The Trouble Way (14 page)

“
Excuse me for just one second while I request the song from the band.”

1970
’s

The instant she heard the door click shut behind Ann, Candy kicked the covers off the
hide-a-bed to the floor, jumped out, and bee-lined it into Ann’s bedroom and headed straight for the closet. She shoved the sweaters aside and grabbed the container from the top shelf. The last time she made a “withdrawal,” the container was half-full. Now, it brimmed nearly to overflowing with coins and bills. She ignored the change and spread the loose bills on Ann’s bed. She quickly gathered them into a stack, separating the fives, tens, and twenties onto one side of the bed and leaving the ones on the other. With the quick hands of a retail checker, she straightened the bills, aligning them unconsciously in the same direction, face up, counted two-hundred ninety-five dollars, and began to stuff the wad into her front pocket. She hesitated, looked back at the ones, grabbed five singles and added them to the stack and shoved the remaining ones back into the jar with the coins, consciously fluffing them up to create the illusion of volume.

She ignored the clothes in the closet and those in Ann
’s dresser and went directly to the cosmetic drawer where she selected her preferred colors of lipstick and several other choice cosmetic items. Satisfied she had everything she wanted from Ann’s bedroom, she moved on to the kitchen where she collected various kitchen utensils she knew she would need to set up her new household.

She crammed her clothes in the one suitcase she owned and the remaining items into paper bags she swiped from Big Richards.

She went to the cupboard and took a box of Cheerios and filled a bowl and got some milk from the refrigerator and sat to have breakfast, her last at Ann’s apartment. When she finished with all she wanted, she left the remaining cereal floating in what was left of the milk in the bowl. She flipped the spoon on the table beside the half-empty carton of milk, wiped her mouth with a napkin, and tossed it into the cereal bowl.

Candy made one last tour of the apartment. She gathered up the paper bags of clothing and took them down to the parking lot where the green Ford pickup was parked and threw the items on the floor on the passenger side. She made a final trip back up the stairs to the apartment for the suitcase, skirted the rumpled hide-a-bed and the blankets lying on the floor. She stepped out the door, stopped, went back into the apartment. She walked into Ann
’s bedroom to the bedside stand where she pulled out the toy wrapped in the blue wash cloth she had such a good time on one of her first nights at Ann’s. She dug a bit deeper and retrieved the baggie that Ann had stashed there and unzipped the corner of the suitcase and slid in the two prize articles. When she left the apartment for the final time, she left the door slightly ajar, descended the stairs, and tossed the suitcase in the bed of the truck and hopped into the cab.

“
I ain’t your maid any longer, bitch. Clean your own fucking apartment. I’m outa here.”

After pumping the gas a couple of times, she cranked the starter and the engine coughed and died.

“Goddamned piece of shit.”

On the third try, it roared to life, she dropped it into low, hit the petal, and left a short strip of burnt rubber in the parking lot.

She turned right on Delridge Way and caught the freeway for the thirty-minute drive southeast of Seattle to the apartment she was, as of tonight, sharing in Renton with Jesse.

When she accelerated through a yellow light, after the exit off the freeway, she looked in the rearview mirror.
“Shit.” She pulled to the side, rolled down her the window, and began rifling through her purse looking for her license as she waited for the policeman.

“
Hello Miss. Kill the engine please. Could I see your driver’s license and registration please?”

“
The light just turned yellow and I couldn’t stop. Candy said, straining her neck to look back at the officer standing behind her comfort zone as if he were expecting her to pull a revolver on him. “This isn’t my truck, Sir, it belongs to Jesse Martin. He just let me use it for the day. What did I do? Was I speeding?”

“
Your license please, Miss,” the patrolman said.

She resumed rifling through her bulging purse and finally came up with her license and handed it to the officer. He took it and walked back to his cruiser and began talking on his radio. After a few minutes he approached the truck again.

“Miss Lane, I am going to give you a warning citation for a burnt out stoplight and license plate light. You will have ten days to get it fixed and, after that, if it has not been repaired and you are stopped again there will be a citation and a fine.”

“
Excuse me, this is not my truck, Sir.”

“
The citation is for the truck, not for you personally. However, if you are driving and you are stopped again, you will be ticketed if the repairs have not been made. My advice to you is to get the lights fixed,” the policeman said and handed her license and the “fix-it” citation to her.

She threw the ticket on the seat beside her, cranked the starter, and gunned the engine. She glanced in the mirror and pulled into traffic.

When she got to the apartment, she walked in and saw Jesse lying on the couch watching TV, eyes glued to the screen with a beer can sitting on the coffee table. She stood near the couch and waited until he shifted his eyes to her.

“
Hey Babe, grab me a beer, would ya?”

“
This is yours.” She tossed the ticket onto the coffee table and turned toward the kitchen.

“
What’s this?”

“
It’s for your burnt out taillight. I thought you were going to get that fixed.”

She returned with a Rainier.
“Starting a bit early are we?” She set the can beside the empty.

Jesse rose on his elbow, glanced at the ticket and left it lying on the coffee table and grabbed the Rainier.
“Don’t worry about it, Candy Cane, it’ll get it fixed. I’ve been busy.”

“
Yeah, I can see that.”

He took a long swig and lay back, resting his head on the throw pillow and looked back at the TV.

“Well, Jess, you better. You got ten days.”

“
I swear to God, Ann, I ain’t stole nothing from you.”

“
You’re a lying bitch.” Ann stood face-to-face with Candy in the employee lounge. “You’re not the goody-two-shoes you want everyone to think. You’re a fuckin’ thief and a liar.”

“
Honest, Ann, I didn’t take nothing. I may have left the door unlocked, but that was not on purpose, I swear. It was an accident ... honest.”

“
I don’t believe you and I’ll get you back.”

“
Please believe me, I wouldn’t do that to you,” Candy said to Ann’s back as she strode out of the lounge, leaving Candy standing, still holding her jacket when Ms. Becky walked in to investigate the disturbance.

“
What is heaven’s name is wrong with Ann today?” Ms. Becky said. “She nearly knocked me over a second ago.”

“
I don’t know what is wrong. She just went off on me. She accused me of stealing from her. I would never do such a thing, Ms. Becky. She has been so nice to me and gave me a place to live. I think she’s on her period or something. I know she’s having boy trouble. She told me.”

“
I think Ann must be having some other problems too,” Ms. Becky confided as she looked over her shoulder. “She has been acting a bit strange lately. She’s been late quite often this month and she’s called in sick several times. Please don’t say anything to anybody. I’m really not supposed to talk about personnel matters, but Candy, you have been so helpful lately, I’m a very good judge of character and am sure I can trust you.”

“
My lips are sealed on anything you tell me. Ms. Becky, I don’t mean to change the subject, but I’ve been wondering if there might be a department that I could work in instead of working in the stockroom.”

“
Actually, Candy, Mr. Hedd and I have been considering some positions on the sales floor that might be a good fit for you. We have one position in cosmetics and another in the garden area,” Ms. Becky said.

“
Oh, I’d like cosmetics,” Candy. “Please, please, please. Could you put me in cosmetics? I’d love that.”

“
We’ll see what we can do. There will be some moves announced soon but don’t mention it to anybody; nothing has been decided yet.

“
I am always happy to help you, Ms. Becky. You can be sure I won’t say anything to anybody. My lips are sealed, Ms. Becky. Can I tell you something, Ms. Becky?”

“
Why of course you can, Candy, what is it?”

“
I’m afraid that Ann might try to get me fired,” Candy said.

“
Honey, you don’t worry your pretty little head about that. I will take care of you. You are one of my best employees, Candy. I will make sure that you don’t get fired, and I do have a bit of influence in that area. I
am
the personnel manager, you know. You aren’t stealing anything, are you?” Ms. Becky said chuckling at her own joke. “Just kidding, sweetheart. Not to worry.” Ms. Becky walked out of the employee lounge and left Candy alone.

Candy shook her head and rolled her eyes at Ms. Becky
’s lame joke.

Y
ou ignorant slut, if you only knew.

Candy pushed one cart ahead and pulled another behind as she retrieved several carts of returns from the service desk.

“Candy,” Martha said gesturing to the numerous carts full of cosmetic items, “be sure to come back and get these carts too, please.”

Candy looked at the five remaining carts of returns and let out a huge sigh.
“If I knew there would be so much to do, I would have stayed in the stockroom with Dwight. At least we didn’t have this mess to clean up every single, solitary day. I don’t know how anybody can keep up.”

“
You will get faster with practice,” Martha said. “Everyone is slow when they first get into a department. We do seem to have more returns than ever lately.”

At first, Candy was very conscientious about returning each item to its proper place on the counter.

“It’s just so frustrating,” Candy said to Annabelle, the timid stocker who brought more boxes from the stockroom for Candy to stock. “I just can’t get caught up. It’s like someone is working against me. Could you please, please help me with these returns, Annabelle?”

“
I’ll help you out as much as I can, but I have to get back to the stockroom soon or Dwight will miss me,” Annabelle said. “We have lots of freight to get to the floor so I can’t help you very much.”

“
You are such a sweetheart, Annabelle. If there is anything I can do for you, you just let me know. I am so grateful.”

“
You’ll have to get the rest of these returns off the floor, we’re open for business,” Mr. Hedd said as he made his daily tour through the department. “If you must, push the return carts into your stockroom and work on them one at a time. You’ll just have to pick up your pace. I had much higher hopes for you, Candy.”

Mr. Hedd turned to
Annabelle. “Annabelle, what are you doing out here on the sales floor? It’s Candy’s responsibility to take care of the returns in her department.”

Annabelle
lowered her head and scurried off toward the stockroom, too embarrassed to respond to his reprimand.

“
I am trying, Mr. Hedd, truly I am,” Candy said as she watched Mr. Hedd continue his tour of the next department, grateful that he did not inspect the cosmetic stockroom where there were already five return carts overflowing with return merchandise.

When she realized that there was no way she would be able to return everything left from the previous day
’s business and stock the merchandise that the stockroom people were hauling to the floor, she began putting anything in any open place on the counter she could find, regardless of the label. On a few occasions, making absolutely sure nobody was watching, she even put several handfuls of makeup into a paper bag and dropped it into a trashcan near the men’s dressing room on her way to the employee lounge for her morning break.

Working feverishly, Candy finished only four of the return carts; the remaining three, she crammed into the cosmetic stockroom already crowded with the five others, and forced the door closed.

Candy slammed the door, tossed her purse onto the coffee table, spilling the contents. “Shit ... shit ... shit. Shit. Why does every shitin’ thing happen to me. Shit, shit, shit, shit.”

“
Jesus Christ, what the hell’s your problem?” Jesse said, jarred awake from the nap he was well into on couch. “Can’t you see I was sleeping ... are you blind? What’s eating you?” He reached for his Marlboros on the coffee table.