Helen’s morning started with a hangover. It ended with a mutiny.
Mr. Cavarelli slithered in at ten o’clock. He was one of the elegant reptiles from the New York office. His eyes were flat and yellow. Even his suit was a lizard-like greenish brown. He wore alligator shoes, which Helen thought was no way to treat a relative. She wondered if his silk-clad feet were covered with scales.
Mr. Cavarelli kept his upper lip curled as he walked through the boiler room. He glided into Vito’s office like a hungry predator and silently slid the door shut.
Helen did not see Vito for the rest of the morning. He didn’t even come out to monitor the telemarketers. Maybe Mr. Cavarelli had disemboweled him and was snacking on his entrails.
Helen made four sales in quick succession. She sold better when Vito wasn’t looking over her shoulder.
Vito did not emerge until the end of the shift. He looked mauled. His smooth pink skin was blotchy white. His shirt tail hung out. He seemed nervous. Well, who wouldn’t be, after three hours with Mr. Cavarelli? It probably felt like the intake interview from hell.
Vito plastered on a sick smile and started passing out commission-check envelopes. Helen could never figure out the commission pay schedule. It seemed to be based on sun signs and the position of the moon.
Taniqua eagerly tore into her envelope. “What’s
They be paying me for fifteen sales. I had seventeen. I got my list right here.”
Her “proof” was a tattered piece of paper with a handwritten list of names, addresses and dates. No supervisor had signed it. No supervisor would. Records were conveniently vague at Girdner Sales. Taniqua had no hope of getting that missing money.
“Goddamn crooks,” Zelda said, hugging her red sweater closer to her tiny body. “I didn’t get my commission on four sales.”
“They ripped me off.” That was from Bob, a huge tattooed biker.
And me, Helen thought. Her envelope was a little thicker than the others. I can’t complain, because I get my money in cash. Vito helps himself to a commission on my commission.
Panhead Pete, another biker, said, “Hey, I been cheated, too. I’m short three sales. I want my fuckin’ money.”
He crushed his check in a hairy paw, which made the death’s head on his bicep grin wider. Pete was a mountain of lard with a beer-keg belly. He loomed over Vito, who started sweating.
Mr. Cavarelli slid out of the office, elegant and evil. “Is there a problem?” he asked softly.
“Yeah,” Pete said. “I’ve been stiffed outta three sales.”
“But you haven’t,” Mr. Cavarelli said, fixing his flat predator’s eyes on Pete. He smiled. His teeth looked sharp and pointed. “I personally calculated those checks.”
Pete shifted uneasily. Maybe he realized he was two hundred and eighty pounds of slow and tasty beef. Maybe he saw the slight bulge under Cavarelli’s well-tailored armpit. Helen certainly did. The lizard was lethal. Pete’s only weapons were his meaty fists, and they didn’t stop bullets.
“Well, it better be fixed next time,” Pete said lamely.
“I’ll look into it,” Mr. Cavarelli said with a flick of contempt.
Pete walked out, shoulders slumped. Zelda and Taniqua followed, too beaten down to protest.
“Wow, that was something,” Jack said. “That guy in the suit has real management ability. Did you see the way he handled those malcontents?”
“He had a gun,” Helen said.
“You’re kidding,” Jack said.
Helen wasn’t sure he believed her. It was too soon for Jack to get a commission check. He’d learn soon enough about Girdner’s curious accounting.
She was carrying her rose in its bottle vase. He blocked her way to the door, awkward as a schoolboy. “Uh, I wanted to see you today, but I can’t. I’ve got an appointment with my lawyer this afternoon. About the divorce.”
“I understand,” she said.
“And I can’t make it tonight, either,” he said.
“Jack, you don’t have to explain. We’re not going steady.”
“I want to see you all the time.” He looked so sincere, like a little boy all grown up. He was so neat and well-groomed, so different from the boiler-room dopers and losers.
“Helen!” Vito’s shout broke into her thoughts. “Thank God you’re still here. Can you work the survey side tonight?”
A rose from Jack and a night in survey heaven. Helen was in such a good mood, she decided to call Savannah. She stopped at the Riverside Hotel and used one of the pay phones. Might as well make this call in comfort.
“No word from Miss Debbie,” Savannah said. “I called all last night until two o’clock and she didn’t answer. That little blond snip is not getting away with this. This is my sister we’re talking about. I’ll choke the information out of Debbie with my bare hands. I’m going to her apartment. You’re off work now, right?”
“Until five,” Helen said.
“I haven’t had lunch yet, and the boss isn’t around this afternoon. I can take a little longer. Let’s drive over to Debbie’s.”
“Are you packing a weapon?” Helen said.
“I told you, I don’t like guns.”
“I’m talking about oven cleaner.”
“You got my last can. I’ll be outside the Riverside Hotel in five minutes.”
Savannah’s Tank pulled up in front of the hotel, rattling and rumbling. Savannah put it in PARK, and it farted black smoke. The doorman averted his eyes.
“Nice troll doll.” Helen pointed to the orange-haired toy swinging from the rear-view mirror.
“I brought it for luck,” Savannah said. “Laredo gave it to me.”
There was a sad silence.
“I raised her, you know,” Savannah said. “Mama didn’t want her. She only had Laredo because Woodbridge Manson wanted a boy child, and she thought she could keep him if she gave him a son. Guess she figured she had a fifty-fifty chance of pleasing him.
“Mama gambled and lost. You can’t return a baby like a wrong-size dress. Manson took off when Laredo was two months old. Mama wasn’t mean to Laredo or anything. Just not real interested.
“I was ten years old. I thought Laredo was the cutest thing. She was my own baby doll. I liked everything about her. Her baby smell. The way she kicked her little legs and squinched up her eyes when she cried. And her smile. She could light up a room with that smile. She was bald as Dwight Eisenhower until she was almost two. I used to tape a pink bow on her head, so everybody would know she was a girl.
“By the time she turned twelve, they sure knew. She had bazooms out to here, and boys following her like dogs in heat. Laredo had man trouble from then on. I figured it was because she couldn’t keep the first man in her life, her daddy, Woodbridge Manson. I was always getting her out of scrapes with boys. She got knocked up at fifteen, but I talked her into getting rid of it. Mama never knew. I went with Laredo to the clinic and held her hand. I thought it was my fault. I didn’t raise her right.”
“You were ten years old.”
“Yeah, well, I was a failure as a mother. I don’t have any daughters of my own. Laredo’s the closest I’ll ever have to a child.”
She touched the troll doll. “Maybe she had itchy feet after all. Maybe she’s not dead. Maybe she ran off with another man. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Helen thought Savannah was trying to convince herself.
She knew the truth, and so did Helen. She was glad when they pulled into Debbie’s apartment complex. She spotted the waitress’s purple Neon in the lot.
“She’s home,” Helen said.
“I thought so. Little witch wasn’t answering my calls.”
Savannah grabbed her purse, slammed the car door, and marched up the stairs. Helen ran after her, hoping she’d kept her promise about the oven cleaner.
Savannah rang the doorbell. Nobody answered.
