Sacked!

by Melinda De Ross

  Carrie giggled. “I remember that, too. They wanted to make their own porn film, but were having trouble finding a willing actress—even you weren’t willing. I thought Dad would kick him out, but instead he asked him if they needed an extra actor. I thought Mom would die on the spot.”

  “Of course Dad hadn’t been serious, but Connor didn’t catch on to that,” I added.

  We dissolved into peals of laughter at the memory. Eventually, our amusement subsided, and I refilled our glasses.

  “So, what about you? Who’s the flavor of the month?” I asked, using the standard euphemism for her numerous boyfriends.

  She covered a yawn with a well-manicured hand.

  “It’s still Johnny.”

  I raised my eyebrows and whistled.

  “Wow! Haven’t you been seeing him for three months or so? That must be a record.”

  “It is, the thing is I’m still not bored with him, and I don’t understand why. Do you think I might actually be falling in love with him?”

  I swallowed my laughter. “Maybe you’re growing up, sis. You’re starting to realize that there’s more to a man than the kind of car he drives and his designer shoes.”

  She scoffed.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Johnny drives a BMW and wears Brunello Cuccinelli shoes. I’ll always pay attention to that. What the hell would I do with someone who doesn’t have money? I can’t exactly live off what I make as a waitress.”

  Leave it to Carrie to see the practical side of things.

  “Speaking of that, what happened after I left the restaurant?” I asked, deciding not to comment on her mercenary streak.

  “It died down pretty quickly. Romano took Phelps into his office. I don’t know what he said to him, but the man left quietly ten minutes later. You were lucky.”

  “Oh, yeah. If only you knew … This is the third job I’ve blown this week.”

  I told her about the cable incident at Finch & Associates, and then moved on to the disaster at the pet shop. By the time I finished, Carrie was laughing so hard that she was crying.

  “God, I would have paid real money to see that!” she said when she was able to speak. “You should consider standup comedy.”

  “No thanks! Not if I have to live through one disaster after another to get new material, but I do have a joke for you.” I sat up straighter. “This guy goes to the clinic, but when he discovers he has to see a female doctor, he’s reluctant to talk to her. Finally, he says ‘Doc, I have a problem. My cock stays up and hard all the time, twenty-four-seven. What do you think?’ The doctor looks him up and down and says, ‘Free lodging and $2,000 a week. What do you think?’”

  We both burst out laughing, choking on the last of the wine. Eventually, Carrie stopped to draw a breath and slapped her palms lightly against her thighs, getting to her feet.

  “God, I’d better get going. My face hurts from all that laughter. This was fun.”

  I grinned. “It was. Thanks for stopping by, Carrie. Oh, let me get your dress. I washed and ironed it earlier. Do you still want to borrow my black lace one?”

  “Most definitely.”

  I went into the bedroom and took her dress from the back of the chair where I’d hung it and grabbed my black lace Valentino knockoff, folded them carefully, and placed them into a plastic bag.

  “Thanks a lot for lending it to me the other day,” I said as I returned to the living room and handed her the bag. “I’m sorry about the earring.”

  “Oh, it’s okay. I scrubbed it with toothpaste, dish detergent, and shampoo. It’s as good as new. We need to do this again.”

  “Yes, we do,” I said, and I meant it.

  Chapter Nine

  I closed and locked the door behind Carrie, then checked my watch. It was just a little past eight. Too early for bed even if I’d had a lousy night last night.

  I went into the kitchen and toasted a bagel. Not the best supper in the world, but given the ice cream and chocolate I’d eaten, it was all I could handle. I was just about to turn on the TV when my phone rang. I reached for it and saw it was Corrine.

  “Hey, girlfriend, what’s up?” I asked, surprised by a call so close to Andrew’s bedtime.

  “Andrew’s been sick all over the house, I have a yeast infection, Dan’s complaining because I’m not up for sex, and the dog ate my tampons. Did I miss anything?”

  I was silent for a few seconds. Finally, I said the first thing that occurred to me.

  “When did you get a dog?”

  “Yesterday. Andrew’s been whining about a dog ever since Christmas. He and Dan showed up with this rescue mutt from the pound. In less than twenty-four hours, he’s dug up all my geraniums, crapped all over the yard, eaten my tampons, and vomited a dozen times. Not to mention Dan took him to the vet, and it cost a fortune for shots, dog vitamins, and flea medication. But Andrew’s happy.”

  “Wow. It sounds to me like you’ve had quite the day,” I said, popping the last bite of bagel into my mouth.

  “Just another day in paradise. What are you doing?”

  “Nothing much,” I said, plopping down on the sofa once more. “I need to get gas and groceries, but Carrie came over and we had wine, so I’ll go shopping in the morning.”

  “Your sister came over and you’re not ranting and raving? That’s a new one. Going shopping? I thought you were broke.” Corrine shouted something at Andrew, almost piercing my eardrum.

  “I am,” I replied when she put the phone back to her ear. “But I got a charitable donation from my parents.”

  “How’s the job at the pet store working out?”

  I huffed out a breath. “It’s not. How much time do you have?”

  “As long as it takes.”

  When I finished telling her about my two unsuccessful and brief recent employment opportunities, she was laughing so hard she began to hiccup.

  “Camilla, you made my night,” she said through giggles and hiccups. “Your problems make mine fade in comparison. Look at the bright side—your life isn’t boring.”

  “Yeah,” I muttered. “Me and my exciting life. Speaking of exciting ... I met someone.”

  “A guy?” she asked incredulous. “No way!”

  “Yes, way. A gorgeous, sexy man who thinks I’m smart and funny.”

  “Well, you are funny ... Spill everything.”

  So I did.

  “You mean he didn’t even ask for your phone number?” Corrine sounded puzzled.

  “No,” I admitted. “He just shows up, turns my life upside down, and walks out again.”

  “Hmmm ... This guy sounds weird. Maybe you should stay away from him.”

  “Maybe you’re right. Anyway, it’s not like I’m obsessed with him or anything. His wife hasn’t even been dead a year, so I can see how he would be torn up over a new relationship. Still, I think he’s attracted to me. I’ll just wait and see. At least I can hope he can get me the job he suggested. I would love to be a legal consultant for an investigative reporter.”

  “Especially if it meant working with him?”

  I grinned. “That would definitely be a bonus.”

  “Well, don’t put all your eggs in one basket. Dan’s mom mentioned that the salon where she gets her hair done is looking for a junior assistant. Apparently, experience isn’t required, and they’re willing to train you.”

  Good thing because I knew nothing about coloring, styling, or cutting hair. Still, a junior position like that probably involved washing hair and running errands. I’d done plenty of the former on my own head and the latter while at Finch & Associates. Still, with the pet store and restaurant fiascos fresh in my mind, I was leery.

  “I have no experience styling hair; I’ve never even dyed mine,” I protested.

  “They only want a junior assistant. Besides, how hard can it be?”

  I bit my lower lip. Carter said he couldn’t guarantee he would get me the job at the newspaper, and the money from the folks wouldn’t last long. Maybe I should at least
consider it.

  “Okay, I’ll go there tomorrow. Tell me where it is.”

  “It’s on Caten Avenue,” she said, giving me directions. Wishing me luck, she disconnected hastily but not before yelling something unintelligible against a background of mad barking.

  Suddenly, my solitary life wasn’t half bad.

  On my way to the kitchen for a soda, I stopped in front of Fish’s bowl to check on him. He was industriously building his bubble nest, but when he spotted me he swam toward me and pushed his nose to the glass, as though to see me better. I smiled affectionately and sprinkled some granules over the water, watching him as he gulped them methodically.

  I studied the bubble nest he’d made. I felt sorry to see him all alone in that bowl. I wondered if he would really become aggressive if I bought him a girlfriend. Maybe if I bought a bigger aquarium, he would be more inclined to share his space in exchange for other privileges. Why else would he keep building the bubble nest if he had no mating instincts?

  I turned on my laptop and sat cross-legged on the couch, deciding to do some research on Betta fish. After consulting several websites, I reached the conclusion there was no unanimous conclusion. Building bubble nests was simply instinctive behavior, and my little domesticated Betta was just following his instincts. In fact, he was probably quite happy. Better to listen to the specialists and keep Fish celibate. After all, I’d been celibate for nearly two years and I hadn’t died.

  Thinking of my neglected—make that nonexistent—love life, I checked my Facebook account. No messages, but three pending friendship requests. I clicked on the icon and gaped at the screen. I didn’t even notice who the first two people were, because the third request was from Carter A. Evans.

  I stared at his profile picture, a real profile shot taken against a fabulous sunset, which paled in comparison to the man himself. His hair was shorter when the photo had been taken, and his tanned skin framed a breathtaking half smile. He looked so happy. The picture must’ve been taken by his wife, perhaps during their last vacation.

  I clicked to accept the friendship request, and the photo albums previously inaccessible became visible. As I browsed through photos of him and Carina, I was overwhelmed with envy. It was unfair, I knew, but Carrie was right. The woman was dead and I wasn’t. If God had seen fit to take her, who was I to question Him? I would give anything, do anything, to have Carter look at me with the naked adoration I saw in his eyes when he gazed at his wife. I wanted so badly to help him heal...

  I jumped when a small sound indicated I had a new message on the chat. With my heart thumping madly, I opened the chat window. It was Carter.

  Hey! Did I startle you?

  I bit my lower lip and typed back, Nope.

  Liar.

  I couldn’t help a snigger. I tapped, How did you find me? There must be dozens of Camilla Jacksons on Facebook.

  There are. But none of the others have pale-blonde hair and a moon-like beauty that stands out even in a photo thumbnail.

  I swallowed audibly, reading the line three times to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. It was real all right. With a long satisfying sigh, I drew the laptop onto my lap and sank more comfortably between the cushions, preparing for some virtual seduction.

  * * *

  I woke up with my neck stiffer than a morning hard on, and every muscle in my body cramped and sore. When I managed to unglue one eyelid, I saw that I was still on the living room couch. From across the room, Fish watched me from his bowl. I’d read that Betta fish often recognized their owners and could do tricks, like following their finger along the edge of the bowl or wagging their tails like a dog. Fish had perfected that trick and wagged like crazy when he saw me open my eyes and stir.

  “What the hell?” I mumbled, sitting up and massaging my neck.

  My laptop was lying on the floor, top up. It was dead of course, the battery having had all the life sucked out of it. Then I remembered. I’d spent half the night chatting with Carter on Facebook. My cheeks grew warm at the memory.

  We’d talked about everything and anything, exchanged funny pictures and videos, even flirted a little. I discovered I could be far more uninhibited when I didn’t have to look into those disturbing eyes of his. He didn’t seemed to mind my boldness. On the contrary, he gave me the impression he’d enjoyed talking to me.

  He’d also browsed through my photo albums and had left some flattering comments on some of my more interesting pictures, like the one where I wore a man’s shirt, tie, and had my hair tucked under an elegant hat. Corrine and I had fooled around that day, a couple of years ago, changing into extravagant outfits and modeling for one another.

  Carter assured me again he would do his best to help me get a job at the newspaper, but I didn’t nag him about it. If he pulled it off, it would be amazing. But if not, I still planned to check out the hair salon thing. I always liked having a backup plan, mainly because I rarely had one and always ended up needing one.

  I dragged myself up, fed Fish, and padded to the bathroom. I spoiled myself with a long hot shower to work the kinks out of my muscles and washed my hair as well. That would be the first thing people at a hair salon would notice, wasn’t it? I soaked it in conditioner and rinsed thoroughly until it squeaked. After I toweled off, I used the hair drier, then brushed the shiny strands and let them fall down my back and shoulders.

  I applied my makeup step by step, starting with foundation, continuing with black eyeliner, gray eye shadow, mascara, blusher, and finishing off with pink lipstick. By the time I’d finished, you could scrape a ton of guck off my face, but I looked like a catalog model.

  As I rummaged through my closet for something appropriate, I chose a turquoise, fluttery dress with short sleeves and a knee-length skirt. It was both elegant and practical, as were the low-heeled shoes into which I slid my feet. I moved all of my stuff back into my white handbag and, after one last glance in the mirror, I was on my way.

  Thanks to Mom and Dad’s donation, I drove to Caten Avenue. It was a ritzy neighborhood next to an upscale shopping center, so it was quite a challenge to find a parking spot. Eventually, I managed to squeeze the Beetle between two SUVs. I took my bag, climbed out, and shadowed my eyes against the late morning sun. I had to walk half a block to reach the fancy facade of the salon. Girls with elaborate hairdos looked down their noses at me from enormous posters adorning the display window.

  When I entered, I sucked in a greedy lungful of cool air. The salon smelled of hair products and scented candles. There were curly patterns everywhere: on the green and beige wallpaper with floral models, on the black and white tiles. Even the candle holders were made from curled metal.

  A man spotted me and moved toward me. He was well-dressed, well-coiffed, and had a manicure I would kill for. He arched one penciled eyebrow at me and smiled.

  “Can I help you, doll?”

  “I sure hope so. I love your nails, by the way. And the hair is divine! No wonder you work in a hair salon. I’m here for the job.”

  “The job?”

  “Yes. Styling assistant?”

  He looked closely at my hair. Apparently he wasn’t displeased with it because he pursed his lips thoughtfully.

  “Have you worked in hair styling before?”

  Never be brutally honest during a job interview, Carter had advised me last night during our virtual chat, but don’t lie either. How you could manage both of those was a mystery to me.

  Well, sincerity hadn’t gotten me very far in life, so I tossed my hair back and gave him a brilliant smile.

  “Sure,” I said cheerfully. “Can’t you tell?”

  “In what department?”

  “I did a little bit of everything. I have no special skills, but I’m an excellent assistant.”

  He looked doubtful, so I pressed on, “I assume you do your own hair. Those highlights are fantastic, a true work of art. Could you teach me how to be as good as you are?”

  That did it. He gave me a blinding smile.


  “I sure can try, sugar. Come, let me show you around. I’m Gabriel, by the way.”

  “Camilla Jackson,” I said, extending my hand for a quick shake.

  The salon was quite large, with a row of six chairs along one wall, facing mirrors, counters and sinks. Strange-looking utensils that I could only assume had something to do with hair design were everywhere, but arranged in a way that suggested someone here might have OCD.

  “This is the working area,” Gabriel told me. “And this is Phoebe, my other assistant. As you’ve probably guessed, I’m the king and owner of this place.”

  I smiled, giving Phoebe a little wave. She was a petite, plump, brunette with shiny curls and lively brown eyes. She waved back as she chopped away at her client’s hair, a young girl with a mop of long hair behind which I could distinguish the glint of multiple facial piercings.

  “Here’s where we keep the supplies,” Gabriel said, showing me to a small storage area. “Your job will be to know every single item in here, from hair dye to pins, and bring them to me or Phoebe as we need them. How good a hairdresser are you?”

  A memory flashed through my mind. My only experience with hair trimming had been when I was in third grade and had decided our dog needed a haircut. That action hadn’t generated too many accolades, as the poor creature had ended up with a very irregular hairdo, with patches of long gold fur alternating with bald spots. I’d thought it was creative at the time. My courage ebbed.

  “Well ... I don’t have much experience in that department. I’m better at hair styling.”

  Gabriel turned sharp brown eyes toward me. What had I screwed up?

  “How did you hear about this job? We haven’t advertised it. Only those associated with the salon know that I’m looking for another assistant.”

  I told him about Corrine’s mom.

  “Oh, you’ve been recommended by Mrs. Brooks? Why didn’t you say so, sugar? You’re hired!”

  I was dumbstruck.

  “Really?”