The Worst Romance Novel Ever Written (52 page)

The man took a step backwards.

“
You know, I kinda miss the joint,” Johnny said, stalking slowly towards the man and shaking out his arms. “Felt right at home there, you know? Kind of miss the great chow they got there, you know? Salisbury steak and fake spuds with the brown mushroom gravy. Real good chow.”

“
I, um, I—”

“
And now you got a problem with my driving.” Johnny shrugged. “I could get me some of that Salisbury steak …
tonight,
you know? Yeah. Tonight.”

The man stumbled and fell against his Jeep. “No problems, man.”

Johnny cocked his head sideways. “Then why the
freak
did you roll up on me like that, ya
prick?
”

The man opened his door, smiled weakly, backed out his Jeep, and tore out of the parking lot.

That’s what I thought,
Johnny thought.
Ow, my knuckles.

Johnny collected his uniform shirt and hat and the warming bags and entered the store. He dumped the bags and his fanny pack on the counter and draped his uniform shirt over the cash register. Then he went to the make table for the very first time.

“
What are you doing?” Hector asked. “Get away from there! And why are you out of uniform?” A phone rang. “Señor Pizza, can you hold?”

Johnny took the dough out of a medium pan and spread it out it on a large metal tray. He took dough out of one small pan, tore it in half, and attached the halves to the medium.
Hello, Mickey. I think I might be able to digest you tonight. And if not, at least my toilet won’t trap you and throw you back at me in the form of Texas tea.

“
I ask you again, Johnny,” Hector said. “What do you think you are you doing?”

Johnny smiled, adding circles of sauce to the ears and face. “This is a Mickey Mouse operation, so I’m making a Mickey Mouse pizza.”

Hector pointed to the counter. “But there are deliveries to be made!”

I know, but I just don’t care.
Johnny smiled broadly.
I … just … don’t … care.

“
You must take them right now, Johnny!”

Step aside, Hector, and let a master chef work.
“Carryout only for the rest of the night. Either that or get your cousin to drive for you, I don’t care.”
I am suddenly feeling managerial for some reason. I’ve had a pretty decent night ordering people around. I wonder if Quick-E Mart has ever hired an engineering major a few classes short of a master’s degree to be a manager-in-training.

“
Are you sick in the head?” Hector asked.

“
Not so much now, but the diarrhea comes and goes,” Johnny said. “Thanks for asking.”

Johnny spread a huge heap of cheese over Mickey, adding two pepperoni eyes, a pepperoni nose, and a seven-pepperoni mouth. He slid the tray into the oven.

“
But it’s TV night!” Hector yelled. “Look at the phone!”

Johnny smiled.
All lit up like the Christmas I didn’t get to have again this year.
“Your fame must be spreading.”

“
If you don’t take those pies out of here right now—”

“
What are you gonna do, Hector?” Johnny interrupted. “Fire me?”

Hector’s mouth opened and shut several times. “I should.”

“
You don’t have the backbone to fire me, Hector,” Johnny said. He smiled.
Ah. Here’s a dramatic moment that I must exploit. Exit, stage left!
“Anyway, I quit.”

“
You’re quitting?”

You’re deaf?
“I’m getting a real job, Hector. I’m going into management.”
Just not sure where at the moment.

Hector laughed. “You? Who would hire you? You are a daydreamer, a slacker. Your head is full of air. You are too lazy to be a manager. I will not give you a good reference.”

Johnny towered over Hector. “I don’t want any kind of reference from you, little man.” He checked the pizza.
Almost done here.
He looked around at all he
wouldn’t
miss.
Okay, I’ll miss the mop. That mop was a good dancer at two in the morning. Sure, she had stringy hair and danced woodenly, but man could she get horizontal!
“By the way, Hector, if you really want your fame to spread, you should spread more sauce on your pizza. It’s actually pretty good with extra sauce. As it is, your pizzas are dry as desert sand, as dry as the moon, as dry as a cotton ball, as dry as stale saltines …”

“
I use enough sauce!”

Johnny checked the pizza, smiled, and removed the metal tray from the oven. He flattened out two large boxes and slid the pizza on top. He popped up what edges he could, covered as much as he could with the lids, and cocooned the entire assembly with plastic wrap.
I have just made the world’s first pizza chrysalis. I wonder what this pizza will become once it hatches in my stomach.

“
You must pay me for this … mouse pizza!”

“
Take it out of my next pay,” Johnny said. “On second thought, keep it.”
My money is not going to match my receipts tonight anyway thanks to Randy and the sock lady.

The phone rang, and Johnny beat Hector to the phone. “
Ola,
this is Hector!”

“
I want you to fire that driver of yours,” Randy said.

“
Oh, but why?” Johnny asked using a terrible imitation of Hector. “He is my best driver!”

“
He lied and told me he was you,” Randy said. “And he hurt my feelings.”

“
I am me, Randy.”
This is so existential.
“Nice towel tonight, by the way. What hotel did you steal it from?” Johnny handed the phone to Hector. “It’s for you.”

Johnny collected his pizza, heard Hector say, “But I am Guatemalan, not Spanish,” and left Señor Pizza forever.

He didn’t look back or have even the glimmer of regret.

If Lot’s wife turned into a pillar of salt when she looked back at Sodom and Gomorrah, would I turn into a pillar of oregano if I looked back now?

Johnny decided not to chance it.

He sat in the Vega and smiled at the last pizza he would ever deliver. He didn’t care that he was unemployed or that he wouldn’t have enough money to pay all his bills this month. He didn’t care that he only had one hundred dollars and some change to his name. He even didn’t care that the Vega made no sounds when he turned the ignition key thirty-four times.

I wonder if the warranty is still good …

It was a long walk after that, but Johnny held his head up high. Here he was, jobless, girl-less, and nearly penniless, yet he carried a huge Mickey Mouse pizza that steamed so beautifully in the cold January night.

At his apartment door, he knocked, just for fits and giggles, unlocked the door, entered, took the gargantuan pizza to his kitchen table, refrained from wiping a booger on the box, toasted Randy with some sugary grape Kool-Aid, ignored the ringing phone on the wall, and ate the entire pizza in one sitting.

He didn’t even ask himself for the coupon.

37

Meanwhile across town, Gloria Minnick was learning exactly what angst felt like, and it didn’t feel good.

She stayed up all night lying on the loveseat. She tried to call her man, wondering what had gotten into him during their earlier conversation, worrying that he was in some sort of danger, angry that he wouldn’t let her explain anything.

She called his cell. “The AT and T customer …”

She called his apartment phone, and it rang and rang.

He must still be working. Duh. It’s TV night. He always works late on TV nights.

She called Señor Pizza.

“
May I speak to Johnny, please?”

“
Pickup only tonight,” Hector said breathlessly. “You still wish to order?”

Pickup only …
“Where’s Johnny?”

“
He quit.”

“
What?”

“
He quit. You know him?”

I thought I did.
“Yes.”

“
If you see him, you tell him to come get his car. It is outside in my lot and must be moved. If it is still here in the morning, you tell him I will have it towed.”

Gloria relaxed somewhat.
He quit that stupid job and his stupid car broke down—finally!—that’s all! And he called me earlier from a payphone, so he doesn’t have his cell with him. Maybe he’s just not home yet.

Gloria kept trying Johnny’s apartment phone … until the sun came up and she fell asleep.

Gloria awoke when her arm began to quiver.
Johnny?

“
Mama,” Angel said.

Gloria squinted at the sunrise streaming through the front window. “What time is it?”

“
Seven. I have to get ready for school.”

Gloria saw Marion standing in the hallway. “Can you …”

Marion nodded. “Come on, Angel. Let’s get you ready for school.”

And what am I supposed to get ready for?
Gloria thought.
Who am I supposed to get ready for?

Where the freak is Johnny?

38

Even Johnny didn’t know where he was, metaphysically speaking.

To be sure, he was in his apartment with its Swiss cheese walls and adoring mice, and he even half-recognized the laptop on the table in his bedroom. He felt he was in a “bad place.” His adoptive mother had often said, “I see you’re in a bad way, Johnny.”

No. She said I had bad ways. What did dear old Dad say? Oh yes. “You’re going through a bad patch, Johnny.”

Johnny mulled over these phrases and decided he needed to patch up his bad ways and leave this place.

But it’s Friday,
he thought.
No one wants to cook on Fridays, and Hector will expect me—

Wait.

Johnny’s mind waited.

I don’t have a job, which would mean that every day is Saturday for me from now on and no one will expect anything of me. Cool. Thank God it’s Friday!

Cell phone charged, in hand, but not turned on, Johnny walked off about one ear of his mousy pizza on his return to Señor Pizza to rescue the Vega. When he hopped on the hood and turned on his Firefly, he immediately noticed quite a few missed calls from Gloria, some over a month old.
Good thing I don’t have voice mail,
Johnny thought.
I doubt I could apply any patches to my life after hearing her voice.

Since Johnny had no phone book handy, he dialed information and asked for a towing company.

“
Which one, sir?” the operator asked.

“
I don’t know,” Johnny said. “The first one.”

“
That’s Triple-A Wrecker Service.”

Wrecker? I may be a wreck, but the Vega is not a wreck.
“No. What about the next one?”

“
AB Auto Repair and Towing.”

“
Fine.”

“
Would you like me to dial the number for you? There will be an additional charge.”

“
Why not?” Johnny said.
I can afford to act rich now that I’m unemployed. I may later buy … a donut …
hole
.

“
Hold, please, while I connect your call.”

Johnny held onto the Vega’s bent antenna. “Holding.”

A single ring later … “AB Auto, Armstrong speaking.”

Johnny liked the timbre of Armstrong’s voice, deep and soulful. “Hi. I need to have my car towed to your shop for some repairs.” He gave Armstrong the address.