“Have a seat. Irma will be right with you.”
Irma? Sounds…old.
Leah straightens across a weathered desk from Irma Sheridan, an underfed woman who looks sixtyish, but is probably in her mid forties. Desperation hides behind her glasses. Irma thoroughly inspects the paper in front of her. “Hmm, Granberry. Objective, Assistant Buyer. Purchasing, sales floor experience.” She sets the page down and turns to her computer. “I think I may have something for you.”
Her hooker-red nails click on the keyboard. “Here we go. Divalia.”
Leah acts like an anxious child. She loves the clothing lines at Divalia. She literally sits on the edge of her seat.
“Can you make it there today?”
“Today?”
“If today's a problem...” Irma says, turning back to her computer screen.
Leah bites the pad of her thumb. “No. I can make it.”
A printer rattles and spits out a paper, which Irma hands to Leah, avoiding eye contact with her.
“Ask for Sharon Weber.”
Leah gets up to leave. “Out of curiosity, why did I have to take a ten-key test?”
Irma continues to look at the computer as if she didn’t hear Leah. And that’s the only answer she gets from the woman.
Chapter Sixteen
A ten-key looms in the corner of the snack bar. Leah glances beyond the tables and slickly-waxed floor to the name Divalia, which is printed in reverse on the glass. The eating area looks out onto the upper tier of the department store where Leah longs to be.
Instead, she stands behind a broad, burley woman who wears a crisp white shirt and tie. Her nametag reads Sharon Weber, Refreshment Liaison. Leah is clearly overdressed.
“This is the ten-key machine. You’ll need it to calculate the employee discount, which is twenty percent.”
“Shouldn’t Divalia be able to afford software that auto calculates?”
Sharon sighs. It’s not the first time she’s heard this.
“As I was saying, the discount’s twenty. Not fifty, not forty, not even thirty. It is twenty percent. No more, no less. The last guy who worked here had a problem with that concept.”
Leah glances at Sharon's nametag.
“Listen, Sharon...”
Aggravation registers on Sharon's face.
Leah gulps and starts again. “Listen, Ms. Weber. There's been a mistake.”
Sharon shakes her head. Leah is a pinned rabbit in Sharon's predatory territory.
“There hasn't been a mistake?” Leah puzzles.
Sharon hands an apron to Leah. “The lunch rush should be starting at...” She looks at the clock on the wall, “twelve sharp. So suit up.”
Leah stares at the apron in hand. It is so far south of fashionable.
Sharon walks away, and then turns back. “One more thing.” She fishes something out of her pocket and hands it to Leah.
Leah palms it. “What’s this?”
“Hair net.”
The last accessory Leah ever dreamt of wearing.
“Do I have help?”
But Sharon has stepped out of earshot to study a blouse in the women's department, so Leah is completely on her own.
***
Leah turns to the clock on the wall, which shows 12:20. The line to concessions extends into the junior's department. A haphazard grouping of patties and hot dogs sizzles on the grill. One of the burgers chars. Leah, apron stained, hair falling out of an oversized hairnet, slouches over the ten-key. She struggles with the calculation while an employee from men’s world—wearing a suit and a tie—leans forward in frustration against the counter. There is a great deal of commotion and complaining among the masses.
“Twenty percent. Hit the percentage key,” a guy with the nametag of Frank barks. “Hit the percentage key!”
Leah becomes unnerved as he reaches over the counter. Behind Leah, smoke billows into the air as the burger catches on fire. Leah notices and abandons Frank and the calculator. She searches for something to dampen the flame. Desperate, she dashes into the women's department and takes a blouse from its hanger. She smacks at the fire, but only manages to aggravate it.
A female employee from the floor yells out. “It's made out of acetate. It's highly...” But her words are cut off as the fire flares, sending licks of flames into the air.
A male employee throws his hands over his mouth. “That's my burger!”
The hungry employees act as though they've never seen a kitchen fire before, so Leah has a captive audience.
“The extinguisher,” someone says. “Use the extinguisher!”
Leah locates it behind it's fragile glass casing. She tugs, but the door won’t open.
“Break the glass!”
The smoke detector emits a high-pitched scream. Leah grabs hold of the ax and takes a swing. Shards soar in all directions. Leah wields the extinguisher. “Pull, aim, squeeze, sweep. Pull, aim, squeeze, sweep,” she says to herself.
She goes through the actions.
“Pull.”
She pulls the tab.
“Aim.”
She aims the mechanism at the fire.
“Squeeze...”
Sharon steps in the way as Leah squeezes and fires on Sharon.
The waiting employees applaud.
Leah cringes as Sharon grabs the extinguisher from Leah and easily puts out the flames.
Leah turns a wide-eyed and innocent look on Sharon. “Sweep?”
Sharon shakes her head. The sound of the smoke alarm dies down.
“I'll just get my things,” Leah says.
Chapter Seventeen
Leah knocks on Clint's apartment door. He opens up, and there’s the Red Vine again, hanging from his lip. He tears off a bite and extends it to her.
Leah shakes the offer away. “Any chance you like to shop?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Is this a trick question or a euphemism for something else?”
“No.”
“You know I don’t fit the stereotype, don’t you?”
“Stereotype?”
“You know, the gay man who likes to decorate his apartment, wear flamboyant colors, and shop.”
“You’re gay?”
“Last time I checked.”
“I thought you were—?”
“They all do.”
“Sorry, I didn’t…”
He waves off her unneeded apology. “What are we shopping for?”
Clint stuffs the remainder of the candy into his mouth and steps into the hallway.
“I love to shop.”
***
It’s lunchtime. The café buzzes with patrons. Leah and Clint share a bistro table along the street. Leah picks flakes from her croissant sandwich.
“Furniture is so expensive.”
“Welcome to San Francisco,” Clint says before he stuffs a huge bite of his double-stack sandwich into his mouth.
“I just hope they make the delivery before my parents arrive.”
“You paid extra for expedited delivery,” he says. “Besides, what do you care? So you have no furniture. It’s not like you’ve been evicted or…” he searches the bustling street for his next thought and spies a musician on one of the corners, “decided to become a busker.”
“You don't know my dad. If he doesn’t have a recliner to sit on when he gets here, I don’t know what will happen.”
Clint wrestles the top off a ketchup bottle.
“And my mom. I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t have the apartment furnished in time.”
“What you should worry about...” Clint dumps a blob on his plate, “is finding a job.
Leah rustles the newspaper in front of her.
“I tried the temp agency, but…”
Leah doesn’t finish her sentence because she catches sight of a hostess who escorts Everitt and a pretty blonde onto the patio.
Clint follows the path of Leah’s attention.
“Who’s that?”
“Oh, no one.”
Clint curls an eyebrow. “Someone.”
“Just the vet.”
“Very cute.”
Leah averts her eyes to hide the rising blush that she hopes isn’t there.
“What? He is.” Clint pivots to catch another glimpse. “Looks like he’s taken, though. Bummer.”
“I don’t care.”
Clint studies her. “No, not at all.” A sarcastic thread is woven through his voice.
Everitt and the woman take a seat. Everitt doesn’t see Leah because he appears too preoccupied with his date.
There’s a seed of jealousy planted in the pit of Leah’s stomach, something she hasn’t felt since her relationship with Charlie ended.
Clint shakes the paper gently. “Job.”
“He never mentioned a girlfriend.”
“Was he supposed to?”
“Or a wife.”
“I thought you didn’t really like him. I remember something along the lines of a bad marketing plan. Plus, all you’ve ever done is complain about him.”
Leah’s attention is completely drawn to Everitt's table. When Everitt looks up, Leah gives him a slight smile and a wave.
Everitt lightens at the sight of Leah, but only for a moment. He too quickly returns to his conversation.
Clint shakes his head slowly back and forth. His mouth is a straight line.
“What?” she says. “I’m not interested.”
“Right.” Clint rolls his eyes. “Now about those jobs.”
Leah's eyes shift slowly from Everitt to the newspaper in front of her.
“You know,” Clint says, pointing to a sign in the café window, “they’re hiring here.”
“You’re funny.”
“Just saying. You need a job, this place needs a waitress. You can put your recent Divalia experience to use.”
“Such a comedian. I’m done with food.”
She takes a final glance in Everitt’s direction. “And with men.”
Leah eases her attention back to Clint. “Except for you, of course.”
“Of course.”
Chapter Eighteen
Clint gives Leah’s door a cursory knock, but then walks right in with a package in hand.
Leah holds a roll of blue painter’s tape and is squaring off sections of her floor. Too engrossed in her task, she barely notices Clint is there.
“Looks like the store delivered the wrong furniture,” Clint says. “I don’t remember picking out the invisible suite.”
“I’m laying out the room.”
“O-kay.” He takes a beat. “I brought you something. To liven the place up.”
Clint stops when he sees his painting propped against the wall.
“What’s this doing in here?”
Leah wanders over to the picture. “I kind of…took it.”
“Why?”
“Because you were getting rid of it. Because it’s really good.”
Clint hands the package he’s holding to Leah. “Housewarming gift.”
His vision trails over to his painting, assessing it through new eyes. “I tried some ideas in your plan, you know?”
“And?”
“And you pretty much know what you’re doing.”
“Can I?” she asks, tipping the present in his direction.
Clint nods.
Leah sets the tape down and gently pulls away the wrapping.
Clint studies her. “Just tear it for goodness sake.”
Leah pauses and then does just that. It’s liberating.
Clint meanders around the room and picks up a prescription bottle just as Leah unveils a fuzzy blanket.
“So I can have mine back,” Clint says.
“Thanks.” She feels the texture. “I love it.”
She gives Clint a hug just as another knock sounds on the open door. Someone pushes inward.
“Oh, sorry.” It’s Everitt, holding a bag. A cat toy peeks out of the top.
But Everitt steps back at the sight of Leah and Clint exiting their embrace. “I should have called.”
“No, um…” Leah’s arms fall to her sides like a wilted flower. “We were just…” She doesn’t know how to explain, so she doesn’t. “Everitt, this is Clint. Clint…Everitt.”
“I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d bring some things by.” His expression is a question mark asking to come in. “For Fur Elise.”
“Right. You can set it…well, really anywhere.”
“Fur Elise?” Clint says mostly to himself.
Everitt scans the main room. “Bare minimum.”
“We bought furniture,” Clint says.
Everitt gives Clint the head-to-toe.
“Oh. Right.” Everitt goes to the bag. “Well, everything you need should be here.” He picks up and sets down random items. “Cat toys, litter box, food, medicine.” He touches his face, and then puts his hand in his pocket.
Leah’s attention darts to Clint, who she is quite certain knows the no-pet rule in the apartment building. “Thanks.”
“She’ll be discharged tomorrow. Just give Stacy a call at the front office, and she can arrange everything.”
Leah’s expression fades. “Stacy?”
“She’ll take care of things from this point on.”
Everitt steps back toward the door. “I think your bill’s all settled, but if you want to set a follow-up appointment for a few weeks from now, I think that would be a good idea.”
“Um, yeah. Okay.” Leah tries not to show how crushed she is.
“Have fun furnishing the place.” He looks at Clint again. “Nice to meet you.” He waves to Leah and slips out of the apartment.
Once Clint sees Everitt’s gone, he goes to the door and closes it. Then he sets his back against the frame and stares wide-eyed at Leah.
“What…was that all about?”
Leah paces. She goes to the cat items and barely touches them. “I know, I know. Mrs. Puccini is going to kick me out on the street. I just couldn’t let Fur Elise get put to sleep.”
“Mrs. Puccini? I’m not talking about Mrs. Puccini, sister. I’m talking about him.” Clint points toward the hallway.
Leah narrows her eyes, not sure what Clint’s getting at. “I told him I’d take the cat. I’m a sucker, all right?”
“Forget the cat. He likes you.”
Leah stops and glares at Clint. “No way.”
“And you like him.”
“Do not.”
“Really?”
“Really. Besides, you saw. He’s taken.”
“Maybe he’s unhappy with the blonde. Maybe he likes brunettes.”
“Stop.” Leah scrambles around, looking for something. “Have you seen my…”
Clint shakes the prescription bottle, and Leah snatches it.
“What’s that for anyway?”
“Anxiety.” She twists off the cap, takes one.
“Does it cure infatuation? Because if I were a doctor, that would be my diagnosis.”
Leah sits down in one of her cordoned-off squares and sighs. She fingers her butterfly pin.
Chapter Nineteen
“I wish I could come with you, but I have an appointment. Potential investor.” Clint’s tone is optimistic, and he makes an outward display of crossing his fingers.
“Your art is amazing. I told you it wasn’t lack of talent.”
“I don’t have her commitment yet.”
A cool breeze picks up and carries trash along the sidewalk. Leah jangles her keys in her gloved hand, and then wraps her scarf tighter around her neck.
“Can I at least give you a ride?” she asks.
“I’m good. I like hoofing it through the city. But I’ll walk with you to your car.”
As per routine, Leah bends down and places a few bucks inside the homeless man’s tin cup.
“What are you doing?” Clint asks. He eyes Leah like she’s an alien—a role she often feels she fits.
<
br /> “Giving him money. Is that wrong?”
“Uh, yeah.”
Leah tugs Clint’s coat sleeve to get him out of earshot of the sleeping man. They head toward Leah’s car.
“He’s going to use it to get hammered.” Clint stops for a moment and pivots back to take a glimpse of him. “He’s already passed out.”
“Well, what he does with the money is his business. Maybe he’s buying food.”
“He’s not. Besides, who are you to be giving him anything? You’re unemployed and living in an empty apartment. To make matters worse, you’ve now taken on a dependent. Do you know how much the vet bills alone are going to cost you?”
Leah hadn’t thought that far ahead.
She glances over at the man, tucked beneath a cardboard box. “It’s the right thing to do. Plus, it’s good karma.”
Clint raises an eyebrow and throws on the sarcasm. “Yes, I see how much good karma you’ve generated since moving here.”
They arrive at Leah’s car. “Well, this is me. Good luck with your meeting.”
Leah opens the car door, but Clint snags hold of her coat. “Hey. Whatever you do, don’t let Puccini see you with that cat. Otherwise, you’ll be the one sleeping under the cardboard box.”
Leah nods and slides into the driver’s seat.
Things really cannot get much worse than this.
Chapter Twenty
Leah sits on the edge of her chair in the waiting room of Pacific Coast Veterinary Clinic. Stacy is making telephone confirmation calls at the reception desk. Leah fidgets with the fringe of her designer handbag, wondering how much she could get for it if she pawned it at the shop down the street from her apartment.
She knows Grandma Gina’s pin is worth a fair amount. But there’s no way she can part with it. It reminds her of her grandmother’s dancing story and how anything is possible if you find a way to make it happen.
The front door opens, and Leah looks up. A woman checks in with her caged tabby that meows over and over again like a loop recording. Gosh, she hopes Fur Elise isn’t noisy.
Leah pinches away the budding headache that arises at the memory of Clint’s warning about Mrs. Puccini. The last thing she needs—or can handle—is an eviction.
“Ms. Newland?”
Leah glances up to see Mary standing at the open doorway, waiting for her.
“Want to come back so we can go over everything for Fur Elise?”
She stands. “Isn’t Everitt here?”
“Dr. Grady is out this morning. But I can go over the specifics with you.”
As Leah allows herself to be led back, she takes a futile gaze at the entrance door, but no one walks through it.
Back in the room, Mary removes Fur Elise from her kennel and puts her on the table.