WARNING: This story contains adult content
Chapter Twelve: The next time Dora and I worked together, I couldn’t wait to share my news. “I’ve named my business.”
photo by ldyck
The Sweater Curse
Chapter
Thirteen
When
she came in that day, I remember being glad we weren’t busy. She
wasn’t the class of diner we wanted to attract. One look at
her—what she wore and how she moved—and it was clear that she
made her money on the street.
I
tried to look busy clearing the tables—putting glasses, plates,
cutlery into a grey plastic bin.
That
didn’t stop her. She pranced right over to me on ridiculously high
heels. “I want to perform here.”
"Perform?"
Maybe
it was my tone or… Whatever it was, it didn’t please her. She
growled, “I sing, but you’ll never hear me, and neither will
management.” and turned on her high heels and headed for the door.
I
should have been happy that she was leaving, but something made me
say, “That’s it, eh?”
“You
don’t think I belong here—I saw it in your eyes. So I'm leaving.” She tossed
over her shoulder on the way to the door.
“If
you want something bad enough, there’s always a way. All you need
is help.”
“Who’d
help me?”
“Me.”
That
made her turn around. “Why?”
“You
look like you need a break.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw
Nikki spying on us from the kitchen. “Okay…” I waited for her to fill in that blank.
“Pathan.”
That sounded like a fake name to me, but whatever. “Okay, Pathan, come
back at two-thirty when my shift’s over. Don’t show, and I’ll
forget I ever met you.”
“I’ll
be here,” she promised, but I had my doubts.
She
left, and I took the tray full of dirty dishes into the kitchen.
Nikki
leapt at me. “Who’s she?”
“My
kid sister,” I told her. “Can’t you see the family
resemblance?”
Time
flew as I prepped for the supper rush. When I took a breather and
looked at the clock on the wall, it was two-thirty. I grabbed my
purse, pushed open the swinging doors, and stepped into Nikki’s
booming voice. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Gwen has told
us so much about you.”
The
way Pathan looked at her… Like an angry dog… I thought she was
going to rip her apart with razor-sharp teeth. Her prey was Nikki.
Part of me wanted to step back and watch it happen, but I said, “Hey,
Pathan. Ready? Let’s go.”
We
stamped down the street, side-by-side, like we owned the city.
“Where
are we going?” Pathan asked.
“To
my apartment.”
She
was quiet for a while but broke her silence with, “What was up with her back at the restaurant? Why’d she say you told her all about me? What’d you say?”
“Nothing.
What could I say? I don’t know you.”
We arrived at my apartment building. I punched in the security code, heard
a beep, and pushed open the heavy glass doors.
Ancient
Mrs. Davis was in the lobby, of course. She was always snooping
around. “Hello, dear. And how are y-ou...? Who is…? Why are…?
Wh—.”
We
sped right past, down the hall and into my apartment.
Pathan
stood in the middle of the living room, gawking at my wall-mounted
large-screen TV. “You rich?”
“Yeah,
that’s why I kill my feet every day working. I just hav— had
generous friends.” I knew she’d understand. “The way you move... You're like a walking billboard for your way of life."
"Don't you think I know?"
"Try this." I demonstrated a less provocative posture.
Maybe
she was trying, but it didn’t look like it. “You need to practice
in front of a mirror.” I led her to the full-length mirror in my
bedroom. One of Jay’s t-shirts was draped over the chair. His
pajama bottoms were in a ball on the bed—my folded nightie beside it
on my pillow.
“How long have you been living with your man?”
"We were married last year," I lied—she didn't need to know the truth. "Try the walk. The mirror will help." And it did. "See, you got it."
“Maybe,
but I feel like a phony.” She frowned at her reflection.
“You
need new clothes.” I hunted through my bureau and closet, dumping
sweaters on the bed.
“This
is beautiful.” She picked up a seed stitch button-up cardigan.
"It's yours."
"I can't take this. It's too expensive."
"All it cost was the price of the yarn. I knit and designed it."
“You’re
a designer? I thought they only lived in New York.”
“No,
flesh and blood, right here in BC.”
She pulled the cardigan over her tee and smiled at her reflection. Then her stomach rumbled.
“It’s
time for supper.” I led you through the living room to the kitchen.
The
bag of rice felt too light, so I added rice to the grocery list on the
fridge. “I hope you like stir fry.”
“You’re
taking a huge risk inviting a hooker into your home.”
“You’re
a singer.”
“How
do you know? You haven’t heard me.”
“I’d
like to.”
“You
will. You got any tunes?”
I
directed her to our stack in the living room. I made supper while I
listened to her flipping through vinyl. All the titles she listed
were Jay’s. She put something on and came back into the kitchen
when she heard the timer sound. Instinctively, she found glasses in
the cupboard by the fridge. She found the cutlery in a top drawer.
I
was still eating when she removed her picked-clean plate from the
table. She turned on the faucet and found the dishwashing soap under
the sink. After putting her dishes on the dish drying rack, she went
back to our collection of music. “Wrecked Beach,” she squealed.
“I love this band.”
I
heard the apartment door open. “Oh, hello.” That was Jay’s
voice.
“You
the—?”
I
flew into the living room and gave Jay a hug and kiss—marking him as
mine. “This is Pathan. You share similar taste in music.”
She
popped Wrecked Beach into the machine.
I
went to make coffee and eavesdropped on their conversation.
“Listen
to those drums,” she said. “He must have massive biceps.”
“He
does—.”
“Wait.
Wait! You know him?”
“Zip
is the sous chef at the Starving Artist.”
“What?
Really?”
“Would
you like to meet—?”
I
flew to the table, mugs of coffee in hand. “We can do better than
that. Wrecked Beach is looking for a new lead singer.”
Just
that morning, Zip had told me the whole tragic mess. “His
girlfriend got pregnant, and now she wants him to abandon all his
dreams and stay home with her. Get this—she
threatened to leave him unless he started acting more like a soon-to-be dad. We’ve tried everything we can to talk some sense
into him. ‘If you
walk away from the band now,
you’ll regret it for the rest of your life,’
we told him. And it’s true.
My
mom raised two boys single-handedly. And she
never complained. But not this chick. Oh, no!
She’s destroying his dream and doesn’t give a... “Blah, blah, blah.” I got the picture.
“There’s
an open mic night next Friday. I’ll tell them to—.”
“Me?
Perform? On stage? In front of Wrecked Beach.” Her mind was doing
somersaults trying to get a handle on reality. “I need to
practice.”
Jay
found his guitar.
I
went to bed listening to the two of them making beautiful music
together. I told myself I wasn’t jealous. Much.
When
Jay finally joined me in bed, he told me, “She thinks her pimp is
looking for her, so I told her she could stay here.”
As
calmly as I could, I said, “How generous of you.” In that high-pitched voice I reserve for occasions like that. He didn’t even
notice.
In
the morning, there she was, asleep on the sofa bed encircled by a
nest of songbooks.
The minute I got to work, I hunted down Zip. He was peeling potatoes. “I found you a lead singer.”
"Cool.
When can I meet him?”
“Her
name is Pathan. I was thinking Fri—.”
He
slammed the peeled potato onto the counter, and it split in half. “No
chicks.”
“Well,
how open-minded of you.”
“They
only bring trouble.”
“Oh,
now you can predict the future? You haven’t even heard her sing.
I’m telling you, she’s great. I wonder what the band will say
when I tell them you’re making decisions for them. I mean, the
least you can do is hear her.”
“Fine,
I’ll call the guys. We’ll meet her here on—.”
“She’ll
perform here on Friday during the open mic night.”
“We’ll
listen, but I’m not promising anything.” He
picked up the knife, and I left quickly.
Typical
for open mic night, the restaurant was packed.
“Pathan,”
the MC announced.
She
wove her way through the tables, accompanied by polite applause.
I
think I was way more nervous than she was.
She
looked so much at home on the stage. “I’d like to dedicate my
first song to Gwen.” She sang "Stand By Me," and that was all it took to charm the audience. Each performer was to
do two songs, but
nobody would let her leave until she gave us three. She stepped off
the stage, and Zip motioned her over to the band’s table with his
enormous paw. Soon, they were all laughing.
She
slipped away from that table briefly to share the news. “I’m
going to sing with Wrecked Beach. And it’s all thanks to you.”
And
that’s how she became Wrecked Beach’s lead singer. No one was as proud of her as I was—except maybe Jay. I
attended all of their shows, or almost all. Jay and I always went
together, or almost always.
The Sweater Curse
Chapter Fourteen
“If you knit your boyfriend a sweater, something very bad will happen.”
Interesting articles and...
