Fifteen minutes later he was back.
can shove em.
"What happened?" Nick asked.
"Well, like, y'know, I had this best friend at school. He told me
there's no way we can go to his house on account of he's havin' trouble
with his dad-so strike him off."
Cyndra leaned forward. "Who else did you call?"
"This girl I used to go with. But when I told her there were three of
us she begged off So then I called my cousin."
"I thought we were forgetting about relatives."
"Don't sweat it. He changed his number-and the new one's unlisted."
"Is that it?" Nick asked. "These are the friends and relatives that
were gonna put us up?"
"Hey, things change," Joey said. "We've got enough money for a
hotel."
"Not for long," Nick said. "We've only got enough money for three or
four days, then we're on the street."
"We'll get jobs," Joey said.
"What jobs?" Cyndra asked.
"I'm gonna try out at a few comedy clubs," Joey said cheerfully.
"Face it-I'm young, I'm hot, I'm theirs!"
"I suppose I could do some waitressing," she said thoughtfully.
"And you can get a gig at a gas station, Nick," Joey said.
"If I wanted a job at a gas station I'd have stayed in Bosewell," Nick
retorted sharply.
"Stop bitchin'," Joey said. "We're here. We're outta Bosewell.
Something good'll come along."
After an hour of traipsing the streets they checked into a fleabag
hotel with flashing neon signs, vibrating beds and in-house porno
movies. While Joey and Cyndra were registering as Mr. and Mrs.
Pearson, Nick slipped around to the back alley. As soon as they
reached their room they let him in through the fire escape.
"Some dump!" Cyndra complained, trying out the lumpy bed.
"You were expecting the Plaza?" Joey countered.
"Quit it," Nick said. "I'm not listenin' to you two fight all night
long."
They began studying the newspaper, circling job opportunities.
Joey found what he was looking for and got ready for action. He combed
his hair, slicked it down with oil, put on his best jacket and said,
"I'm visiting the Comedy Club. How old do I look?"
Cyndra leaned back narrowing her eyes. "Bout seventeen."
"You're full of it." He turned to Nick. "Whaddaya think?"
"You could pass for twenty."
"I'm growin' a beard, that'll do it."
Cyndra wrinkled her nose. "Ugh . . . I hate beards."
"You hate everything," Joey said.
"No, I don't," she argued.
Nick was getting edgy. "C'mon, you two," he said.
"Listen to this." Cyndra pounced triumphantly, reading aloud from the
paper. "Beautiful young girls wanted for modeling jobs. Ability to
travel abroad essential." Sounds great." She jumped off the bed and
paraded around the room. "I could be a model, couldn't I?"
"Sounds great," Joey mimicked. "They'll have you on a slow boat to
China with a needle in your arm.
"Huh?"
"That's what they do to girls once they get hold of em. Ship em off to
whorehouses in Bangkok."
"You and your imagination."
"I'm not kiddin'."
"I'm gonna take a walk," Nick said. "See you two later."
"Yeah, yeah," Joey said. "I'm doin' the same. Cyndra, you're on your
own, so don't go signing with no modeling agency unless you check it
with me first."
"Sure, Mr. Bigshot," she said sarcastically.
Joey grinned. He liked her sassiness. "You'd better believe it.
We'll meet back here in a coupla hours."
Trudging around the streets of Chicago, Nick felt his adrenaline begin
feel of the city. He passed a couple of help-wanted signs and went
inside, only to find both positions filled. Who wanted to work in a
hamburger joint or a barbershop anyway?
After a while he passed a restaurant/bar with a sign in the window.
What the hell-he'd make a pretty good bartender. He ventured inside
the dim interior and checked it out. The place was dingy, with low
lights and a tired stripper gyrating to a gloomy-sounding Glen Campbell
on the jukebox. There were few customers.
He headed toward the bar, where a gnarled old man with a crew cut and
bloodshot eyes stood guard. "Yeah?" the man rasped. "What kin I
getcha?"
"I'm interested in the job," he said.
The man snorted and turned away. "Round the back."
"What job is it?"
"Washin' dishes."
"That's not exactly what I had in mind."
"What didja have in mind?" the man said, picking up a glass and giving
it a cursory polish with a grubby cloth.
"Your job."
"Ha-ha, the kid's a comedian. Get your skinny ass around the back."
Nick decided he was better off repairing cars than washing dishes, but
since he was here anyway, he made his way into the alley, coming face
to face with a large rat balanced on top of an overflowing garbage
can.
He dodged past it and entered through the back door into a filthy
kitchen.
A very thin man in what once might have been a white apron sat on a
stool, his legs propped on a countertop. He was smoking a cigarette,
blowing lazy smoke rings toward the ceiling. On the stove a huge pan
of fries sizzled in a sea of greasy black oil.
"Yeah?" the man said, looking down his long thin nose.
"I was wondering bout the job," Nick said.
"You wanna do some washin', jump right in," the man said, gesturing
toward a chipped sink piled high with dirty dishes.
"How much?"
"Two fifty an hour-cash."
"That ain't enough."
"Who d'ya think I am-Rockefeller? You want the job or not?"
"How many hours a day?"
"A coupla hours lunchtime, two or three in the evenings."
Thirteen bucks a day if he was lucky, and he'd still have mornings and
afternoons free to go on auditions. "Make it a straight three bucks an
hour an' I'm yours."
"Don't go bargaining with me, kid. I can get a Meri t'do it for half
the price."
"Why don't you?"
The man blew smoke in his face. "Oh, you got a smart mouth too, huh?
Fuckin' Mexis break everything."
"Two seventy-five," Nick said.
"Jesus!" The man slapped his forehead. "Start now and you got the
job-or shift your ass outta here. Take it or leave it."
He took it. It sure beat walking the streets.
y the time Lauren reached the gas station she was hot and tired.
The front area was deserted, so she made her way to the office and
tapped on the door.
George sat behind his desk, going over some outstanding accounts.
"Yes?" he called out.
"Excuse me," she said, putting her head around the door. "I'm looking
for Nick Angelo."
"Nick don't work here no more," George said gruffly.
"He doesn't?"
"Nah-he quit."
She was stunned. How could he quit his job just like that? She was
about to ask more questions but the phone rang and George settled
himself into a conversation.
She left the gas station, trying to decide what to do.
You've gone this far, Roberts. May as well go all the way. Take a bus
over to the trailer park and find out what's going on.
She was more nervous about telling Nick than facing up to her parents,
but it had to be done. What would he say when she told him she was
pregnant? Oh, God! Would he hate her? She couldn't stand it.
She hurried to the bus stop and waited ten minutes before the bus
arrived. It was stiflingly hot and close, and she was beginning to
feel nauseous.
"Bad weather up ahead," the driver said, taking her fare.
What was he talking about? It was a beautiful day, much too hot, but
it certainly didn't look like rain.
"Thunderstorms," the driver said, nodding his head knowingly. "I can
hear em miles away.
Settling into a window seat she looked outside-there wasn't a cloud in
the sky.
As soon as the bus began to move she started thinking about her
father.
Phil Roberts had always taught her to be honest and true, so why
couldn't she be honest with him? Because that's what she really wanted
to do.
On impulse she jumped off at Main Street, deciding to visit him at work
and make one last attempt to communicate.
By the time she reached the stairs leading to his office she'd made up
her mind exactly what she would say. She'd tell him her life was over
if she wasn't allowed to see Nick Angelo. And then she'd tell him
about the baby.
The shade was down on his office door, and the CLOSED sign displayed.
Disappointed, she went downstairs to the hardware store and spoke to
one of the Blakely brothers.
"When will my father be back?"
"He's upstairs, Lauren."
"He's not, the office is closed."
"I'm almost sure he's up there. Here-take the spare key, you can wait
for" She took the key and went back upstairs. Her father was probably
out having lunch. This break was good, it would give her time to
compose herselœ When he came back she'd be ready with a perfectly
reasonable speech that he couldn't fail to understand and respond to.
She put the key in the lock and let herself into the small reception
area. As soon as she stepped inside she knew she wasn't alone-there
were strange muffled sounds coming from the inner office.
He's being robbed, was her immediate thought. Without thinking she
opened the door and stood on the threshold.
Eloise, her father's secretary, was spread-eagled naked across the
couch. Crouched above her, also naked, was her father.
Lauren's hand flew to her mouth and she gasped. Eloise let out a
little screech of horror, and Phil Roberts turned his head around to
meet his daughter's shocked stare.
"Lauren!" he said, rolling off Eloise and frantically grabbing for his
pants. "Oh, my God! This is not what you think. Lauren, what are you
doing here?"
She turned around and ran from the room, stumbling down the stairs,
trying not to cry. This was her father? This was upstanding Phil
Roberts-the man she'd looked up to all her life?
He was a phony. He was a nothing. And she'd never ever forgive him.
Primo Angelo lumbered into the liquor store and bought four sixpacks of
beer. Harlan trailed behind him.
When he was finished in the store and the van was loaded he said, "I'm
starvin'. Wanna grab a bite?"
Harlan could hardly believe his luck. "Yes, sir," he said quickly.
"I'se always hungry."
"Where can we find us a good burger?" Primo asked.
Harlan pointed down Main Street. "The drugstore."
Primo set off with Harlan loping behind.
Louise greeted them with a smile, a menu and a crisp "Hi there, folks"
as they sat down at the counter.
Primo nodded. Nice-looking piece of ass. Good tits too. "Coupla
burgers," he said. "Make em plump an' juicy an' fast." He winked
suggestively. "Just like you, honey."
The smile vanished from her face. "Cheeseburger, chiliburger, or
plain?" she asked curtly.
"Make it two cheeseburgers-well done," Primo said, undressing her with
his eyes. He could see little beads of sweat between her breasts and
it began to excite him. He'd had it with Aretha Mae, she was old and
dried up, he needed somebody younger, juicier-somebody like this
hot-looking waitress with the big tits and sassy ass.
Louise stopped by the kitchen, gave the order to Dave and went in the
back room grumbling to herself. Some men had no manners. All they
thought about was sex.
She removed her purse from the shelf and took out her lipstick and
hairbrush. Then she fluffed out her hair, teased her bangs and applied
more lipstick. She always liked to look her best, especially when
dealing with sexist jerks. Just as she was putting everything away she
noticed the letter Nick had left for her to give to Lauren lying on the
bottom shelf.
Can't give it to her if she ain't been in, she thought.
Nick had marked it PRIVATE and URGENT. If Lauren didn't show up soon
maybe she'd hand it to her friend Meg to pass on.
Louise propped the letter up so she wouldn't forget, and returned to
the kitchen.
The school secretary phoned Jane Roberts at one o'clock. "Mrs.
Roberts, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but it seems Lauren is
missing again. She was here this morning and now she appears to have
left."
Jane's lips tightened. "You mean she's not in school?"
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Roberts, but I must warn you that if this behavior
continues . . . Well, I don't have to tell you the consequences.
"Thank you." Jane put down the phone and immediately dialed her
husband's number. Nobody answered.
Why did Lauren have to put her through this? Wasn't it enough that
Phil had been sleeping with his secretary? Wasn't it enough that she'd
been humiliated by the Brownings' rejection?
Jane's perfect life was falling to pieces around her and she couldn't
stand it.
She snatched up her car keys and rushed from the house.
Lauren ran down Main Street until she was away from her father's office
and the whole sordid scene. She didn't stop running until she reached
the bus stop.
Pictures of her father, bare-assed, pumping away on top of Eloise kept
playing before her eyes.
Now it all became clear why her parents were always fighting. Her
father was havin an affair, and her mother probably suspected.
Oh, God! Was this the man who'd told her how to live her life? The
man she'd respected and looked up to?
She wanted to cry, but tears wouldn't come. Poor Mommy, she thought
miserably. Poor me.
There were so many thoughts crowding her head she thought it might
crack wide open.
The bus trundled up and she leapt on. There was no doubt about where
she was going now. She had to see Nick, he was the only person she
could talk to. The only person in the world she could trust.
Two women got on the bus and sat across from her.
"I just spoke to my sister," sa
id the first woman, a straggly blonde.
"She told me they're having a big thunderstorm over in Ripley."
"Yes?" The other woman did not seem particularly interested. She was
several months pregnant and looked exhausted.
"Heard a rumor we might be expecting a twister around these parts,"
said the blonde.
The pregnant woman shook her head. "Not a chance. It's beautiful here
today-we're lucky."
Lauren tuned out. Her life was destroyed and these women were
discussing the weather.