typea_all (17 page)

     "Oh no. He wasn't just some drunken guy. He knew your name."

     "I told you, he's some guy I know."

     "From where?"

     "Work."

     "You go to work dressed like a slut and with no underwear? What kind of work do you really do? And what's this again about going to some guy's mansion to take blood. Isn't that a little unusual?"

     We yelled a few minutes more, until the management asked us to vacate their parking lot. If I ever wanted to go back to the Crab Trap I'd have to wear a disguise.

     Ryan didn't say a thing as he drove me home. When we pulled up to my house, though, he said, "I don't know what's going on with you, but I love you, and I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. If you say that it was just the booze talking, I'll believe you."

     "Really, Ryan, it is nothing to worry about. I love you, and I loved the way you came to my defense twice tonight."

     We sat silently a few minutes, then we kissed and I went into the house. He waited until he saw my light go on and then he drove away.

     I spent the rest of the night cleaning my place. I put the tape of the day's soaps in a safe place so I could watch it during the weekend. After the night I had, a soap opera just seemed too lame.

Chapter 16

     It had been a difficult week at work so we decided to have a girl's night out. Joan, Gail, Eileen and I made plans to meet at the Wild West Casino buffet on Saturday night.

I invited Marcie to join us, and I also wanted to invite Sophie, my old friend who I hadn't seen in a long time. When I tried the phone number for Sophie that I had in my phonebook, however, some foreign-sounding guy answered and yelled at me.

"Can I speak with Sophie, please?"

"Who you calling?"

"Sophie. Sophie Cutler."

"Why you calling?"

"Is Sophie there? This is a friend of hers."

"Who you calling?"

It sounded like English, of some sort, but I had a hard time understanding it.

"I already told you. Sophie Cutler. Is she there or is this the wrong number?"

"Why you call here?"

I gave him the number dialed. "Is that your number?"

"What number?"

"The number I just told you. Is that your phone number? I'm sorry if I misdialed."

"What number?"

I told him the number again. "Listen, I'm really not trying to be rude, but is there anyone there who can speak English?"

"Don't call again." He hung up. I thought about calling him back just to hang up on him, but decided that the charge for the toll call wasn't worth it. I did make a few notes, however, for the next time a telemarketer called. "Hello, is the lady of the house in?"  "Who you calling?  Why you call here?"

I still wanted to see Sophie again, so I tried calling Estelle, Sophie's mother. Estelle is from that generation that never moves. They find a house when they're a fetus and stay there until they have to be carried out. Even though all her friends and relatives may have moved out or died, I knew Estelle would still be there.

"Hi Estelle, this is Brooke."

"Brooke?"

"Brooke Castle. A friend of Sophie's."

"Who?"

Estelle was at that age that she had a hard time remembering anything that happened since 1950. Everything before that was as sharp as ever.

"Alice Castle's daughter, Brooke."

"Oh, Brooke dear, why didn't you say so. How are you? Are you married yet?"

"No."

"That's a shame dear. If I remember you weren't a bad looking young lady. Maybe a little thin."

"I do have a boyfriend."  I hate the word boyfriend, but Estelle made me feel 14 years old again.

"Weren't you dating Jeffrey something or other? That funny-looking boy from South Philadelphia."

"Jeffrey Englehart and that was 30 years ago, Estelle."

"How is Jeffrey? Do you have children?"

"I'm not married Estelle, and I haven't seen Jeffrey since he drove away while I was in the bathroom at the drive-in."

"The one on Frankford Avenue?"

"That's the one."

I think they tore the place down after that night. I was so angry with Jeffrey for just driving off without saying goodbye that I ran into the men's room and scratched all sorts of stuff on the walls. One guy was still in a stall but that didn't stop me. I kind of blacked out after that, but I remember scratching things like "Call Jeffrey Englehart if you don't like girls", "Jeffrey Englehart is a salami stuffer", "Jeffrey Englehart did my father." The rumor was that the place couldn't afford to redo the men's room so they just closed down. I never did see Jeffrey after that.

"I'm trying to get in touch with Sophie, but the number I have isn't right."

"Oh dear. She moved to New Jersey last year. She has a nice apartment in Voorhees."

Estelle gave me Sophie's new number, and she chatted a few minutes more about current events – how Eisenhower was such a wonderful man, how she didn't trust Nixon, and how funny Milton Berle is when he wore a dress. She made me promise to call her more often and to say hello to my husband Jeffrey.

At least the phone number she gave me was correct. I got in touch with Sophie and she agreed to meet us at the Wild West.

"I have a surprise for you," she said.

"Really? I love surprises. What is it?"

"You'll see Saturday."

******

Saturday night, I wore black denim jeans and jacket, black boots, and my Royal Majesty earrings. One earring is a large king of diamonds playing card with a dozen dangling smaller playing cards, spades, hearts, diamonds, and clubs. The other earring is the same, but with a large queen of hearts card.

By the time I got to the casino and parked, Joan, Gail, and Eileen were there already. We played the slots for a few minutes until Marcie showed up, and then we waited for Sophie.

While we waited, we developed a ranking system for guy's behinds. A score of 10 was a perfect rear end: tight, nicely shaped, and grabbable. A score of 1 was wide and flabby. Somewhere in the middle was the average flat male ass. For about twenty minutes, we ranked every man that walked by, usually agreeing among ourselves within a point or two.

     "Hey Brooke." I heard a familiar voice, but when I looked around I didn't see Sophie anywhere.

     "Brooke, it's me."

     Couldn't be. The voice was coming from a gorgeous redhead walking with a small, very pregnant, woman.

     "Sophie?"

     "It's me. Don't be so surprised."

     Not only had she lost weight, and a lot of it, but she was beautiful. She had long flowing red hair and a great figure.

     "What happened to you? You look wonderful."  I really couldn't believe it was her.

     "I lost a lot of weight, had a lot sucked out, and had some other things put in. The hair's not real, but this little bundle is," she said, patting the other girl's belly. "You remember Joyce, don't you?"

     "You're preggers. I thought you were..."

     "Lesbian?" Joyce said.

     "Joyce and I decided we wanted to have a baby. Isn't it wonderful?"

     In the background, Marcie giggled, Joan and Gail looked shocked, and Eileen dropped her cup full of quarters.

     "How did you..."

     "Get pregnant?" Joyce said.

     "Turkey baster. Artificial insemination. We went to a clinic and picked out the characteristics of the father. It only took two tries. Joyce is so fertile."

     The mention of turkey made me hungry so we went upstairs to the buffet. The line was ridiculously long; at least a two-hour wait, and we knew that Joyce wouldn't be able to stand that long. I felt badly for the girls from work because I knew they wanted to go to the buffet, but we all decided to walk over to Caesars and try out one of their restaurants.

     After dinner, and a few hours playing the slots and giggling, Sophie and Joyce left for home. I chatted with Joan, Gail, and Eileen a little more, and then they took off. I still had a few quarters left, so I played the Elvis slots until I ran out of money, and then I headed out to the parking garage.

     As I was going down the walkway towards the lot, groups of people were passing me, headed into the casino. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a guy with an arm in a cast, but it was so crowded I didn't pay much attention to him.  I should have.

     At the end of the walkway is a bank of elevators that go into the parking garage, and I joined the few people already there waiting. About a minute later, Chester, the goon with the broken arm from the Lincoln, walked over and waited with us. I pretended that I didn't see him, hoping that he didn't see me.

     I figured I'd have two choices when the elevator arrived. I could get on with the group or wait for the next one. If I waited, and Chester spotted me, I could be left standing there with him alone in the lobby until more people showed up.  If I got on the elevator with him, he'd definitely spot me.

     Before I could make up my mind, the bell rang and the elevator doors opened. I rushed in first, hoping to get in the back of the crowd, behind Chester. It seemed like a good idea until I thought that when my floor came, I might have to walk right past him to get out. Too late now.

     My car was on the fourth floor of the parking garage, and I prayed that I wouldn't be left alone in the elevator with Chester.

At the second floor, one couple got off, leaving Chester, me, and four other people.

     On the third floor, four people got out, leaving just Chester and me. I've been batting zero in the prayer department lately.

     When the elevator door closed, however, Chester didn't turn around, he just stared straight ahead.  Okay, choice time.  I could stand quietly behind him, staying in the elevator until he got out. It would mean passing my floor, but maybe there was a chance he wouldn't turn around and see me. But if I stayed in the elevator, the chances increased that we'd end up alone on one of the higher, more isolated floors.

     We got to the fourth floor, the elevator doors opened but Chester didn't get out. Instead he pushed the button for the seventh floor and then the button labeled Close Door. I never thought that he hadn't pressed a floor before and planned to get out with me all along.

     When the doors closed, he turned around.

     "I owe you something," he said.

     "You don't owe me anything."

     "You broke my arm. You broke the windshield in the Lincoln. You made me look like a fool. I don't like that."

     "It wasn't my fault. What would you do if someone was following you?"

     "I'll show you on seven."

     By the time that little drama played out, we reached seven and the doors opened. With his good hand, he grabbed me and pulled me out of the elevator. It happened so fast I couldn't react.

     "Let go of me! Help!"

     "Yell all you want. No one is gonna hear you until you make a splat on the sidewalk."

     He kept on pulling me toward the end of the lot that faced Pacific Avenue. Even at that height, I could hear the sound of traffic on the busy street below.

     I'm a pretty strong woman so he wasn't making great progress. I kept pulling in the other direction, and with my free hand, I kept trying to hit him but he kept ducking my blows. I also tried kicking him a few times. I never was able to connect but I did slow him down.

     We were about half way to the wall, and a seven floor drop onto the sidewalk, when I just let my feet go out from under me and plopped onto the garage floor. With only one arm to keep his balance, Chester fell right beside me, the arm with the cast straight up.

     I lifted up my legs, and with both feet kicked the cast as hard as I could. He screamed in pain and reached for the cast with his good arm. When his good arm was in the air, I captured it between my legs and twisted my legs together as hard as I could. With his arm trapped, I swung my legs all the way to the right until I heard a bone crack. Two for two. I broke his other arm.

     He was still yelling in pain when I jumped up. First I checked that my earrings were still on, then I screamed, "Want me to break your legs, too?" and I gave him a kick in the side.