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American Star

Page 25

by Jackie Collins


  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 wasr />
  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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