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.”
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.
Sunday, January 18 at approximately 4:40 PM PT
The Sweater Curse
Chapter Fourteen
“If you knit your boyfriend a sweater, something very bad will happen.”
