Vintage Veronica (28 page)

All you’ve done for me?
I think, blinking back the tears I cannot stop.
Lying to me? Pretending to be my friend? Oh, hey, how ’bout saying you’d take care of Len’s snake, then getting it killed? I can’t believe I trusted you
.

I look at Ginger, her eyes wide.
And you. You’re just as bad. Maybe worse
.

“Awwww. Don’t cwy,” Zoe says through pouting lips. “I’m not going to hurt your pwecious widdo wizard.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, relieved.

“I’m just going to see how it likes going on a little ride down a nice long slide.” She picks up the boot box and walks casually toward the chute.

“Zoe, no!” I yell.

I run over and grab hold of the box. “Please don’t do this,” I beg as we both struggle to keep our grip on the box. “Look, you can do whatever you want to me, but please don’t take it out on Violet!”

“Violet?”
Zoe smirks.

“That’s her name,” I say, holding on tight. “She’s sick and
I’ve been trying to help her. Please don’t put her in the chute. She might get injured or die, and I know you don’t want that.”

Zoe looks amused.

“Oh, that’s rich,” she says. “
You
know what
I
want?”

“Yeah,” I say, trying to think of anything to stop her. “I do. I think maybe you’re a little like me. You’re afraid of getting hurt, so you put up your guard and push people away before they can hurt you.”

“Look, you stupid cow,” says Zoe, and with a yank she pulls the boot box out of my hands, causing me to fall backward onto the floor. She tosses it roughly onto a table, then stands towering over me. “I’m nothing like you. I’m not afraid of anything. But you—you’re scared of your own fucking shadow! You can’t get over with your shit around here so you’re just gonna pack it in and run home to your mama, boo-hoo-hoo. Isn’t that right,
Ve-ron-i-ca
?”

She hits all four syllables of my name like notes on a xylophone. Her message is clear: “Vee” is dead.

“I mean, aren’t you, like, twelve or something?”

She stares me down, hard.

And for a second, I am the whimpering little fat girl she wants me to be. The girl I’ve never been able to figure out how
not
to be. The frustrated, bitter, beaned-in-the-butt, seduced-and-abandoned-by-so-called-friends, reduced-to-tears-by-a-stupid-game-of-“I-Never,” who-needs-you-anyway girl. The girl hiding behind racks of mildewed clothing at the fleas, hiding in her room drawing decades-old dresses, hiding on Employees Only! for fuck’s sake.

The girl I’ve been for fucking forever.

The girl I’m
never
going to be anymore.

“You’re wrong,” I whisper.

“What? Oh, I’m sorry! Are you eleven?”

“I’m fifteen,” I say, picking myself up off the floor. “Fifteen and a half, actually. I don’t steal. And I didn’t quit.”

“Oh, really?” says Zoe, laughing.

“I got promoted,” I announce, trying to look calm and composed while my heart pounds out a drumbeat.

“Right. To what? Barnacle Bill’s first mate?”

Zoe laughs so hard at her own joke that she misses the way Ginger’s eyes flash. I’m tempted to say what comes into my head.
Actually, I think that position’s already filled. Isn’t it, Ginger?

Instead, I coolly say, “Display designer. I’ll be in charge of all the store windows and promotional displays.”

“What? Bullshit.”

“Yeah, well, ask Shirley.”

“I thought you were still in
high school
.”

“I’m going to work after school, starting next month. Half the hours, twice the pay.”

Zoe stares at me. Finally, she says in a dangerous voice, “So starting next month, you’ll be working down on the
floor
? With us
Florons
?”

“With my real friends,” I say, trying to sound convincing on the plural part, even though I’m pretty sure all I have left is Bill.

“Now, who would that be? Oh, of course! Barnacle Bill and Dead Boy
Drooling
.” She makes a zombie face.

“For your information, Bill is a good guy. And Len is a better friend than you’ll ever have.”
Better than I’ll ever have again, too, in all likelihood
.

“Oh, lucky, lucky you!” she trills sarcastically. “But remember, sweetie. Your boyfriends don’t stray far from The Pile. So you’d better watch your back. Because on The Real Deal, your fat ass is mine.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Zoe,” I tell her.

“You should be,” she snarls.

And she’s right. I should be afraid. I look at her and I see her mouth moving and that look on her reddening face and I feel the hot wall of her power.

But I don’t hear her words. Instead, what I hear is a voice in my head that says,
Veronica, man? Close your eyes
. It sounds a lot like Bill’s voice.

So I do. I close my eyes and just listen. But I don’t hear words. Just … noise.

See?
says the voice.
That’s the shit talking
.

And it hits me. It’s just like Bill said, like that song of his.

If you need somebody you can trust, trust yourself
.

I don’t need to trust Zoe anymore. Or Ginger.

There’s only one person I need to trust.

Me.

And then I hear something else.

Not Zoe’s voice.

Ginger’s.

“Just … let it go, okay?” she is saying to Zoe.

I open my eyes and see that Zoe is not listening to her. Zoe is raging, exploding with anger and frustration.

“Let it go? Let it go?” she fumes. “Yeah, okay! You bet I’ll let it go. Watch me let it go.”

With no warning, Zoe stalks over and grabs the boot box from where she’s left it. She grabs it and practically runs over to the chute. “I’m letting it go!” she yells, overturning the box. “See ya later, alligator!!!”

“No!” I yell, running with outstretched arms.

I don’t make it in time.

But I do catch a glimpse of what falls from the box: a pink wisp of buttery soft flannel …

And a shoe.

Unfortunately, Zoe sees it, too.

“Where is it?” she demands, whirling around.

I stand there, my mouth open, saying nothing. I have no idea.

“Goddammit, where’s the fucking lizard?!”

“Lizard?” says Ginger nervously. “What lizard?”

“Look, bitch. Give me the fucking lizard.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Just then, Zoe spies Ginger’s bag, her big hobo purse, next to my desk. She gives a knowing laugh, tosses the empty boot box aside, and strides over to it.

“Zo, what are you doing? Leave my bag alone.”

Zoe ignores her, reaching in.

“Seriously, Zo, don’t do that.”

“Why not? You afraid I migh—augghhhhh!!!!”

Zoe’s eyes suddenly bug out and she makes this horrible
noise somewhere between a scream and a gag. She shakes her arm violently, but the bag is stuck on it and won’t come off. She backs up, still trying to knock the bag off, until she crashes into a wall. Then she twists her ankle in her thigh-high black vinyl boots. One ankle goes down; then her legs buckle and she completely slides down the wall, landing on her butt.

And her eyes close.

“Holy shit! Oh my God, oh my God. Zoe!!!” Ginger screams, horrified.

“She’s gonna be okay,” I tell her.

“What are you talking about? Look at her!”

“Actually, Veronica’s right,” calls a voice.

It is Len, standing quietly next to the freight elevator shaft. Hopefully, he’s just come back from downstairs and has not watched everything that just happened.

Either way, I’m pretty glad to see him.

He hobbles over to us and awkwardly kneels down next to Zoe. He feels for a pulse. Then he unzips the purse the rest of the way and slides it off her arm …

Revealing Violet, with her jaws locked around Zoe’s pointer finger. Her jaws unclench and clench repeatedly, like she did with the chopstick. Or like she’s trying to chew Zoe’s finger off.

“Oh my God,” Ginger says again.

“Hold on,” I say, as much to Violet as to Ginger. I slide my hand around her jaw and squeeze the hinge lightly. Her jaw extends and she releases her grip on Zoe’s hand. I slide my other hand under Violet’s belly and transfer her to Len, who wraps his T-shirt around her protectively.

“Is she …” Ginger gestures to Zoe, who is still out. “I mean, is she going to be okay?”

“Yeah, she’ll be up in a few minutes,” Len says. “The venom won’t kill her, but it’ll make her sick for a week or so.”

“Venom?!”

Len shoots me a shy smile. “Just kidding,” he says.

“Jesus,” says Ginger. “You’re sure? I mean, she really fucking bit her.”

“All lizards bite,” says Len. “Especially when they feel cornered. In their natural habitat, they’re cave dwellers. They react pretty strongly when enemies enter their dens.”

“Or purses,” I add.

Len frowns. “In the wild, they don’t have …,” he says; then a look crosses his face and I realize he just got my joke. “Oh, right. Or purses,” he says.

I feel giddy and I almost laugh. The mighty Zoe, laid low by little old Violet.
Speak softly and carry a lizard in your purse
. Hey, maybe that should be Rule Number Five.

Just then, Zoe’s eyes flutter and she mumbles, “I don’ feel so good.”

“I can’t believe you did that,” I tell Ginger. “Thanks.”

“I can’t either,” says Ginger, making a face. “Now I’m really going to puke.”

“You might want to take her to a doctor anyway,” says Len, checking Zoe’s pulse. “I mean, she’s fine, but still.”

Ginger nods and plays with a little stringy baby-blue tendril of her hair. She reaches out and touches my arm.

“Look, Veronica? I’m really sorry. I never should have told Zoe about Violet. You must totally hate me.”

“Nooo,” I say. “Okay, a little.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t say anything, you know, about me and Bill,” she mumbles. “I totally thought you were gonna …”

“I told you. I’m not like that.”

Zoe twitches in her slumber. Ginger looks at her and groans. Finally, she says, “I guess I’ll get Bill to bring his car around and we’ll drag her out of here. Not that she’ll appreciate it or anything.”

“You’re a better friend than she deserves,” I tell her.

“Please. I suck,” she says matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, that, too,” I admit, and we both kind of chuckle.

“You should go,” says Ginger. “When she really wakes up, she’s going to be a fricking mess. You’ve dealt with enough of her shit for one day.”

So I gather up my things. Len looks at me, surprised.

“You’re leaving?” he asks.

“Yeah, kind of.”

“For good?”

Hmm. Concern. This is a positive sign
.

“No, just for a few weeks. I was thinking I might go visit my dad. You know, in New York?”

“But why are you taking all your things?”

“I’ll tell you later. Can you do me a favor and carry some of this stuff downstairs for me?”

Len nods. He eases Violet back into the boot box, though her sleeping bag is, unfortunately, gone forever. Next to my desk is the almost empty Z-rack, formerly known as my Greatest Hits rack. Only one item hangs there now: the flag dress.

I take it off the rack and bring it over to Ginger.

“Here,” I tell her. “It’s not really mine to give, but I really think you should have it.”

Ginger holds up the dress, admiring the dangling rows of beads, rippling them like a row of dominoes. She lowers it and meets my eye.

“Thanks,” she tells me. “That was pretty cool, the way you stood up to her.”

“Yeah, brilliant move, I’m sure,” I say.

“Don’t worry. She’ll have forgotten everything by next month.”

“No, she won’t.”

Ginger grimaces. “Yeah, but come back anyway, okay?”

Len holds the freight elevator door open for me with his shoulder. I get in and hold the button for him, trying not to drop the boot box.

As the door is closing, I suddenly stick one foot out, blocking the door. I lean out of the freight elevator.

“Hey, Ginger,” I call across the floor.

“Yeah?” she says warily.

“Good luck with …”
With what, exactly? Explaining to Zoe how exactly she came to be bitten by a lizard? Continuing to hide her relationship with Bill from Zoe? Finding the courage to ever tell Zoe what she really thinks about anything?

“With everything,” I finally say.

“Yeah, I’m gonna need it,” says Ginger, staring at Zoe and shaking her head.

“Nice,” Len says to me in his quiet, understated way.

“Thanks,” I reply, my heart pounding.

He releases the button and the elevator door swings closed. We start to ride down in silence.

“I never …,” I start to say, but my voice trails off.
I never felt this way about anyone before. I never would have acted like such a jerk if I had realized how much I care about you. I never wanted things to end like this
.

“… rode in the freight elevator before?” asks Len.

“Yeah,” I say, gratefully.

“Well,” says Len softly, “there’s a first time for everything.”

It turns out the door side of the freight elevator has a metal gate but no actual wall. So as we descend, we watch everything go by: Employees Only!, The Real Deal, and finally, our destination: Dollar-a-Pound. Len gets out first and holds the gate open for me.

The lights are all out, and Bill has already gone for the day. In the light filtering in from the small windows on one side, I see the hulking mass of The Pile. It looks like a giant slumbering spider, with sleeves and trousers sticking out in all directions like legs.

Tomorrow morning, as usual, the spider will wake up and Dollar-a-Pound will be in full swing. The Pickers will line up early and get right to work dissecting The Pile. I pause, imagining the Pickers’ cries of astonished glee when, later in the morning, Bill yells “Clear!” and my prized possessions float down from the sky.

I feel panicky as it occurs to me that the Pickers may not recognize the value and intrinsic beauty of my hoarded treasures. They may step on these prizes as they would any other
rag in The Pile, or fight over them and rip them to shreds. I suddenly long for all the gems I spent the summer culling, all the prizes Zoe snatched and fed to the chute. I feel a strong desire to run to the button myself, right now, and empty the chute so I can rescue them myself. I imagine myself as a firefighter rushing into a burning building, dashing into The Pile to pluck my beloved garments and saving them from being trampled, destroyed, or—worst of all—ignored and unappreciated.