peek at his watch-it was almost six, which meant he'd been cleaning up
for three hours.
"What time you want me back?" he said, addressing himself to Len.
"Whaddaya mean-back?" demanded Q.J stepping over a box of wilted
lettuce stashed on the floor. "We're comin' up to busy. You'll stick
around till we close."
"He told me a coupla hours lunchtime, an' two or three in the
evenings," Nick said, nodding at Len.
Q.J. shrugged. "What can I tell ya? He lied."
"Do I still get paid by the hour?"
"Yeah, yeah," Q.J. said impatiently, shooting his cuffs, revealing
oversized pearl and gold cufflinks.
Nick wondered if they were real. "When's payday?" he asked.
Jesus! That's all I need-a fuckin' dishwasher with a "Friday.
mouth!"
"Leave him alone, Q.J. He's workin' hard." So spoke Erna-his new
guardian angel. "This place looks almost clean, for once."
By the time he got out of there it was past one in the morning. If his
figures held up he'd made himself over twenty bucks. But, jeer, he was
tired-ready to drop, and now he couldn't remember where the dumb hotel
was.
He walked the streets for an hour before giving up, diving into the
subway and curling up on a bench outside the men's room. He'd find the
hotel in the morning, right now all he could think about was sleep.
Just before oblivion hit he thought about Lauren, and he fell asleep
with a smile on his face.
Hands awoke him. Frantic hands, insistent hands. He opened his eyes
to find a well-dressed elderly man bending over him, struggling with
the zipper on his jeans.
"What the hell!" He shoved the man's hands away.
"I'll pay you," the man said, a feverish gleam in his eyes. "I'll pay
you good. Ten dollars to blow you-or if you'd sooner the other way
around I'll-" Nick leaped up, startling the man, who fell back and
cowered against the wall.
"I . . . I can go to fifteen," the man offered, licking his lips.
"Even twenty "Fuck you!" Nick snarled, running down the platform
toward the stairs. "Fuck you, pervert!"
"No need to get-" Nick made it up to the street and fresh air. He took
a deep gulp.
Shit! If this was the big city he'd better learn to watch out.
He glanced at his watch; it was past seven and the streets were already
busy. Now that it was light it didn't take him long to find the hotel,
sneak past the front desk and make his way upstairs to their room.
Cyndra and Joey were asleep. Nice. Like they'd really been worried
about him. He gave Joey a hefty shove.
"Wassup?" Joey mumbled, opening one eye.
"I'm back, that's what's up."
Joey struggled to sit up. "Where were you, man?"
"Workin'. Where were you?"
Joey was impressed. "You got a job?"
"No big deal. Washin' dishes. I'll do it till I score something'
else."
"Washin' dishes," Cyndra said, surfacing from under the covers. "I
didn't leave home to do that."
"Yeah, well, you're not doin' it, are you? I am," Nick replied. "An'
it's only till we connect."
"That'll be soon," Joey said confidently, leaping out of bed. "Real
soon.
Unfortunately, Nick discovered, he was the only one who'd found work.
Neither Cyndra nor Joey had been so lucky. Secretly he was proud of
himself. He'd proved he could manage on his own, and that was a big
achievement-maybe he should have run from his father a long time ago.
Later, when he reported for work, he felt more at home. The foraging
rat by the garbage cans seemed like an old friend, and Len in his
soiled apron even threw him a friendly wave, cigarette ash scattering
everywhere.
Nick Angelo, dishwasher. Some beginning.
But it was better than nothing.
Cyndra might be only seventeen but she knew the look-it was in most
men's eyes as soon as they saw her.
This man was no different. This skinny little jerk with a bald spot,
glasses and a nervous tic.
"How old are ya?" he asked, picking his nose.
She was interviewing for a job as an usher in a movie theater. How old
did you have to be to direct people to their seats? She took a wild
shot. "Twenty."
"Got references?"
"Nope."
He stopped digging for treasure and peered at her through his thick
glasses. "No references, huh?"
Big deal. Try a smile. "This would be my first job," she said
politely.
"I'd hire ya-but the management she said rea The man stared at her
breasts.
needs references."
"How can I have references if I've never had a job?" sonably, wishing
she'd worn a heavier sweater.
The man pushed at his glasses. "Can't risk it."
This was her fifth interview of the day-probably her fiftieth for the
week. She'd been out looking every day, and so had Joey. How come
Nick walked in off the street and scored an immediate job? It wasn't
fair.
She wondered if she wrote to the canning plant back in Bosewell if
they'd mail her a reference.
To whom it may concern: Cyndra Angelo worked her black ass off for
several months making sure an extra peach didn't fall into the wrong
can. She stood on an assembly line for ten hours a day and we paid her
minimum wage. Oh yes, and every man in the place tried to flick her.
No way. She'd left without giving notice. Gallagher, the foreman of
her section, was probably still pissed off.
She left the movie theater and hit the streets again. It was hot and
her feet hurt. She sat down on a bench by the bus stop and tried to
figure out her next move.
Use your looks, a little voice whispered in her head. Make em work for
you.
She remembered an interview a couple of days back. DANCING GIRLS
NEEDED, the ad had stated. She'd gone to a loft in the city and lined
up with about twenty other girls while a shirtless man with a video
camera had filmed the line. When he was finished he'd said, "Okay.
Now the nude shots. Anyone who don't wanna strip get out now.
She and three other girls had beat a hasty retreat. The rest had
started to disrobe.
What would have happened if she'd stayed?
She shuddered, not wanting to know. No way was she parading around
naked, it wasn't her style. And she did have style. Whatever happened
to her, whatever the future held, she always had to believe in
herself-otherwise she was finished.
the elbows. As far as he was concerned Cary Grant better watch out.
"Whatcha think this is? A fuckin' charity setup?" Q.J. said, pulling
a face at Len as if to say Who is this schmuck? And why is he workin'
for me?
Len pounded on a slab of rabbit shortly to be served up as Chicken
Surprise. "Ya don't want conversation, don't come in the kitchen.
This kid never stops. He thinks he's an actor."
"An actor?" Q.J. managed to look amazed. "Only I would hire a fuckin'
dishwasher who thinks he's a fuckin' actor."
As usual they were talking about him as if he didn't exist. That was
okay. He was used to it by now. Two weeks working at Q.J."s and he
was used to anything. The place was a dump-but it had turned out to be
a popular dump. It hadn't taken Nick long to find out that Q.J.
was a reformed house burglar who'd spent so much time in jail that a
couple of years previously he'd decided to give up his life of crime
and open a restaurant/bar with his brother-in-law Len-a former waiter
at one of Chicago's more fashionable hotels. Erna, Q.J."s sister, had
declared herself in as head stripper. Every time she wasn't around
Q.J. complained. "Ya gotta retire her, Len. When she takes it off,
half my customers get up an' leave!"
"You tell her" was Len's standard reply. "I have to sleep with her."
Q.J."s clientele consisted of the more colorful elements of Chicago's
criminal population. Strictly small-time, but they all had money to
spend, and Q.J. made sure everyone had a good time-in spite of Erna and
her dance of the seven veils.
Q.J. was a genial host who did a bit of fencing on the side, and under
all the tough talk he was a real easy touch. Which is why Nick decided
to repeat his words. "I gotta coupla friends-they both need jobs."
"Do I look like an employment agency?" Q.J. demanded, throwing his
arms wide. "I gotta pay nine people a week-ten if ya wanna include the
cleaner who don't clean shit. I am not"-he raised his voice for
effect-"a fuckin' refuge for fuckin' teenage schmucks from the East."
"West," Nick corrected.
Q.J. threw him a filthy look. "Now I gotta stay outta my own kitchen
on account of your mouth. What'd I do to deserve this?"
Len reached for his cigarette smoldering on the countertop. He "I
gotta coupla friends-they both need jobs," Nick blurted out.
Tonight Q. J. was in a maroon velvet smoking jacket well worn at to&k a
puff, causing thick ash to drop on the pounded rabbit flesh.
Neither Q.J. nor Len seemed bothered.
"Can I bring em in?" Nick asked, expertly stacking clean glasses ready
to return to the bar.
"No," saidQ.J.
"No," said Len.
"You'll like em both," said Nick.
Two nights later he arrived at six with Cyndra and Joey lurking behind
him.
Q.J. took one look at Cyndra and rolled his eyes. "Too pretty," he
said. "The broads'll hate her. Can't have a stripper better lookin'
than the customers-they don't like it."
"I'm not a stripper," Cyndra said hotly, glaring at Nick.
Q.J. squinted in her direction. "What are ya, doll? A brain surgeon
with tits?"
"A singer."
"A what?"
"You heard me."
Q.J. adjusted the collar of his striped shirt and loosened his cerise
tie. The girl was a beauty-a little dark for his taste and dangerously
young, but she had class. Maybe his customers would go for her if he
had Erna dress her up in a tight red dress with plenty of cleavage.
Yeah-maybe he'd be Mr. Nice Guy and give her a chance.
"I gotta be crazy," he said, shaking his head. "One night. Ten
bucks.
If they don't like you you're out."
"What about me?" Joey asked. "I'm a-" "Save it, sonny. I did my good
deed for the day."
Joey knew when to shut up.
Cyndra's singing debut was inauspicious. Dressed up by Erna in a tight
revealing gown she hated, with teased hair and too much makeup, she
stood in front of a boozy crowd and warbled her version of Aretha
Franklin's "Respect." A mistake. The only singing Cyndra had ever
done was in private, and although her voice was pleasantly husky she
had no idea how to use it.
After a few minutes the crowd became restless. "Take it off,
sweetie!"
yelled one man, and others soon took up the chant.
Standing at the back of the room, Q.J. chewed on a toothpick and
scowled. He'd thought he might have made a discovery-but as usual he
was wrong. The girl had faked him out, convincing him she could do
something she wasn't capable of.
"You fuckin' her or what?" asked Petey the Frog, one of his regulars
-his bug-eyes bulging.
"Nah, just givin' her a chance," Q.J. replied, smoothing down his
velvet smoking jacket.
"C'mon, ya gotta be fuckin' her," Petey the Frog said, slurping his
drink.
"Too young, Q.J. said shortly, walking away.
Cyndra finished to desultory applause and a few more raucous cries of
"Take it off!" She ran from the stage.
"I quit," she told an amazed Q.J.
"You quit?" he managed. "You fuckin' quit? I'm firm' ya, doll."
She glared at him. "You can't fire someone who already quit."
"And I ain't payin' ya, either," Q.J. added, red in the face.
"Oh, yes, you are," she said fiercely. "I performed. You'll pay.
It's not my fault your customers are a bunch of stupid apes."
Q.J. had never come across a girl like Cyndra before. She was young,
but she had guts and he couldn't help admiring her. It was a shame she
had no talent.
His first wife had been like that-Sassy Sarah, everyone had called
her.
She'd run off with their electrician while he'd been languishing in
jail. His second wife had chosen the plumber. He'd been single now
for eight years, and that's the way he planned to stay.
He paid Cyndra her ten bucks. She didn't seem particularly grateful.
"I don't have to do this," he informed her.
"Yes, you do," she replied, walking out into the night.
Q.J. did not appreciate her attitude, a little ass-kissing would have
been nice.
"Don't bring in no more of your friends," he warned Nick.
"You shoulda let her practice or something'," Nick said.
Q.J. shook his head at Len. "What the fuck's going' on here? I got a
dishwasher lippin' off, an' a broad that can't sing shit givin' me a
hard time. Do I deserve this?"
"That's life," Len said, dipping his finger into a bowl of cream.
"Shit!" said Q.J. "Shit!"
"Listen-" Nick began.
"One more word outta you an' you're fired," Q.J. said gruffly.
Erna entered the kitchen beaming. "Big hit, huh?"
"With all due respect," Q.J. said to his sister, "you wouldn't know a
big hit if it landed on your ass an' bit you!"
By the time Nick finished work and got back to the hotel Cyndra and
Joey were waiting outside with their bags packed. It was two in the
morning.
"What's up?" he asked, dreading the answer.
"We got thrown out," Joey said, stamping his feet against the cold
night air.
"How come?"
Cause we owe em."
"But I gave you the money to pay.
Joey looked sheepish. "I kinda lost it in a street hustle."
"Jerk!" muttered Cyndra.
"Hey-this place cost too much anyway," Joey said quickly. "Tomorrow
we'll get us a one-room apartment-itl be cheaper."
Nick was angry. He was still the only one working-and now Joey was
taking his hard-earned money and blowing it on street con games for
dumb tourists. Maybe it was time to split up.
"I'm cold," Cyndra said, sounding like a little girl. "Where'll we<
br />
sleep?"
She was his sister, he couldn't desert her. "C'mon," he said. "We'll
find you a nice comfortable park bench, cover you with newspapers an'
you'll sleep like a baby."
She recovered her edge. "Gee, I can't wait."
Joey snapped his fingers. "Whaddaya want? The penthouse at the Ritz
Carlton?"
She looked at him as if he were a lowly worm. "Yes," she said. "And
one of these days that's exactly what I'll get."
"Sure," Nick agreed. "But tonight it's the park, so let's hit it."
They picked up their belongings and set ofœ As they trudged toward the
park he began thinking about Lauren and how much he missed her. By
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