A Half Dozen Fools Page 6

  "Sure, Rod. Thanks."

  She backed away and started to shut the door.

  "Oh, and Elyse?"

  "Yes, Rod?"

  "Next time, don't just knock and open the door. Wait 'til you're told to come in."

  "Right! Sure, Rod, sorry about that. Won't happen again. Just sort of jumped the gun, there--"

  "You can go now."

  Elyse closed the door behind herself and glanced over to see if Carla had caught this exchange. But, no, Carla was engrossed in giving a pedicure. Elyse swallowed her bruised pride and returned to the retail counter.

  "What'd he say?" Nissa asked.

  "He doesn't know. He's calling Judy to find out what they did last Christmas." She was having a hard time, however, controlling the burn of embarrassment searing her chest from opening the door too soon.

  "Whatsa matter, girl? You look about to cry."

  Elyse shook her head, not sure how to describe her feelings. In truth, she felt hurt by the way Rod had just talked down to her.

  "You know," she blurted, "all I'm trying to do is drum up some business, right?"

  "Yeah..."

  "And he doesn't even appreciate it! Just treats me like some kind of moron, like I'm an idiot who knows nothing about anything! And forget about so much as a 'Thank you.'"

  "Like I said before, the man's an asshole. But, what'd he do--"

  The conversation was cut short when Rod suddenly opened his office door. "Elyse!" he shouted.

  Elyse shot back to his office. "Yes, Rod?"

  He handed her a flyer. "Here's what we did, last year. Just do the same thing again. Make a hundred copies. Take the money from the drawer. Leave the receipt in there for Judy."

  "Okay, Rod, sounds good."

  With that, his office door clicked to a close. Elyse smirked. Now he could get back to that mystery novel.

  She perused the flyer on her way back to the retail counter.

  Nissa was leaning on her elbows with a smug smile on her face. "So, what's the genius marketing strategy, this time?"

  Elyse looked at Nissa with an intentionally bland expression. Nissa burst out laughing.

  "Lemme see it, girl!"

  Elyse shot the sheet across the counter, and Nissa snatched it up. She studied it while Elyse fetched her coat from her studio. When she came back out, Nissa shot her a deadpan look.

  "You have got to be kidding."

  Elyse snuffed a little laugh. "Tacky, right? I mean, the artwork, alone."

  "And, might I add, it's not much of a bargain." Nissa heaved a sigh. "Jee-sus, do I pray for my big break, soon." She clasped her hands in prayer position, eyes up to the sky. "Get me outta this place, God, please?" She glanced at Elyse. "You, too!"

  Elyse took the flyer on her way to the door. "Yeah, well, until that big break? I've got to earn my rent."

  * * * *

  The cold, gray November day perfectly reflected the dark thoughts running through Elyse's mind as she crossed the street to the copy shop. Between Rod's demands and his lousy attitude, not to mention sleep deprivation from Joel's stupid phone call, her positive energy was waning. By the time she was ramming her shoulder against the swollen copy shop door, she was grumbling about the unfairness of life, cursing the jangling bells for adding to her headache.

  She entered the store while the current customer finished paying his tab. As she passed the art supplies, she was struck with a pang of desire to put color on canvas again. Suppressing that thought, she stepped aside and let the customer pass. She was surprised to see Keb behind the counter again.

  "Hey," he said cheerily, "it's my Polish girl."

  "American," Elyse said dryly, "of Polish descent. Half."

  "Right, of course, pardon my fallacious presumption."

  She frowned and wondered if he was making fun of her.

  "So," he said in an upbeat voice, "how are you? It's Elyse, right?"

  She looked at him, secretly flattered that he remembered her name.

  "Good memory, Keb. Egyptian god of hairy chests, or whatever it is."

  "Touché, Miss Poland."

  Elyse licked her forefinger and ran it down an invisible score card. "That's one for Wazinski, folks."

  Keb laughed.

  She grinned. "Good to know that, in spite of being exhausted, I can still make a funny." She pulled the Make-Up Place flyer from a manila envelope. "And, now, drum roll, please. Here's our latest genius marketing concept. Which we'll need a hundred copies of." She handed him the eight-by-ten sheet of paper.

  Keb skimmed the page, nodded, and chuckled.

  Out loud, he read: "Let Santa's Helpers define a whole new look for you in just one hour." He focused his dark eyeglass-framed eyes on Elyse. "So, Santa's Little Helper, could you define a new look for me?"

  Elyse focused on his face and was surprised at the rush of adrenaline that suddenly shot through her torso. When her nipples swelled and hardened with desire, she swallowed.

  Get a hold of yourself, Wazinski. This is the copy shop guy!

  She cleared her throat and spoke in a businesslike manner. "Even as tired as I am, sir, I can see you need very little improvement. In fact, you really don't need any help at all. I like your eyeglasses, by the way."

  Keb gave her a flirty little look. "Really? Why, thank you. That's nice to hear."

  "Guys have it easy anyway," she said curtly. "Women are the ones with all the pressure. We have to be pretty and look our best all the time. I mean, who'd they invent makeup for, in the first place?"

  "Good point. And, might I say, you're doing an excellent job at keeping up appearances. In spite of being tired, as you say."

  Elyse blinked. "Well, thank you."

  Keb looked at her. "But why so tired today? If you don't mind me asking."

  Elyse shrugged. "This idiot called me at two-thirty in the morning. I didn't get back to sleep 'til after four and I had to be up at seven-thirty."

  Keb raised his eyebrows. "A male idiot, I presume?"

  Elyse nodded.

  "Calling to profess his love for you? Courage perhaps lubricated by copious amounts of alcohol?"

  "Maybe. And maybe the guy's a jerk who's still married and I don't need to know about his undying love 'til he gets a divorce."

  She grew uneasy under the scrutiny of Keb's gaze. But since he was showing interest an urge to purge propelled her on.

  "And guess what else? My dumbo boss is making us do a thousand cold calls while he sits there reading a mystery novel. Not that I mind working. It's just--we could use some help getting customers in, since we were hired as makeup artists and not just sales. I mean, I expect to do sales, of course, that's okay. It's just--there he is, the owner, sitting on his butt all day doing nothing!"

  Keb nodded thoughtfully. "I see."

  Elyse exhaled, feeling a little lighter.

  Keb placed the flyer facedown on the machine behind him and turned it on. As it spewed out copies, he turned to Elyse. "Unfortunately, most people don't want to do what it takes to get ahead. Pass the buck, whenever they can. Like your boss there."

  Elyse smirked. "Yeah, well...I guess that's just the way it goes." She sighed and strolled over for a look at some pastels that had caught her eye on the way in.

  Scrutinizing various shades of green, she began to conjure a forest scene with them, adding wild flowers in pinks and yellows. While she designed the entire image in her mind's eye, she lost track of time and space and didn't notice Keb watching her.

  A few minutes later, Keb packed the hundred Make-Up Place flyers inside a brown paper bag and taped it shut.

  "Flyers to go, Mizz Elyse," he called. "In spite of the simplistic design, let's hope they bring you lots and lots of business."

  She came out of the spell cast by her imagination and rushed over to the counter. "Sorry. I got caught up thinking about a picture I'd like to draw."

  "No problem. Are you an artist?"

  "I've been known to dabble."

  She paid him, an
d Keb took his time counting back change. He handed her the last quarter with an affectionate tap on the wrist.

  "Don't look so glum there, beautiful!" he said cheerfully. "It'll all work out--you'll see."

  "You sure about that?"

  "Sure, I'm sure. You just gotta have faith."

  That wasn't something she'd expected to hear come out of Keb's mouth. But it was time to move on. She had to get back to work.

  "Thanks for your help, Keb. See you 'round."

  "You're welcome, Elyse. Anytime."

  Chapter 5

  Elyse leaned her elbows on the window ledge and stared at streetlights up and down the block. Behind her, Rick Giordano slipped his hands underneath her nighty and caressed her smooth, bare thighs.

  "Mm," he cooed, "silky soft."

  "Thanks," she said with a chuckle. Over her shoulder, she said, "So, you never answered my question, Rick."

  "What question was that?"

  "How come we never go to your place, only to mine?"

  "Well, first of all, how many times have I actually stayed over here, Elyse? Like, three, so far?"

  "So?"

  "So, it hasn't been that long. What difference does it make, right now?"

  "I just think it's weird you haven't invited me over yet, that's all."

  She felt him tense, but continued, anyway.

  "I mean, the past few times we've gone out, we come back to my place. Why can't we go to yours, too, once in a while?"

  "Are you trying to piss me off, Elyse? Because you're doing a good job."

  Abruptly, he ceased rubbing her thighs and pulled away.

  Elyse turned to see him plop down on her sofa and guzzle merlot.

  She was now getting a taste for yet another facet of Chef Rick's peppery personality.

  "Look, Rick, I'm not trying to piss you off. I don't see why you should get so mad at me just for asking."

  He emptied the last of the merlot from the bottle into his glass. "Listen," he said in a more reasonable tone. "I already told you the deal. My roommates and I agreed, up front, not to bring people home to spend the night."

  "And your two roommates are girls."

  "Right. They're just friends. Always have been, always will be."

  Elyse narrowed her eyes and tried to figure out whether she smelled a fib or not. "And one of them is a flight attendant?"

  "Right, Elyse, I've told you that, like, twenty times, already!"

  Elyse parked herself on an arm of the overstuffed chair angled toward Rick seated on the sofa. "Right..." she mused. "And, you said sometimes other stewardesses spend the night, too, right?"

  Rick looked over at her with an intentionally bored expression. "How many times we going to go over this, Elyse?"

  "Until I meet your roomies, I guess."

  "Well, that's not gonna happen. I told you, we have an agreement."

  "So, I never get to meet them?"

  "I didn't say that. Quit overreacting."

  "Well, okay. Just tell me this, then."

  The chef gave her a sourpuss.

  "How many stewardesses stay over, on any given night?"

  "Flight attendants."

  "Whatever."

  Rick shrugged. "Depends. Could be three, four...more, sometimes."

  Elyse's eyes widened. "But didn't you say you share a two-bedroom? And you have your own room?"

  "Yeah."

  "So, where do all those girls sleep?"

  "Anywhere there they can," he said with a chuckle.

  "But, like, do they ever come in your bed?"

  Elyse watched her lover's mouth twist but remain closed.

  "So," she asked suspiciously, "they do? They crawl in your bed with you sometimes?"

  "Maybe."

  "That would be a, 'yes,' Rick?"

  The chef exploded in anger. "What the fuck is this, Twenty Questions? Yeah, so, sometimes they do--so what?"

  "With you in it?"

  "Well, I'm not giving up my bed so somebody else can have it!"

  "Okay, but--and here's the really important part--does it lead to more than sleeping?"

  He shot up off the sofa. "You know, Elyse, I'm not having fun anymore! I don't need this shit. We're not married."

  "No kidding, Rick. That doesn't mean you shouldn't be honest with me. I'd just like to know what's going on here. I mean, you implied you want a relationship, and I finally sleep with you thinking we're, you know, going there, and then..."

  "And then, what?"

  "And then this!"

  The chef heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Okay, look. I do want a relationship. I just don't want to be nagged at all the time."

  "I don't think I nag you all the time because I ask where you live and why I can't come over once in a while. I'm just trying to figure out what the story is."

  "It's a flophouse, okay? A flophouse! Flight attendants crash there after long flights. Days of flying, sometimes weeks of it. I needed a place to live after my divorce. Stacy and Marie have always looked out for me since my marital problems began. I knew them from the last place I worked, and they've always been there for me. They happen to be very protective of me. I don't want to make them uncomfortable, so I keep certain things separate. That's all there is to it."

  "But it's okay with them if you sleep with their friends who need a place to crash?"

  "Fuck this noise," Rick roared. "I'm out of here!"

  He stormed into the bedroom. Elyse shook her head trying to fathom what she'd done to piss him off so much. A moment later, he was back in the living room. He dropped his knapsack by the sofa and sat back down to pull on his shoes.

  "Look, Rick, I didn't mean to get you all upset, but I think it's only fair to know what's going on. Don't you?"

  "I told you what's going on, Elyse, and you just keep hammering away at me. I don't need it! I've got enough stress in my life with that fucking restaurant. I don't need to explain myself in my private life, and answer to you for the way I live."

  Between the wine and upset emotions, Elyse was having a hard time keeping her thoughts straight.

  "But, Rick, I...I mean, I don't think I was asking you to answer for the way you live or anything." She forced herself to remain calm. "I just think it's fair that I should be informed. And know the truth. Like, I should know what I'm getting into here, right?"

  Rick wouldn't look her in the eye. As soon as he finished tying his black work shoes, he rose and pulled his jacket off the chair by the kitchen table. Next, he grabbed his knapsack from the floor and slung it over a shoulder. Elyse rose and went over to him.

  "Listen, Rick," she began softly. "Don't you think I have a right to know what you're all about?" She caressed his hand. "I'm not trying to make you mad--"

  "Well, it's too late for that!"

  He snatched his hand away. She stepped back from the level of hostility he exuded.

  "Wow," she said in a shaky voice. "If that's how you want to be about it--"

  "It is! Fuck it! I want to be left alone!"

  His knapsack almost whipped into her when he turned and stormed past her. He jerked the front door so hard it whacked against the wall.

  Elyse gaped as it limply swung back to a close. She shook herself from complacency and ran out in the hall after him.

  "Rick," she called quietly in stocking feet, "come back! Why are you acting this way? Let's talk--"

  Too late. He'd already disappeared down the stairwell without waiting for the elevator.

  Elyse ran back inside her apartment. She crossed the living to the window overlooking the street. When she spotted Rick coming out the lobby doors below, she unlatched the window and yanked it up.

  "Rick! Please," she called down, "come back! Let's talk about this--don't just run away!"

  But he trudged westward along the sidewalk with his head lowered against the wind. She watched him until he turned left and was out of sight.

  Furious, she slammed the window closed and locked it tight.

  * * * * />
  Sipping her chilled vodka, Elyse looked out the glass wall over the buildings and rooftops in Times Square. Seated beside her, Sharmaine sipped a margarita, while on her other side, Dylan drank a French martini. The platform of the rotating bar crept so slowly, the movement was barely perceptible, affording plenty of time to take in the sights while drinking a cocktail.

  Elyse jerked a thumb back over her shoulder. "I miss that giant Five O'Clock coffee mug that used to blow smoke from its spout. It used to hang over that building back there--remember? I loved how it tilted and hung there for a minute before the steam came rushing out."

  "Been gone for a while now," Dylan said.

  "Sure, but I remember when I first saw it, My dad took me to see Damn Yankees with Jerry Lewis on Broadway eons ago. I thought it was so cool because my dad used to drink that coffee at home, and there it was, an icon in Times Square."

  "I liked it, too," Dylan added, "that vapor pouring out of it. Had a certain nostalgia, the design. Harkened back to the twenties. 'Course, that was before the giant video screens took over, when there were only billboard ads."

  "Before the theater district turned into Vegas," Shar drawled in disgust. "Look at the frigging place. Where'd the charm go?"

  Dylan sniggered. "Probably the same place as the hookers, pimps, and drug dealers--across the river to Jersey!"

  "Well," Shar said, "I prefer a little sleaze to what's here now. A commercial cluster fuck. You can barely walk down the street, it's so crowded--and the noise level!" She grimaced and shuddered. "Yay, ra-ra, technology."

  "For the tourists, darling," Elyse interjected drolly. "All for the tourists."

  "Right," Dylan added. "Got to make it worthwhile for them to come and spend their paychecks."

  Shar lifted her drink. "Well, fuck that, I say. It was more fun before." She sucked the last drops of her margarita through the straw and motioned the waiter for another. "Just one more reason to get the hell out of Dodge."

  Elyse blinked. "One more reason? How many do you have?"

  Shar looked at her. "I told you retirement's on my mind."

  Before Elyse could ask Shar more about her retirement and "getting out of Dodge," Dylan asked Elyse how the Make-Up Place was doing.

  "Kind of depressing," she answered. "Sales are down. Rod is all over us to build our clientele. There's a free skin care consultation and application with every makeup session."