It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Chick Lit

by S. E. Babin

  Well. Maybe she didn’t need to escape. Yet.

  Alice brought in cheese and crackers, sparkling cider, and two extra chairs. Then she, Georgette, and Julie sat in a row and studied Araceli, huddled under quilts.

  “What do you think?” Georgette asked the other two.

  “Remember when Kate was little and she got sick?” Alice said.

  The other two laughed. “Same with my Jenny,” said Georgette.

  They still studied her like three wise owls, turning their heads first one way and then the other, in unison.

  “I’m not little,” a nervous Araceli blurted out.

  The three wise owls kept staring, like three golden owls on that tree at Richandowe’s.

  No. Like the Three Wise Women of Christmas.

  Then, without warning, those Three Wise Women pounced on her all at once, laughing, Georgette with a hair brush in her hand, Julie with a makeup kit, and Alice with wiggly hands. It turned out that Alice was really good at shoulder massage, Georgette was magic with taming long, messy hair, and Julie could make the sickest person look camera ready with blush and mascara. Araceli, initially stiff, submitted to their ministrations. Alice put on some bouncy Beyoncé music, and busted some moves with Julie, then swung Araceli up to join them. Araceli just swayed, but Georgette did a shimmy so awesome that Araceli wished for a video camera.

  Dancing with these women, just being with them was such fun.

  For a second.

  Araceli stopped swaying. “What time is it? What day is it? I feel better. I need to get to work. Oh, God. Do I still have a job?”

  Georgette said, “Hun, it’s eight o’clock at night. Surely you don’t clean houses at night.”

  Araceli froze. “No.”

  “What job do you do at night then?” the Three Wise Women said in unison, exchanging furtive glances.

  “I told you I need money. A lot of money.” Araceli got up and grabbed her pants.

  Julie said, “Sweetie. What’s going on? You aren’t in any shape to be working. Especially a night shift.” She grimaced at Alice and Georgette. “Or … whatever.”

  Araceli was still dressing, her head swimming.

  Georgette came and laid a hand on her arm. “Hun, Hun, Hun. Talk to us. Talk to us.” Georgette could talk the pants off a frog. “Surely you can get time off for a serious illness. No boss is that mean.”

  Araceli shook her head vehemently.

  “Could you tell us where you work so we can call in sick for you?”

  Julie sat on the bed by her. “We won’t tell your boss anything—about … your … legal status or anything. We’ll just say you’re sick.”

  Alice said, “We’ll get you a doctor’s note if you need one. We’ll do whatever it takes to help you keep your … job. Oh.” Alice hit her forehead with her palm. She held out her cell phone. “Here, Araceli. Sorry. Call them yourself.”

  Araceli took the phone and then melted down onto the bed, wailing, “Calling them won’t help. You can’t help me. No one can help me.” She burst into tears, crying hard, sobbing and then coughing. Julie got her a drink, and Ellipsis climbed onto her lap to lick her face.

  The three older women looked worried.

  Georgette cringed. “Hun. Are you in some kind of trouble? We’re good at busting trouble.”

  Julie said, “It doesn’t matter what kind of trouble. Right, girls?”

  “Right.” Alice sucked in a breath.

  Araceli barely heard this through her tears. “How can you three be so nice to me when you know I’m … I’m … I’m … illegal?”

  The Three Wise Women raised fists in the air. “Venus Warriors unite!” A tribute to their lasting bond from the 2003 Garden Beach Community College production of the faculty-and-student-written Venus Monologues. That bond, cemented at monologue practices, meant that in her time of trouble, these other women had rushed across several states to young, naïve, newly-immigrated Araceli’s rescue.

  The room got quiet, the older women nudging each other, looking uncomfortable.

  Julie broke the silence. “Hey. Did I ever tell you girls about the time I did phone sex in college? Made me a pot of money between classes. Pretty funny, too. This one guy insisted on pretending he was a rhino and I was his unicorn playmate. Another guy wanted me to read him a list of adjectives in a sultry voice. ‘Lovely, lusty, smooth, silky, sleek, salacious, shiny, sweaty, raucous, ravenous, rapacious, fiery, furry, fluffy, growling, sharky.’” She stopped with a faraway look in her eyes. “Can’t remember the rest. He emailed the list to me. I may still have it.”

  Everybody laughed, except Araceli, whose eyes were like saucers.

  Georgette confessed, “Well, I dated quite a few wealthy old men in my youth, and not for the privilege of looking at their saggy tummies and growly jowls up close.” She held up two bronze hands with four gorgeous rings adorning them. “These all came from that time. Life insurance, if you know what I mean.”

  Alice said, “Uh, I sold stolen cosmetics for two weeks in college—before I found out about the scam.”

  Their attention went to Araceli, who looked horrified.

  Julie said, “Sooooo, do you have some funny story about making a buck, Araceli?”

  Araceli burst out, “Wow. I thought all college professors are so—you know—uh, academic.”

  Georgette prodded, “Hun, what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done, other than run away to Texas and make us rescue you back in 2003?”

  Araceli shook her head. “Oh, thank you for that. What a terrible time. Texas was too exciting for me. I have a very dull life since then. I just work and work and work some more. I need to save money, a lot of money.”

  “A lot of money?” Julie elbowed Alice and slid her eyes at her.

  Araceli said, “Yes, I want my own store in Santa Ana, but, but, but …” She tried to stop the tears, then blurted, “Somebody rented it already and my two jobs are supposed to make enough money to start the business. But now … Jacob, he …” Tears spilled over again.

  Julie jumped in. “Who’s Jacob? Is he your … pimp?”

  Alice slapped Julie on the leg. “Julie! Tact.”

  Araceli said, “Pimp? What’s a pimp?”

  Alice used the translator app on her phone to show Araceli the word in Spanish, and Araceli burst out laughing. “Pimp? I have no pimp!” She laughed (and coughed) so hard, the women seemed worried. Finally, she calmed down. “I work in the department store, Richandowe’s at night. I’m a restocking clerk!”

  “Oooh.” The Three Wise Women exchanged a look of relief.

  “But Jacob is making me work, even if I’m sick.”

  Georgette said, “So who’s this Jacob guy and where can we find him and beat him up?”

  Then the whole story poured out of Araceli, starting with the broken ornaments and ending with her blacking out in Jacob’s house.

  Julie whistled. Alice bit her knuckle.

  Georgette said, “Wait. Who told Jacob about your legal status?”

  Araceli said, “I … don’t know.”

  Alice eyed her. “But you have a suspicion. I know you, Araceli. I can see it in your face.”

  “Well, there is one person who knows. I don’t know why I told him. I wish I hadn’t.”

  “Who?” all Three Wise Women asked, their eyes big.

  Araceli sighed. “Quito Barzaga. I know him from college, and now he works at Richandowe’s, too. Ms. Chalmers knows him.”

  “Call me Alice, dear,” Alice said. “Hmm. I had Quito in class. He’s a charmer, but he doesn’t seem the type to blab such a big secret.”

  “I know,” Araceli said wistfully.

  Another meaningful look passed between the Three Wise Women. Trying to keep up with all their knowing looks made Araceli dizzy. She sank back into the pillows.

  Julie said, “One last question. Are you sure Jacob told both your workplaces about your status, and are you sure you’ve lost both your jobs?”

  “No. But he said he
would tell them, and I would never work again.”

  Georgette stood tall. “Like hell.”

  Then the women tiptoed out of the room, and Araceli had the best, longest sleep she had had for ages.

  * * *

  When Araceli woke the next morning, she heard voices from the dining room. When she got downstairs, there were Alice, Julie, and Georgette, already seated at the sunny dining table. They looked as fresh as daisies, bright-eyed and dressed like teachers.

  “Hi.” Araceli rubbed her eyes. “Are you all going to class today?”

  “No, silly, it’s Saturday. Also winter break.” Julie hopped up and hugged Araceli, then ushered her to the table.

  Alice poured her orange juice and gave her some pills. “French toast or eggs?”

  Araceli was really hungry. “Uh. I—”

  “Both it is, then.” Alice handed her a plate, which made Araceli think of Dulce Maria. “Excuse me, Alice. Could I call my landlady? She’ll worry about me.”

  “Oh, sure.” Alice showed her the phone.

  When Araceli returned after her call, the Three Wise Women had moved their dishes to make room for a big poster board in the middle of the table. Astonished, Araceli ran to the other side of the table. “What’s this?”

  “Just what it says, Hun. Get Araceli a Green Card.” Georgette ran her magenta-nailed finger down the list under that promising heading. “I emailed my friend Buddy, the immigration lawyer, and here are your options.”

  Julie chimed in, “Yeah. Easiest one: Have a business sponsor you. What do you think? Maybe Richandowe’s will take pity on you and provide a sponsorship.”

  Araceli shook her head. “I’ve only worked for them a few weeks. But I worked for Shiny Zone for eleven years.”

  “Okay. We’ll ask Shiny Zone.” Georgette made a notation on the poster.

  Julie went on. “Or you could start a business that employs Americans, but that’s for entrepreneurs. It costs a lot of money.”

  Alice said, “Hmm. It’s way too late for amnesty. You have to apply for that in your first year here. Or a related U.S. citizen could petition for you. Do you have any relatives who are citizens?”

  Araceli shook her head. “My uncle and cousin died. My cousin Veronica got a green card, but I don’t know where she is. She took off to get away from Jorge Lopez.”

  The Three Wise Women nodded sagely. They knew Veronica’s abusive husband.

  “I don’t blame her. What a scumbag,” Georgette said. “Anyway, that route takes many years. Not for you, Hun.”

  Julie said, “Right. But look here. Under the provisional unlawful presence waiver, any U.S. citizen can claim they can’t live without you and get you a green card.”

  From the kitchen, Alice yelled, “That would be me! I need her badly!”

  “Unfortunately, this seems to many like an immigration trap. You’d have to return to Mexico, maybe for good.” Georgette looked glum.

  Araceli shook her head. “Oh, no.”

  Georgette said, “Jeez. This next one. Not sure I can sanction you getting abused, battered, sexually violated or harassed just for a green card.”

  Everyone said, “What?”

  “You heard me.” Georgette huffed. “If an illegal alien is a victim of trauma and can afford to sue the perpetrator, the government hands out automatic green cards. Jeez Louise.”

  “Ugh.” Alice sat down with her coffee. “So for a normal, healthy, untraumatized Mexican person, getting a green card …”

  “… requires help from the angels.” Georgette stood and started undoing Araceli’s slept-on braids.

  “Or Three Wise Women like you,” Araceli said, making six wise eyes roll.

  Georgette shook her head. “Man, you can’t even get legal by marrying an American anymore.”

  Julie shrugged. “Too bad. I had some cute, single babes in my classes this fall.”

  Araceli cocked her head. “You have babies in your college class?”

  “No, babes. Dudes. Handsome guys.” Alice laughed at Araceli’s face. “Don’t worry. We won’t marry you off. No one deplores a bad marriage to a handsome idiot like me.”

  “And me.” Georgette yanked the brush through Araceli’s hair.

  “Ai!”

  “So, are we clear on our tasks?” Alice said, gathering plates to take to the sink. “I’ll track down Quito Barzaga.”

  Georgette said, “I’ll call Buddy and find out if we could take Jacob to court for extortion.”

  Araceli gasped. Court sounded like the law, and Araceli always steered clear of the law.

  Julie said, “I’ll check on that business sponsorship and … anything else?”

  Araceli raised her hand, like she was in a classroom.

  “Sweetie, I’m sorry.” Julie poked Alice and Georgette. “Girls, we’ve been hogging the floor. Araceli, please speak.”

  Araceli pointed at the list. “I … I saved some money to rent my shop. A lot of money.”

  “Oh, honey, that’s great. How much?” Alice asked, checking her cell phone.

  Araceli brightened. “$29,479.56. I could have saved more but my uncle took most of my money until he died in 2012.”

  The women blinked.

  Alice whistled. “In four years you saved that much? Wow.”

  Georgette’s eyes popped. “Good for you, Hun.”

  Julie said, “See what we could all do without a cell phone bill?”

  Araceli got her hopes up, “Can that money help me buy a business to get a green card?”

  Julie shook her head very slowly. “Sweetie, you’ve done an amazing job saving money as a house cleaner and a stock clerk, but you’re gonna need a little more than $29,479.56 to get a green card as an entrepreneur.”

  Araceli sat up straight. “How much do I need? I’m a good worker. I’ll get more jobs.”

  Georgette sighed. “Half a million dollars.”

  5

  That afternoon, Araceli felt better enough to go to Richandowe’s with Alice. They trooped into the shinily decorated store with Araceli’s stomach doing flip-flops. At the personnel office, Alice nudged Araceli to ask the gum-chewing girl at the desk about her job. The girl called her superior, a dumpy man named Mr. Adams. He showed the women into his office and looked up Araceli’s name, then shook his head at Alice. “I’m sorry. Ms. Martinez here has been terminated. It says here she’s illegal—doesn’t have a proper work visa. Correct?”

  “Grrr. Jacob,” steamed Araceli.

  “She speaks English,” Alice said. “Talk to her.”

  Mr. Adams said loudly to Araceli, “I’m sorry, Miss. Corporate policy says you need the correct visa.”

  “She’s not deaf,” Alice said. “Well, then. She’ll need her paycheck.”

  “Are you kidding? She’s lucky we aren’t prosecuting her. She was working here illegally. We won’t pay her.”

  “What?” the women cried.

  He shrugged. “Look. If corporate did decide to pay an undocumented worker, which is unlikely, it’d take time. Weeks. Months. Don’t count on it.”

  “You’ll be hearing from us.” Alice steered Araceli toward the office door. Then she turned back, standing tall. “Mr. Adams. Could this store take its showy Christmas spirit seriously and consider sponsoring Araceli to get a green card? She’s done excellent work for you. You could personally decide to be a mensch and really help a hard-working woman, make an investment in humanity. In the Christmas spirit.”

  Mr. Adams looked blank. Then he said, “No way.” He laughed aloud and shut his office door behind them.

  Alice turned and stuck out her tongue at the closed door. “Like hell.”

  Araceli stuck hers out, too. “Like hell.”

  Giggling, they returned to the outer office, where Alice asked about Quito’s hours.

  The gum-chewing secretary said, “Oh, Quito quit a few days ago. Too bad. So cute.”

  The two of them wandered down the mall, since Alice had shopping to do. They stopped in See’s C
andies for several pound boxes. “For my family. They’re so hard to buy for,” Alice told everyone who would listen. After Alice and Araceli ate their sample candies, they stopped in the card store for a few fanciful Christmas cards. Alice said, “I swear I’ll send these today. I swear it on this stack of dark chocolate boxes.” They stopped in a shoe store for Alice to get two pairs of fancy Nikes. “For my husband, who thinks he only needs cowboy boots.”

  Soon, Araceli started coughing. She sat on a bench in the middle of the mall while Alice went to buy drinks. Right across from the bench, there was a line a mile long of children waiting for a turn on Santa’s lap. Cameras were flashing and children were crying, but through all that, Araceli heard a voice she recognized.

  “Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas! What the feck would you like for Christmas, Miss Awesome Socks?”

  Santa looked pretty young and skinny for his post, with extremely dark eyes and a very smooth face. And there was no mistaking that particular baritone voice and Spanish accent.

  With mixed feelings, Araceli got up and made her way through about a million shoppers, cutting through the line of mothers and strollers, heading for the velvet rope Santa sat behind. Was that really him? The guy who’d quit working when she had, maybe in solidarity with her? The guy whose handsome face and crappy grammar she’d missed all month? The guy who had probably let slip the biggest secret of her life to the absolute wrong person who had used the information to destroy her? She stopped in her trajectory towards Quito and froze. Thank God she hadn’t gotten all the way to his lap. His lap? Why was she thinking about his lap? She, an adult? Imagine, hard-working, adult Araceli Martinez sitting on anyone’s lap!

  Even if he did call her Miss Awesome Socks.

  Santa saw her and waved. She smiled, waved back, and then ran, well, slowly swam through a vast sea of screaming children, skinny teenagers, and over-spent mothers, back to the bench and Alice.

  “Let’s go, Alice.” Araceli tugged on Alice’s coat sleeve.

  Alice stayed put. “Sit down, Miss Pneumonia. You need a drink before we head home. Well, I do.”

  Araceli slumped on the bench. “Please. I want to go home now. I don’t feel well.”