Chapter 5
Jeez. Snap out of it, Jen. I looked at the clock. Crap, all this reminiscing had made me late. If I were lucky and didn’t hit any traffic, I might make it to work on time.
I caught Interstate 635 and drove in to work, trying to avoid traffic accidents triggered by a recent downpour. Parking was always a chore at the mall, but I managed to find a spot outside Neiman’s. Damn, due to the traffic, I was late. My small red umbrella was tucked under my seat. I grabbed it and opened my door. The rain was coming down sideways and pelted me right in the face. I poked my umbrella out and pushed the automatic-open button. Poof! The umbrella opened in one swift motion as a big gust of wind came and carried it away. My red umbrella went tumbling down the parking lot with me in hot pursuit. I tackled it an inch from the front door.
As I stepped inside, umbrella in hand, a puddle formed around my new Steve Stone heels. An older saleslady covered head to toe in a yellow rain slicker came in after me. If I didn’t know any better, I would say she escaped off the Morton’s Salt box.
“Honey, you look like a drowned rat.”
I caught my reflection in the glass door. Gads, she was right. My updo was down. I tried to wring out my wet hair.
“Are those new Steve Stone shoes?” she asked.
“Why, yes,” I said proudly, holding my soggy foot out so she could get a better look.
“Too bad Mr. Stone was such a crook; I loved that store.”
“What do you mean loved?” I always figured he was a little sketchy in the law-abiding-citizen role, but the man was a genius when it came to shoes.
“Didn’t you see the news this morning?”
Like, no, I sleep until noon. I never watch the news. I shook my head.
“They took the guy out in handcuffs,” she said, clicking her tongue while taking off her raincoat. “Yep, led him right through the food court… tax evasion or something.”
Oh my God. Not Mr. Stone. Surely she was mistaken. I sprinted off through the mall. Rain droplets flew off me as I passed nearby shoppers. By the time I arrived at the store, my clothes were almost dry from the run. My hair was sticking out like a troll’s, and I was wheezing. I desperately needed an exercise program. There were people everywhere. The store manager, Evelyn, was standing at the register crying into a hankie.
“Oh, Jen, did you hear? The feds came and took poor Mr. Stone to jail.”
Men in gray uniforms were carrying boxes of shoes out of the store. Following them was a large man with a commercial dolly wheeling out Mr. Stone’s computer and filing cabinet.
“What are we gonna do?” I asked.
Evelyn dabbed at the mascara running down her face. “Mr. Stone said not to worry; he’d see us in five to ten.”
“Years?” I asked as I sunk down into the giant purple chair shaped like a stiletto that the customers used for trying on shoes. My chest ached, and my hair was frizzy. Could this day get any worse?
“Why don’t you just go on home, dear?” Evelyn asked. “There’s nothing more you can do here.” And then she started to cry. “There’s nothing more any of us can do.”
I decided to pack up my desk and go home. Maybe I could get my mom to make some of her pick-me-up brownies. She always made them when I was down in the dumps. I found an empty shoe box and put my few personal belongings inside. I attached the “I love my job” pin to my shirt and sneered at the feds as they checked off my contents. I hugged Evelyn good-bye and headed out the door to my new life.
I smelled the brownies as I entered my house. My mom must have seen the news. I thought to myself, Isn’t it wonderful moms have that intuition when their children need comfort and comfort food? I went upstairs to take a shower and wash my misery away.
The Steve Stone shoe store was closing. I sat in the kitchen with my hair wrapped in a towel, wearing my pink fluffy robe and slippers.
“Why is this happening to me?” I wailed to my mom as I ate my third brownie.
“You’ll find another job, dear,” she said, patting my hand, completely aware of my over-the-top drama-queen attitude. Dad came in through the back door. He must have come home early from work because he knew I lost my job. How thoughtful.
“Dad, you didn’t have to leave work early.” I gave him my sad-little-girl smile.
“Well, Jen, that’s not really why I am home early,” he said, sitting down next to Mom at the table. He sighed, and they both looked at me. Something was up; they were double-teaming me.
“What?” I asked. They were about to tell me something important. I knew by the way Dad took Mom’s hand and they looked at each other and then at me. What was wrong? Was somebody sick? Just tell me and get it over with already.
“Maybe now is not such a good time, JW,” Mom said.
“No time like the present,” Dad responded.
“But she lost her job today.” Mom looked woefully at Dad.
“I’m right here, you guys!” I frowned. The little-girl sympathy I was feeling was flung out the door. “Out with whatever it is.”
“Well, Jen, we are moving,” Mom said to me. The words sounded like the Charlie Brown cartoon’s teacher—slow and muffled.
“Moving? But we have always lived in the townhouse. Where are we moving?” I asked.
“Well, dear, weeee are not moving, just Dad and I. All you kids are grown, and we would like to move into a retirement community, a place where JW could play golf and I could relax and write that cookbook I have always talked about.”
“But you’re not retired,” I said.
“That’s true,” she said, “but these places are really hard to get into, and we need to strike while the iron is hot.”
I sat staring at them in disbelief, the brownie halfway to my open mouth.
“I know this is bad timing, but there is a house available, and it’s right on the golf course,” Dad explained with a “please understand” expression. “We love it and want to put a contract on it before someone else snatches it up.”
Although I was happy my parents wanted to improve their lifestyle and the thought of having my own place was appealing, it was also a little scary. They had allowed me to live rent free while I went to college and began my career.
“What about me?” I stuttered. “Where am I going to live?”
“We don’t want to sell the townhouse; it will make a great rental property. So we are going to rent it to you.”
“Rent it to me? I can’t afford a whole house. I just lost my job.”
“Yes, we thought of that. Your brother has an opening at his new clinic. I called him when you went upstairs to change. He said you would be a great CA.”
“What’s a CA?” I asked.
“Chiropractic assistant,” Mom responded with a satisfied smile. The same one she used when she scratched an item off her to-do list.
Go to the grocery store.
Pick up dry cleaning.
Get Jen a life.
Now, I knew I was way too old to be acting like a teenager, and I should have been grateful my mom was helping out, but I was feeling full of self-pity.
“Mom, I don’t want to be a CA; I want to buy shoes.”
“It’s only temporary, and to help with the rent, your cousin Gertrude’s moving in. She needs a place to live while she finishes college, so I told her she could come live here and pay half the rent. How great is that?”
My life was truly over. I no longer had a great job, my parents were deserting me, and my smelly cousin Gertrude was coming to live with me. How much more could a person take?
My parents left me alone in the kitchen to contemplate my future and probably eat the entire pan of brownies. I reached in my pocket for my cell phone and hit speed dial for Jake’s number. If anyone could make me feel better, it would be Jake.