by Shara Lanel
As Kerry examined the revolving racks of cards, she wondered how in the world she could have such a thought, and over something so frivolous as an eight-dollar bar of soap. If she’d had to stay on the street without food or prospects, then she could understand the temptation to go into a grocery and take a little something. That was survival, though she knew she’d rather starve. But stealing soap made no sense at all.
Quickly moving out of the store, Kerry got her bearings on the street. Just past the theater, she spied café tables. Perhaps she could get a glass of water. The Byrd Theater had a small line forming at the ticket window. Through the open door she glimpsed red carpeting, purple chandeliers and concessionaires dressed as 1920s flapper girls behind the glass counter. The smell of popcorn drew her. She noticed the prices listed behind the glass in the ticket booth. Only ninety-nine cents! How wonderful, but it was still ninety-nine cents she didn’t have.
At the counter inside the café, Kerry asked a stocky attendant for a glass of water.
“Bottled water is a dollar.”
“Just a cup of tap water please.”
“It’s twenty-five cents for the cup.”
Three people stood behind Kerry waiting to give their order. Heat consumed her cheeks as she realized all of them would hear what she was about to say. In a low voice, she admitted, “I don’t have twenty-five cents.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“I’m sorry. That’s policy.” The theater attendant shook his head, clearly feeling as though Kerry was nothing more than a waste of his time.
“Do you have a water fountain?” she asked, again her voice low, her face heating further.
“No,” the attendant bit out, then looked pointedly past her to a businessman. “Can I help you, sir?”
Dejected, Kerry walked slowly out to the sidewalk. She might as well head back to Rick’s and see if the door was unlocked. The lure of shopping paled when one had no money. Plus, the temperature continued to rise and was now at an unbearable level. She had no doubt a good thunderstorm would be appreciated by all. Except those with no shelter. She thought of Harold, the homeless man she had met during her brief time on the streets and sleeping in her car. Once she had a bit of money in her pocket, she’d go back to Monroe Park and offer to buy him lunch.
Back at Rick’s, she tried the door to the Florida room and found it unlocked. Kerry let out a whoosh of breath. She would go inside and drink water to her heart’s content. As she stood at the sink filling her glass, she realized that Rick trusted her. As desperate as she was, it would be logical to believe she would steal. Good thing Evan didn’t know about the back door. He’d have flipped out, and would surely have locked it on her.
Kerry chugged a glass of water. She certainly didn’t want to experience dehydration again. She poured another glass to sip as she explored Rick’s cupboards and fridge, hoping to find something simple for lunch. She found several spice jars in the cupboard next to an out-of-place box of sugary cereal. Kerry smiled. Either this was Evan’s influence, or Rick had a deep dark secret. She could chide him about it when he returned.
She frowned. He’d certainly taken to Lydia quickly. How could he stand someone so aloof, someone so obviously stuck on herself? Didn’t he know she would never let him touch her the way Kerry had? She most likely “made love” in bed, missionary position, with the lights off. If she had sex at all. Kerry imagined her declaring in a snooty voice, “Not until we’re married, sirrah!”
Chuckling, she poured a bowl of cereal then looked in the fridge for milk. Only soy milk. Figures. And it was plain, not vanilla or chocolate. Kerry added it to her bowl since it was her only option, and hoped it wouldn’t totally destroy the flavor of the cereal.
As Kerry spooned puffed Os into her mouth, she thought about that moment at Mongrel when she’d been tempted to steal the soap. What had possessed her? Why not take something pawnable from Rick, something small that he wouldn’t miss? Far more practical, and then she’d have some emergency cash. But the thought made her sick to her stomach. He’d bestowed his trust and his home to her. She couldn’t betray him in that way. Besides she was sure he would give her money if she asked, but she would never ask. She didn’t want to prove Evan right.
Cereal finished and the bowl rinsed out and placed in the drying rack, Kerry walked to her—Rick’s—room to inspect her clothes. She wanted something to wear for collecting applications. She had a couple items from her previous life, but the rest of her clothes had been acquired at a Wal-Mart during her journey, definitely not interview material.
Kerry pulled the clothes Rick had laundered from her duffel. First a white, linen blouse with a low ruffled collar. She held it up and realized that something was wrong, something besides excess wrinkles. It was too small, way too small. How had that happened when she had lost weight in the past couple of months, not gained it? She set it aside and pulled out a pair of navy blue knit pants. They too had shrunk.
“What the hell?” Kerry held up three more pieces. Each piece was wrinkled with threads pulled out and way too small. They all smelled fresh though, the smell of Rick’s laundry detergent. She looked at the tag on the white shirt and realized what all these clothes had in common. Dry clean only. Rick had put them all in the washer and dryer. They may have been okay with the gentle cycle if line-dried, but once tumble-dried they were ruined.
Kerry sat on the bed and put her head in her hands. It seemed she was not allowed to keep even the smallest link to her past. She couldn’t blame Rick. He’d been trying to do a good deed. The washer and dryer were probably new to him since leaving the monastery and men seemed oblivious to clothing tags anyway. She hoped he didn’t put his suits in the dryer!
More clothes bulged from the duffel, some of which she had been wearing since she’d lost her car. Most were stained, ripped or frayed. She folded each piece neatly and sat them on the bed. She found a denim skirt that only had a frayed hem and a small coffee stain on the front. Most of her Wal-Mart shirts were T-shirt material. She’d gone for comfort, but she’d also wanted a look so different that someone from her old life would have to stand directly in front of her to recognize her. The pale pink tee had gone with the skirt nicely, but it now had large gray and peach patches on it.
Finally, she settled on wearing Rick’s white shirt, as if it were her personal style and not a hand-me-down, with the denim skirt. Shoes were another issue altogether. The Gucci loafers had been worn almost constantly on her trek from California. They’d gone through mud puddles, been splashed with gas, and the soles were starting to separate from the heels. Yet her cheap Keds knockoffs didn’t look much better, since she’d worn them during her brief waitressing stint. Well, they would have to do. Hopefully no one would notice her feet. Hopefully no one would ask for an interview today. Of course, the sooner interviewed, the sooner hired.
This thought reminded Kerry of another issue. Potential employers needed to be able to contact her. She lifted the receiver of the bedroom phone. No phone number marked. Hopefully it was marked on the kitchen phone or listed in the phone book. She wanted to go around and put in applications now and she had no idea when Rick planned to return. She also needed his zip code. Usually they asked for complete addresses on applications. Well, first things first. Kerry changed into the skirt, ran a comb through her hair, and reapplied deodorant.
References too, she thought as she did one last check in the bathroom mirror. What should I put for references?
She hadn’t had an actual job since high school, and that had been a brief stint in a clothing store. Her father had wanted to teach her to have more respect for money, so he’d insisted that she buy her own clothes with money from a job.
At first, Kerry had thought she’d hate having to work while most of her friends chatted on cell phones and planned trips to the Bahamas, but she’d discovered that she enjoyed working, not only for the forty percent clothing discount and the chance to be the first in a new design, but for the people. Her boss and coworke
rs were a blast; the customers trusted Kerry’s expertise.
Then her daddy, sensing that his girl was having too much fun in the service industry, had pulled the plug. He’d upped her allowance and told her to quit. She’d refused, so he’d called her boss and had her fired.
Kerry refocused on the present as she jogged down the stairs to the living room to hunt for the phone book. Mrs. Slonski from the La Jolla boutique would give her a good reference, but two things concerned Kerry—would a high school job be relevant at her age, and would a call to anyone she knew lead her family to her? Probably not, but was it worth the risk? When she’d responded to the “Help Wanted” sign at the Roanoke restaurant she hadn’t even had to fill out an application. Kerry hadn’t really thought about it at the time, but that place was not entirely above board, not to mention that the boss was a sleazeball.
In the drawer with the phone books, Kerry found a small black book with Rick’s address and phone number written inside the cover. She copied down the information and tucked it in her skirt pocket. I’ll just improvise the rest.
* * * *
Several applications later, Kerry sat at a table at the pancake restaurant waiting for the manager to speak with her. On each application, she’d made up three to four past jobs with bogus California phone numbers. She prayed that calling California would not be worth the hassle for the potential employers. They just needed to see from her application that she had work experience. She didn’t mention the job in Roanoke. She certainly wouldn’t want anyone calling that employer since she’d slugged him when he’d come on to her.
“Hello. Kerry?” A short, trim woman in khaki pants held out a hand. Kerry took it and shook it firmly. “I’m Rebecca Tucker.”
“Nice to meet you,” Kerry said as Rebecca slid into the booth across from her, scanning her application as she did so.
“So you have worked in food service, but not serving?”
“Correct.”
“I see that you have no local references.” Rebecca focused clear blue eyes on Kerry. “How long have you been in Virginia?”
“Just a month.” She didn’t want to volunteer information and trip herself up.
“Do you have family here?”
“No, they’re all in San … San Francisco.”
“So what have you been doing this past month?”
Kerry glanced away from the direct gaze. “Getting settled really. I think I might apply at VCU. I’m looking into grad programs.” Kerry had also decided not to mention Stanford on her applications—again, too many family connections—so she’d put UCLA since that large state college had no associations with her family.
“What made you decide to come to the East Coast?” Rebecca had stubby fingers with short clean nails. No wedding ring. She looked to be in her early forties judging by the fine crow’s feet about her eyes and a strand or two of gray in her mousy brown hair.
Again, Kerry looked away. “Ah, just a change of pace. I have a friend here who invited me to stay.”
“I see.” Rebecca smiled. “You’ve marked that you can work any shift?”
“Yes.”
“And you can start immediately?”
“Yes.” Kerry felt a stirring of excitement. Perhaps she could start today and have money in her pocket by evening.
“Well, this all looks good. We can train you, so your lack of serving experience is no problem. We do require you to purchase your uniform.”
Kerry frowned, but Rebecca didn’t seem to notice.
“I’ll need to make copies of your driver’s license and social security card for our records, and the IRS of course. We’ll consider you training for the first few nights, so that will pay minimum and the server training you will keep the tips. Then once you’ve picked it up, you’ll receive three dollars an hour on your paycheck with the rest in tips. Of course, if your tip totals ever fall under minimum wage then we’ll make up the difference, but that never happens.” Rebecca slid to the edge of the booth. “Do you have any questions?”
“Am I hired?”
“Would you like to be?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then as soon as I verify your references, probably this afternoon, I’ll give you a call. You could probably start tomorrow.” She stood and offered her hand again.
Kerry shook it, forcing a smile to her face. So many problems, Kerry thought as she left the air-conditioned restaurant and felt the blast of July air. So close. She knew she could’ve had this job. She could’ve lied about the social security card, said she’d left it in California, which she had in fact. She did have her driver’s license, though it was out of date. She’d thought this manager was going to hire her on the spot without looking into her references at all, but once she realized none of the California numbers worked, she wouldn’t give Kerry the job. Well, the job wasn’t ideal anyway, since she’d have to wait to get tips. Would all the other places be the same?
Once back in the alley behind Rick’s, Kerry sat down on the old couch and put her head in her hands. Sometimes she felt so hopeful, like she could start a new life on her own, but other times she felt as she did now, like she should give up.
Who am I kidding? I should just go home, tell them I have incurable amnesia. But then they’d expect her marriage to Jason to go on as planned. She still couldn’t believe that her dad had helped Jason cover up his crime. At one time she’d admired her dad, thought he could do no wrong. He had been full of fire and aspirations, but those admirable goals had morphed into dreams of greed and power.
“Kerry?”
Kerry looked up.
“Are you okay?” Rick opened the screen door. He wore cut-off denim shorts and was, as usual, barefoot. “You’re not suffering from heatstroke again, are you?”
She smiled at his concern. “No, I’m fine.” She was glad to see him, since he took her mind off some of her worries.
Rick sat down on the couch next to her, causing the springs to squeak.
“So where were you all off to?” Kerry asked, shading her eyes from the sun. She tried to quash her tinge of jealousy over Rick’s easy acceptance of Lydia.
“Lydia wanted some breakfast, brunch really, and Evan mentioned the diner on Third Street. Have you been there?”
“No, though I may have passed it in my ramblings.” She recalled the neon sign and chrome stools and counters in the 50s style restaurant, and her mouth watered as she thought of hamburgers and milkshakes.
“I should have left a note…” He sounded as if he genuinely regretted the oversight, which warmed Kerry a bit.
“Why? You don’t owe me. I’m just glad you left the door unlocked.” She stood abruptly. “Let’s go inside. It’s oppressive out here.”
Rick grinned as he held the door open for her. “You make my shirt look good.”
Kerry walked passed him, rolling her eyes. “Oh, that reminds me. I think in the future you should refrain from doing my laundry.”
“I’m sorry. I had not thought you would mind.”
“Well, no. The clothes were rank. The problem is you washed some of my dry clean only clothes.”
“Dry clean only?”
“You know, clothes you take to the cleaners, clothes that are not supposed to be washed in water.”
“How do they get clean if not with water?”
They stopped in the kitchen. Rick pulled some green tea from the refrigerator and Kerry poured herself a glass of water. After sipping, she said, “Actually, I’m not sure how they do the cleaning. Chemicals, I think.”
“What happens when they’re washed in water?”
“Well, they shrink and shrivel. Of course, that may have been from the dryer. I don’t know.”
“I shrank your clothes?” Rick looked horrified.
Kerry laughed. “Just some of them. No big deal.” Of course it was, but he didn’t need to know that.
In the living room, they both sank onto the couch. Rick stretched his arm along the back. Kerry could feel the heat
on her shoulders. Her heartbeat sped up, thudding in her ears. She took a deep breath then a sip of water, trying to keep the images out of her head, especially the one of Rick sleeping on the floor with just a small strip of cloth covering his bare body. She closed her eyes and breathed in his rich scent. The smell of incense lingered on his clothes and about the house. What if she had curled up behind him on the floor and wrapped her arms around him, spreading her fingers across his pectorals, playing with his small nipples? Would he wake immediately, and if he didn’t, would she have been brave enough to slide her fingers lower, to remove the sheet and reveal his sweet ass? Would his cock be hard while he was asleep, or would he grow hard as she caressed his balls and circled his shaft, squeezing gently, stroking him up and down?
Kerry’s breathing quickened, but she did a mental head shake to break out of her fantasy before she did something embarrassing. At least he couldn’t read her mind or know that her panties were wet just from thinking about him. Think about something mundane. Make conversation. Should she tell him about her job prospecting? It was too early to say whether anything good would come from it, but at least she would sound active. “I filled out some applications today.”
“Applications?”
“For a job.”
“Oh.” Rick smiled and his eyes brightened. He seemed awfully pleased. Was he itching to get her out of his house as soon as possible?
“At some restaurants near here. I don’t know if anything will come from it.” She didn’t want to get him too excited. At least, not about jobs, she thought wryly. She wouldn’t mind him getting excited about certain other things, like touching her and licking her. Then she remembered Lydia, a meeting choreographed by Evan to get Kerry out of the picture. This morning it seemed to work.
“Of course it will. Speak as you wish it to be.”
“Positive thinking, is that it?”