. Aggressive, savvy, logical, and a corporate political genius. He took care of the people under his charge, especially those whose work and ideas he liked and respected, like mine. Howard was the second engineering boss I ever had, and even though he stood a mere five foot eight inches tall, no one had ever measured up to him any way close.
He jumped jobs and companies with regularity and the same ease that Superman jumps small buildings, always ratcheting his career up a notch or three in the process. He pulled me along with him when he could and I was a happy follower. He’d bailed me out of a pink slip situation or two in the past. And now he was looking like salvation again.
"If he’s going to make you an offer, why is it taking so long?" Alice looked skeptical.
"It’s only been a little over a month. I had to interview with the other two VPs as well as Howard and the CEO. Everything’s set now. I passed muster with everyone. Now Howard just has to wait until the corporate quarterly report comes out second week of August. When they hit their numbers, I’m in!" I gave Alice a reassuring nod.
"And if they don’t?"
I shook my head. "They will. Howard gave me the inside scoop. And believe me, Howard is never wrong."
"So why not make you the offer now?" Alice gave me that raised eyebrow look again.
I hated skepticism.
"Corporate politics," I said. "It doesn’t look good to be making big fat offers and passing out tasty signing bonuses until the numbers come out."
She changed the subject. "Lees
, The Breakthrough Seminar deals with more than just careers. It will help you get control of your life." Alice stroked my hair. "I have something for you. Something to entice you into going." She singsonged the words as she reached down into her bag.
Alice pulled an e-reader in a slightly beat up light pink leather case from her bag and placed it on my lap. It looked suspiciously like hers.
"What’s this? Your e-reader?" I picked it up. Being lent her e-reader was a long way from the bribe I expected.
"My old e-reader. I got a new one." She opened the leather case and switched the e-reader on. A book popped up. "Breakthrough to Greatness, the book!" Alice sounded way too excited.
"I like old fashioned paper books," I said.
Alice shook her head. "For an engineer, you sure are a Luddite."
I had no idea what a Luddite was, but it didn’t sound complimentary.
I sighed and shook my head. Alice knew I had a rule about reading nonfiction—I didn’t. Not unless I had to. Having to basically consisted of technical material related to work, or a medical journal when the need arose and I was feeling hypochondriacal. And even then, I skimmed, picking out the important parts and ignoring the rest.
"Read it, Lees. I guarantee it’ll charge you up and change your life. Wild horses won’t be able to keep you away from that seminar."
Maternal optimism.
"But if I read the book, I won’t need to go at all." I slid her a smug look. I prided myself on sound logic.
"I’d feel much better if you did go."
That was as close as Alice ever got to begging and like scissors beating paper, it won out over logic every time.
I shrugged, defeated, knowing I’d already caved. "When is it again?"
* * *
My cell phone rang, playing the ringtone I’d set up for Cara DeAndrea, my former friend. Cara had been my best friend since seventh grade. Until recently. She was short, dark, plump, Italian, and bossy.
I should have blocked her number. She’d been calling and texting me incessantly. Until now I’d refused to answer or respond. I picked up. "I’m not ready to talk to you."
"It’s been over a month."
"Not long enough this time."
We sighed in unison. Over the years we’d developed a pattern for fighting and making up that went something like: betrayal, discovery, anger, thoughts of revenge, loneliness, reconciliation. Sometimes the process took minutes, sometimes months. Our record was two. Months.
"I’m still steaming," I said.
"You’re being illogical. You were the one who turned in the report stating that your position was purely overhead and could be cut if layoffs were necessary. With a report like that sitting on my desk, how could I not let you go?" She sounded frustrated.
"You could have reassigned me to a nonoverhead position."
She sighed. "Believe me, I tried."
I didn’t believe her.
"Look, I’m really sorry about your house. Why don’t I take you out to lunch and we can talk?"
"Not now."
"Lees, how long is this anger phase of yours going to last?"
I didn’t have a crystal ball. "No idea. And don’t try calling me again today. I’m turning off my phone as soon as Alice gets here to pick me up. I’m going to a seminar."
"A seminar? You and Alice? I didn’t think you liked seminars. What’s Alice dragging you to?"
"I’m breaking through to greatness. By myself. Alice isn’t going." I tried not to sound too testy about the whole deal. But upbeat and perky wasn’t suiting me.
She gasped. "Breakthrough to Greatness! That’s spendy."
I was surprised she’d heard of it. I certainly hadn’t.
"Unemployment benefits must be better than they used to be."
"Don’t bet on it. Alice is pretending that Dad’s paying, but she’s behind it."
"Doesn’t Greatness preach a bunch of self-realization, inspirational boloney? If I were you, I’d bail."
"Don’t tempt me. Alice is forcing me to go, like it or not." I heard the distinctive sound of a car rolling into the driveway. "Here’s Alice now. Gotta run."
"Lees, call me—" Cara said before I punched the button to disconnect.
Chapter 3
Job-free days: 35
July Unemployment Log
Applications to date: To God—please save me from inspirational speakers!
Number of rejections: Pesky ex-best friend Cara keeps calling, wondering what I’m up to and why I don’t call her back. Gee, I wonder why? Didn’t I get her hired and she get me fired, pardon me, laid off, at my ex-employer? The last time I had a heart to heart with her I got a pink slip.
Thoughts for the day:
Evidently, the key to greatness, as described by Ryne Garrett, the greatness guru (yes, I have done some skimming), is to "help enough other people get what they want, and greatness will come to you. You’ll get everything in life that you desire."
Sounded like a crock of something to me. But what the heck? Maybe it was worth a shot. Since the book encouraged setting goals, I’m making one of my own—help one person today get what they want. Alice wants me to go to the seminar and I’m going. That should count for something!
* * *
Alice drove me into downtown Seattle and let me off in front of The Northwest Institute where the seminar was being held. This Garrett guy evidently owned and commanded a whole corporation, which conjured up a picture of an older, stuffy sort of guy. After weeks of listening to Dad’s harangues, I really wasn’t into hearing another old man lecture me. I was approaching the day with about as much enthusiasm as I would, oh, say, a root canal.
To accommodate Alice’s schedule, she’d dropped me off half an hour early. I had time to kill before going in. I yawned and noticed a Starbucks across the street. If I was going to have a prayer of staying awake during the lecture, I needed a mega dose of caffeine.
One of the worst things about being unemployed is that the little things you used to take for granted, like mochas and scones, become luxuries. You have to weigh every purchase. Every minor expenditure takes thought, consideration, and has the importance that only big ones used to, which makes shopping or spending tiresome and wearing. To cut down on impulse buys, I’d left my credit cards, checkbook, and debit card at home.
Three months ago, I’d have had no idea how much cash I had in my purse. But now I knew practically to the penny. Penny accounting! I hated it. I had in my possession one twenty-dollar bill, one one-dollar bill, a bus pass, and a few pennies. No Breakthrough to Greatness T-shirt for me. But I could afford a cup of java.
Dressing for the seminar had been another problem fueled by unemployment. With my wardrobe one of the major casualties of the fire, and no job, hence money, to shop, I’d had to resort to raiding the happy hunting grounds of Julie’s ample closet. Hey, if she didn’t want me borrowing while she was away on vacation, she should have done more than tell me to stay out of her stuff. If she’d been serious, Julie would have locked her room.
I tugged Julie’s tight black knit skirt down over my round rump, and reminded myself not to make a habit of pulling the skirt down. Very unattractive and looked like I wasn’t used to dressing sexy. I’d always had a pert behind. And, hey, I could be a sexy babe. But in truth, I hadn’t donned a skirt in months.
In addition to Julie’s skirt, I wore a sleeveless white and black knit sweater with horizontal stripes chosen because it was mercifully not purple, as most of Julie’s clothes were. The sweater looked great on Julie with her flat chest, but rode tightly over my buxomness, a little more sexed-up than the T-shirts I generally wore.
I tottered along on Julie’s three-inch high white sandals. Since Julie wore a size ten and I wore a seven, I’d wrenched the buckles on the back strap onto the smallest notch. An inch of shoe stuck out behind my heels. As I headed across the street, I imagined that I looked like engineer Barbie playing dress-up—all legs and breasts and toes on point.
Outs
ide, the air stood still. Amazing for downtown Seattle. Generally a breeze kicked up off the Sound, stirring a chill on the warmest of days, our very own natural air conditioner. Despite the calm, the soft sounds of a jazz guitar drifted across the street to me.
A bus shelter stood in front of Starbucks, the requisite street musician leaning against it, scruffy-looking in baggy shorts, boots, and T-shirt. A lone guitarist strumming the blues. Surprisingly, he wasn’t bad.
As I stepped up on the sidewalk the red "don’t walk" hand flashed and, as if on cue, the guitar man stepped into my path. "Hey, Legs."
I tried to sidestep past him. He feinted. I parried. We did a little two-step ditty. Finally, I nearly lost my balance on those darn spike heels. He caught me by the arm.
"What are you, the sidewalk troll?" I asked, shaking loose from his grip. "Do I need some kind of secret password to get by? A toll? A donation to your coffee can, perhaps?"
He grinned. "Just trying to play a tune for a pretty lady, Legs."
I shot him a frosty glare. I had half a mind to skewer him with my stilettos, but hurting a bum didn’t count as helping another person, and Julie’s sandals weren’t sturdy enough to pierce his hiking boots. "Don’t call me Legs."
The troll grinned. "Legs is a compliment. You show off a long, lean pair of gams by wearing an itty-bitty skirt you gotta expect a certain amount of attention." He played a quick riff.
I rolled my eyes.
"I don’t usually stop the patrons," he said. "But we’re conducting a campaign of the utmost importance. The city’s doubled the fricking license fee they charge us to perform on the streets and we’re just calling attention to the fact. I’m trying to raise the dough to pay my damn fee." He pointed to a hand-lettered sign resting against the bus bench.
Save street music. Fight taxation without representation. City doubles street musician license.
"You’re kidding. You need a license to perform?"
He nodded. "I don’t come up with thirty bucks by sunset, they kick my ass out of here. This is my spot and I worked damned hard to get it. I ain’t giving up without a fight."
Pink Slipper Page 2