When Romeo arrived we walked westward, toward the downtown area a few blocks from my apartment. We hit up every possible place we could find. Coffee shops, a dry cleaners, a used bookstore, a furniture store, a chocolate shoppe, a bicycle store. Half of them told me to fill out an application or bring back a resume for future reference.
We even tried a head shop, err, I meant, “An establishment that sells tobacco accessories and smoking paraphernalia.” And black-light posters of Bob Marley smoking a huge joint. Did they think they were fooling anybody with their convoluted tagline? I knew it was for legal reasons, but seriously, did anybody buy a tobacco pipe from a head shop and use it for tobacco?
Maybe I could find out when I went door-to-door conducting my “needy” survey. I bet I could even get paid to do it! Didn’t the Census collect information like that every ten years?
I could totally picture myself holding a clipboard and asking a house-wife with curlers in her hair and a baby on her hip, “Ma’am, do you consider yourself:
A) ‘too’ needy or
B) ‘the right amount’ of needy?
“And, do you use your tobacco pipe for:
A) tobacco or
B) marijuana?”
It was genius. I needed to call the Census Bureau and tell them to add those two questions. They’d hire me on the spot because I wasn’t afraid to address the important issues John and Jane Q. Public were dying to know.
Or not.
Back to my job search.
The restaurants Romeo and I visited needed wait-persons, but they wanted people with experience. Did putting Mom’s cooking on the dining room table and clearing it after dinner count? No? Oh well. Next.
I tried a bar with a HELP WANTED sign out front, but they only hired people over 21.
Two hours later, we were back where we started. I had a thin bundle of worthless applications under one arm.
“We didn’t find the buried treasure,” I sighed. I wasn’t ready to bite the fast-food bullet yet.
“I swear that golden city is around here somewhere,” Romeo said. Even his spirits had sunk. “What do we do now?”
“Drive to the mall?”
We went to the UTC shopping center, just east of the SDU campus. We went from store to store to store. Nothing. The restaurants in the food court were no better.
“You still haven’t tried Hot Dog On A Stick,” Romeo suggested. “They have those awesome primary-colored uniforms. You’d totally look cute in one.”
“You’re kidding, right? I don’t want to wear one of those corny uniforms,” I quipped.
Romeo chuckled at my pun. “I wish I was, but beggars don’t get to choose their uniforms,” he winked.
“Okay, let’s try them. I think I’m
Both girls behind the counter wore those red and white and blue and white and yellow and white and red and white and blue and etc., etc., etc., striped uniforms. While I talked to one of the girls, Romeo ordered a fresh lemonade from the other. She filled him a glass from one of the giant square lemonade jugs.
“Do you guys have any job openings?” I asked the other girl, sounding as enthusiastic about the prospect as I felt.
“Sorry,” she wince-smiled.
“No worries,” I said, glad to be spared the opportunity.
Romeo and I found a table in the middle of the mall’s food court and plopped down.
“Want some?” Romeo asked, proffering his lemonade.
“No, thanks,” I sighed.
Romeo took a long sip on his lemonade.
“I think we tried every single store within a five-mile radius of my apartment,” I said.
“You could be a bootblack,” Romeo offered.
“What the hell is a bootblack?” I scoffed.
“A shoe shiner.”
“Do people even do that anymore?”
“I have no idea,” Romeo grinned. “How about street walking? I hear pimps are
“Tempting. But I wouldn’t work for just any pimp. I’d need one who offers medical
“No, but I’ve always wanted to be a pimp myself. Drive a Cadillac, wear cool Zoot suits, and smack my bitches around.”
I chuckled. “You’d be the best pimp ever. I can totally picture you in a pink chiffon Zoot suit. But you’d have to be willing to hire me without sampling my merchandise.”
Romeo frowned, leaned over to me and whispered conspiratorially, “In case you haven’t heard, Samantha, girls are gross.”
“Cool! I’ll start work on Monday!” I laughed. “I just have to buy some six-inch hooker heels first.”
Romeo chuckled and took another sip of his lemonade. “So, how are things with Christos?”
I sighed. “Good.”
“Hmmm. That didn’t sound good.”
I rolled my eyes. “He’s busy. I was hoping to spend the day with him today, but he has to paint some nude model or other. I feel like I’ve barely seen him since New Year’s Eve.”
“You’re not worried about him, are you?” Romeo said uncertainly. “I mean, you don’t think he’s sampling his merchandise, do you?”
My stomach knotted at the thought. “Christos isn’t like that. He’s totally in love with me.”
Romeo had an apologetic look on his face as he sipped more lemonade. “You’re probably right,” he said. “I guess I just worry because gorgeous women are always throwing themselves at him. Heck, I throw myself at Christos every chance I get.”
I smiled. “I’m not worried about you, Romeo.” But I was worried about all the other women. Especially the nude one in his studio right now. I’m sure she looked like a super model and was thrusting her breasts at Christos this very moment.
I sighed and looked around the food court. “Is there any place around here that sells ice cream? I think I need a sundae. Extra fudge, extra whipped-cream, extra ice cream.”
“Let’s go find out,” Romeo offered. “You look like you could use an ice cream pick-me-up.”
He had no idea.
CHRISTOS
“Can you arch your back just a bit more,” I asked the model.
“Anything for you, Christos,” Isabella said breathily. She tossed her hair back and smiled at me seductively through her alluring lashes. She was naked from head to toe and reclined on a divan a few feet in front of my painting easel.
“Perfect,” I said. “Hold that pose.” When it came to Isabella, perfect was an understatement. She was a gorgeous Brazilian girl from L.A. Brandon had found her for me at one of the big modeling agencies in Hollywood. He wasn’t kidding about finding fresh faces.
She winked at me right before I turned my attention to my palette.
They didn’t get any fresher than Isabella.
Facing my palette, I dabbed my brush into the pile of burnt sienna, then mixed it into the smear of flesh tone I had on my palette. I needed to richen up my mixture if I was going to capture Isabella’s caramel skin tone.
My mind wandered as I mixed.
Brandon hadn’t been blowing smoke when he’d said everybody wanted a piece of me. I had a list of commissions as long as my arm. It was good to be loved.
Too bad the checks only came after I delivered the paintings. I had lawyer’s fees to pay. Russell
