Stressed Spelled Backwards

by Ivanova, Svetlana

  That morning, we ordered two corned beef on rye — cut in thirds.

  Chapter Eight

  It was payday for both Karmen and Elise, and money animated apartment 2B like winds in the sails of a three-mast ship. It was mostly Elise's payment plus two-week pay from Karmen, but it meant the end of $9.50 per person per week, and it seemed like a fortune.

  Since the cash was enormous, I didn't feel bad about spending two hours filling my basket with exactly the right foods according to the Cooking for Dummies, which I bought, too.

  In fact, by the time I got all that stuff home, I realized I had missed another day of job hunting. Well, that could wait until tomorrow.

  I wanted to make a nice dinner for my best friends, seeing that they had been doing all the work. I figured I'd make some hamburgers. Then I settled on roast chicken for dinner. The cookbook said, 'Nuke the chicken in the microwave and forget about it for two hours'. That left me time to make soup. I couldn't wait to see the look on Elise's and Karmen's face when they got home to find a meal fit for a queen waiting for them.

  I was slicing onions, and weeping deliciously into a paper towel, when the doorbell rang. I looked into the peephole to see the last person on earth I wanted to see —Clarice Kingsley.

  She was smiling with all her thirty-two teeth at me when I opened the door.

  "They're both out," I said. Elise was at the studio, and Karmen was scrubbing a greasy fry pan.

  Undaunted, she pushed past me into the apartment and set her butt on the kitchen counter.

  "That's a really cool apartment," she said, looking around. "What's this big mess?"

  "Sorry," I said and went to tidy up. Here I was, apologizing for preparing dinner in such a ridiculously unexpected location as the kitchen. I stopped and wheeled around to the blonde model.

  "What are you doing here?" I said.

  "I got a break from shooting a block away from here and decided to drop by," she said with a shrug.

  "Well, you heard me, they're not here at the moment," I said.

  "What are you making?" she sniffed the air.

  "Oh damn it, my chicken!" I went over to the oven and turned it off. There was a bit of smoke, but luckily, the chicken wasn't burned into a lump of coal yet. The popcorn incident still left a bad impression for our landlady; another chicken mishap would be the last straw.

  Clarice watched me getting the roast chicken out. She followed me since the bird smelled great. The new pot of soup simmered on the stove, the burgers and salad were crisp and fresh.

  "This looks so great," she said.

  That's when the phone rang. It was Karmen. "I'm going to be late tonight, Azra, I got a waiting job at this super fancy club. Who knows, someone might discover me there, besides there are hot babes everywhere, so don't wait for me."

  "What? But I cooked us a great dinner!" I said. A giggle came through the receiver.

  "Sorry, wifey! See you later," she said and already hung up. And it was thirty seconds later that the phone rang again. Elise said she wasn't going to be home tonight either.

  "Get your butt over here!" I said. "Wait till you see the dinner I’ve made for you."

  "I can’t. I'm in Egypt," said Elise.

  "What?!" I said. "I've been slaving over a hot stove all day! And guess who's here in our kitchen right now?"

  "Sorry. Gotta go. I'll see you on Thursday."

  I was crushed. Who's going to eat my dinner? I staggered back into the kitchen and stared at all that food, simmering, stewing, and cooling, and neatly placed at the table, which even looked romantic.

  Then there was Clarice.

  "Everything okay?" she asked.

  "They can't make home tonight," I said. "And now I'm left with too much food and no one..."

  Clarice wasn't listening; she was drooling over my roast chicken.

  "Hey, you wanna stay for dinner?" I asked before I could stop myself.

  "I'd love to!" she said and took a seat. I sat down in front of her. In an alternative universe, I would be over the moon by now having a romantic dinner with the Elven Princess, but this universe, I was trying to remind myself that she already had two girlfriends.

  "You're a great cook," she said while she was eating. "I didn't know that."

  Why would you care to know? I wanted to say.

  "Thanks," I said. "So how did the cooking show go?"

  "Oh, it was a disaster! I was so embarrassed, but it wasn't live, so they cut off the bad parts," she said. "Everyone was so sweet about it."

  "Yeah, with that looks, you could get away with anything," I said and muttered under my breath, "even dating two girls at the same time."

  "Pardon?" Clarice looked up from her chicken breast.

  "Nothing!" I said. "Anyway, do you like your job?"

  "It's alright," she said. "It's fun and exciting at first then you'll get used to it. It's just like anything else."

  Like dating two people, right? I just wanted to say, but didn't.

  "So who do you like the most?"

  "Who?" she asked blankly.

  "You know who," I said. "Karmen or Elise?"

  "Oh," she said and dabbed her glossy lips with a napkin. "I haven't thought about that."

  "What?" I said. "You've been going out with them for weeks!"

  She shrugged. "They're sweet."

  "Yeah, and they are my best friends," I said, and I made sure to empathize the word to let her know that she couldn't keep messing with their heads, or mine. Yes, I was that kind of girl who got jealous even if we weren't together.

  "So what do you do now?" she asked instead. I blinked back.

  "Well, I don't do anything, except...chores," I said. "I'm still looking for a job."

  "Why don't you work as a freelance model?" she said. "You've got that city girl looks."

  "I do?" I blushed. My heart swelled to the size of a truck. Did Clarice Kingsley just compliment me?

  Clarice didn't say anything and just went back to eating. She ate more than Karmen and Elise could have eaten together, even if they'd both come home famished.

  "That was a fantastic meal!" she said. "Thank you, Azra."

  "You're welcome," I said. "Help me with the dishes later?"

  "Sure thing," she said, but then her phone flashed. She went to answer it. After a few minutes, she came back and told me that her agent needed to see her for a new gig tomorrow. And faster than I could say 'never mind', she was gone.

  I washed up all by myself, but I figured that the best and the worst part about the evening was — Clarice.

  ~*~

  Celia would never again be able to say I wasn't looking for work. I had an interview for a freelance gig from an online fashion. They needed to hire a model for their new clothing line. I could just feel that today was my day. The woman on the phone sounded really interested in working with me.

  I put on my coolest outfits and was giving myself a last once-over in the mirror when there was a knock at the door. I opened it up to reveal the Elven Princess again. This time, she was carrying two large shopping bags.

  "What are you...?"

  Again, undaunted, she pushed past me into the apartment and set the bags down on the kitchen counter.

  "Oh, Azra, I knew you would be home!" she greeted me. Of course, I would, like I had no important things to do.

  "What do you want?"

  "Please, if I don't have a casserole by lunch, I'm finished!" she said. "This spokesperson from Versace saw my clip on the cooking show and said she would love to taste my dish. And I kinda want to impress her."

  "So make one," I said indifferently.

  Her warped mind interpreted this as my offer to help. She began to unpack the bags. "Thanks! I knew I could count on you! Now, I bought all the ingredients, at least, I think I did."

  "Wait a minute," I said. "You'll have to do it at home. I've got an interview."

  "Oh," she breathed then looked at me from head to toes. "You look lovely, but I picked the fastest casserole. Mex
ican Taco. It'll only take two seconds!"

  I didn't think she knew how long it would take to make a casserole. I looked at my watch. Fortunately, I'd left plenty of time to get to my interview. If this was really a fast dish, I could oblige this pain in the butt, also because she had commented nicely on my appearance.

  I joined her in the unpacking.

  "I don't see why you don't ask Karmen or Elise to do this," I muttered sarcastically. She didn't get the point.

  "Oh, can they cook?"

  "As far as I remember, no," I said.

  Clarice's participation in this makeshift casserole consisted of looking over my shoulder while I chopped, stirred, and improvised. Not that I was such a great cook. But at least, I could follow a few simple instructions. When it came to home eco, Clarice had a five-second attention span. She'd be watching me one moment, staring at her phone the next, and before long the TV would be on while she was leafing through Elle magazine.

  Finally, the casserole was in the oven. I told Clarice I had to go down to see if Celia could let me borrow some corn chips to decorate the top, and I told her to get the casserole out after 3-4 minutes. It was going to take a mad sprint to get to my interview on time, but I felt like I would make it. When I came back with a bag of corn chips, which I had to reassure Celia that I would pay her back, Clarice was nowhere in sight.

  "The casserole!" I cried and went to take it out of the oven. It was all burned at the top. I heard Clarice stepping out of the bathroom.

  "Oh no!" she put her hand over her mouth. "I was just gone for two minutes."

  "Well, that's enough to screw this," I said.

  "What are we going to do?" she said.

  "Look, I don't have time," I said. "I have to go."

  But her distress halted my feet from running for the door. Her emerald eyes glistened and her lips pouted. I felt like I would be a cruel person if I refused such a face.

  "Alright," I signed. "Wash the dish. We'll start over."

  "Oh, you're wonderful!" Clarice breathed.

  "Yeah, yeah, tell me about it," I muttered.

  By the time, I shipped Clarice Kingsley and her casserole off on her way; an hour had come and gone, along with my interview. I phoned to reschedule, but I was told that the gig was already taken.

  Chapter Nine

  It was Wednesday, the slowest day of the week, still too far from the weekend. I was sitting in the Deli having lunch with Elise when Karmen burst in, wild-eyed. She stomped up to our booth and sat down so loudly I was fearful for her tailbone. None of us said anything, so she stood up again and bellowed, "Well, if you must know, I got fired!"

  "I'm not surprised," Elise said and went on to sip her lemonade. I tried to be empathic.

  "What happened?" I asked. Celia came and placed some ice in our drink.

  "Good news," she said. "If you're fired, here have some ice for the burn."

  "Leave her alone!" I exploded. Karmen slumped down again, resting her head on top of her folded arms like grade-school girls do during detention. From down there, she narrated what had happened.

  "This rich idiot was trying to hit on me and his girlfriend thought I was trying to steal her boyfriend by passing their table twice," she said. "Plot twist: I was trying to catch her eyes. The rich idiot thought he was the cleverest man alive and asked me to wipe the table one more time. I say it's clean, he says do it anyway, so I soak up my cloth with beer and throw it right in his face!"

  "Aw, Karmen!" I groaned.

  "You know what your problem is, Miss. Kaverina?" called Celia from behind the counter. "You don't know your place. You're a nobody. You should've said, 'Sure, mister, I'll wipe your table again.'"

  "And let that jerk get away with it?" Karmen challenged.

  "Dummy! When he orders his drink, you ask the bartender for a special shot that sends him straight to the toilet," Celia said. "Every bartender knows this trick. No one can prove it was you. So you keep your job, and on the first of the month, when your landlady, such a nice person as she is, asks for the rent, you have it."

  "Why didn't your words of wisdom come sooner?" Karmen said. "The part that bums me out is where am I going to get some cash to take Clarice on a date?"

  "I can let you borrow a few bucks," said Elise generously.

  Karmen's eyes squinted at her.

  "What's your game, Princess Peach? You're trying to come off as the big sister figure? Then before I know it, you're using it against me with Clarice. Well, forget it. There are plenty of inexpensive places to take a girl out."

  "Sure!" I enthused. "The park, the botanical gardens, the museum, you can bond with each other through art and nature..."

  Karmen made a face. "Maybe we'll just hang out in her bedroom."

  Both Elise and I glared at her.

  "What?" she said. "She's my girlfriend."

  "On her off-days," said Elise.

  "You're about to have an off-day right now, Peach!" growled Karmen. She went for Elise's throat, but I grabbed her back. They were at it again, bickering back and forth over who should get the girl and who should bow out. I thought I could get used to it.

  ~*~

  Another week passed and I still didn't have any break. I called almost every agent in the Yellow Pages in search of one in need of a freelance model (who could double as a casserole chef), but there was no such luck.

  All I'd been doing was mopping and cleaning the place as best as I could. Soon, though, my mind started to wander, and I found myself pacing around the apartment. In a blinding flash, I recognized the symptoms. It was just like Clarice and her limited culinary skills. I hated looking for a job so much that I could only do it when I absolutely forced myself, and even then, for only two or three minutes at a stretch.

  For the first time, I felt sorry for Clarice, having to stand and pose for hours a day, hopping back and forth for a perfect shot. Well, at least she had a casserole to cover her lie. Or would it? How did I know I'd made a good casserole? It wasn't like I was one of the great chefs of Europe. The only person besides me who had ever eaten my cooking was, well, nobody, so you couldn't go by your own tongue. What if my casserole got her fired? She didn't show up again after that day.

  I stood up and started pacing around the room again. What did I care? If she got discovered as a fraud, it would be no more than she deserved. I made a few more calls, but I was watching the clock like crazy. At five, I could bear it no more. The job search would just have to wait until I found out how I did with the casserole.

  I went to Clarice's apartment based on my vague memory of where she might live, hoping to intercept her on her way home from the studio. I would have to catch her that way, or wait to find out through whichever of my roomies had a date with her tonight. I wouldn't be able to stand the hours of not knowing.

  As luck might have it, I spotted the girl, across the street, down the road, climbing up the front steps of her house. I ran to catch up, and got there just as she was opening her door. I reached out and tapped her on the shoulder.

  "Hey, how'd...?"

  She pivoted like a prizefighter and elbowed me in the face. It wasn't a very hard blow, and thank God for that, because I already felt like I had seen all the stars in the universe.

  "Oh my god! Azra! I'm so sorry!" She hustled me upstairs and pushed me into the living room, which was at the front of the apartment.

  "I feel so bad!" she said.

  "I feel the same way," I said. "How did you learn to pull a UFC move like that?"

  "I do kickboxing three times a week," she said. "It's just that it's a big city and I had to learn to protect myself."

  She got the ice bag from the fridge to help me numb the pain. I winched and I could just sense that my right eye was going to swell and blacken. I was more convinced than ever that the day I met Clarice Kingsley was the worst day of my entire life.

  Clarice shook her head sadly. "This is the result of a city that's filled with sexual harassments against women!"

  Note t
o self: never come up on Clarice from behind.

  Clarice tried to make up for it by walking me back to my building.

  "You don't have to do that," I said. "I'm not blind...yet."

  "It's alright, I feel better knowing you're safe," she said.

  "I just have to be safe from you," I said. She burst out laughing.

  When we were about to cross the street, she did this unexpected thing. She held my hand, and not just holding it but also lacing our fingers together. I froze on the curb.

  "Come on, Azra, the red light's coming on soon," she said, tugging me along. I prayed so hard that neither of my best friends was there when we reached the deli. Luckily, they both were out.

  My black eye turned the whole building into a hospital. The Pole Dancer ran in with the perfect ointment — her best concealer for under eyes. The Lovebirds advised me to prepare myself for the excruciating pain. The Jogging Grandma was positive that I was receiving inadequate care. She brought a hard-boiled egg to me, heat, not cold, should be used to reduce swelling. Even Celia got into the act.

  She sent out a bowl of chicken soup, along with a bill for $2.50. Even so, I felt like for once everyone was caring for me. I felt like an instant princess. Clarice had to get back to work in the next hour. She was in such a hurry that I almost forgot the reason for this fatal visit. I asked about my casserole. She twirled around with her anime legs and flirty skirt.

  "Oh it was great!" she gave me a dazzling smile. "I got hired to shoot for Versace!"

  Then she was gone.

  "You're welcome," I said with a slow wave back.

  Chapter Ten

  Gourmet Week was a resounding success across the street. Suddenly, our seedy little neighborhood was the hottest place in town, just as we'd envisioned in the summer. Cars, even a few limos, were double-parked on all the side streets, and customers lined up around the block to get into, not Celia's deli, of course, but Monica's, her business rival across the street.

  It was driving Celia crazy.