Little Bitty Lies

by Mary Kay Andrews

  “I’ve heard it, but I never met anybody named that,” Mary Bliss said. She’d never met anybody named Queen Esther before either, but she kept that to herself.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do about these damned Kod Kakes,” Mary Bliss said, rubbing her toes now. “The product demonstration host I took over for, this guy named Art? Right before he left, he said something about my pay being tied to the number of samples and coupons I hand out. The man who hired me never said anything about that.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Just that I was hired,” Mary Bliss said. “The classified ad said twenty-two dollars an hour. I just assumed that was what the pay would be.”

  “Twenty-two dollars an hour? For real? I bet the manager of this whole store don’t make twenty-two dollars an hour.”

  “Art said he’s the company’s top producer, and he only makes eight dollars an hour,” Mary Bliss said. “I guess the ad was just a come-on. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to fall for it.”

  “Sounds too good to be true, it usually is,” Queen Esther said. She scraped up the last of the cottage cheese from the plastic tub with a plastic fork, then snapped the top back on the tub. “Guess I better get back on the floor. I need to sell me three more of them Liz Claiborne watches so I meet my quota for the night.”

  “Can I ask you something?” Mary Bliss said. “How do you do that? How do you make people want to buy something?”

  Queen Esther tapped her head with her forefinger. “It’s up here. I make up my mind how good those watches are, and every person comes within shoutin’ distance, I tell ’em what a great buy they are. I make it a game, see? Like tonight, I told myself, Esther, girl, you ain’t going to dinner ’til you’ve sold six watches. It took me ’til nine o’clock, but I did it.”

  Mary Bliss sighed. “At least your watches look good. And they don’t stink to high heavens.”

  “That’s true,” Queen Esther said. “Course, unless you got motivation, you ain’t got nothin’. You motivated, Mary Bliss McGowan?”

  “I’m motivated,” Mary Bliss said grimly. “I’m flat broke, my husband’s gone, and I’m about to lose my house if I don’t make some money in a hurry.”

  Queen Esther whistled softly. “Girl, you in a mess. Sound like you need to make them Kod Kakes disappear.”

  “How?” Mary Bliss wailed. “People won’t even come down my aisle.”

  “You gotta get rid of ’em, right? Queen Esther gave her a broad wink. “Think about it. Use your head, girlfriend.”

  At nine-fifteen, Mary Bliss trudged back to station 4. The frozen food department was deserted, except for an elderly man who was studying the frozen pizza case.

  Mary Bliss popped a Kod Kake into the toaster oven and started rehearsing her sales pitch.

  When the toaster oven dinged, she took the Kod Kake and arranged it on one of the little paper cupcake liners. She carefully spooned Mrs. Korey’s Kocktail Sauce all over the fish stick. At least the spicy red sauce disguised the smell somewhat. But it needed something else. Something to make it look palatable.

  Mary Bliss had an idea. She darted over to the produce aisle and grabbed a handful of parsley. Then she snatched a lemon from the citrus fruit display. Back at station 4, she sliced the lemon into thin wedges, one of which she slid under the fish stick. She pinched off a sprig of parsley and put it on top of the pool of Kocktail Sauce.

  “Oh, sir,” she called out. The elderly man turned around and looked at her quizzically.

  “Can I interest you in sampling an exciting new appetizer?” Mary Bliss made her voice sing. “This is our very newest product. And I’d love for you to try some.”

  The man wheeled his cart forward a little. He wore a sweat-stained yachting cap on the back of his head, and little wire-framed eyeglasses perched on the end of his weather-beaten nose. “Is it free?”

  “Oh, yes, sir,” Mary Bliss called. Come closer, she thought fiercely. Come see what I’ve fixed for you, old man.

  He did her bidding, wheeling the cart right up to station 4.

  “What is that, fish?” he asked.

  Mary Bliss was thankful for the lemon wedges. The sharp smell covered up the fishy odor of the Kod Kakes.

  She offered the doctored-up fish stick with a flourish. “It’s called Mrs. Korey’s Kod Kakes. Fresh-caught all-natural seafood from the bracing blue waters of New England. I just know you’re going to love them.”

  In actuality Mary Bliss had no idea where Mrs. Korey got the kod for her Kakes. It could have been from a roadside ditch in Lower Alabama or a nuclear waste dump in Arkansas for all she knew. But what she did know was that she had to make this man like Mrs. Korey’s fine fish sticks.

  The old man took one. He nibbled on the edge, smacked his lips a little. “Not bad.” He chewed vigorously. Mary Bliss turned her head so that she wouldn’t have to watch. She should have felt guilty, she knew, but she didn’t.

  “Wouldn’t you like to try another?” she said, as he polished off the first one.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” the old man said happily.

  Mary Bliss placed two fish sticks in the toaster oven. “It’ll just be a couple minutes,” she told him. “They’re best when they’re hot and crispy right out of the oven.”

  The toaster dinged, and Mary Bliss prepared the fish sticks, slathering them with sauce, two lemon slices, and a small forest of parsley.

  The old man chewed noisily, and Mary Bliss busied herself cleaning up her station. “Yummy, aren’t they?” she asked.

  He nodded, working his jaws.

  “And we’ve got an amazing manufacturer’s coupon we’re offering tonight,” Mary Bliss continued. “With the coupon, you’re going to get a carton of eighteen Kod Kakes for a dollar ninety-nine.”

  He smiled widely, and small crumbs of breading spilled down his already soiled white sport shirt.

  Mary Bliss felt herself on a roll. “I see you were doing some comparison shopping on those pizzas,” she said boldly. “But, you know, these Kod Kakes are a much better bargain. Do you live alone?” she asked the man.

  “With my son,” he said, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin.

  “Mrs. Korey’s Kod Kakes are individually wrapped for freshness,” Mary Bliss said. “So you can cook just one, or three or four, if you and your son are dining together.”

  “That’s true,” the old man said. He picked up one of the cartons of Kod Kakes and squinted, looking at the fine print on the back of the box.

  “And another thing,” Mary Bliss said. She was determined to make this her first sale of the night. “It’s a proven fact that cold-water fish like our Kod Kakes are full of natural fish oils, which is proven to reduce the risk of plaque and gingivitis and arteriosclerosis.”

  “That so?” he looked up at her, clearly impressed with her medical know-how.

  “Oh yes,” she said airily. She opened her cooler and let her hand rest delicately on the lid. “Nutritionally speaking, as well as economically, our product is clearly the best bargain in frozen food products. Only a dollar ninety-nine for eighteen delicious Kod Kakes. Of course, this is a grand-opening special, and they’re going fast, as fast as, well, Kod Kakes.” She giggled unashamedly.

  “How many boxes would you like?” she asked, giving him a flirtatious little wink.

  “Four oughta do it,” he said, blushing a little.

  Mary Bliss handed him a wad of coupons. “Oh, take six,” she insisted. “It’s such a wonderful buy, I’d hate for you to miss out on it. And I just know your son is going to love them too.”

  When he’d wheeled away, with his cart stacked high with Mrs. Korey’s Kakes, Mary Bliss pumped her fist in the air and did a little victory dance.

  She’d made her first sale. Suddenly, her calves didn’t hurt and her stomach wasn’t churning. She cleaned up her station, shoved the rest of the Kod Kakes in the big walk-in freezer, and limped over to the time clock. It was five minutes to ten. She’d earned her first
paycheck. Not the twenty-two an hour she’d been promised, it was true, but it was a start.

  Tomorrow, she promised herself, she’d have it out with that peckerwood Jeff Robertson. And she’d definitely ditch the shoes.

  19

  Mary Bliss stripped. She stood under the shower and soaped herself with the expensive Crabtree and Evelyn lavender soap she’d been saving for a special occasion. She washed her hair with the grapefruit and mint shampoo her hairdresser had talked her into during her last visit, conditioned with honey-coconut crème rinse, and then loofahed her body until her skin was nearly raw.

  When she was convinced that all traces of Mrs. Korey’s Kod Kakes had been banished from her body, she took her Love Boat cruisewear and placed it in a plastic bag, which she tightly knotted and deposited in the trash can outside the house. Then she put a brick on the top of the can, to keep the neighborhood marauding cats from tearing into her fish-scented clothing.

  Erin’s car had been in the driveway when she arrived home at ten forty-five, but her daughter didn’t respond to Mary Bliss’s polite knock at her bedroom door.

  Mary Bliss was too tired to fret about her daughter’s feud with her. She slipped between the sheets of her bed and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

  When the phone rang in the morning, she was still in a kind of death-sleep.

  “Mrs. McGowan?”

  Mary Bliss rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Yes?”

  “Jeff Robertson here.”

  “Who?” She looked at the clock radio. Good God. She’d slept ’til ten. Unheard of.

  “Jeff Robertson at Market Concepts. Your employer. Remember?”

  “Yes?” Mary Bliss said. She got out of bed and found her robe, which she wrapped around herself. Coffee. She needed coffee before she could deal with the likes of Jeff Robertson.

  “I was just looking at the sales report from yesterday,” Robertson continued. “And I gotta say, Mrs. McGowan, I’m extremely disappointed.”

  Erin’s bedroom door was ajar, and Erin was gone. Mary Bliss leaned against the door frame and rubbed her eyes. It had been two days since she’d had a real conversation with her daughter. Parker was gone, and now Erin was somewhere else too. God. How did you get through to a teenaged girl?

  Mary Bliss gripped the phone tightly as she walked downstairs.

  “Mrs. McGowan, do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  She sighed. “You said something about disappointment?”

  “That’s putting it mildly. Six boxes. That was the total sales output for your shift last night. That’s, like, pathetic, Mrs. McGowan. Really pathetic.”

  Mary Bliss spooned instant coffee into a cup and put the kettle on to boil. Instant coffee. Now that was pathetic.

  “Mr. Robertson, do your sales figures show what the product was that I was demonstrating?”

  “Of course. It’s right here in the report faxed over here this morning.”

  “What does it say there?”

  “Mrs. Korey’s Kod Kakes. Eighteen-count cartons. Sales price, with coupon, a dollar ninety-nine. That’s an awesome price. Your product should have been flying out of the store at that price last night.”

  Mary Bliss wanted to scream. “Have you ever tasted these Kod Kakes before, Mr. Robertson? Have you ever smelled them? Well, I have. And let me tell you, they are not fit for human consumption. The one person who did buy them was a near-blind eighty-year-old who only bought them because he lives on a fixed income. I’ll probably burn in hell for making him buy them.”

  “Not my problem,” Robertson said. “Look. These sales figures of yours, they’re not gonna cut it, you know? You totally are nowhere near where you need to be with your quota.”

  “You never mentioned a quota to me. You never said my salary would be tied to sales. What’s going on here, Mr. Robertson? What about my twenty-two dollars an hour?”

  “Who told you that was your salary?”

  “You did,” she shouted. “The ad in the paper specifically said twenty-two dollars an hour.”

  “No.” He sounded calm now. “If you’ll look closer, it said ‘Up to twenty-two dollars an hour.’ ”

  “Are you telling me I’m not making twenty-two dollars an hour?”

  “Hell no, you’re not making that kind of money,” Robertson said. “Selling six cartons a night? You oughta be paying us. Your salary is directly tied to productivity. Here’s the deal, Mrs. McGowan. You are in that store to move product. You got that? Now. Art? You met Art? He’s a person who moves product. He sold forty-eight cartons of Mrs. Korey’s Kod Kakes yesterday. We had to have more product sent out from the distribution center, just for Art.”

  The kettle started to whistle. Mary Bliss felt herself start to boil over too.

  “Listen,” she said, pouring water over the coffee crystals and stirring it with a teaspoon. “Don’t you dare compare me to somebody else. I worked my tail off last night. I don’t know how Art got anybody to buy that stuff. Nobody would even come down my end of the aisle after I started heating it up in the toaster oven.”

  “Never mind that now,” Robertson said. “You’ll have a new product tonight. And I expect a lot better performance from you. Or we’ll have to rethink your situation.”

  “Is that a threat?” Mary Bliss was astounded. She’d worked one night, and already they were threatening to fire her. She’d never been fired before, not in her entire life. Unless you counted Parker’s firing her as his wife.

  “No,” Robertson said. “It’s a promise. Get my drift?”

  “Perfectly,” Mary Bliss snapped. She went looking in the refrigerator for half-and-half. There wasn’t any. There wasn’t any milk either. She closed the refrigerator and walked over to the pantry. She could use evaporated milk in a pinch. But she didn’t have any evaporated milk either. And she couldn’t drink her coffee black. She just couldn’t.

  “Imogene Peabody is expecting you out at Riverdale at noon,” Robertson was saying.

  “Was there anything else, Mr. Robertson?”

  If she didn’t get some caffeine in her system right quick, there was no telling what she might do or say. She opened the freezer and pawed through the boxes of frozen peas and desiccated-looking chicken parts.

  On the top shelf she found a quart container of fudge-ripple ice cream. She peeled off the lid. The carton was technically bare, with just some smidgens of fudge ripple still clinging to the bottom of the carton. She wished Parker were around. She would throttle him with her bare hands. Which were now shaking badly. Parker was the one who was always putting empty cartons of food back in the pantry or the refrigerator. He never ate sweets in front of her, always saying he didn’t even like them. But somebody had eaten a whole carton of ice cream, and it wasn’t Mary Bliss, and it wasn’t Erin. Parker was a closet snacker. Another of his least attractive features. She must remember to make a list of them.

  Mary Bliss scraped up the last of the ice cream and let it melt into the hot coffee. She was admiring the way the smooth white cream dissolved into the black coffee. Like a little mini whirlpool in a mud puddle.

  “Noon, Mrs. McGowan. You’ve got that, right?”

  “’Til when?” Mary Bliss asked. “Not ’til ten o’clock again. I really have to be home tonight, Mr. Robertson. You can’t expect me to work a ten-hour shift just like that. I have a teenaged daughter and a house to take care of.”

  “Not my problem,” Robertson repeated. “That’s the problem with women like you. Always all these lame excuses about kids and stuff. You never hear Art with an excuse.”

  “I need to get off at eight,” she said firmly. “I have a family emergency.”

  “Family emergency,” he said mockingly. “Everybody has a family emergency. All right. Just this once. But it’s the last time we arrange schedules just for you. There are other people to consider, you know.”

  “Thank you,” Mary Bliss said. Robertson hung up. “Asshole,” she added.

  When she’d finished her c
offee and eaten some buttered toast, she walked slowly back upstairs, back to Erin’s room.

  She’d told Robertson she had a family emergency. It was true. Her life was coming unglued. She needed to reach Erin, needed to heal things between them.

  She sat down on Erin’s bed, picked up the faded pink crib quilt with the appliquéd bunnies draped across one of her pillows. The quilt had been a baby gift from Lyle, her college classmate. It had once had a bright-pink satin binding, but Erin had loved the binding to tatters.

  Mary Bliss rubbed the quilt against her cheek. It smelled like her daughter. Like soap and perfume and maybe even a little hint of baby powder.

  She stood up and made the bed, folding the crib quilt and tucking it neatly beneath Erin’s pillow. Then she walked around the room, scooping up dirty laundry, putting away the folded clothes that hadn’t quite made it into the dresser drawers. With a tissue she wiped off the top of Erin’s mahogany dresser, sending small dust flurries sailing into the air.

  The room needed a good dusting and vacuuming, but there wasn’t time today. There didn’t seem to be time for anything she really needed to do.

  Back in the master bedroom, she started to make her own bed, then stopped, suddenly, when she spied the small yellow scrap of paper on Parker’s side of the bed.

  It had been written in script, in a bright-pink felt-tip pen. “Mommy. I’m sorry I was a bitch. I love you. Erin.” She’d drawn a little heart at the bottom of the slip, and a flower beside that.

  Mary Bliss smoothed out the paper and touched it briefly to her lips before tucking it carefully in her jewelry box.

  After she’d dressed in jeans and sneakers, she ran downstairs and went back to the freezer. She put some chicken pieces in the refrigerator to thaw for supper, a goopy chicken cheese casserole with cream of mushroom soup. With rice and frozen peas, it was her daughter’s idea of a feast. When had she last fixed a real meal and shared it at the table with Erin?