Cha-Ching! (18 page)

“Okay. We'll come over after I go to the laundromat. Should I bring anything?”

“Just Cary Grant.”

When Theo proposed the trip to Atlantic City she was imagining an expanse of time in the car to make out, some roadside sex, eating at the buffet and, of course, now that she was drinking again, a ton of free casino drinks. She took the remaining thousand dollars and folded the envelope of cash into her pocket. It was the last of her lucky Buttermilk money. She fantasized about putting the whole envelope of cash on black again and doubling it, getting on a roll like she had with Big Vic. She'd made a comeback once, why couldn't she do it again? If she made a whole lot she could give Marisol a thick wad of cash, help her out since she'd lost her job.

Theo went to the laundromat and then came home and got into the shower. After her shower she heard a squeaking in the kitchen behind the stove. There it was, a Christmas mouse, stuck to a glue trap.

She picked up the Styrofoam tray and watched the mouse's tiny black eyes glance at her face before looking away. Its back muscles quivered, struggling to move, but all four feet stayed planted in the glue. Theo followed the instructions from Bill the Exterminator and filled a bucket with water. The mouse seemed so afraid that Theo couldn't understand how this could be the more humane choice. She did exactly as Bill had told her, she lowered the tray into the bucket and as she did it she felt the tears come hot down her cheeks. How could she drown a mouse when she could barely go fishing with her father? She could only imagine every fish as a fish with a fish family. If she killed a fish, who would make dinner for the fish family or lead the conversation at the head of the fish dinner table? Theo was so overly sensitive to everything that she tried to feel nothing at all. But now it was impossible not to feel anything, standing in the freezing cold on the front stoop, sobbing in her boxer shorts, pretending not to notice her neighbors staring as they trudged by with last-minute Christmas presents.

How long was she supposed to hold the tray under­water to make sure the mouse was drowned? She'd read it so many times but she couldn't remember and was now confusing it with the time needed for boiling an egg. A tear ran all the way down her arm and looped around her wrist to where she was holding the tray under the water. Surely the mouse must be dead, because she felt dead herself. She lifted the tray, and when she looked into the mouse's wet face, it drew a deep breath. Theo thought the mouse had a prophet's face, and now she would have to try to kill the prophet mouse again. She lowered the tray into the bucket for the second time in a rage and held it underwater for a long, long time. And when she was sure there was no way the prophet could still be alive she left the tray floating in the bucket and went in the house to put on some pants. She thought for a second about whether she should bury the mouse in the backyard. She had killed a prophet on Christmas Eve. Instead, she got dressed and finished crying and blew her nose and put on a coat and lit a cigarette and returned outside, where she turned the bucket upside down and watched all the water run down the driveway. The tray lay upside down in a small puddle, and Theo picked it up with the mouse still affixed and threw it into the garbage.

•

By the time she was on her way to Marisol's, Theo had shaken most of the apocalyptic feelings she'd had from drowning the mouse and was beginning to feel excited. She popped into a bodega to pick up some wine. A bunch of men sat on milk crates, smoking and drinking and blaring Cuban music from a boom box. The back wall was plastered with posters of Cuba and Cuban flags. She grabbed two bottles of red wine and set them down next to the register. The man behind the counter was scratching a long loop of lottery scratch-offs and made Theo wait to pay until he finished scratching.

“Let me get two of those,” Theo said, gesturing to the same tickets the man was scratching.

He ripped off two from the roll below the counter and rang her up. Theo pulled one of her hundred-dollar bills from her envelope and paid. Then she drove to Marisol's apartment with Cary Grant beside her.

They walked in the glass door and up the stairs to Marisol's apartment. Theo knocked, feeling incredibly nervous. Cary Grant sniffed at the chicken smell coming out from under the doorsill. She could hear Marisol walking to the door.

“Hello,” Marisol said, giving Theo a quick glance and then leaning down very slowly to Cary Grant and saying, “Hello.”

“It smells good in here,” Theo said.

She hadn't had a home-cooked meal in so long. She and Sammy were used to eating slices next to the garbage can. Marisol's apartment was small, a studio on the second floor with a single window over the fire escape.

“Good,” Marisol said quietly. “I bet you like chicken, too,” she said to Cary Grant who'd trotted into the kitchen and was sniffing around.

Theo saw Marisol was drying the roses she'd given her.

“I gave you those,” Theo said, pointing to the roses.

“Yep,” Marisol said.

Theo handed Cary Grant one of her Christmas bones, and the dog took it and lay down in front of the radiator.

“I brought some wine and a lottery ticket for each of us,” Theo said. “Let's scratch them now to see if we're going to be lucky when we get to Atlantic City.”

They both scratched their tickets.

“Nothing,” Marisol said.

“Me neither,” Theo said, feeling vaguely superstitious that it was a sign of bad luck to come.

“How have you been?” she asked, trying to bridge the awkwardness.

“Good,” Marisol answered. Neither of them mentioned their last date. “What did you do today?”

“Drowned a mouse. Did my laundry. Gave Sammy her present.”

Marisol was cutting plantains.

“Do you like fried plantains?”

“Of course,” Theo said.

She wanted to kiss Marisol, but after their last date they'd catapaulted back into some shy dance with each other.

“Do you care if I smoke in here?” she asked.

“No. Just open the window.”

Theo walked over to the small window and opened it, grabbing an ashtray off the ledge. She paused a second and then lit her cigarette, which trembled in her nervous fingers.

“You want one?” she asked.

“No, thanks. I'm just waiting on the potatoes. I know it's weird to have plantains and potatoes. You want some wine?”

Theo nodded her head, but said, “No.”

Marisol smiled at the joke and then poured some wine into a juice glass and took a swallow. “Yes or no?” she said holding the bottle out to Theo.

“Not right now.”

“Really?” Marisol said raising her eyebrows in faux intrigue.

“Crazy people go to laundromats on Christmas Eve,” Theo said.

“Does that mean you're crazy too?”

Theo smiled. They were finding their stride with one another.

“When I went to put my clothes in the dryer this woman said, ‘It's broken,' pointing to my dryer. There was an empty dryer underneath it, and when I went use that one, she shook her head. So I said, ‘Is this one broken too?' And her English wasn't very good so she just said, ‘Broken.' So I thanked her, because I hate when I put a bunch of money into a dryer and it turns out it's broken, and then you wait all that time and the clothes are still wet when you take them out.”

“This is riveting,” Marisol said, sitting down on the floor next to Cary Grant. “Isn't this riveting?” she cooed to the dog.

Cary Grant thumped her tail into the floor a few times happily.

“Anyway,” Theo said. She took a drag of her cigarette and looked straight into Marisol's brown eyes, studying the scar over her eyebrow. She could feel her heart start beating faster and she knew they were going to sleep together. She could tell by the way Marisol was drinking the wine and teasing her.

“So I put my clothes in a different dryer and there's like a million TVs in this laundromat so I sit down and get some animal crackers from the vending machine, and on every TV is a breaking news story about that guy who went into his nursing school yesterday and shot up all his classmates.”

“Oh my God!” Marisol interrupted, “Did you hear what he told the police when they asked him why he did it? Because he felt picked on and the school wouldn't give him his money back after he'd been kicked out.”

“The whole point of life is to feel picked on. You don't see me shooting anyone,” Theo said, and then, “but then I've never managed to finish school, either.”

“It's never women who do shit like this,” Marisol muttered. “Did you see his mug shot? Did you see his eyes?”

Theo nodded.

Marisol got up off the floor and came to sit at the window next to Theo.

“Why do crazy people always have crazy eyes?” she asked.

“It's true,” Theo said, looking down at the toes of her new boots.

“Do you have crazy eyes?” Marisol tugged lightly on the collar of Theo's T-shirt.

“Probably,” Theo said, meeting her hard stare.

Theo leaned forward and kissed her. She could taste the red wine on Marisol's tongue. Marisol pulled away after a minute.

“You do have kind of crazy eyes,” she said.

“I love this scar,” Theo traced the line above her eyebrow with her finger. “Is that fucked up that I think it's sexy?”

“Yes,” Marisol said, touching it with her own fingers.

“Are you going to tell me how you got it?”

“On our third date.”

Theo groaned. “I got rejected from the depression study today,” she said.

Marisol ignored her and climbed into her lap. Theo traced the indentation in Marisol's throat with her finger.

“I was so pissed. They said they only took people who couldn't maintain employment.”

Marisol tugged on Theo's earlobe a bit. “Sorry I threw up on our date the other night,” she said, kissing her.

“Oh, it happens.”

“How's your lip?” Marisol asked, touching Theo's lip with her finger.

“Fine. It's my wisdom teeth that have been killing me.”

“I've had a toothache all week too. Maybe it means we're destined to be together.”

Theo dropped her nose into Marisol's neck and inhaled her perfume. She could feel Marisol's heart beating. Marisol pulled the cigarette out of Theo's hand and took a drag.

“That's so disgusting,” she said, blowing the smoke out of the corner of her mouth.

“I know.”

Marisol squirmed out of Theo's arms walked into the kitchen, bending over to open the oven door and stab a potato with a fork. Theo watched her.

“Your ass is insane.”

“It's true,” Marisol smiled over her shoulder. “The potatoes are done.”

Marisol pulled the pan of potatoes out of the oven and put it on top of the stove. Then she filled each plate with chicken, plantains, potatoes, spinach, and macaroni and cheese. Cary Grant looked up from where she was noisily chewing a bone in front of the radiator and watched Marisol.

“Do you want to hear the rest of the laundromat story?”

“No,” Marisol said.

Theo started to get up but Marisol said, “Relax. What do you want to drink?”

“Do you have Coke?”

“No. Just wine and water.”

“Water then,” Theo said in a vaguely sorrowful voice, never wanting to commit to drinking a glass of water.

Marisol filled a glass with tap water and brought a plate with only chicken on it over to Cary Grant on the floor. The dog looked at her a minute and then dove in. Then she handed Theo her plate.

“Did you cook all day?”

“I slept all day. Then I woke up and started cooking.”

“Merry Christmas,” Theo raised her glass of water in a toast.

“Merry Christmas.”

Theo devoured the food. After every bite, she said, “This is the best chicken I've ever had. This is the best mac 'n' cheese I've ever had. These are the best roasted potatoes I've ever had.”

Marisol smiled.

“This is the best tap water I've ever had.”

It was true. The water had a sweetness to it. As soon as she started drinking she realized how thirsty she was. They finished dinner quietly, awkward with each other again.

“What do you want to do now?” Theo asked.

“I thought we were going to Atlantic City?”

“Do you really want to go?”

“Yeah. It sounds fun.”

Marisol returned to Theo's lap with her wine. “You feel lucky?” she asked.

“In a few hours, we're going to be very rich.”

•

They loaded Cary Grant into the truck and took off to Atlantic City.

“I wish we had a convertible,” Marisol said, rolling down her window. She leaned her body out of the open window, and Theo put the heater on to combat the rush of freezing air. She passed the bottle of red wine to Theo who looked at her confused and said, “I can't drink that while I drive.”

“You can have a sip, though. It's Christmas.”

Theo took a slug of the wine and let it soak into her tongue for a second before swallowing. Relief went through her body.

“I wish there was a way for people to drive drunk and not get in accidents or hurt anyone,” Theo said.

“Why don't you cure cancer while you're at it,” Marisol said.

Being drunk in transit was one of Theo's favorite things: on subways, or buses, or cars—just something with a window so she could watch all that scenery going by. After she launched her mood ring for alcoholics she'd make an automatic pilot device that would steer a car safely if the driver was drunk.

“So what's your game?” Marisol asked.

Theo looked at her confused.

“At the casino?”

“Oh, I love roulette,” Theo said. “Blackjack. Slots. Anything really, except craps. I don't understand craps.”

“Did you bring a lot of money?”