"Did you get Mrs. Paulie's cheesecake? She's a good customer, don't keep her waiting. She's waving at you. See?"
"I'll get it right now, Manny. And I'll refill her coffee cup, too." Lisa hoped she sounded suitably contrite and efficient, at the same time.
"Good. Now get moving. We haven't got all day."
Mrs. Paulie was her usual charming self when Lisa approached with her order. "About time you brought the coffee and dessert. The other girl who worked here was much more efficient. Are you new? You look new." The old lady peered at her through inch-thick lenses.
"Yes, ma'am. I just started this week."
"Thought so. You're not as good as that other girl."
Deciding not to respond, Lisa had just started to fill the older woman's coffee cup when a four-year-old boy ran by and kicked Lisa behind the right knee, causing her arm to jiggle. The coffee went all over the table, not to mention Mrs. Paulie, who began screaming at the top of her lungs.
"Shh! Shh! I'm so sorry, Mrs. Paulie. I'll help you clean up. There's no need to scream."
"Stop, you stupid girl!" She pushed Lisa's hand aside as she attempted to blot up the mess. "Look what you've done. I'm burned! I'm burned!" She jumped up from her chair, causing all the patrons of the delicatessen to look over, including its unhappy, scowling owner who was shooting imaginary bullets at Lisa.
I am so screwed.
"Are you okay, Mrs. Paulie?" Manny asked, rushing over with a handful of clean towels.
The woman glared at him. "Do I look okay? I'm burned, and my dress is ruined."
Lisa thought the dress had been ruined before Mrs. Paulie put it on, it was that ugly. Orange sunflowers. Need she say more?
"Go in the back and stay out of the way, Lisa."
Manny ordered. "I'll talk to you after I'm done cleaning up your mess."
Without an argument, Lisa hurried to the kitchen, hoping to avoid the glares of the whispering patrons. She found Mr. Tarantino behind the grill, flipping burgers.
"Hey, Mr. T. How's it going?" She liked the older man, even though he smoked and smelled like three-day-old fish. And he liked the fact that she called him "Mr. T." The old TV program The A-Team was one of his favorites.
Having overheard Manny's blustering, the grill cook smiled kindly. "Don't worry about Manny, Lisa. He'll get over it. He always does."
"I'm not so sure. He looked pretty mad."
"He and his wife had another fight last night. He's always a shit when that happens. I'm better off not being married, I think."
Lisa smiled. "Thanks, Mr. T. I hope you're right."
"Would you mind watching my burgers for just a sec? I gotta take a leak."
"Sure." Taking the spatula from the man's outstretched hand, Lisa began lifting the burgers to see how cooked they were.
Unfortunately, her action caused the hot pad that was perched precariously close to the edge of the grill to fall onto the hot surface. It ignited immediately.
Flames shot up from the cooktop toward the ceiling before Lisa even realized what was happening. She yelped, trying to remember what to do for a grease fire.
"Flour!" She searched frantically for the canister. "Where the hell is it?" she shouted, becoming more panicked by the second as she watched the flames grow higher and hotter.
"Mr. Tarantino, come quick! We have a problem."
Problem sounded so much better than towering inferno.
But it was Manny who answered her call for help.
He removed the fire extinguisher from the wall, which happened to be located right next to the door leading back into the restaurant, and just a few feet from where Lisa was now standing.
I am so screwed!
"Get back!" he ordered, then began spraying white foam all over the burgers and incinerated hot pad. The fire was put out quickly.
After he was finished, Manny motioned for Lisa to approach the grill area. "You nearly burned down my restaurant."
Lisa swallowed. Her eyes burned, her throat hurt, and now her nerves twitched at the angry look Manny was giving her. "I'm really sorry, Manny. It was an accident. I didn't see the hot pad."
"You see that fire?" He pointed to the grill.
Lisa's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "But the fire's out."
"And so are you. You're fired! Now gather up your things and get out. I can't afford to have you working here. You're not cut out for food service."
"But—" Lisa refused to cry. She wouldn't. Not over a minimum-wage job. But she sure as hell felt like it.
"I'm sorry, Lisa. I like you, but you're a walking disaster."
Lisa had been called many things in her lifetime, but never a walking disaster. It sounded ominous, undoable.
Accurate?
As she walked back to the apartment, the cold January air seeped beneath her red wool coat, creating a chill clear down to her bones, while a feeling of dread filled her at the prospect of having to tell Francie and Leo that she'd just lost her first job after only three days.
"Crap and a half! Stupid hot pad. Stupid Manny."
Stupid Lisa!
Leo was taking Lisa and Francie out for pizza tonight. Mark was out of town on assignment, and Leo thought that a "girls" night out would be fun, lumping himself into that category, as he so often did. So she knew they'd expect her to regale them about her first week of work.
Francie had been proud of her initiative in finding a job so quickly, and Lisa hated to see the disappointment in her sister's eyes that she knew would be forthcoming, despite the fact that Francie would try to hide it and act supportive.
Like pantyhose a size too small, Francie's support of Lisa was grudgingly given. She wanted Lisa to stand on her own two feet and make something of herself, instead of always screwing up and making excuses.
Lisa was determined not to make any excuses this time.
"It wasn't my fault. The damn hot pad fell on the grill. How was I supposed to know that was going to happen? Your friend, Manny, is a real asshole."
Leo and Francie exchanged looks, then Francie said, "Manny's not an asshole, just short-tempered and not very patient. And you did almost burn down his deli."
"Yeah, and I would have been pissed about that," Leo said, sipping his beer. "I happen to love his Reubens and meatball subs. I'm getting hungry just thinking about them."
"How can you be hungry when you're stuffing your face with pizza?" Lisa reached for another slice of the mushroom-and-sausage pie, then said, "I'll check the paper in the morning to see if there are any other jobs listed."
She was not going to work at that disgusting motel. Lisa had promised herself that she was better than that. Dried sperm on dirty sheets was just not her thing.
"I'm sure you'll be able to find something, Lisa," Francie said with a smile of encouragement. "You're smart and clever. I bet there are lots of jobs you can do."
"Thanks. Unfortunately, the guy at the unemployment office doesn't share your opinion. He pretty much indicated that I sucked."
"I have a friend who has a dog-walking business."
Leo said. "I'll give Warren a call and see if he needs any help."
Lisa brightened. "I love dogs! That would be great. Thanks, Leo!"
"So have you heard from your husband?" Lisa's new roommate wanted to know, leaning forward. "You haven't said much about him lately."
"Leo…" Francie cautioned with a shake of her head.
"What? I'm Lisa's landlord. I have a right to know. Plus, I like to gossip."
Sighing, Lisa shook her head. "No. Alex hasn't called or made contact." That wasn't quite true. There'd been a few hang ups on Leo's answering machine, and Lisa wondered if those might have been Alex trying to reach her. Though she had no idea how he would know where she was. She hadn't left a forwarding address, and she doubted if he cared, at any rate.
"Well, I'm sure he'll contact you soon, Lisa. Just give him time. You wounded Alex's ego. No doubt he's biding his time and licking his wounds."
"His wounds?
I'm the one who got trashed, remember?"
Francie patted her sister's hand. "Don't get upset. You know better than anyone how weird men can be."
The perfect example of that male weirdness was sitting over in the dark corner of the restaurant at that moment, spying on Lisa, Francie and Leo. Alex had been following Lisa around the last few days, in the hope of talking to her. He'd tried calling Leo's apartment a few times after discovering, quite by accident—he'd been on his way to Francie's apartment and had spotted Lisa entering the apartment across the hall—where she'd been living. But he hadn't had the guts to leave a message, knowing it was extremely unlikely that she would return his phone call.
Having decided that an up-close and personal confrontation was the only way he was going to get Lisa to talk to him, Alex had been following her until the opportunity presented itself.
So far, it hadn't.
She was either with her family and friends, applying for jobs, burning down buildings, or hiding out.
He, too, had been looking for work, though only halfheartedly. Alex had finally decided that rather than work for someone else as a mortgage banker, he would open up his own firm.
He'd spent the last few days—when he wasn't spying on Lisa, that is—researching locations for his business and talking to some of the contacts he'd made over the years in the banking industry.
Alex was determined to become the kind of man that his wife wanted.
Seeing Lisa, even from a distance, made his heart ache. And damn, but she looked good. Tonight she was wearing a tight black-leather skirt and fuzzy red sweater—the one he had given her for Christmas—and she looked hot.
He sipped his beer, feeling his pants tighten. Lisa had always had the power to affect him this way, and she probably always would.
She and her companions were laughing, and the sound of his wife's high-pitched giggle made Alex smile. He hadn't heard her laugh like that in ages and knew he was to blame.
Why hadn't he recognized her unhappiness and growing dissatisfaction with his family? Why had he tried to convince her to go along with his parents' wishes, to placate them, as he always had?
He'd known from the first moment he'd met her that Lisa was a free spirit. It was what had drawn him to her. She was so totally different from the other women he had dated. So why then had he tried to stifle that in her? Why had he tried to make her into something she wasn't? ,
Fear? Ignorance? An unwillingness to rock the boat?
All of the above?
"Oh, Lisa, I'm so damn sorry."
Suddenly, she turned and looked in his direction, as if she could hear him calling her name. But he knew, of course, that she couldn't. He'd picked the table behind the slatted partition, so he could observe her, not the other way around.
He would make his move when the time was right. But that wasn't now, Alex's gut told him. Lisa needed a bit more time to get over her anger. But a few romantic gestures wouldn't be a bad idea. And first thing tomorrow he'd put his plan into motion.
4
Two days after her dinner with Francie and Leo, Lisa began walking dogs to earn a living.
Or rather, the dogs walked her.
She had the morning shift and had to be at her various destinations beginning at 6:00 a.m., a terrible time for Lisa, who was not a morning person and did not function well until she had at least three cups of Starbucks' French Roast.
"Stop it, Blossom!" Lisa ordered the Boston terrier, who had a nasty habit of taking a dump in the middle of the sidewalk. She'd been given a handful—no pun intended—of plastic bags to scoop up the poop by Leo's friend Warren, owner of the dog-walking business. As if she was really going to do something that disgusting. Picking up dog poop ranked right up there with sperm-laden bed sheets, in her opinion.
"Not in my lifetime!" she told the dog, who merely wagged what passed for a tail.
Rather than pick up the offending leavings, Lisa preferred to stroll casually up to them and nudge the piles out of the way with her foot. Fortunately, she wore galoshes for this nasty chore, which helped only a little.
Shit was, after all…shitty.
Carting a now lighter Blossom up the stairs to her owner's town house, Lisa unlocked the door with the key she'd been given and stuck the poor dog in her portable kennel.
"Sorry, Blossom love, but don't blame me," she said when the dog gazed at her forlornly and whined. "It's your mean, nasty parents' fault, not mine. I would never leave you locked up all day. Your owners should be shot."
Having said that, Lisa looked up to find said "mean, nasty parent" of the male variety, staring furiously at her, mouth opening and closing like a floundering fish.
Apparently, Mr. Bowles had left his briefcase behind and had returned to his apartment to fetch it.
I am so screwed!
"Warren shall hear about this, young woman."
Thus ended Lisa's dog-walking career.
Warren heard about it and had canned her that same evening. By the next day Lisa was poring over the want ads again, wondering how she was going to break the news to Leo, who had previously dated Warren and wanted to leave a good impression.
"Well, Leo can just get over it," Lisa said to herself. "Warren was a putz, anyway." Of course, Warren was a working putz, whereas Lisa was of the nonworking variety.
Running her pencil down the long columns of employment ads, Lisa began rejecting as she went: waitress—too stressful, movie cashier—too boring, nursing-home attendant—too depressing.
She'd been around her Grandma Abruzzi enough to know that many older people had personality quirks, to put it mildly.
No thank you!
Pausing on one provocative header, which indicated that qualified applicants could make shit-loads of money—only they referred to it as "substantial income"—she considered the ad.
Erotic dancer wanted. Experience preferred but not necessary. Nights and weekends required. Costumes supplied.
All she had to do was dance in a nightclub…in front of hundreds of leering men…half naked.
"Piece of cake. I walk around this apartment in my bra and panties all the time and Leo isn't fazed by it one bit."
Owing to the fact that Leo was gay, of course.
"I have a good body, not too much cellulite that would make someone want to vomit. I can dance in a skimpy costume and make lots of money."
How hard could that be?
And a job in the entertainment industry was prestigious. Everyone she knew—well, maybe not Francie, and okay, maybe not her mother—was sure to be impressed.
Wasn't this how that famous stripper Gypsy Rose Lee got her start? And Gypsy went on to write books and had a play named after her. Not bad for a woman who took her clothes off for a living and cavorted around in the buff.
Calling the phone number listed in the ad before she could chicken out, Lisa made an appointment the following afternoon with someone named Spike. Gulp!
"I cant believe I let you talk me into going nightclubbing with you tonight, Bill," Alex said, taking a sip of his beer and trying to make himself heard over the shouts and whistles of the mostly male patrons of The Playful Kitten Club. "This place is a dive. How'd you find it?" The kittens looked more like hellcats, and that was in dim light.
Bill laughed. "Some of the guys from my firm come here to unwind after work. They told me about it. I thought it would be just the ticket to get your mind off your wife. You've been pissing and moaning about her for days on end. We could both use a break. And who knows, you might get lucky. Some of the women they've got dancing here are pretty hot."
Alex hadn't noticed. He wasn't interested in any woman, except Lisa. "I'm not looking for a one-night stand, Bill. I'm married, remember?"
"Sounds like a formality to me, buddy. Your wife deserted you. You've got grounds for divorce. And if you're smart, you'll file before she beats you to it. That way, she might not take you for everything you're worth."
Bill glanced up at the stage and whistle
d. "Man! Look at that! She must be new. I've never seen her here before."
"Not interested," Alex said, ordering another beer from the waitress and trying to ignore Bill's running commentary.
"She's got a killer body and long black hair that a man could run his hands through. Man, but wouldn't I like a taste of that. The woman's a goddess."
Bill's effusive praise finally pricked Alex's curiosity, and he turned in his seat, staring up at the stage. His mouth dropped open and the beer mug he'd been holding fell to the floor with a crash, spilling the contents everywhere, but he didn't notice, or care.
The sight of his wife dancing up on stage in front of a dozen or more leering men, dressed in nothing but a G-string and sequined bra, had his blood boiling over, filling him with a jealous, killing rage, the likes of which he'd never known before.
"I told you she was hot."
Alex grabbed Bill's arm. "Shut up, you ass! That's Lisa. That's my wife, you're talking about."
Bill's eyes widened. "No shit! No wonder you want her back. She is one good-looking woman, if you don't mind my saying so."
"I do mind. Come on. We've got to leave before she sees me," Alex said, tugging his friend's arm. "I don't want her to know I'm here in Philadelphia."
"Why the hell not? I thought you came here to get your wife back. How can you do that if you don't talk to her and let her know how sorry you are about everything?"
"Lisa will think I'm spying on her, if she sees me."
Alex had been spying on Lisa, but usually only during the day, figuring her nights had been spent at Leo's or Francie's apartment, not at some exotic-dance club.
Never in a million years would he have suspected Lisa of doing something so totally outlandish. His wife might have a wild streak, but she was also sensible. Or so he'd thought.
Dancing naked in front of men did not constitute sensible behavior.
"Well, you are. You've been following the woman around for days like frigging Sherlock Holmes. And I refuse to play Dr. Watson."
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