She looked back at the little witch as if waiting for some comforting compliment. None came.
“I’ll figure it out.” Josie bit the inside of her lip. “People have a finite amount of clothes and it wouldn’t be too odd if he sees me twice in the same outfit, would it?” She went back to her bed. “It’s not that I want too much.” Tears flowed down again. “I just want to be happy. I just wish I was rich and that I didn’t have to work. And that I had a better boyfriend. I guess I am free to look for one now… I shouldn’t be bothering you with all my problems, should I?” she added after a short pause, “But it’s nice to talk sometimes, isn’t it? You’re the only person that ever listens to me. And,” she walked back to her bed, “I have a confession to make: I lost your bike. I’m so sorry! I promise I will repay you.”
Downstairs, the baby started crying.
“What’s that?” Josie asked.
The little woman looked at the door with the same frightened look that an old dog gives to a rolled up newspaper.
“It sounds so close,” Josie said. “I didn’t know the neighbors had a baby.” She stood up, her curiosity piqued by the cries. “I wonder what…” She opened the door to the landing.
Right then a red Fairlane pulled into the alley.
“Hey, girl!” Heather called from the driver’s seat. “What’s tickin’? Are you still coming with us to the beach?”
A little blond boy pulled his head out of the passenger window, grinning at Josie. He was missing one tooth.
“I thought you were going with Eva,” Josie responded.
“And with you too. Eva flaked on me.”
“Of course she did,” Josie responded. “She was too busy screwing my boyfriend.”
“What?—Tyler, go back to your seat—What are you talking about?”
The little woman seized the interruption to scurry behind Josie and bolt downstairs towards her sisters’ bedroom.
Victoria held up the baby as if he were a bag full of rubbish. His diaper was dripping on the carpet.
“They slept together,” Josie responded to her friend.
“Oh my God! And I thought I had had a rough night. You can’t say no to me now. You gotta come with us and tell me everything. I have your purse.”
Josie pouted. She was cross at Heather. But she was in such need of a good friend. Even a selfish, self-centered friend like her. As of that morning, Russell was dead to her, but she couldn’t stay all of her life grieving her loss. She was too young. A day of gossiping at the beach sounded like the right thing to do.
“Okay,” she responded. “It’ll take me just a few minutes.”
“Perfect,” Heather said. Her eyes squinted as her gaze stumbled over the little woman peeking through her sisters’ window.
Josie came down five minutes later wearing a broad-brimmed hat, shorts, and sunglasses.
“Do you want to know what else happened last night?” she asked her friend as she climbed into the passenger seat. The boy had moved to the back. “I almost got raped.” She pursed her lips with bitterness. “And I got arrested.”
“You got WHAT?” Heather started the car. “Oh, my God, start talking, girl—Tyler, honey,” Heather looked at her son through the mirror, “cover your ears. Mommy and her friend have something important to talk about. What exactly happened last night?”
Josie gave a fast look of disapproval at her friend. “Well,” she unwrapped a piece of gum and stuck it in her mouth. “It all started after you left me…”
The retelling of the previous night ended at the beach.
“It was all that horrible woman’s fault.”
“Eva?” Heather raised her head from her towel. She had unfastened the straps of her swimsuit and was lying face down next to Josie. Tyler and two black kids were busy running to and fro, bringing sea water inside a hole they had dug to make the moat for a sandcastle.
“Don’t even say her name,” Josie snarled. “Of course it’s her fault. None of these things would have happened if she hadn’t shown up at the Gas House last night. And Russell is so stupid. It’s like she has him bewitched. I don’t even want to think of all the poisonous things she must have told him about me. You can tell she’s a liar. She makes things up. And she has no feelings. Oh, Heather, I’m not a bad person, I have never wished wrong to anyone else in my entire life, but right now I really wish she was dead. I wish she was dead and burning in Hell forever. I hate her so much, it kills me.”
“She has him bewitched, you think?” Heather asked with a sluggish tone, after a short pause.
“It must be. She must have put a spell on him or something.”
“Then maybe she put a spell on you as well.”
“Do you think so?”
“Of course,” Heather responded. “Do you think Russell would have left you for that blonde horse if she wasn’t doing black magic on him? She’s Jewish, Josephine. She’s not like you and me. Her people are different. There’s something I didn’t like about her despite her good spirits right from the very beginning. She’s, uh…” Heather hesitated about the word she was about to use “…evil. I knew that from the first moment I saw her.”
“Well, you seemed to have fallen in love her.”
“I was just being polite. I’m not a chuntara with no manners, like someone I know,” she chuckled, darting her eyes to Josie. “Anyway, there’s only one thing you can do when someone evil does evil things to you,” Heather rolled to one side and looked at her friend straight in the eye: “You gotta fight back. Eye for an eye. Magic with magic. You have to curse her.”
“How?” Josie exclaimed.
Heather gazed over her shoulder to make sure no one could listen to what she was about to say:
“With a magic potion.” She adjusted her top. “Those ladies you live with—they’re witches. Their mother was a very powerful necromancer. You have no idea. I’m talking about devil worshipping, blood sacrifices, the whole nine yards. Why do you think they’re so good with the cards? Everything they say becomes true. They have the gift. They told me about Will; they told me about the fight we had; they told me about him marrying that fucking abuela—isn’t that too much coincidence?”
“Witches?” Josie asked with disbelief.
“Brujas. Malditas.”
“How do you know that?”
“I always know things. You should be scared, girl. I would be if I lived in there. Why do you think I’m wearing this shit?” she showed her the small Virgin Mary medal hanging from her neck. “I’m not Catholic. I only wear it when I go to your place. You shouldn’t be too scared, though, because they’re on your side. I mean, they like you, don’t they? You never pay the rent on time—I would have kicked your ass out the first time. That’s a sign. I’m sure that if you ask them, they will help you. Of course, you gotta give them something in return,” she rubbed her fingers signaling money. “They don’t do things for free. But if you ask them nicely, I think they might help you out—What’s that sweetie?” Heather interrupted herself to look at her son, standing next to her, holding up his bucket. “A pufferfish?” She looked into the bucket. “Ew, he’s dead. Throw it away!”
“Let’s take it home for dinner,” Tyler said.
“Mmm, sounds delicious. But we rather get one fresh at the supermarket. Go play with your friends.”
“Do you think it would cost too much?” Josie asked, once the boy left.
“You’ll have to ask them.”
“The youngest one seems to like me. I can ask her for a discount.”
Heather snorted. “Don’t bother with that one. I think she’s retarded. You gotta talk to the other two.”
“But how much do you think a potion will cost?”
“I don’t know. A shitty one? Five bucks. A powerful one? A hundred.”
“A hundred dollars!” Josie cried.
“Whatever it takes, girl, you can’t be cheap when it’s about your man. It could be less. I’ve spent way more, altogether. Ask them tonight. Just don’t show too much curiosity. Be nonchalant; they’re not open when it comes to revealing their secrets. I’ve bought a dozen love potions from them, and it’s never easy. They always say they don’t do the evil thing anymore. But you’ll see, for the right amount, they will eventually agree to help you. Everyone has their price.”
Josie took in a breath. Coming out to the beach had been a wonderful idea. The warm sun and the fresh air made her feel rested. So much better. Heather was a true pal. She would find a way to get the money. It couldn’t be that much, could it? But if it was, a hundred dollars was a small price to pay for the sweet taste of revenge. Maybe she could schmooze the sisters into giving her a discount and get a good one for twenty. After all the money she had already spent with them, she deserved something.
She closed her eyes. Eva covered in red hives, she imagined, rolling in pain. Eva being pulled apart by four horses. And Russell, good old beautiful but unfaithful Russell, on his knees, begging for her forgiveness. Forgiveness that she would never grant, no matter how much he begged, no matter how many tears he shed, no matter how much it hurt her. She would die loving him, but she would never forgive him.
Life was still worth living.
“Is it true that your sisters are witches?” Josie asked her little friend that night. She was going upstairs to her bedroom and the little woman was coming down, carrying a bucket. She posed the question nonchalantly, as advised by Heather, but the poor thing began trembling. She let the bucket fall and ran down to the kitchen.
Josie decided to drop the subject. She was so broke, asking now had really no purpose.
15
In which we finally meet Richard
Josie looked at the big clock on the wall behind the counter. Twenty minutes past four. On Fridays, her shift didn’t end until five. It had been such a long, boring day at Sears. Hanging and folding clothes, watching pretentious housewives parade through the store in their summer dresses, browsing the merchandise as if they owned it. That night, after several failed attempts to reconnect, she would finally meet Richard for dinner. She applied the tester perfume on her wrist and brought it to her nose. She still had to go home and change, and if she was taking the bus all the way to Hollywood—she applied a little bit more perfume, on her neck this time—she would need to leave early in order to be there before seven.
She looked at her supervisor, at the other side of the women’s department, lecturing the new girl on the use of the register. Maybe she could pretend to get sick and steal away ten minutes early? The man raised his eyes and gave Josie a serious look. Shoot. She put down the bottle of perfume. He knew what she was planning.
At least after five o’clock she could do as she pleased.
Ah, the delights of being single! Now she had no commitments, no obligations and no worries.
It had been almost two weeks since her break up with Russell. Thirteen days. Three hundred and twelve hours. Eighteen thousand seven hundred twenty minutes, according to the adding machine. How many seconds? She multiplied the amount by sixty. Over a million, she looked at the printed result with satisfaction. She felt Zen. Refreshed. Liberated. Reborn…or so she declared to whoever asked how she was doing.
“Kind of great… Fantastic… Never better!”
At home, she still cried herself to sleep every night, wishing that something terrible happened to that treacherous Polish witch who had stolen her boyfriend, the only witness to her pain, the one person who wouldn’t say a word for the love of nothing. “How could he cheat on me with that stupid whore?” she asked with tears in her eyes to her wordless little friend. For the rest of the world she presented a façade of happiness.
A woman interrupted Josie. “Do you carry this in size ten?”
The girl shook her head. They probably did, but she didn’t feel like helping anyone. What was she going to wear that night? She still couldn’t decide between the black pencil skirt her little landlady had fixed, high heel Corellis, and a purple sweater, or the blue sheath dress she had fixed her eyes on ever since it had arrived at the store ten days earlier. She had the shoes for it, but she couldn’t wear that dress with a sweater, could she? That dress needed a fur.
She felt the urge to try it on again. So she did.
“Do you work here?” A lady waiting by the fitting rooms asked her.
Josie shook her head with an apologetic smile.
The dress looked great on her. Twenty-two fifty, after her employee discount. If she pulled off a thread, she could make it pass for defective and get forty percent more off. How much was sixty percent of twenty-two? Probably still more than she could afford.
She bit a nail. The fabric was so thin, it could easily fit inside her purse. But what would she wear on top? Her gray cardigan?
“Do you have this in red?” Another lady interrupted her as she was leaving the fitting room.
These people could be so annoying. “I’ll check,” Josie replied with a sigh.
At five o’clock sharp, she punched her time card and hurried out of the store towards Ocean Avenue.
“Josie!” a young man called behind her.
“Where to so fast?” a second one asked.
The two men were Peter and Paul, two old friends from the Gas House Café, whom Josie referred to as “the twins” because of her initial inability to distinguish one from the other. Both of them had brown hair, and both of them wore always a cap—Peter a green one in the style of the red Chinese army, and Paul a white captain’s hat—both seemed to like turtlenecks, army jackets, and corduroys, they both boasted beards, and both cats were passionate Marxists.
“Oh, hi,” the girl responded. “I’m in a rush—gotta catch the bus.”
They were good looking too, and they both seemed attracted to Josie. She would love to stay and chat, Josie thought. They were so pleasant. Alas, both of them were penniless artists. Paul was a playwright and Peter a painter.
“Where are you going?”
“I have to go home,” Josie announced, and continued walking.
“No!” the two men cried in unison.
“We were waiting for you,” Paul said.
“Come with us for a drink,” Peter proposed, catching up on her right side.
“I can’t,” Josie replied. “I have a date in Hollywood.”
“With whom?” asked Paul, to Josie’s left.
“With an old friend…”
“Tell him that you forgot,” Peter begged.
“Tell him that you’ll see him tomorrow.”
“I can’t,” Josie pouted. “I said I would be there. And I will. I owe him.”
“How old of a friend is he?”
“Old.”
“You prefer a boring geezer over the two of us?” Peter whined.
“Is he better looking?” asked Paul.
“He’s not too bad,” Josie responded, half flattered, half annoyed by the young mens’ insistence. “And he’s a millionaire.”
Both men snorted.
“We cannot fight rich.”
“We’re broke.”
Josie stopped walking. She had a thing for handsome men with saddened expressions. She dug inside her purse for her cigarettes (not an easy task with the sheath dress stuffed inside) and after lighting one for herself, she offered the package to the twins. Each took one with gusto.
“I can’t hang out with you today. But you can walk with me to the bus stop.”
The two men shrugged.
“Nah. Better things to do,” Paul said. “What time will you be free?”
“I don’t know,” Josie responded. “He may want to go out for a drink afterwards.”
“Bring him to Venice!” exclaimed Peter. “Rich old geezers love Veni
ce West. We’ll be at the Gas House around ten. Maybe he’s interested in buying art? Tell him that you have a good friend who’s an excellent painter.”
“Or maybe he’s interested in producing a movie,” pointed Paul. “Tell him that you have a friend who’s a screenwriter.”
“I thought you only wrote plays,” Josie simpered. “He’s terribly busy, anyways. He barely had time for me, and I doubt he’ll be interested. And I don’t hang out at that joint anymore. Maybe some other time,” Josie gave a deep drag to her cigarette. “I really have to rush now. Good-bye!”
“Bye.” Hands deep inside their pant pockets, the twins bid her farewell with faces as long as if that was the last time they were going to see her.
The wait for the bus took Josie just as much time as the whole ride to the canals. Once at home she kicked off her flats and changed into the blue dress. Too wrinkled. She tried on the pencil skirt. She looked poor. She changed back into the blue dress. What should she do with her hair? No expensive coat and no gloves. She put on her gray cardigan and rolled up the sleeves to hide a small hole on the cuff. It looked okay. Maybe. She took it off. By then, it was already five-fifty.
No time to take the bus either. She would have to call a cab.
She dashed downstairs and tried to get into the kitchen. The door was locked. The sisters now kept the lower level off limits.
Love, or the Witches of Windward Circle Page 22