Confessions of a Call Center Gal: a novel (49 page)

“Oh!” Sun Lin exclaimed. “I had no idea you weren’t an American citizen.”

God. Sun Li can be so vapid at times.

Monica rolled her eyes. “Puerto Ricans
are
American citizens.”

“So . . .” I dragged a sack of Thai Jasmine rice over and plopped down next to
Zahara
. “What would that make me and
Zahara
?”

Monica considered this for a bit and replied, “Um, since your mom is Asian and your dad is Russian, I guess that would make the two of you Black Raisins?”

Moments later, I popped a DVD into the player and the
Blasians
,
Hispasians
and Black Raisins watched
Twilight
for the
gazillionth
time. Yes. We are
Twi-hards
.

Monica drooled, “
Ohhhhh
. I am so in
lurve
with
RPattz
.”

“Not me,” I fiercely protested. “Team Jacob all the way babe. And don’t you think
RPattz
looks like Butthead from
Beavis and Butthead
?”

The A Team clobbered me with packets of Military
MREs
.

“I take that back. I take that back,” I cried, half-laughing. “For I am The Great
Cornholio
. I need
TP
for my bunghole.”

Ding Dong

Saved by the bell.

Hastily, I made my escape and clambered up the stairs.

Throwing open the front door, my world came to a complete standstill.

Standing before me was a Taylor
Lautner
double; he was
wolflicious
in a nerdy sort of way. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear the howl of the wolves.
 

As I drank in that perfect face, the white button down shirt, the black slacks and the black tie, the right part of my brain was screaming, “MORMON MISSIONARY!”

At the same time, the left part of my brain was suffering from a serious case of Taylor
Lautner
fever. This was not your run of the mill fever; this was full out dengue fever! I could feel my skin prickling and I’m quite certain my entire body broke out in red rashes.
 

Mosquito Missionary Man (the source of my dengue fever) said in a distinctly British accent, “Hi, I’m Gabe.”

British accent?
Sah-wooooooooon
.

My heart went
Bong Bong Bong
like Big Ben. The clock.

Then he gestured to the pimply faced boy next to him. “And this is Elder Nigel.”

Elder? I’ve never understood why
ze
Mormons
call each other “elder.” I’m pretty sure they can’t be the oldest in their community.

I tried to speak but my mouth had gone bone dry.

“We’re from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Do you mind if we come in to share a brief message?” Gabe asked serenely.

In a hazy daze, I nodded.

They plodded in with their black backpacks and bicycle helmets, like the Messiahs that they were.

After planting themselves on the sofa, Gabe said a short prayer. Then he gabbed on and on about Jesus Christ and God’s plan for us, punctuated with by the use of scriptures from both the Bible and The Book of Mormon.

It was all gobbledygook and gibberish to me. I was in a complete trance.

All I saw was Taylor hair.

Taylor eyes.

Taylor lips.

GAK
!
Tay
Tay
was in my house!

Minutes later, the A Team trudged up the stairs and flounced into the living room.
Zahara
took one look at Gabe and howled like a wolf. “It’s Jacob Black!”

Monica fibbed, “
Quien
es
tu
pappi
 ?
Donde
estas
corazon
?”

Gabe and Nigel rose ceremoniously to their feet and introduced themselves in a very formal manner. Nigel actually said he was ‘enchanted’ to meet them. Enchanted? ENCHANTED? Who says that?

The A Team just ogled like a bunch of groupies.

Five minutes later . . .

And ogled. At Gabe of course, not at Enchanted Nigel.

How shameless! Where was their pride? Have they no dignity?

Half an hour later . . .

The Messiahs hopped on their bicycles and rode off into the orange sunset, silhouetted against the red and yellow glows, like
Chariots of Fire.

I hasten to add, before Gabe departed, he asked if he could see me again.

Bursting with joy, I almost leapt in the air. I must have swept Gabe away with my womanly charms. Hah! I am a man magnet. And he wanted my digits!

Well, actually, what he said was, “When can I share the Word of Jesus Christ with you again?”

“
Worrrrd
,” I said coolly and all thug-like. “Jesus is
da
man. Come by anytime. What about tomorrow?” I asked flippantly, in a non-eager, non-desperado manner.

Gabe whipped out a notebook and scribbled something down. Glancing up, a smile spread over his angelic face. “We’ll be back.”

“
Hasta
la vista,” I muttered under my breath.

After the A Team had slouched off home, Mom emerged from her ‘office.’ Mom works at home for Jet Blue, which means she sits in front of her PC, in her bedroom, wearing Pajama Jeans, fluffing and folding laundry, talking to folks on the phone. She books tickets, handles cancellations . . . um something like that.

“
Wassup
mammochka
?”

Mom asked, “How was school?”

“Good. I’m thinking of joining the Mormon Tabernacle choir.” Then I displayed my amazing soprano tenor. Puffing out my chest, I busted out
Ave Maria
,
Plácido
Domingo style.

Mom simply chose to ignore my aria. She headed for the fridge and started preparing a margarita. “Honey,” she said absently, “what do you get when you play the Mormon Tabernacle Choir records backwards?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “
The Satanic Verses
?”

Mom raised her margarita glass. “One thousand different recipes for non-alcoholic margaritas.”

“Is that a virgin margarita? Can I have a sip?” I asked, eyeing her bright amber drink.

“Of course not, but I can make you a Mormon Tequila Sunrise.”

“What’s that?”

“Coming right up,” Mom tinkled gaily.

Five minutes later, she handed me a cocktail glass. Sipping tentatively, I said, “It lacks a certain panache. Is this Kool-Aid?”

“Not just Kool-Aid. It’s Kool-Aid
and
orange juice. And there’s some sour gummy worms in the bottom.”
 

I drained my glass to the last drop and chewed up the gummy worms. “Seriously Mom, I’m going to join their choir. It’s my calling.”

She lifted an inquiring brow. “Which Mormon boy is it this time?”

Mothers . . .
Pssh
! They think they
know
us so well.

I promptly changed the subject. “What’s for dinner?”

Mom yanked open the freezer, pulled out a loaf of bread and slammed the door with deliberate force. Plopping the rock hard loaf onto the kitchen counter, she exclaimed, “Sandwiches! We’ve got fresh bread.”

After my dinner of stale bread and deli meat, I retired to my room. Firing up my laptop, I ripped open a bag of pretzels and searched for Gabe on
Facebook
.

Gosh. I felt like a stalker.

A Mormon stalker.

What is wrong with me?

Snacking on pretzels, I began scrolling down my
Facebook
newsfeed.

Suddenly, I stopped and gawped. My Aunt Marla was giving a blow-by-blow account of my cousin Jessica’s delivery of her baby.

This was posted on my
Facebook
newsfeed:

Yay
! Woo
Hoo
! We’re all so excited! Jessica is dilated to almost three centimeters.

Now she’s four centimeters and fifty percent effaced.

Now she’s six centimeters.

Now she’s ten centimeters and getting ready to push.

Here we go!

WOW. Isn’t that just a blessing?

I practically choked on a pretzel.
TMI
!

Um, no it’s NOT a blessing. I did a George W.,
i.e.,
choked on a pretzel and almost died.

A self-administered Heimlich saved my life.

End of this sample. Enjoyed the preview?

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An
exceprt
from Fourteen Days Later by
Sibel
Hodge

     
Chapter 1
       

‘Fourteen days,’ said
Ayshe
. ‘That’s all it takes to change your life for the better.’

‘You are joking, right?’ I arched an eyebrow. ‘Nobody can change their life in fourteen days.’

‘That’s not what it says in here.’
Ayshe
held up the magazine she’d been flicking through, her finger underlining one of the articles.

‘“Orgasms or Chocolate? What do women really want?”’ I read the headline aloud.

‘What?’
Ayshe
looked at the magazine and adjusted her finger. ‘Not that. This. “Turn Your Life Around. The Simple Fourteen Day Plan Anyone Can Do”.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’ Tucking my legs underneath me on the sofa, I picked at my frayed jogging bottoms.

‘No, what’s ridiculous is you still moping about over Justin. It’s been six months since you split up with him. You need to move on with your life.’ She rose from her chair and flounced down next to me, resting her arm on my knees.

I wriggled away from her. ‘I’m having another iced coffee; want one?’

‘It’s too cold for iced coffee. It’s the middle of November for God’s sake,’ she called out as I clattered around in the kitchen. ‘Anyway, I thought you’d promised to cut down on your caffeine intake.’

When I returned, I sank down onto the sofa. ‘I still haven’t managed to get a plumber out to fix the dishwasher. Either they don’t turn up when they say they will, or they won’t come out for anything less than a total bathroom
refurb
.’

Ayshe
watched me in silence.

I sat it out for a while, her steady gaze drilling into me. ‘What?’

‘Trying to change the subject isn’t going to work. You can’t avoid this much longer.’

‘I’m not, it’s true. You can never get hold of a plumber these–’

She clamped her hand over my mouth. ‘You need to go out and do things – and don’t give me that rubbish about you’ll never meet another man – he was the right one – he was the love of your life. I know four years together is a long time, but everybody always says that when they split up with people. You will get over him, but not if you keep refusing to move on with your life.’ She pushed me on the leg.

I wasn’t expecting the jolt and spilt my coffee all down my attractive jogging bottoms.

My thoughts drifted back to the time I’d discovered a size sixteen
Agent Provocateur
thong stuffed into the pocket of Justin’s best work trousers during the usual laundry run. I was pretty sure his company hadn’t suddenly changed their dress-code. I mean, smart trousers, shirt, and thong, wouldn’t sound too good in the staff handbook. I was also sure he couldn’t have picked it up innocently – as he’d told me – because he needed to dust the photocopier and thought it was a rag. And I knew it wasn’t mine because I’d never really fancied a piece of dental floss chafing my bits and bobs.

She lifted her hand away from my mouth.

‘So what else does it say then, this article?’ I feigned interest, rubbing at the coffee stain with my hand.

‘It’s about trying to get more interests in your life if you’re stuck in a rut. It was written by one of those new trendy life coaches who try and get you to organize your life better. Apparently, you have to set yourself challenges to have a brand new experience every day for fourteen days, to gain more confidence; something to do with re-evaluating things and re-balancing your yin and yang – or your Hong Kong
Fuey
– or whatever it is.’