Slim Chance (14 page)

A strange sound was coming from the kitchen, distracting me. It took a second or two for me to realize that it was Mom’s muffled giggles. I ventured into the living room so that I could hear better.

“Oh, you really shouldn’t say such things,” she said.

Who the hell could she be talking to?

“Albert, I’m fifty-one. You can’t say things like that to a fifty-one-year-old woman.”

Albert?

“No—don’t stop. I was only kidding. Of course I don’t mind.” More giggles. It was revolting. “Oh, Albert,
stop
it.”

But the hilarious Albert would not be stopped, and Mom cackled like a hyena. Enough was enough. I snuck up behind her.

“Mom,” I said loudly. “Who’s that?”

She jumped up from the chair and slammed the receiver down.

“Oh dear,” she said sadly, looking at it. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Who’s Albert?”

“You heard?”

“Yes I heard, this apartment only has four rooms. Who’s Albert?”

The phone rang. She looked at it.

“Pick it up,” I said. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Yes, yes. Fine. I’ll pick it up,” she said. I’d never seen her so frazzled. “Hello?”

Poor Albert. Probably thought she was really mad at him.

“Sorry about that, Albert. But I’ll have to call you back, Evelyn’s here. Fine, I’ll see you then. ’Bye for now.”

She looked at me guiltily. “Now, I don’t want you to get upset about this….”

“Do you have a boyfriend? That wouldn’t bother me. Why do you think that would bother me? I’d be happy for you.” I said it and meant it, but it somehow felt a bit like a lie.

“Good,” she said, and exhaled slowly. “Because I do. Ha! I have a boyfriend!”

One of my New Year’s resolutions was to find Mom a date for the wedding, so this was very good news. Shocking, but good.

“So, who is he?” I asked, and sat down.

“He’s divorced.”

“That’s all you can think to say about this guy? He must be very interesting.”

“I don’t mind that he’s divorced. But I thought you should know.”

“Thanks for telling me. It’ll take some time for me to get used to the idea since you know how seriously I uphold the tenets of the Church.”

“He’s Italian,” she explained.

“Thank God.”

“His name is Albert Casella, and he sells computers.”

At least he had a job. “Where did you meet him?”

“On the Internet.”

“But you don’t have a computer,” I reminded her.

“I let Claire fix me up. It started off that I just wanted to get her off my back. She found him on a…what do you call that…a Web site? A Web site where Italian mothers fix up their children. She gave him my number. I was mad at first, and I just wanted to get rid of him and tell Claire that I’d tried so now she could leave me alone, but we got along so well. We had so much to talk about. Can you imagine? And he lives right here in Bensonhurst, just off 18th Avenue, and he knows Mary Manardi. Remember her? She was my old boss at the DMV before she retired. Can you believe what a small world it is? Anyway, we still keep in touch from time to time, so I called her right away and asked about this guy Albert, and she said he’s been friends with her son Freddie for many years, and that he always seemed like a nice person. And she knows his mother, too, from church.”

I don’t think I’d ever heard Mom say so many words in a row without complaining. She was definitely giddy. “Well, at least that’s a character reference,” I offered.

“Exactly, so I called him back and told him that he checked
out fine, and so we went to a movie a couple of weeks ago and then out for dinner.”

“A movie? But you never go to the movies.” She hadn’t been to a movie in years.

“Have you seen the new one with Brad Pitt? It’s excellent.”

“Mom, stop it. You’re freaking me out.”

“So we’ve been on three dates since then, and we’re going out tomorrow night, too. He’s taking me to see
Rent.
”

I shook my head gravely. “How do you know he’s not some freak that wants to swindle you out of your pension or sell you termite insurance?” There were plenty of debonair lunatics roaming the country, preying on needy old women (
Harper’s Bazaar,
January: “The Socialite and the Bigamist: A Tawdry Tale of Lust, Lies and a Leveraged Buyout Scam”).

“For heaven’s sake, Evelyn. Give me a little credit. I’m not so vain that I can’t see the forest for the trees. He’s fifty-seven years old, and he’s losing his hair. He’s not some handsome young con artist like on one of those TV shows. I think he wants what I want—a little companionship, someone to have a good time with. That’s all.”

“Well, I’m happy for you, Mom,” I told her. “You deserve it.”

What else was there to say?

The thought of Mom having a social life was bizarre. For days, I couldn’t get the image of her and this Albert out of my head, which was frustrating because I had no idea what he looked like. With the right light, Mom was still a very attractive woman, and she deserved more than some fat, old, bald guy. Bruce and I would go and meet him, I resolved. I’m sure Mom wanted our approval anyway. She was probably scared to death that we wouldn’t like him or something. But we’d have to keep an open mind. This was probably her last chance.

That weekend, I had the overwhelming urge to clean out my closet for the first time in two years. It was stuffed with hideous
and large things I would never be wearing again, which only served to remind me of my formerly enormous self and which were taking valuable space away from items which deserved to be there.

“What are you doing?” Bruce asked as I sat on the floor, surrounded by shoe boxes and old purses.

“What does it look like?”

“Cleaning?”

“Give the man a prize,” I said.

“So the pack rat admits defeat,” he smiled.

“I’m making a fresh start. Out with the old and in with the new,” I told him.

“That’s great. Hey—can I have that boa? The drama department could use it for the spring play. We’re doing
Cage Aux Folles.
”

“No. I’m saving it for Halloween. Isn’t that production a little risque for ten-year-olds?”

“Not really. They see it more as a mildly amusing contemporary farce. And it lets them show off their French. Besides, it could’ve been worse—they’re deconstructing the relationship between homosexuality, violence and religious ritual within the plays of Jean Genet in their Language Arts class, so
Cage Aux Folles
is really a much safer choice, all things considered.”

“Of course it is.” Whatever.

I reached far into the depths of the closet and began pulling out anything I hadn’t worn in two months. “Pass me that garbage bag, please,” I said.

“You’re getting rid of all that? You used to love that pinstripe suit. You said it was the only thing that made you look skinny.”

“It’s a size
twelve,
” I spat, and shoved it deep into the bottom of the bag.

He flopped down on the bed and made himself comfortable. “And what about those jeans? You don’t want those anymore?”

“They have an elastic waist, Bruce. Would you mind leaving me alone?”

“It’s just that I find this sad. I don’t know why. Don’t you? Even a little bit?”

“I find it exhilarating. If I never see any of these things again, it’ll be too soon. Big and stretchy are now officially banished from my wardrobe. If you have a problem with that, why don’t you put on a few pounds and see what it feels like.”

“Well, don’t throw anything out,” he said, getting up. “We’ll bring it all to the goodwill bin tomorrow.”

Why bother?
I thought.
People poor enough to wear some stranger’s old clothes aren’t supposed to be fat.
But I knew better than to say something like that out loud in front of Bruce. If it were Morgan or Theo, maybe. But not Bruce. “Why bother?” I said instead. “These clothes are so disgusting, nobody would want them. I’d rather see them on fire in the city dump. Or at least let homeless people burn them in those metal garbage cans to keep warm. That’s what we should do. Donate them as fuel for the homeless this winter.”

“Ah,” Bruce said, his hand over his heart. “The spirit of charity is alive and well in our very own Evelyn Mays.”

After he left the room, I pulled out the pinstripe suit. I did use to love it—a charcoal-gray Ralph Lauren that I got for practically nothing at a great sample sale two years ago. On days when I felt like a real cow, it was the only thing that made feel remotely human again. Maybe I could keep it and turn it into a lampshade or a pillowcase or something.

Yeah right.

I shoved it back into the bag. There was really no sense in hanging on to it—I would never wear it again. But like an old friend, it was still sad to see it go.

T
he perfect moment I’d been waiting for to ask Pruscilla about my raise never came, so I figured I’d have to take whatever chance I could get. Of course, I knew that the chances of her saying yes, even under the best of circumstances, would be slim to none, but it couldn’t hurt to ask. After a few days of chickening out, I finally approached her. Not coincidentally, it was also the same morning I got my first-ever threatening letter from a collection agency, reminding me that I had not remitted my minimum Visa payment in three months, and that if I didn’t fork over some cash soon, they were going to break my legs. Thank God Bruce didn’t see it—he was on a trip to Pittsburgh to talk to some kid who knew pi to the 2500th decimal, whatever that means.

Pruscilla, ungodly freak that she is, is always happiest on Monday mornings, so I figured the timing couldn’t be better. Not surprisingly, she was already buried under a pile of paperwork. She’d probably been in since five.

“Do you have a minute?” I asked her sweetly. It was 8:26, according to my watch—I was early, and that had to be good for a few brownie points.

“Sure, Evie. Come on in. Did you have a nice weekend?” Hmm…friendly. So far, my plan was working.

“Actually, no. Bruce was out of town and I spent the weekend trying to fix our overflowing toilet.” It was an absolute lie, but a lie for the greater good.

“That doesn’t sound like much fun,” she mumbled, already disinterested.

“It wasn’t. But we can’t afford a plumber. Which brings me to the reason I wanted to talk to you.” No sense in beating around the bush.

She looked up from her papers.

“I know I went through a rough spot in the fall when you were away, and there’s really no excuse. Suffice it to say that you were right about being newly engaged and how hard it would be for me to concentrate.”

“I don’t remember saying that.”

“Anyway, I think I’ve really turned things around since then. And call me crazy, but I think you’ve noticed. Haven’t you? I also think you know by now how much I treasure working here, and how much I love the people I work with. This job means a lot to me.” I was careful not to lay it on too thick.

I gave her a moment to respond, but she didn’t say anything. So I continued.

“I wanted to take a moment to thank you, both for giving me a second chance, and for being my mentor. If you knew how many times a day I ask myself, ‘how would Pruscilla do this?’…well, I don’t want to embarrass you.”

If that wasn’t good for a spontaneous offer, then I don’t know what was.

“To be honest, I’d rather not have to ask you this outright, because I’m like you in the sense that I think talking about money is crass and should be avoided whenever possible…”

“I don’t mind talking about money,” she said, shaking her head. I could sense she wasn’t taking the bait. “But there’s a time
and place for it. The problem comes when people don’t respect that.”

An inauspicious beginning, perhaps, but when she heard the reason why I needed the raise so desperately, I hoped she would see things my way. Besides—the risk was definitely worth the reward. A raise would be a whole lot simpler than cutting back on shopping. “Well, I’ll just come out and say it, then. I’d like a raise. I know I had one less than a year ago, but that was only $1800 more…”

“Your raise was in exact accordance with the KW pay scale for all employees of your position and level of experience,” she interrupted. “Anything more than that has to be earned.”

“I know, and since I figured I came through my probation period with flying colors…”

“I wouldn’t say flying colors. It’s more like you squeaked by without making any grievous errors.”

“That, too, and I also tried really hard to improve my whole attitude. I take my job much more seriously now, thanks to you, and I give it my all. It’s just that if you knew what’s going on in my life right now….”

“Evelyn, employees are raised once a year, after their evaluations,” she said shrilly. “The only exception to this would be if a manager feels that someone has gone above and beyond what is expected of her, and has displayed outstanding initiative and personal involvement. That type of commitment is usually rewarded with a promotion, which, in turn, leads to more money. Do you understand?”

For a split second, I thought she might mean she wanted to promote me. But then I came to my senses.

“In your case,” she continued, “showing up five or ten minutes late compared to thirty or forty minutes late is not what I’d call outstanding initiative. Nor is figuring out new ways to make paper-clip sculptures, romancing yourself in the bathroom mirror every half hour, or delegating absolutely everything you do to the interns.”

“Aren’t they here to learn?”

“Heaven help us if they learn anything from you,” she said, as if I weren’t even in the room.

“I have no choice but to assume you’re saying no, then?” I asked, all hope fading.

She slammed her palms down on the desk and stood up. “Not only am I saying no, I’m considering rolling back your salary to what it was when you started here. You certainly haven’t accepted any more responsibility since then, and some of your mistakes have cost the company a lot of money.”

“I’ve never made a mistake like that,” I pointed out.

“Every time you screw up it costs us time. Time for me or you or someone else to fix things. And if you think I’ve forgotten about all that confusion last May regarding the egregious overpayment of your friend the photographer, whose dreadful overexposures virtually ruined our fall flyers… Oh, Evelyn, the prospect of remembering every one of your accidents and misunderstandings and ‘but-it-wasn’t-my-fault-Pruscillas’ makes me wonder what’s wrong with
me
that I’ve put up with it for so long. The fact that you could come in here and have the
gall
to ask for a raise right now shows me that you put your own interests above Kendra White’s and that the only reason you show up every day is for the paycheck,” she finished triumphantly.

Remorse and embarrassment churned in my stomach. It’s a good thing my self-esteem isn’t founded in my job, or else I probably would have tried to jump out the window right then and there. But what was I thinking, asking for a raise? Pruscilla was right—I was, for the most part, a professional failure. She didn’t have to be such a bitch about it, though. That was for sure. I wanted to walk out the door and never come back.

Do you think people actually show up here every day because they’re delighted by figuring out new ways to bilk bored housewives out of their husbands’ hard-earned money? Do you think anyone with any sense of right and wrong would actually consider buying American-made, mail-order makeup in bulk? Do you think anything we do here makes
one bloody bit of difference in the long run? Well, I don’t need you! I can do better than this. Because I’m destined for greater things than being your lackey. Take this stinking job and shove it up your ass, you petulant cow!

Well, that’s what I thought, and if I had any courage at all, I would have said it, too. I may not be the best little worker bee in the hive, but I surely didn’t deserve to be humiliated either. And was I really the only one with the problem? If I was still incompetent after working here for so long, then surely Kendra White and Pruscilla should share some of the blame for their complete failure to motivate or inspire me. Well, there was no way I was going to let Pruscilla and her personal attacks make me feel lucky to have this shitty job. At the very least, I should have told her that nobody, no matter how incompetent, ever deserved to feel violated and abused in their own workplace, and that I wouldn’t stand it for another second.

Instead, I mumbled “Fine. Sorry for asking,” and skulked out.

“Mom, Bruce and I want to meet Albert.” It had been a couple of weeks since she told me about him, and I was getting a little impatient.

“We’ve only been seeing each other for a month, Evie. Isn’t that too soon to meet each other’s kids?” She sounded very concerned. “Maybe I just don’t know how things are done nowadays. But it seems soon. And he hasn’t introduced me to his kids yet. I don’t want to be the first. Why should I be the first?”

His kids? Suddenly, I had the distinct and unpleasant feeling my life was about to change. A montage of Christmas dinners at Albert’s house and baby showers for evil step-siblings flashed before my eyes. I had to nip this thing in the bud and fast.

“It’ll be casual, Mom. We’ll just come over for dinner.”

“We’re taking things slowly,” she said. “We agreed not to rush into anything.”

“Don’t get hysterical. Meeting me and Bruce doesn’t mean he’ll have to marry you. I promise.”

“Don’t talk like that Evelyn. You shouldn’t joke about such things.”

“I’m not joking. But I really think this is important.”

“Fine, fine. We’ll talk about it later.”

“You can count on it,” I said.

“Ahhh…” she sighed dramatically.

“What now?” I asked.

“It’s nothing.”

“Fine, then I’ll speak to you later.”

“Well, I don’t want to trouble you, but there something else I’ve been meaning to ask you. Could you maybe ask Bertie to stop calling me?”

“She’s calling you?”

“All the time. I wouldn’t mind, but she’s dropping a lot of hints that I should be paying for things. Wedding things. And I don’t know what to tell her.”

That bitch. “Don’t worry, Mom. She won’t call you again.”

“Don’t be rude to her, Evelyn. She’s going to be your mother-in-law. Just please maybe have Bruce explain our financial situation to her.”

I was outraged. It was obvious Bruce wasn’t living up to his end of the bargain. And if he couldn’t keep his mother in control, then I certainly would. I didn’t care if it made things tense. I was so sick and tired of everybody pussyfooting around her for fear of setting her off. She needed to be put in her place once and for all. Why? Because
nobody
has the right to humiliate my mother except for me. It was the final straw.

After I got off the phone with Mom, I called Bertie and left a message on her machine.

“I just wanted to let you know that I don’t appreciate the horrible things you’ve been saying to my mother. She’s very sensitive, and you’ve made her feel terrible about not being able to contribute more. I think you owe her an apology as soon as possible. So if you have a problem with money, call my grandmother or me, but do not call my mother again. I hope you’re
happy that you’ve taken some of the joy out of this experience for her. To be frank, since you’re always so concerned about doing the right thing and not insulting people, I’m surprised that I have to call and tell you this. You really should know better. That’s it for now.”

“Nice, Evie,” Bruce said. I didn’t know he’d been listening.

Saturday afternoon after the gym, I met Kimby, Annie and Nicole for lunch. Although my time was at a definite premium lately, these were my bridesmaids, after all, and they deserved my full attention (
Today’s Bride,
Fall/Winter: “Keep It Cool: How To Stay Yourself Through All the Fuss”).

“Did you bring the pictures?” I asked them. They were supposed to have snapshots taken in their dresses at the fittings so I could approve the final looks.

“Why does Morgan get to wear black and we have to wear champagne?” Nicole whined. I don’t think she really had a problem with the color, she was just trying to find a way to vent her jealousy. Since the engagement party, I’d only seen her once, at Theo’s birthday dinner in February, so I think she was pretty shocked to see how much I’d lost since then.

“She’s the maid of honor,” I explained. “She’s allowed to look different. You’re one of six bridesmaids, so you’re not. Just for the record, I think I deserve some thanks for choosing only the fabric for your dresses and not the style—some bridesmaids get stuck wearing the exact same thing. But I didn’t think that would be fair, since we all have very different body types.”

Nicole rolled her eyes and exchanged a knowing glance with Annie and Kimby.

“What?” I asked. “What is it?”

“Tell me you don’t really expect us to thank you for that,” Nicole said. “Like we should be grateful we don’t have to wear burlap sacks or something.”

“No, Nicole,” I snapped defensively. “It’s just a figure of speech. My point was that it could be a lot worse for you.”

Nicole threw her hands up in exasperation and shook her head. “I know you, Evie—I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking the worse we look, the better you’ll look. Gee, what fun!”

“Quit it, Nicole,” Kimby said. “Evie, maybe you should think about this a little more from our perspective. This whole bridesmaid thing was supposed to be fun for us, remember? And for you, too!”

I could feel myself getting huffy. “Well I’m sorry if this has been such a miserable experience for you so far, not that anyone’s actually done anything yet.”

“I’m having fun,” Annie assured me quietly.

“Yeah, but weren’t you kind of pissed when Evie stiffed you the day you were supposed to go to the seamstress together?” Nicole reminded her.

“A last-minute thing came up with the caterer and I had to go with Bertie and sort it out. Annie, you didn’t mind going alone, did you?” I asked her.

“No,” she said thoughtfully, “but we could have rescheduled and gone together. It would have been nice.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” I told her. “You should have said something.” But I knew it wasn’t really her responsibility. I should have gone with her. We’d had the whole day planned.

“Yeah, well, it’s a little late for that,” Nicole said.

“Frankly, Nicole, it’s none of your business, so keep it to yourself.”

“C’mon, guys, stop it,” Annie pleaded. “It’s fine.”

“Oh, she’s just crabby because of her diet,” Kimby said.

“Which one, Nicole or Evie?” Annie said with more wit than usual.

Kimby laughed. “I meant Evie, but come to think of it…”

Poor Nicole. She’d gained back almost all of the weight she’d lost before Christmas. Of course she was reluctant to go out and have a dress made—she probably felt like crap. And I wasn’t helping things by being unavailable.