Cha-Ching! (16 page)

If Sammy could hover her hands the right way over the slot machine, then maybe the seals would pop out of the ice hole like the story of the loaves and fishes in the Bible, a constant replenishing basket of money fish! She could see the fear in Sammy's face. She was afraid of doing anything wrong with the Reiki that would somehow prevent the seals from popping out of their money ice hole.

“Please,” Theo pleaded.

Reluctantly Sammy stood up from her stool and moved to Theo's left side, placing one hand on her shoulder and the other on the slot machine. Theo kept pushing the
spin
button while Sammy stood quietly with her eyes cast down, not closed, like she was meditating. If God is here come help us
,
Theo thought.
spin
.
spin
.
spin
. Her credits dwindled as the seals went about their day on the video screen, their bellies now full, and with no need to stop at the ice hole and pull out any fish. Maybe Reiki needed time to warm up—it was energy work, after all.

“Should I keep playing?” Theo asked Sammy.

Sammy nodded quietly and sniffled. Theo tried to imagine herself, Sammy, the money fish and God walking down the street with energy elbows linked. She took a deep breath and when she exhaled she felt the weight of Sammy's tiny hand on her shoulder, light like a bird foot. She knew Sammy's hand was acting as an energy conduit but she couldn't help but think it felt more like a foreshadowed consolation. Theo concentrated hard and pushed the
spin
button again. The seals had become like strangers in the subway passing her with their dead eyes. They had things to do, places to go. Theo'd get them.

“That's right, fuck you,” she said angrily each time they went down the wrong hole, betraying her until each and every credit was gone. She pushed the
spin
button one more time to double-check that she was broke.

Sammy's eyes were open now and she stared at the video screen. Her face had the bereft expression of a TV surgeon who, despite repeated valiant attempts, loses the patient.

“Sorry, girl,” she said, removing her little bird foot from Theo's shoulder. “I just remembered, Reiki only works on things that are alive.”

“It's okay, girl,” Theo said. “Thanks for trying.”

“Can we go in the hot tub now?”

“Yeah,” Theo said, cheerily. But she was already formulating her plan to keep on gambling.

Marisol had a terrible hangover. She wanted to spend the day in bed under the covers but she was terrified of falling into some sort of shame spiral about her blackout from the night before. She took a long shower and prepared herself for her first day of being a stripper. The fact that she'd known so many people who'd tried it at some point of her life, including her mother, demystified the job for her. Plus, now that she was unemployed she needed structure. Her drunken antics from the night before had proven that.

“Nice wig,” Candy said when Marisol walked through the doors wearing a burgundy wig.

“Thanks,” Marisol said, touching the tips of it.

She'd been a go-go girl for Halloween years before, and now she was glad she hadn't gotten rid of the wig, feeling some nervousness in her stomach as she looked around the empty bar, imagining it filled with partying men.

“Did you come up with a stage name?” Candy asked.

Marisol shrugged her shoulders.

“You need to pick one.”

“I don't know,” Marisol shrugged again.

“How about Chloe?”

“Okay,” she said, feeling about as far away from a Chloe as a person could be.

“I'll show you where we get ready,” Candy led Marisol into the back room. “Take this,” she said, handing Marisol a tiny white pill.

“What is it?'

“It makes you feel like you're floating. You can just feel the music.”

Marisol swallowed the pill and then had a moment of panic about taking something when she had no idea what it even was.

“Don't worry,” Candy said, reading Marisol's thoughts. “It's just Xanax. Half of America is on it.”

The back area was filled with women in G-strings, and Marisol let the Xanax move through her body. She felt less ashamed now about telling Theo her life story and throwing up on her floor. She wondered if Theo would come in to the bar tonight, although she didn't see Sammy bartending.

In no time The Looney Bin filled up, and Marisol was surprised how easily the dancing came to her. At one point both she and Candy were dancing on the stage at the same time and Candy started grinding up against her. It made Marisol giggle. She appreciated Candy's friendliness; the other girls were chilly.

When a new group of girls got up on stage Candy took Marisol's hand and led her into the small bathroom where sometimes the men got blowjobs.

She pulled out a tiny plastic bag of white powder.

“Want some?” she said, placing a paper towel down on the back of the toilet and then pouring two lines.

“Cocaine?” Marisol asked.

Candy laughed. “You're kind of square, huh.”

“No,” Marisol defended, even though it was true that she'd never done cocaine in her life. She was so afraid of becoming her mother.

She watched Candy snort the line and then she followed suit, tasting the drug sprinkle down the back of her throat.

“You ever throw up on a first date?” she asked.

Candy was checking to make sure she didn't have any cocaine on her nostril, and she looked over at Marisol and smiled.

“I just got laid off from my job as a librarian.”

“You were a librarian and now you're working here? That's just sad.”

“It doesn't feel sad.”

Candy reached out and grabbed Marisol's boob, squeezing it.

“That shit real?”

Marisol laughed, slapping Candy's hand off. She nodded.

“That pisses me off,” said Candy, who was pretty flat-chested.

Marisol wanted to say, “But at least you have parents.”

But she didn't know if Candy did have parents, so instead she said, “Perfect tits don't make you happy. Just like being rich doesn't.”

“Oh, I wouldn't have no problem being happy if I had your tits,” Candy said, “because then I would be rich!”

Someone knocked on the door.

“Let's get out of here,” Candy said.

At the end of the night Joey brought some of the girls drinks while they were getting ready to leave. Candy asked Marisol if she could do her a favor and pick up a case of video equipment for her the next afternoon. She'd have to meet Candy's cousin Sean at the top of the subway stairs, get the case and bring it to The Looney Bin the next day. Candy had already told her The Looney Bin provided opportunities for advancement; some girls gave blowjobs in the bathroom and some did porn on the side. When Marisol hesitated, Candy added that if she didn't do it then her sister was going to get pissed at her because she'd have to watch her kid again. Marisol always zoned out when people talked about children.

“Please,” Candy repeated.

It wasn't that she didn't want to do Candy a favor. It just felt like her life had become so confusing, and she was afraid to be pinned down with commitments in case she needed to take a nap.

“Okay, okay,” Marisol answered.

“Thank you.”

“Can you give me a few more of those pills?”

Candy looked at her.

“Just until I get my own.”

“Here,” Candy said handing her the bottle, “just don't pull no Marilyn Monroe on me.”

“I won't.”

“I'll tell Sean to meet you at the top of the subway stairs tomorrow at three.”

•

The next day Marisol still hadn't heard from Theo. She lay on her couch eating Xanax and staring at the red digital numbers on the cable box atop the TV until it was 2:45. She grabbed her keys and walked down the stairs to the subway station. She was delighted to find her legs rubbery from the anxiety medication; it had been hard to know if the drugs were working while lying on the couch.

The man in the bodega who sold her overripe bananas saw her standing at the top of the subway stairs and waved to her. She gave him a half-hearted wave back. She didn't want to invite conversation. It was very sunny for such a cold day, and she turned to press her hands against the sun-warmed railing of the staircase. Many people will walk up those stairs, Marisol thought, but never my father or mother. Eventually a train arrived, and a cluster of people ambled up the staircase. She scanned their faces until she saw a teenage boy with a shaved head carrying a hard, gray plastic case. He caught her eye.

“Are you Chloe?” the boy asked.

Marisol nodded.

“I'm Sean,” he said.

She was expecting someone sleazier-looking to be delivering a suitcase full of porn video equipment. He looked like an athlete, muscles developed everywhere. He was wearing a brown nylon sweat suit with a team name on it, like he'd just come from practice.

He wiggled out of the crowd and stood next to her.
Angelina
was tattooed on his neck in too tiny script. In a few years it would be blurred into nothing. Marisol started to grab for the suitcase.

“It's kind of heavy. I can help you carry it to your apartment if you want.”

“That's okay,” she said.

She caught a whiff of his cologne, she knew it—what was it? Something cheap from her childhood that the boys at school would wear.
Old Spice
, she thought, staring at the gold dollar-sign stud in his earlobe.

“You sure? I don't mind carrying it,” he looked her right in the eye when he spoke to her. She liked his politeness. Or was it sexism? Surely he knew she worked with Candy. Marisol thought she should ask him if he wanted to get some garlic knots or a slice from the nearby pizza shop. How old did a person have to be to have those jutting neck muscles? She studied his polite smile to figure out if he was thinking of her as a porn actress or stripper, or someone of Candy's generation—an elder. A mother.

“Let me see how heavy this is,” she said.

She reached her long rubbery arm down and grabbed the handle of the suitcase. It wasn't that heavy. Like a few weeks of neglected laundry with a full bottle of soap on top.

“It's not that heavy,” she said smiling.

The smell of garlic knots wafted over from the pizza place. The combination of the pills and leaning against the sun-warmed railing had given Marisol a sense of hope she hadn't felt in a while. Now, standing next to polite Sean, she felt like she was on vacation from the numbness of the last few months.

“You want some garlic knots?” she said out of the blue.

The boy's eyebrows lifted.

“Or a slice? My treat.”

“Nah,” the boy smiled. “I'm straight.”

But Marisol saw his eyes lying. No young man could resist garlic knots or a free slice of pizza.

“But it's such a great day for pizza,” Marisol said.

He laughed. “Maybe another time. I have to go to practice,” he said, looking down at this watch, “I'm late already.”

“Oh.”

“Nice to meet you,” he turned to leave.

“Yeah, you too.”

He hadn't called Marisol “ma'am,” but he might as well have. She leaned against the railing and watched him descend the staircase. He was almost out of sight when she called “Thanks,” and he looked back over his shoulder and smiled, giving her a little wave like the kind a boy gives their childhood friend when they part at the bus stop after school.

Marisol lugged the video case into the pizza shop and ordered a bag of garlic knots and a diet soda. The man behind the counter picked five garlic knots from a silver tray with a pair of tongs and dropped them into a white paper bag. She felt his eyes on her; she knew she got better customer service because of her looks. She slid the video case into a corner booth and scooted in next to it. She fished the prescription bottle out of her purse and shook two more of the tiny white pills into the palm of her hand. It had been so long since she'd felt like she was on vacation and she didn't want to lose that feeling. She popped one of the pills into her mouth and took a quick swig of diet soda; she loved its bitter flavor. She looked at the other pill and heard Candy's voice saying, “Don't pull no Marilyn Monroe on me.”

As much as she wanted to swallow it so she could be on super vacation, she was afraid to take too many at once, lest she build up a tolerance.

The garlic knots were still warm. She bit into one, the butter and garlic coating her teeth. Garlic knots were vacation food. She should go to P-town and visit her friends. But did people vacation alone? Maybe only sad people who were pretending to be happy. She stretched her legs out under the table, imagining Sean was across from her and she was seducing him easily, touching his legs with hers, inching down the V in her T-shirt with her pinky finger. But really she wished Theo was there. Had she scared Theo away with her coldness? She finished the garlic knot and picked up another one.

“Goddammit!” the man behind the counter yelled. He was shaking an enormous tub of white shredded cheese into a smaller tub and watching a soccer game on TV.

He caught Marisol's eye and said, “Why do they want to break my heart?” gesturing to the TV, which was showing an instant replay of what Marisol assumed was the wrong team scoring a goal.

She smiled and went back to her garlic knot. Men shouting at sports on TV were not her idea of vacation.

“Every game, they make the same mistakes,” he said.

“It always gets darkest right before it gets pitch black,” Marisol replied.

“What's that?” the man asked, wiping his hands on his apron and turning the TV down with the remote. He'd finally succeeded in his plan to get her to talk to him.

She ignored him. She was his hostage, the only person in the shop. Soon the gaggle of high school kids would flood in from across the street and push each other and screech and order their slices. The thought made Marisol open her purse and retrieve one of the white pills. She threw it into a mouthful of diet soda like a person tosses a bottle with a message in it into a breaking wave, and swallowed. Then she folded the top of the paper bag down neatly, into perfect, symmetrical rectangles. She wanted to save a few garlic knots for later, and she wanted to escape the man behind the counter.

“I didn't hear you,” he said as she slid out of the booth and walked toward the door, the video case now heavier in her hand.

She looked at him, puzzled.

“You just said something to me,” he said, a touch angrily.

Marisol remembered, the soccer game.

“Oh,” she smiled. Her rubber knees giggled underneath her. She remembered the first time her mom came home from rehab talking about God's will.

“I said, ‘We don't always know God's will.'”

He looked at her, incensed. “No, that's not what you said.”

“It's what I
meant
to say.”

She moved her hand over her cleavage, adjusting the V of her white T-shirt. She didn't need to will the man's eyes to follow her hand. They just did.
I should be a hypnotist
, she thought.
A titnotist!
She laughed at her little joke and smiled at the man. She thought about making jazz hands at him and saying,
A titnotist!
But she was still holding the video case.

“Do you know what's God's will? This,” she said firmly, raising the bag of remaining garlic knots up so he could see them over the counter.

He frowned. She'd upset him. His God had nothing to do with garlic knots. She certainly wasn't going to waste the first day of her vacation fighting with this man about religion. She felt great, cradled and safe against the bosom of the tiny white pills. Or like a dog running free through the house, gobbling cat shit out of the litter box. The man looked a touch scared, like maybe he thought she was going to rob him after her dazzling camouflage tactics. No one likes it when the pretty girl with the perfect tits turns out to be crazy.

“You're not feeling well,” he said.

“You're just jealous that I'm on vacation,” Marisol laughed, walking out of the pizza shop into the wind.

She walked the few short blocks to her apartment, hurrying up the stairs to avoid anyone in The Looney Bin. She had to shove her key three times into the lock before she opened the door of her apartment, flopping down on the monstrosity that was her couch, which was long and gold and from the seventies. When she had first seen it, she hadn't been able to decide if it was amazing or hideous. She'd returned to the thrift store three times before she was willing to pay the hundred dollars for it. She set the video case down on the coffee table. Maybe she could nap for a few hours before she had to walk downstairs and start her shift. If she'd seduced Sean she would have asked him if he wanted to take a nap afterwards. Or better, if Theo was here. She couldn't believe she'd passed out before having sex with Theo the other night. It was so nice to take a nap after fucking on vacation. Especially when a sunbeam was falling just right on the bed.