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The Bunnymoose
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The Bunnymoose
Chapter 1
She was quiet about it. But she was MAD. This was third day Charles had called in sick.
The THIRD DAY! Ridiculous. She might have had more sympathy if he had claimed to
have, say, Ebola or something serious. Or even something interesting like, “Hi. I ate a
steak from a moo-moo with mad cow disease. I‟m recovering nicely but need at least an
extra day.” But no. He left the message on her voice mail saying he had a virus and
probably would not be in for the next three days. Grrrrrrrrr. What? Could he PREDICT
how long he would be throwing up or whatever? Did he KNOW how long a virus would
live in his body? Or was this some kind of scientific guess on his part (which she found
equally annoying because…they WERE NOT SCIENTISTS!!!!!).
In fact, the more she worked here, the more she realized how absolutely unscientific this
process was. She sighed. How long had she done this damned job? Five years? Six?
Seven? She had lost count, and actually, she didn‟t want to count. Labeling the time
with a number would make is WORSE. It‟s not that she really hated what she did.
Well….yes. She really was hating what she was doing. She wanted a change but really,
she felt stuck. How could she change industries now, especially when she had been
working in a strange niche for so long and didn‟t have the education to take her out of the
odd prison of pseudo-lending-and-accounting?
Jezabel hung up her jacket on the wall-mounted hook beside her desk. She stashed her
purse in the file drawer and logged back into her computer. Her system came up. Her
wallpaper was a picture of her and Michael, holding hands, walking in the little park near
Jezabel‟s apartment. Jezabel loved that picture. The sky was blue with just a few puffy
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clouds. Michael‟s brown eyes were dark and happy looking, and he was smiling. He
didn‟t have his beard then, and she could read his expression. He looked content, and so
did she. It was fall in the picture, and the trees had the glorious colors that said it would
be at least a few more weeks before winter set in for real. Jezabel wished herself back to
that day. She remembered being happy.
Maybe she should think about Michael‟s idea for real this time. What was she so afraid
of? Was she worried that his bad habits would make for a bad life? Was she afraid he
wouldn‟t pay the bills or clean the house? She had seen his place. It was usually a mess,
but then, she wasn‟t some kind of TOTAL clean freak. Of course, there was Tarika, and
Jezabel didn‟t want to give up her kitty. And she liked having her things in order like she
did. She just wasn‟t sure….
She knew she only had a few more moments before the next beggar would be at her door.
She sighed. She knew what it meant to them that she WAS there, but part of her just
didn‟t care. It wasn‟t that she was cold or anything. She just couldn‟t really care
anymore. She was burnt. She was tired. She was BORED! And she didn‟t like how
angry she was feeling as a result. It just wasn‟t like her.
So here she sat, doodling on the desk calendar that took over most of her desk. She wrote
her name. She wrote “Charles” and then drew a stick figure of a woman slapping the
name silly. She would have to take his clients as well as hers, and the lines would be out
the door AGAIN. For the THIRD day! She groaned. Thirty or more people a day at her
door asking for money. For a loan. At least thirty times, she would have to explain the
mission of the organization and their responsibility. She mimicked herself saying it now:
“Remember, In A Pinch is not a bank. You are taking out a high interest loan to be
repaid over a six-month period. You will be responsible for the principal of the loan,
monthly interest accrued at 27% and the initiation fee of $75.00. If you miss one or more
payments, we reserve the right to aggressively collect from you and/or the cosigners
designated on your application form. Do you have any questions?”
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This was the part she could say in her sleep, and it was the part that she didn‟t know how
to manage on her resume. How could she describe this on any resume? It was
ridiculous. “Hello. My name is Jezabel. I process high interest loans for the desperate.
How do we manage collections? Well, I don‟t really get involved in that part of the
process. I just take their applications and assess eligibility. Do I know about my
company‟s reputation? I am not sure what you mean by that, Sir.” This was the part that
always got her. Hey, it wasn‟t her fault the way collections were handled. She had a job
to do, and collections was NOT it. Besides, clients were always so happy to get their
loans. She wasn‟t responsible for it. She was making them happy.
Tonya stepped through the door and gestured to a woman with curly red hair and giant,
purple-rimmed glasses. The woman‟s makeup looked spackled on. Her lipstick was
peeling, and the concealer barely covered the giant pock marks that looked to be left-
overs from childhood chicken pox. Jezabel sighed again. Thank God she had been one
of the lucky generations to receive the inoculation. She had her problems, but giant pock
marks were not included in them.
“This is…….” Tonya began. Jezabel nodded and smiled politely. She never paid
attention to their names. There were too many of them and unless they forgot to sign
something correctly, in which case they had to come back to see her, Jezabel never saw
them more than once anyway. Why waste mental energy memorizing names that meant
nothing in the long run? Social security numbers and filled out forms were what she
looked for. Sure, she remembered a name or two if the client went to collections, but it
was never a surprise when a loan went to collections. More than half of the clients went
that route. So Jezabel had her fun by looking at the woman‟s polyester, paisley-print
shirt. Orange and teal mega-print and orange pants. Purple boots. Big hair and a
lopsided smile. The woman was tall, and when she sat in the chair in front of Jezabel,
she looked uncomfortable, like her feet didn‟t know where to put themselves. The
woman fidgeted and finally handed over her paperwork to Jezabel who scanned it to
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make sure all the fields were filled in. The lady bounced her leg and peered through the
big lenses at Jezabel who read and pointed to a section on the form.
“So you are not working right now, is that correct?” Jezabel asked. She had learned to
ask this question right off, without hesitation and without apology.
“That‟s right,” said the woman.
“So how do you plan on paying this loan?” Jezabel asked, again, directly.
“I get some assistance and I do some work under the table,” the woman said, equally as
directly.
Jezabel looked over the paper at the woman. “What kind of work do you do?” she asked.
“I fix fans.”
“Oh,” said Jezabel, and moved to her computer.
“Don‟t you want to know anything else?” the red-head asked, staring openly at Jezabel.
Jezabel glanced over. “Like how many I can fix and why I haven‟t fixed any in the last
month and how I afford the parts and what I do?”
Jezabel shrugged. It wasn‟t her business to ask for details about the lady‟s business, after
all. She just wanted to know how the lady planned to pay the bill. The lady continued
anyway. “See, on trash day, I go through the neighborhoods. It‟s the weirdest thing.
You almost always see a fan in the trash. I‟ve been doing this for ten years now and you
want to know what is even weirder?” The lady bounced her leg faster, her face suddenly
animated, the makeup cracking even more. “Every year, if I go back to houses that threw
out a fan, they have another one at that same house. So you know what that means?”
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Jezabel shrugged again, but this time found herself looking at the lady and wondering.
“It means the same people buy cheap fans every year. They use them for a season or two,
and then they toss „em. That‟s right. Just toss them out like junk!” The woman frowned
like she couldn‟t believe the injustice of it. “It‟s like fans are disposable. But what these
people don‟t know is…..” Jezabel waited. The woman leaned in closer. “Fans can be
restored.”
“I see,” said Jezabel, who turned back to her computer, mentally slapping herself for
being taken in by the story, as if something exciting was going to come of it.
“So I collect all the fans and I take some apart to replace the broken parts of the other
ones. Then when people bring me their fans to fix, I have one to sell them or I have the
part to replace theirs. Pretty nice, huh?”
“Yes, sounds like a good kind of business you got going there,” Jezabel said, entering the
information into the computer.
“Yup. I get ten dollars usually for fixing a fan. It takes me less than an hour and all my
parts are free. And I never have to buy tools because I have Daddy‟s old tools and he had
a lot of them.” The leg was really bouncing now. The lady was kicking the desk. It was
distracting and Jezabel wished the woman would just shut up now.
“It will be just one more moment, Ma‟am, and I will print up the agreement,” Jezabel
said. “Do you have any questions on the loan?”
“Nope. I know I will have enough fans to fix in the next month or so because summer is
right around the corner. I will get really busy and make lots of money, enough to pay the
taxes on the house and this little loan back.”
“You understand the terms of the agreement and the way the interest works, right?”
Jezabel asked again. She knew she didn‟t have to, but she wanted to make sure the lady
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knew that even if she paid the loan back in a month, she would still owe the interest for
longer than just the summer.
“I understand,” the woman said. “I just have to get through this month, is all. Running
out of important things and I just haven‟t had the money or the business, and the winter
was so cold….”
Jezabel heard this a lot, especially when the winters were harsh. A utility bill for even a
small house could get over $500.00 a month easily. Jezabel knew all about that because
her apartment cost a couple of hundred to heat, and she always tried to keep the
temperature at about 68 so she would have some “fun” money left over. Then,
sometimes Michael would come through and give her some cash, or he would take them
somewhere fun, so she would save that way, too.
Michael. She sighed. Lately, whenever she thought of him, she had the same feeling she
got when she looked at milkweeds in the fall, after all their fluff had gone to seed and
started flying off. But she didn‟t want to think about that right now. And she sure as
heck didn‟t want to be thinking about fans. She typed a little faster, hit the print button,
and told the lady she would be right back.
In the lobby, Tonya picked up one phone line after another. Six or seven people sat in the
plastic orange seats by the storefront window, and another three or four people vied for
parking spaces out front. This was freaking ridiculous, Jezabel thought. She couldn‟t
process all these people by herself! Even if Charles WERE here, they would STILL have
people waiting.
But she had Tonya. A pretty black lady from this neighborhood, Tonya knew how to
handle herself and others. That‟s why she was so good at her job. She wasn‟t afraid of
more than one person coming in at a time. She could handle the rude ones, the impatient
ones, and the sneaky ones. She got them through intake, and if she thought there was
something really suspicious about them (other than the usual working-under-the-table,
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which many of their clients had to do to survive), she would make reference to her fiancé
who was a cop and how excited she was that he would be coming in any minute now to
have a cup of coffee with her.
The truth was, Tonya had been divorced from her retail-district-manager husband for
three years, didn‟t have a fiancé that was a cop or even a fiancé for that matter. She said
she was through with men. But she did legitimately know a couple of the cops from the
station two doors down, and her tone was so convincing that no real, dangerous thug had
ever called her bluff. It was amazing the way a true shady character, after talking to
Tonya, would suddenly get a call on the cell phone and have to come back at another
time.
Tonya prided herself in this art of bluffing and subtle intimidation while still polite, and
she knew it was one reason Bobby and John would never want to think about losing her
as an employee. Jezabel was sure Tonya got paid very well. And she was sure that
anyone who got by Tonya was not a thug, with the possible exceptions of Bobby and
John.
It seemed to be getting worse and worse every day. Each mroning, shortly after the doors
opened, potential clients filed in. The seats filled up fast, and often, it was standing room
only, with a wide array of people from every country, represented in the microcosm that
was the lobby of In a Pinch. And what they all had in common was a kind of poverty
that relied on loans, these high interest loans supposed to provide a quick fix and a way
out.
Tonya hung up. “Tonya, who else is on the schedule today?” Jezabel asked.
Tonya flipped through a few papers on her cluttered desk. “Sharon,” she said.
Great, thought Jezabel as she grabbed her papers from the printers. Just great. Sharon
I‟m-so-proud-to-be-working-in-the-financial-industry Stuart. She wore a gray or navy
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blue suit every day, practical pumps, and a pressed, white blouse. Jezabel couldn‟t tell if
Sharon belonged on an airplane serving ginger ale or in Washington, D.C. serving papers.
Sharon spoke clearly, annunciating every word as if articulation were a job qualification
in this zoo. “What time is she in?” Jezabel asked.
“Nother hour,” Tonya answered.
“Okay. Please, just tell people I am alone until then and to hang on. It might awhile.
They can get some coffee or come back in a couple of hours if they don‟t want to wait.”
“K,” Tonya said. “Whatever works for you,” Tonya said. “I‟ll keep „em at bay.”
Jezabel knew she would Tonya was such a good person to work with, so strong and polite
at the same time, rare qualities in this industry, in fact, in any industry.
Back in her office, Jezabel saw the red-haired, fan-fixing lady cleaning her big glasses
and pacing. “Okay, I just need a couple of signatures,” Jezabel said sitting down at her
desk. She was thinking about Michael and the park again. Stop it, she scolded herself.
Focus.
The lady sat back down. “You know, your office is kind of stuffy,” the lady said, taking
a pen out of the pen holder on Jezabel‟s desk. “You could use a fan in here.”
Jezabel pointed to the places that required signatures. “Sign here and here,” she said, not
answering the lady. “Then I sign as a witness, and I can get you a copy for your records.”
“So what do you think?” the lady asked. “About the fan, I mean.”
This lady is relentless, Jezabel sighed. “I think the Director won‟t approve the
expenditure,” she said.
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“Well what about for your house? You have a house, right? You need a fan for your
house? I can get you a fan for your house.”
“Um…I‟m all set. But thanks,” Jezabel said.
“Well, if you ever need a fan, you know how to get in touch with me,” said the lady.
“Just call me. I can sell you a good fan, a really good fan, or I can fix one that broke or I
can….”
Jezabel got up to make copies. “Excuse me,” she said, going back to the lobby. A trip to
the copy machine was always an excellent escape. When she returned to her office, the
woman was pacing again. Jezabel handed her the copies, shook her clammy hand, and
told her to have a nice day.
The woman smiled briefly, and said, “Okay. Call me about that fan.”
“I will,” said Jezabel. And the woman walked out of her office.
Jezabel drummed her fingers on her desk, a relic from the 1970‟s, made of cheap wood
and scratches. She couldn‟t remember how many times she had listened to the sound of
her nails against that wood as she waited for another client to come in. The sound was
that noticeable. Yup. That was her day. Felt like her life. Client after client. Then go
home. Feed the cat. Talk to or see Michael. Call her mother once a week. That was
about it. She should have been further on by now, or at least she thought she should
have. She really did need to do something, needed more fresh air, maybe a walk outside
when time permitted, if time ever DID permit anything.
She sighed once again, waiting for the onslaught of incoming clients, damning Charles
again. He had not worked here that long. Maybe he didn‟t really WANT to work here.
But it wasn‟t her concern. She just didn‟t want to be the only one processing
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applications, and she surely didn‟t want to have to play tag-team with Sharon when that
bitch came in.
“Jezabel, I would like you to meet….” Tonya‟s voice snapped Jezabel out of her brief
reverie. “Jezabel is going to take care of you from here,” Tonya said.
“Have a seat, sir,” Jezabel said. He smelled expensive, freshly cologned. The black man,
in a pinstriped suit, leaned awkwardly in the plastic chair. No one ever seemed
comfortable in these chairs. His polished shoes looked out of place next to Jezabel‟s
beat-up desk. Honestly, she didn‟t know why some of them had to come here at all. She
felt pretty poor next to them herself.
But then, if anything, this job had taught her never to judge the client by the dress or the
car or the cologne. Some of the best dressed people were the poorest, most hard working
people who had legitimately fallen on hard times and only had their clothes left to show
they had ever done well in life. Or some were those who had over-borrowed and would
always lived on the edge of collections and repossession as a result. Still others shuffled
in on canes, barely able to walk and afford their monthly medication costs, but still
looking stately somehow.
Of course, there were the gamblers, the players, the ones who never seemed to learn that
a quick fix wasn‟t the answer and neither was a life in the alleys and basements of the
city. For some of them, this place had become a kind of financial addiction. They lived
from loan to loan, like they did from game to game and fix to fix.
She took the papers he handed to her and asked the usual questions. “You understand…”
she began.
“Yeah, I understand,” the man snapped, cutting her off. “Just continue.”
“Sorry,” said Jezabel, glancing up at his face. “I have to remind you of that, legally.”
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“I know. Let‟s get on with it,” he said.
She wondered why he had to take the loan. It couldn‟t be good, whatever it was, judging
from his reaction. She processed the rest in silence, only indicating when she had to get
up to retrieve the prints for him to sign. He signed quickly in small, neat, cursive letters.
J.F. Frank. She noticed his name because the writing was so sophisticated looking, like
him. She stared at her shoes. Flats. They weren‟t that old, but they weren‟t shiny.
By the time J.F. Frank left, Jezabel needed coffee. Back to the lobby. In A Pinch wasn‟t
really a big place. Jezabel spent most of her day walking back and forth from her office
to the lobby and then back, sometimes just to get a break from the walls and the sitting
down. The tiny bathroom at the rear of the building provided little escape, and she rarely
had time to leave for lunch. Sometimes Tonya asked Jezabel to cover the front while she
ran out to pick up some lunch for everyone. That Tonya was okay. Jezabel wished they
were closer somehow, but something there just never clicked. Jezabel never was quite
sure why. Maybe it was her and not Tonya.
“Good afternoon, ladies, and how are we today?” Sharon asked as Jezabel stirred her
coffee. Sharon entered the room like it was a fashion runway. She didn‟t just walk into a
room. She announced her appearance in her smooth, articulate voice from a mouth that
only gave the illusion of a smile. Jezabel didn‟t even pretend to smile back. Why
pretend? She hated Sharon.
“Just fine,” Tonya replied. Tonya wasn‟t all that crazy about Sharon either, but Tonya
was used to faking smiles from working in the front. And Jezabel knew Tonya wouldn‟t
want to give Sharon the satisfaction of knowing they had struggled, shorthanded this
morning. “You have Mr. and Mrs. Guadelupe here, waiting for you.” Jezabel pressed
herself against the doorframe to get back into her office with her coffee. Sharon made
her exquisite exit, as did Tonya.
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A minute later, Tonya was introducing the next client, and elderly man with generic
looking eyeglasses, a cane, and something stuck to his chin. Jezabel didn‟t want to stare
to find out exactly what that something was. Maybe he cut himself shaving? Maybe he
had dripped something from lunch? Stop it! She told herself. Stay focused. She needed
the diversion.
“Well, I don‟t like doing this kind of thing,” the man said, obviously embarrassed as he
handed Jezabel his paperwork. “Seems just so expensive somehow but I just got to this
point I kept falling behind and then the missus, well she needed those diabetes pill and
even with the Medicare that put us behind. Gets harder and harder every day, seems
like,” he said. Jezabel nodded. She understood more than he knew she did. “So I am
thinking if I take this little loan, I can have it paid off in six months or so. See I have a
couple of stocks. They aren‟t doing good right now, but in a couple of months, you
know, things could change, and then we will be all set. But right now….”
She entered his information, nodding at him as he continued. She reminded him what
kind of loan he was getting. He sat closer, his cane parked firmly in the tile of her office,
his head tilted as he listened intently. “I understand, Miss,” he said when she had
finished. “Like I said, this is just for the time being. The missus, she‟s diabetic and
needs that medication,” he repeated. I have high blood pressure and I stopped taking the
medication. Last time I saw the doc, he read me the riot act, I tell you. So I‟ll take this
here little loan and get some of that medication for the both of us. But don‟t you worry. I
always pay all my bills.”
“I am sure you do, sir,” Jezabel said. “Let me go make some copies for you to sign.”
Jezabel could hear Sharon annunciating to her clients in the office across from the copier.
“And you know, it is my duty to remind you that this is indeed…..” Jezabel mouthed
Sharon‟s speech, mimicking her, screwing up her face to the printer as she did so.
“Bitch,” she mouthed silently. God, that lady drove her nuts. Today she was wearing
another navy suit. It looked like it was made of wool or something. Her shoes were
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spotless, and her blouse….Jezabel wondered how many of the same ones Sharon actually
owned. She pictured a closet full of blue and gray suits, white blouses, and sensible,
expensive, new shoes. Barf.
“Here you are, sir,” Jezabel said, returning to her own client.
He got up, leaned on the cane, and took the copies. “Well, I thank you, young lady. I am
sure I will not see you again, so you take good care of yourself.”
“And you take care, too,” Jezabel said. She felt like it was the most sincere thing she had
said all day, and it struck her somehow as sad. The man shuffled out, leaving Jezabel to
the rest of her data entry and clients.
The day passed in one, smooth, motion, client after client, listening to stories, saying
some of the same things, wondering if it was time to leave, wondering if there were more
to life, and thinking there had to be another way for these people to get money. But that
would put her out of a job. She sighed yet again, wondering if she should start counting
them. She even had the same kinds of thoughts, day in and day out. Nothing changed.
At 5:00, Jezabel shut down her computer mentally saying goodbye to her favorite photo
of she and Michael in the park, put on her jacket, deposited the last bit of paperwork in
Tonya‟s inbox to be filed, and walked towards the door. “Is it time for you to leave
already?” Sharon spoke from her office. “My, I just do not know how it gets to be this
late. You are lucky to be leaving early,” Sharon said.
“I get in at 8:30,” Jezabel reminded her, immediately wanting to slap herself. Why
should she have to remind Sharon when she worked? Sharon wasn‟t her boss. It was
none of her damned business. Just because Sharon worked the later shift didn‟t mean
Jezabel was responsible for discussing their difference in schedules.
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“Well it must be good to come in that early. You don‟t have as many clients first thing in
the morning, I suspect, as I do in the evenings after they have all finished work for the
day. That is when it starts to get very busy,” Sharon said.
Jezabel nodded. Sharon had said this before. Jezebel literally bit her tongue struggling
not to tell her about all the elderly and unemployed SHE had to process.
“And when Tonya leaves so early,” Sharon continued.
Why was she doing this? Tonya didn‟t leave early at all. Tonya came in the same time
Jezabel did. What the HELL did Sharon CARE? “Are you worried about being here
alone?” Jezabel asked, not out of concern.
“Oh, no,” Sharon said. “The security system is in place, and the police are so
conveniently close.”
This was true. In A Pinch sat on the corner of Gorham and Essex, with the northern
police station less than a block to the left of them. Cops passed by their windows all the
time, stopping in the café across the street, now and then holding up traffic to let a
pedestrian cross. Tonya had an easy job of waving cheerfully through the front window
and beckoning in the police to play “fiancé” whenever she needed it. Still, Sharon would
not be so lucky. Who would want to even pretend to be Sharon‟s fiancé?
If traffic counted towards stats, the city was pretty busy, but it didn‟t offer as many jobs
as people needed. It didn‟t even have as many stores as it used to. Houses had started to
look a little more run down. And the way the recession was working lately, it didn‟t look
like it would be getting better any sooner. Jezabel was smart enough to know that‟s what
gave her a job but smart enough also not to question that too much. She didn‟t need to be
feeling guilty about how she made her own ends meet, especially when she didn‟t feel
like she had much of a choice.
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“Well, you go on now,” said Sharon. “I would not want to be the reason you had to leave
late,” she simpered.
Jezabel pushed the door open, feeling the cold against the palm of her hand. Her feet
hurt. Her shoes never felt right at the end of the day, like her feet had swelled throughout
the hours she sat at her old desk. The walk to the bus stop would not be pleasant today.
It was March, and March was still cold. The wind had died down leaving the
remembrance of cold that the dull orange sun picked up as it dissolved behind the
evening clouds. It usually deterred her from taking a walk or doing anything requiring
extended time in this gray cold that went right to the bone.
At her apartments, Jexabel had wanted to turn the heat off and just use her electric
blanket at night, but so far, that was just a want. The cold won. She didn‟t want to test
fate and get herself sick. While she had some sick time, she didn‟t have enough to cover,
say, the flu, and besides. The owners of In a Pinch frowned on employees taking sick
time even when they had it to take.
Cheap bastards, Jezabel thought. They were the kind of owners who pretended they
treated their employees well, throwing little Christmas parties in the lobby, giving out
cards and boxes of Whitman‟s chocolates for Valentine‟s Day, but when it came down to
it, Bobby and John Spellini could care less about the employees or the clients. They
cared about profit. They wore Armani suits into Dunkin Donuts. All the old men
drinking coffee and reading the newspapers would put down their cups, stop, and stare. It
was hard to tell if the stares were generated from awe or disgust, but either way, the
Spellinis got the attention they were looking for.
Bobby drove a 1968, fully restored flaming red Corvette. John drove a new, black
BMW. They both wore wedding bands and kept pictures of their perfectly manicured
wives in the wallets. Jezabel knew they both cheated on their perfectly manicured wives
and did so regularly. She did her best to avoid or ignore the owners whenever they
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happened to visit. And she certainly averted her eyes at the obvious mistresses who
sometimes came in with their lecherous lovers.
She was the only one at the bus stop, and for that, she was thankful. Wisps of her blond
hair blew across her eye, and she shook her head, irritated, looking for the bus and
wanting it to show soon. She had a car, but it had a bad habit of breaking down. Besides,
at work, there was nowhere to park except in the street, and the last thing she needed was
to have her ten-year-old coupe hit or towed or stolen for some bored teen looking to joy
ride. Besides, she didn‟t want to have to fight her clients for parking. Didn‟t seem right
somehow, and the effort would not be worth it. Might just as well take the bus.
The bus finally rumbled into sight, squeaking towards the sidewalk, the door opening to
reveal several empty seats. Thank God. She clinked some tokens into the metal
collection box and headed back to the last empty seat she could find. The vibration of the
bus, the feel of the wheels, the squeak of the metal as it moved on the road, making turns,
slowing, stopping, letting on other passengers, soothed her in a strange way. It was a
time when she could let go, let someone else do the driving, let someone else be in
charge, make the decisions, and ask for tokens. For twenty minutes, she could look out a
window and think about nothing, the landscape of the city streaming by in a ribbon of
buildings and cars and people and streetlights starting to brighten against the darkening
city.
The stop was less than a minute away from her apartment, a basement unit three doors
down from the laundry room. It was an okay place, she thought, turning the key in the
hollow wooden door. It wasn‟t a big complex, fairly quiet. There weren‟t many break-
ins, so the cheap door and almost useless doorknob lock rarely worried her. Besides,
Michael was around some of the time, so it wasn‟t like she was totally alone. She knew
he wouldn‟t be there tonight, though, because it was Tuesday, and he liked to watch
football at his place with his buddies on Tuesday. Tony was Michael‟s closes friend in
and out of work, and she guess Tuesday was something Tony looked forward to as much
as Michael did. Just as well. Jezabel wanted the night to herself, wanted to turn in early.
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Tarika greeted her at the door, rubbing herself against Jezabel‟s leg, letting out a meow
that made Jezabel feel guilty about having only one cat. Truthfully, she thought about
getting another one to keep this long haired, black and orange striped furball company
during the day, but Michael already complained about Tarika, and if they ever did move
in together like they talked about, the cat thing would become an issue.
Jezabel wouldn‟t want to give up Tarika, but she didn‟t know if she would if she were
given the tough decision to make. She and Tarika had been together for five years, she
and Michael for three. Never mind. Don‟t think about it, she told herself, scratching
Tarika behind the ears. “Hi Baby Girl,” she said. “You hungry?” Tarika purred and
headed to her food bowl. If anything, Tarika loved to eat. And Jezabel loved to listen to
Tarika‟s purrs.
Jezabel looked at the answering machine. Nothing blinking. No messages slipped under
the door, not that she was expecting any. She was too tired to check regular mail and
email (probably junk and spam anyway), so she opened a can of diet soda and flopped on
her couch, watching Tarika dive head first into the bowl of fish smelling kitty chow. The
purring and grunting reminded Jezabel of a pig eating from a trough. She laughed.
Maybe she would rename Tarika “Pig.” Boy. She was getting more than just a little
pathetic, sitting here with her cat, laughing at her own jokes. There simply had to be
more than this, no matter how much she loved her cat.
_____________________________________________________________
“Huh???” she said. “Who? Michael?” Jezabel said into the phone. “What time is it?
What are you doing?”
“Well I just thought you needed a call, baby,” he said into her ear. She rubbed her eyes.
What time WAS it? “What? Don‟t you want to hear from me? Miss me?”
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“Yeah, I miss you, Michael,” she said finally waking up enough to comprehend.
“What‟re you doing?”
“Finishing up with my buds here,” he laughed.
“You working tomorrow?”
“Not me, baby. Ground‟s still froze where we need to be tomorrow.” Michael worked
construction off and on. Sometimes he worked with his buddy Tony, but not always.
When the work was there, Michael made good money, but it was inconsistent. There
were times when Michael couldn‟t pay his own rent and Jezabel gave him an advance
which always seemed to turn into a permanent loan somehow. Stupid, she knew because
it put her on an even tighter budget. “So I got to party hardy tonight.”
“Where you get the money to party?” she mumbled. It was 2:15 in the morning.
“What‟s it to you, huh?” he asked. Then he chuckled, “Come on now. You know I have
to have my Tuesdays,” he said.
“Yeah, I know. Listen, Michael, I have to get some sleep. I have work in the morning.”
“Oh you saying that to make me feel bad?” he demanded.
Uh oh. He was drunk. She could tell because when he was just buzzed, he was all
friendly and lovable. When he got drunk, he could be all-out mean. “No, hon, I‟m just
tired is all,” she said. “Okay?” She hoped it would pacify him. Sometimes when he got
like this, he didn‟t want to hang up.
He wanted to argue. He wanted to goad her. She would fall for it occasionally, but not
tonight. Once, she tried to just hang up on him but he came over to her apartment and
banged on the door until she opened it. She didn‟t want to think about that night again, or
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she wouldn‟t get ANY sleep. “Okay?” she said again. “How about tomorrow night you
come over and I‟ll cook us a nice pot roast. Sound good?”
He paused. “Yeah, whatever, okay,” he said. And he hung up. She sighed, pulled the
covers up to her ears, and rolled over. Tarika purred against the back of her legs and
Jezabel was thankful for the fur and purr.
Chapter 2
Maurice and Stella sat both facing the desk, not looking at one another. A white belly
coated with coarse, black, the curly stuff threatened to pounce from the bottom of
Maurice‟s t-shirt that read, “If you don‟t like my attitude, don‟t talk to me.” He tapped
his thick, black work boot impatiently on the tile floor and stared openly at Jezabel as she
entered their information into the system.
“How do you intend to pay this loan?” Jezabel asked flatly, stifling a yawn. She was
exhausted. After the call from Michael, she couldn‟t fall back to sleep, and when she did,
she kept dreaming that same dream she always had, that she was five and falling off her
two-wheeler, over the sidewalk which happened to lead to a gully which rolled off to a
steep hill surrounded by jagged rocks and the white water of the same canal running
through the city. She never could seem to recover from that dream and after an hour or
so, decided to make some coffee, read National Geographic Magazine, and finally, get
dressed for work. No problem. She was here, wasn‟t she? And these people‟s
paperwork didn‟t exactly need her full attention.
Stella snapped her gum. “We‟re going to sell some more trunks on eBay,” she said,
touting a strong accent that Jezabel thought screamed either New York, Boston, or maybe
both. Or was it New Jersey? Jezabel couldn‟t tell with some people. “We have three of
them sitting in the cellar waiting for HIM,” she pointed accusingly at her husband, “to get
off his rear and finish them. When he does, we will be all set,” she said, snapping her
gum again.
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Jezabel glanced at the woman. Hadn‟t she seen this couple on a sitcom somewhere?
Most of Stella‟s brown roots streaked through the blond. She wore a large gold watch
with rhinestones around the face and a thick gold chain Jezabel suspected was real gold.
Stella‟s mouth was lined with some kind of plum cosmetic, and her lipstick had worn off,
giving her face the look of a clown that needed a touch-up. Her skin had that look of
someone who smoked and spent too much time in the sun, but there was something kind
of endearing about her smile that Jezabel wasn‟t consciously aware of. Somehow, this
woman was likeable, in spite of herself.
“Well if you wouldn‟t buy so damned many of those trunks, maybe I could get to some of
my tools down there and get it done, but the way you have it now, I can‟t hardly get into
the cellar,” Maurice boomed, suddenly sitting up and forward, turning to his wife.
“Cripes, how the hell am I even supposed to get to the sander, huh? You got it all
blocked off with the trunks and clothes and stupid-assed little trinkets and crap. It‟s
fucking ridiculous!”
Jezabel looked at him sharply, continuing to type. “Sir, I have to remind you this is a
place of business and foul language will not be tolerated.” It wasn‟t the first time she had
had to say this, so the words slipped smoothly off Jezabel‟s tongue.
“Oh sure, you too, huh, siding with her just cause she‟s a woman,” he said, sitting back
against his seat and starting to tap the floor again. “Fine. I get it. Just keep doing your
job. I‟ll stay out of it.” He had used that tone that insulted men sometimes used—the
one meant to inflict a guilt trip but rarely worked on women like Stalla. Maurice scowled
at his wife and then at Jezabel.
“Now I have to remind you that this is a high interest loan that must be paid….”
“Yeah, yeah, we know. We‟ve done this before. Just get on with it,” Maurice snapped.
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“Sir, I‟m sorry, but I have to say this, legally,” Jezabel said and continued reciting the
disclaimer. “I will be right back with your copies.”
Jezabel could hear them start to argue again as she went up front. Just another day in
Paradise. Sharon was at the copier, and Jezabel could hear Charles‟s usual stage whisper,
spouting off the disclaimer to his clients. At least he was in today and Jezabel wouldn‟t
be stuck with Sharon and a bunch of clients all by herself with just Tonya functioning as
front-line protection. Charles was a pain, but he did have a decent sense of humor, which
was much more than Jezabel could say for Sharon, or even for herself most days lately,
for that matter.
She sighed remembering once again that she didn‟t like what she was becoming. She
thought if she could just get herself to do one thing differently, alter the pattern in just
some small way, maybe that would be what she needed to change direction somehow.
But she didn‟t know what that one thing was, didn‟t have enough time or imagination to
think it through, and frankly, didn‟t have enough motivation. Her exhaustion was more
than just a lack of sleep.
“I‟m all done,” Sharon announced, stepping aside to let Jezabel at the copier. “It‟s all set
up for two-sided copying. I know that is what you will need to do with those contracts,”
Sharon pronounced. Jezabel thought, who the hell cares, Sharon? Single sided, double
sided, why don‟t you go work for the freaking government and get out of my sight? “I
think it confuses clients when we make single sided copies,” Sharon continued, ignoring
Jezabel‟s ignoring her. “They have a difficult enough time understanding what we are
trying to communicate, and when we use more paper than we have to…..” She just went
on and on, her mouth moving with nothing but bureaucratic crap spilling out. “When I
see either Mr. Spellini, I am going to recommend we have the settings on the machine
locked. It will increase productivity and lower overhead. And..”
“Don‟t you have a client waiting?” Jezabel asked. Sharon stared and blinked at her.
Jezabel took her copies back to the love birds in her office. At the moment, they were
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giving each other the silent treatment, each with arms folded, each looking in opposite
directions.
“I have copies for each of you to sign on the two lines below,” Jezabel instructed.
“You go first,” Stella told her husband.
“No,” he said sarcastically, “YOU first. Really. I insist.”
“Maurice, just sign the damned papers so we can get outta here and you can get to work.”
“Oh, and I suppose that‟s your way of saying I‟m a bum?” he demanded.
Oh my GOD, thought Jezebel, here we go again! She cleared her throat and handed the
pen to Stella. “Ma‟am your line is here at the bottom. If you would sign…”
“See that?” demanded Stella, signing on the line, “Even SHE doesn‟t want to deal with
you. Total strangers can tell. No one wants to….” Jezabel tuned her out and handed the
paper and pen to Maurice. He grunted, signed and handed the pen and copies back to
Jezabel.
“Here are your copies,” Jezabel said, handing them each a set and keeping one for
herself. “If you have any questions, the office number is at the bottom of the page. Have
a nice day.” She moved to sit back at her desk. She began typing again. Both of them
just stared at her. She looked up. “You can leave,” she said. And with that, Stella
nodded and walked out. Maurice tapped the floor three more time, got up with a huff and
stomped through the door.
She wondered if he would stomp all the way to the car, if she counted his stomps, if she
would reach over fifty. Never mind. Too depressing and not nearly amusing enough to
get her through today. She would rather picture his stomping, tripping on his bootlace,
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and landing face first onto his wife who would have to decide to either catch him or step
to the side. Which one would Stella choose, Jezabel wondered?
“Yo Jezzy, what you doing?” Charles called from his office. He was obviously fully
recovered.
“Just the entry parts,” she called back.
“Aren‟t you even going to ask how I‟m feeling?”
“How are you feeling, Charles?” Jezabel rotely called out.
“Much better, thank you for asking. You know how those viruses are. Bad stuff going
around.”
Idiot, Jezabel thought. He could at least have the dignity of pretending he had been
legitimately sick. “Yeah, I bet,” she said. “I know all about those viruses. Who gave
you yours, Charles?”
He ignored her question. “What you doing for lunch?” This was typical Charles, asking
about lunch at 10:00 in the morning.
“Don‟t know yet,” she said. Don‟t know if I have time.
“Aw come one. You can buy,” he called.
“Not me,” she called back. “I go, YOU pay.”
“Excuse me,” Sharon raised her even tone to one that could obviously be heard
throughout the offices. “I am trying to complete this paperwork.” Her emphasis fell on
the “k” of “paperwork.” It can be difficult to Concentrate when there are other
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Conversations going on. Would you mind going into each others‟ offices if you have the
Time and wanT to Talk?”
Charles poked his head into Jezabel‟s door, mouthing Sharon‟s words, mimicking her
inflections. It was one of the things that made it easier for Jezabel to tolerate Charles‟s
poor work ethic—his dislike of Sharon and his sense of humor made up for some of the
nastiness in the office. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said, raising his voice an octave but
speaking quietly, “The Captain has turned on the „no smoking‟ sign. Please fasten your
seatbelts and remain seated until….” Jezabel smiled. Yes, he was immature,
unprofessional, and unreliable. But at least Charles made her smile.
She shook her head. “You better get back into your seat before Mother Superior reports
you,” she told Charles.
He stuck his tongue out. “I ain‟t doing another thing before I refill my coffee cup.” He
sauntered off to the front. Jezabel wished she could be as cocky about her work as he
was. Or was it that he just didn‟t care and could afford not to care?
On his way back from the coffee maker, Charles reported there were three people waiting
for Tonya to do intakes. The phone rang.
“Thank you for calling In a Pinch. This is Jezabel,” she said, deciding to pick up.
A male voice imitated hers: “Thank you for calling…this is Jezabel.”
“Hi Michael,” she said, smiling into the phone. She was pleased he had called her.
Sometimes, they would go a whole day without getting time to talk, and that didn‟t feel
right to Jezabel.
“Do you want to do lunch?” he asked.
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“Oh!” she said. She felt that nice, cool sensation of surprise slip up her spine. Usually if
he wasn‟t working, Michael would spend the day relaxing in front of television or maybe
getting some grocery shopping done. Going out to lunch spontaneously like this meant
something. In this case, she hoped this meant he had gotten paid and was in a better
mood than last night. “Sure. Where do you want to go?”
“I don‟t know, Subway is right across from you. Let‟s do that.”
“Okay,” she said. “I can get off at noon.” The sub shop was the regular place Tonya or
Jezabel would go run to when they picked up lunch for each other. It was convenient,
and what would make it special today was being there with Michael.
“Kay. See you then.” He hung up. Jezabel smiled. Michael wasn‟t the most romantic
figure, and lunch at Subway wouldn‟t be the highlight of most people‟s lives, but for her,
it was enough of a switch, a step away from routine to get her thinking maybe this was
the little change she needed to get out of her rut…and out of her funk. Because she had
to admit, she was just a little more than tired.
“So seriously,” Charles said, coming back into her office and sitting in one of the client‟s
chairs. “What are you doing for lunch?”
“Michael called. I‟m meeting him,” she said.
“Oh…Michael,” Charles teased. “Going to meet your little boy toy, I understand.”
“He‟s not my „boy toy‟” Jezabel laughed. “He‟s my significant other.”
“Oh even better!” Charles laughed, slapping his knee. “Your significant other! You‟ve
been listening to Sharon for too long!” he guffawed “Oh shit, that‟s funny. Your
significant other. I haven‟t heard that term in a long time….”
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“Jezabel,” Tonya‟s voice interrupted them and Tonya gave Charles the “get out of here”
look she reserved just for him. “This is Ms. …………”
“I know,” Charles said. “I know. You don‟t have to look at me like that more than once,
woman. I‟m leaving.”
“Well good,” Tonya said, “cause I‟m bringing your client in right after.”
“Have a seat,” Jezabel said to her client. She was still smiling and the young Hispanic
woman smiled back at her. Jezabel didn‟t usually smile at clients, but she decided not
break up the rhythm of the one she had going on her face right now. This girl was
different somehow. Or maybe it was Jezabel who was different. “Let me take a look at
your paperwork,” Jezabel said.
The girl (and to Jezabel, she seemed like a girl in her late teens) just smiled. She smelled
like mashed potatoes and fruity hair spray, a nice mix of smells somehow. Her dark hair
was long and straight, and she looked oddly excited to be here in spite of whatever reason
had brought her in. “How do you intend to pay this loan?” Jezabel asked.
“I do lot of work,” the girl said. “I clean and baby-sit and on Saturdays, I work at the
movies. I sell tickets. I make good money.”
“Okay, but you are taking out this loan. Why?” Jezabel asked.
“I want to buy nice present for my mother,” she said. “For her birthday.”
“Oh.” Jezabel stopped. She looked at the girl, so ready to pay more than she had to, so
willing to work as many hours as it took, just to buy a present for her mother. It made her
sad somehow, and she thought about her own mother, living far away, and what they did
on birthdays. They called each other and sent each other gift cards to Wal-Mart. Jezabel
didn‟t really have the option of working overtime or sending her mother special things
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because…why? She thought for a minute. What would happen if she DID try to send
her mother something special, something out of the ordinary, something different? She
shook the thought away, remembering the last time she had tried such a thing. She bought
her mother a ring, had it wrapped and sent express for her birthday. Her mother called
that day, left a message that the ring was too small, that she had returned it to the jeweler
and gotten a gift card that she would send to Jezabel‟s aunt in Iowa. Jezabel didn‟t try to
send anything different or special after that.
“Is…that okay?” the girl asked, looking at Jezabel‟s expression. The girl looked worried
now, afraid she wouldn‟t get the loan because she wanted to use it for a birthday present.
“Oh, no, it‟s fine,” said Jezabel. “I was just thinking, is all.” She entered the information
into the system and for some reason, found herself wanting to hurry out to get copies.
The room felt stuffy now, filled with the scent of potatoes and fruit, and it didn‟t strike
Jezabel as pleasant anymore.
She moved her mind in a different directions. Maybe Michael would walk in the park
again with her some time soon. They needed a new picture. She remembered how they
had taken the first one, the one that was on her computer screen. On that gorgeous,
colorful and mild day, an old couple walking hand in hand were sauntering down the
same path she and Michael were. They smiled at her and Michael in that “how cute” way
older couples sometimes give younger ones.
The man had noticed the camera swinging from Jezabel‟s hand and asked if they wanted
a picture together. SNAP. There it was, trapped in digital and emotional memory.
Jezabel wondered if the couple knew how long that picture would last, how she would
put it somewhere to remind her every day of THAT day, and how it had become one of
her favorite memories.
Back to her office in a better mood, Jezabel recited the disclaimer: “Okay, I need to
remind you that In A Pinch is not a bank. You are taking out a high interest loan to be
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repaid over a six-month period. You will be responsible for the principal of the loan,
monthly interest accrued at 27% and the initiation fee of $75.00. If you miss one or more
payments, we reserve the right to aggressively collect from you and/or the cosigners
designated on your application form. Do you have any questions?”
The girl nodded. Jezabel might have wondered how much the girl really did understand,
but she had worked with people like this before. They always paid on time. They would
do whatever it took to get this loan off their backs. She could tell this about the girl
without talking to her extensively. After all, anyone who worked three jobs and took out
a loan to give a gift to her mother….
By the time the girl had signed and left, Jezabel was more than ready for lunch.
Michael was late. Jezabel kept looking at the gold colored face of her watch strapped to
her thin wrist by a thin, cracking, black, leather strap. She had only a half hour to eat,
and if Michael was late, well then, that would take up a good portion of that little time
she had. She doubted Bobby or John would ever come by to check up, but she knew they
didn‟t have to.
She knew how Sharon was, and she knew Sharon would be the first one to write down
and report anyone tardy, even if it hardly ever happened. It was just the kind of person
Sharon was. Once, when Tonya was late, Jezabel found a post-it note stuck to the
keyboard of Tonya‟s computer. Sharon came by and quickly plucked it away, frowning
at Jezabel, but not before Jezabel read, “9:20 and Tonya still is not here!” Jezabel never
trusted Sharon, but this confirmed it was more than just paranoia.
Michael strode in fifteen minutes late. She could tell it was him even as he approached
the door. His green and orange jock jacket made him somewhat stand out in a crowd, his
work boots streaking caked on clay and mud as it fell off in clumps across the restaurant
store. Hands in his pocket, a lopsided grin across his good looking face, his dark beard
hid whatever other expression accompanied the grin. Sometimes, Jezabel wished
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Michael were uglier. It might make her worry less about him finding someone else. And
it would have made it easier for her to fight back whenever they had an argument.
She wondered if Michael felt the same way about her. A petite blond with green eyes,
she knew she wouldn‟t have a hard time meeting someone else. But Michael never
seemed daunted by her looks when they argued. Still, she and Michael had been together
for more than five years now, and that had to make a difference. They had a history
together. Michael had his bad habits, to be sure, but Jezabel knew everyone had bad
habits. There was no way to say that if she took the leap towards someone else, he
wouldn‟t have worse habits…just different ones. It wasn‟t a gamble she wanted to take,
or at least she wasn‟t ready to take it right now, no matter how much things irritated her
at times.
“Hey,” he said, sliding into the bench.
“Hey,” she said. “I ordered you a steak and cheese,” she said, pointing to the sub and
drink at his place. “I only have another fifteen minutes left. I thought you would be here
earlier.”
“Yeah, well, I got a call last minute. Got a job coming up next week.”
“Well that‟s good, isn‟t it?” she asked. She didn‟t want to sound TOO happy, or he
would question whether or not she believed he could get a job. Also, she never knew in
this business if the offer was good or not. That was another trick. If Michael accepted
one job a week or two out, there was always the chance he would have to say no to
another one coming in with a higher bid for a longer time period.
“Not bad,” he shrugged, unwrapping his sub and taking a bite. “Kind of a crapshoot,” he
said, chewing and talking at the same time. “It‟s out a little bit far, but should be okay.
And they might want an outbuilding after, so it could be longer term.”
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Jezabel nodded. The tough winter had prevented all the outside crews from working
many days. It was a good sign that someone was planning a building, more than one. It
meant spring was coming, and then summer and fall, all good seasons for the kind of
work Michael did. And it could mean the local economy was getting better.
Jezabel wished Michael would learn to save more when business was good. Maybe then
his off-seasons wouldn‟t be so difficult. Like some kind of bad deja-vieu, Michael
cleared his throat. “I was wondering if I could get a little loan until I get some money
coming in,” he said.
She looked at her sub, listening to Michael finish chewing and take a sip of his soda.
Jezabel hated this. He knew how tight money was for her, especially with just paying the
utility bills for her own place. She was annoyed he would ask her again for a loan (this
would be the third over the course of the winter), but she understood. She worked all day
long with people who didn‟t have enough money, and the last thing she wanted was for
him to look for that money at a place like In a Pinch. But then, what did he expect her to
do? She had her own rent to pay.
“So whaddya think?” he asked her, taking a big gulp of soda.
“I don‟t know, Michael, I have to see how much I have. I haven‟t paid rent for the month
or anything yet. And I just had to pay that huge gas bill.”
“Oh,” he said. She looked up. He was frowning. “Well, if that‟s how it is…”
“No, no,” she said. “It‟s not that. I just don‟t know how much I have. Let me go home
and look at the account and I‟ll let you know, okay?”
“Okay,” he said and took another big bite of sub.
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Jezabel was waiting for the inevitable, his suggestion that they move in together. He had
suggested this several times especially lately, arguing for it mostly during the winter
months when he said it didn‟t make sense for them to be paying for two apartments when
they could easily share and cut their expenses in half. Jezabel understood the economic
aspect for sure (reminding him that she did work in a financial institution, no matter how
sleazy it was) but just didn‟t feel ready to make that kind of leap. He looked at it as a step
rather than a leap and didn‟t understand what her problem was.
Truth be told, he scared her when he started talking like this, especially because
immediately after, he would go down the road of having kids. Michael really wanted
kids. He wanted them as soon as possible. The problem was, he didn‟t seem to care if
they got married that fast. Jezabel didn‟t relish the idea of raising kids with Michael as
her boyfriend and not her husband, and neither of them with solid careers. She really
didn‟t want to consider her work at In a Pinch a career, no matter how much she felt
stuck. “Of course, we could solve this and just move in together,” he chewed. “Like I‟ve
been saying.”
“Michael, we have talked about this before,” she said.
“Yeah, and so how about it? We‟ve been together for awhile.”
“Michael, I don‟t know. I just think….” She looked at her watch. “Oh my God! I have
to go!”
“Yeah,” he said. “How convenient.” He gulped down some more soda.
“No really. Listen, Michael, I‟ll give it some thought. I mean some real thought. Then
I‟ll look at my account and let you know, okay?”
“Sure,” he said. “Whatever.”
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“Don‟t whatever me,” she said, coming around to kiss him. “Thanks for meeting me for
lunch.”
He offered her his cheek. “Yup,” he said. “No prob.” She walked back into the cold air,
and he sat continuing to eat, his back towards her. She didn‟t look back to see if he was
looking back to wave.
Sharon was lurking in the lobby when Jezabel came through the glass door. Sharon wore
her best, fake smile and Jezabel looked at the clock. She wanted to hit herself again.
Why did she look at the clock? She knew she was on time. Why did she let Sharon get
to her and make her second guess herself? Who cares, she thought. There was no one in
the lobby waiting, and Tonya was just coming back from the restroom. There was no
sign or sound of Charles, so Jezabel assumed that meant he was still at lunch. Charles
could care less what Sharon did or said about his work habits. Let her report him. He
said he hoped he would get fired. That way he could collect unemployment.
Jezabel walked back into her office, listening to Tonya tell Sharon she was all set and
didn‟t need her to watch the front anymore. “Are you sure?” asked Sharon sweetly. “It‟s
easy, so if you need another minute or so….”
“No THANK you,” said Tonya, firmly, and Sharon‟s footsteps sounded closer as she
went back to her own office.
She was interrupted by Tonya and the next client, a neat looking man in his early forties.
He wore dress pants, a button down shirt, and a tie. His leather jacket, unzipped, looked
newly treated. It was shiny, and the leather smelled fresh. He wore his hair closely
cropped, and his clean shave looked like it had been done that morning. Jezabel would
have guessed he worked as an insurance company owner or a software developer. What
he was doing here, she didn‟t even want to guess.
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“Have a seat,” she said, indicating the plastic chair. She was more aware of the tacky
furniture, the scratches on her desk, and the general feel of the office. Like it had with
her other suited client, the environment just didn‟t match this guy. The man didn‟t seem
phased, however. He simply handed her his application.
“I see you are self employed,” she said. “What industry?”
“I‟d rather not say,” he said.
She paused, looking up at him to see if he was smiling. He wasn‟t. She didn‟t know
quite how to respond (this was a new one on her—usually Tonya screened out anyone
who came off as genuinely shady), so she scribbled in “general business” in the “industry
field.” As soon as she could, she turned her chair and started entering the information
into the system.
“Does it matter?” he asked suddenly as she typed.
“Well, there is a question here that asks it. I just put you under “general business” which
is fine if you would prefer not to discuss it.”
“Fine, then,” the man said. He sat with his hands in his jacket pockets, looking around
Jezabel‟s office like he was assessing it. She wished he would stop. She knew the walls
hadn‟t been painted in years, and scratches and finger prints dulled the appearance of the
finish. The florescent lighting only drew more attention to the ugliness of the office, in
spite of the small floral prints Jezabel had hung in the middle of the far wall to break up
the monotony of dirty-white. She felt like her surroundings and her job represented her,
and she didn‟t like it.
“I need to ask how you plan to pay off the loan, sire,” Jezabel said, not wanting to launch
into the disclaimer just yet.
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“I will pay it off with my next paycheck,” the man says. “That will be in exactly two
weeks.” The man‟s voice was crisp, not unfriendly, but succinct.
“Um, I need to know what you will do for work to pay off this loan,” she said.
“You already asked what business I am in, and it‟s general,” he said, irritated.
“I know, but they need to know specifically what you will do to pay this off, even if your
line of work is general business. I‟m sorry. I don‟t make the rules. And I know it‟s kind
of like asking the same question twice. I think it‟s some law or something.”
“I‟m a consultant,” the man said, now through thin lips. “You can tell them I‟m a
consultant.”
“Okay,” she said, now really curious why he needed this loan when he obviously had a
regular paying job. If she had more guts and time, she might have kept asking him
questions. But then, it could be he just got in over his head or his wife or girlfriend
needed something. Maybe his girlfriend was like Michael and asked to borrow money
which made him….. Stop it, Jezabel, she reprimanded herself. Pay attention. Stop
daydreaming and trying to figure out things that don‟t concern you. “I‟ll be right back
with copies for you to sign,” she said. The man nodded.
“Hey Tonya,” Jezabel said, nearing the copier. It was still pretty slow this afternoon.
“Have a good lunch?”
“Yeah,” she said, “until I came back to the Queen Mother hovering over my desk, acting
like the place would fall down without her incredible powers of oversight,” Tonya ranted.
She wasn‟t particularly quiet about it. Jezabel knew Tonya got as irritated with Sharon as
she and Charles did, but for some reason, no one ever said anything about it so loudly. In
that way, Tonya didn‟t care.
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The office assumption was that Sharon had some kind of special relationship with Bobby
and/or John Spellini. No one thought Sharon was sleeping with either of them (she
wasn‟t half as good looking as the owners‟ wives or the owners‟ parade of obvious
lovers), nor did she seem like some kind of exciting conversationalist that the two
playboys might want. But there was something there that prevented the three others from
officially complaining about Sharon in spite of Tonya‟s assertiveness.
“I know,‟ Jezabel said. “Hang in there.” Jezabel made her copies and returned to her
mystery client.
She handed him the copy, and he signed before she could say a word. “Sir, I have to
remind you,” she began.
“I know,” he said. “It‟s the law, and it‟s your job. Go ahead.”
Jezabel wondered again about this man. Obviously he had done this before. Why? And
again, why did she care? She began, making extra sure she annunciated every key word
of the disclaimer. My goodness, she must have sounded just like Sharon: “You are
taking out a high interest loan to be repaid over a six-month period. You will be
responsible for the principal of the loan, monthly interest accrued at 27% and the
initiation fee of $75.00. If you miss one or more payments, we reserve the right to
aggressively collect from you and/or the cosigners designated……..” She had to comfort
herself again that this man had been screened by competent Tonya.
It hit her, right in the middle of her speech. She kept talking, but she understood
something that had been lurking at the edge of her mind, something she had tried to fence
off.
It had to do with Michael. She would look at him and worry about his job situation and
his money problems and her money problems and then look at professionals and think
certainly, a clean cut guy with a shirt and tie or a well dressed man with cologne and
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shiny shoes could do better than come here. She knew, intellectually, when it all came
down to it, it didn‟t matter what kind of job you had or what you wore to work. That
work could end in a second and land you up here, a dingy office signing away your life to
this likes of Bobby and John Spellini. It was a conundrum.
But she sometimes wished Michael were more of that perfect person, the one in the tie
with the steady income and with more manners, the one who would have unemployment
and disability and health benefits, someone who would never consider turning to In a
Pinch. Maybe with a little help, he could become that person. She knew then what she
was planning to do when she got home.
Chapter 3
She couldn‟t believe she had done it. Staring at the telephone, she thought about the
conversation. Less than five minutes. That‟s all. She almost laughed how ridiculous it
was, how someone could change her life in less than five minutes. It was scary how easy
it could happen.
“Well, I decided you were right about us living in separate places,” she had told him.
“I‟ve been thinking about it. It doesn‟t make sense, what we‟re doing, especially when
you stay at my place most weekends already. I mean, what‟s a few extra days? It‟s like
we live together already anyway, isn‟t it?”
“Yeah. That‟s what I‟ve been trying to tell you,” he said. He sounded genuinely pleased.
“So, what do you think?” Her heart had been beating so loudly, she thought she could
hear it bouncing against the phone.
“Yeah, it‟s cool,” he said. She hadn‟t wanted to say anything else, waiting for something
more from him. Didn‟t he want a timeline or something? To talk about the details? To
discuss Tarika? “So can you give me that loan?” he had asked.
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She had been taken off guard. “Well, um, you know…I wasn‟t really even thinking
about that. I thought if we did this thing, you wouldn‟t need the money.”
“Nope. I still need it. Needed it three days ago,” he chuckled.
“Oh.” Silence.
“You don‟t want to? Okay. Hey, I understand. I‟ll figure it out. Go pawn something,”
he said. He knew she hated when he talked like that.
“No, no, it‟s just that I didn‟t even look at my checkbook or bills. I was just so focused on
making this…decision is all.”
“Well give me a call back when you look,” he had said.
That was it. Five minutes. Maybe even less. And, what? What had she expected? Some
kind of romantic outburst from him? Appreciation or thankfulness? Why would he do
that when they were just talking money sense? Besides, like they both were saying, he
spent most weekends at her place anyway. And again, she had made the decision and she
had told him. She had taken care of it. The loan was….just one more detail before they
could solidify their plans. It was good. It really was.
She put her head against the back of her tweed couch. The rough texture bit at the back
of her neck, and she was suddenly conscious how old the couches were and how tired she
was. She thought about taking a little nap right there, then thought about how the only
place she had ever been able to sleep was in her bed, and then thought about the living
arrangements again. They both had queen size beds. Michael would want to keep his.
She would want to keep hers. How the heck could this possibly work out?
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Biting back her sudden panic and going into her second bedroom, she turned on her
computer. The same picture she had on her computer wallpaper at work was on her own
computer. She took a good, hard look at it, and smiled. Blue skies. The park. She and
Michael hadn‟t been to that park in a long time. Maybe tomorrow, she would get off at
the earlier bus stop and walk there herself, loll in the memories and the future she had to
look forward to.
The image of she and Michael holding hands followed her to her bank account viewing.
If she put off paying the electric for two weeks and paid less on her credit card, she could
give Michael the loan. She picked up the phone. He didn‟t answer. He‟s probably in the
bathroom or something, she thought, and left a message. “Hi hon,” she said. She didn‟t
often call him that, but tonight, she felt like she could and should somehow. “I have
enough for the loan. Give me a call back.” She hung up the phone.
She decided she did need a nap after all.
________________________________________________
She awoke to the feeling of numb feet and the telephone ringing. What time was it?
What was wrong with her feet? “Hello?” she said into the phone.
“Hey babe,” Michael said. She smiled, remembering her decision, and thinking about
how he wouldn‟t be calling her like this anymore. He wouldn‟t have to. He could just
roll over and….. What time WAS it? How long had she been asleep?
Her eyes found the clock. Midnight. And the cat had been asleep on her feet, making her
feet fall asleep as well. She tried to focus in on Michael‟s conversation. He was telling
her about the stuff he was going to sell before they did this big move and getting more to
the point, when could she get him the money? Could she do cash? It would save a lot of
time so he wouldn‟t have to run to the bank.
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“Sure, hon,” she said. “Cash is fine. I‟ll get it tomorrow night and when you come over,
you can have it. It was Friday, thank God. The end of the week. By tomorrow night, she
would have survived another week of Sharon‟s condescending behavior, Charles‟s
outrageous talk, and the constant flow of need that came and went through her office
door. Friday night, and a weekend with Michael. Wow. She could survive just about
anything.
“You want to see that new movie on Saturday night and go out for a drink or something?
Celebrate?” she said.
“Sounds good,” he said. He laughed. “You‟re paying, right?”
“Yeah, I‟ll put it on the charge,” she said. She was feeling good after her nap. “Wish it
was the weekend right now,” she said a little lower into the phone.
“Will be soon,” he said. She could hear his smile through the wire. “Get some sleep.
See you tomorrow night.”
She hung up and realized since she had slept through dinner, she was starving. Not one to
eat late at night, she padded through her dark apartment to the kitchen. The refrigerator
light shone through the night, and a small beam from the streetlight filtered through her
living room window. String cheese and yogurt and a glass of apple juice. Just fine. She
hoped living together would somehow make both Michael and her eat better. She
grinned into the dark, thinking about coming home and cooking meals for the both of
them, Michael turning up his nose at her new inventions and asking, “What the hell IS
this?” He did that now sometimes, on weekends. It would be fun to do it all through the
week, she thought.
She ate her snack on the scratchy couch, looking out the window. The streetlights made
it impossible to see stars, and the flow of traffic pass her apartment window made a hum
she hardly ever heard anymore, she was so used to it. She remembered when she first
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moved here, about five or six years ago. When her mother had decided to move away,
and Jezabel was just in college. She had been living in the dorm and didn‟t know where
she would go. Jezabel didn‟t want to find a place on her at that time. She hadn‟t been
prepared. She had been planning on going back home in the summer, working and
saving some money. Now that wasn‟t an option.
Mom moved, and Jezabel stayed at the dorm. It lasted another term before Jezabel
decided college was not for her. She just couldn‟t get into it, the huge lecture halls, the
crowded room with three other roommates, her business major that didn‟t seem to offer
much more of a future than she thought she could get on her own. She landed her job
shortly after, got her apartment, and quit school for good.
The job and apartment felt so new and exciting then, especially the apartment. The walls
were freshly painted. The rug smelled like fibers, the way new rugs did. She had nothing
really even to put into her place except for the few things she had brought from her dorm.
She slept on a blow up mattress for a week or so. With her first paycheck, she bought a
set of dishes, silverware, and glasses and more blankets. She bought some groceries, a
few cheap cooking pans, and some napkins. Then, she went to the thrift store and got a
bed and a small kitchen set. The furniture was beat up, but she didn‟t care. It was hers.
That was all that mattered. And she amazed herself how she could do all this and still
pay her rent.
Each month, Jezabel bought some more trappings to make a comfortable home. Not long
after moving here, she had met Michael. On one of their first dates, he helped her pick
out a used television, noting it wasn‟t as good as his, but it would do for now. That felt
like a long time ago. Michael didn‟t start staying at her place until about a year after they
met. But Jezabel was happy. Now, she had her job and a boyfriend AND an apartment.
The third hand car she financed wasn‟t so great, but hey. She would have it paid off in a
year, and she could take the bus whenever she wanted.
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Early on, she decided to get a cat. She adopted Tarika from the local shelter, and it was
like the furry thing had lived there all her life. She remembered all the kittens clawing at
the bars of their cages, the meowing and feline begging, and the way Tarika just stood
and looked into her eyes. There was a connection.
Jezabel loved that cat. It was her cat. Michael instantly disliked Tarika, and Tarika him.
He would kick the cat out of bed, and the cat hissed at him. Even now, when Michael
came through the door, Tarika would run and hide. Jezabel wondered if that was how it
would continue, if the cat would hide, or if they would get used to each other. Michael
hadn‟t even mentioned the cat, so that was good. Maybe he was just all talk about really
hating her. Some people were like that.
Jezabel finished her snack, went to her room and changed, and slipped back into bed.
Tarika had been keeping it warm for her. Jezabel gave her a goodnight pet and fell
instantly asleep.
______________________________________________________
"Jezzy, Jezzy, Jezzy," Charles said, shaking his head as Jezabel hung up her coat. He was
sitting in her client seats, drumming her desk with a couple of pencils. "Oh, you better
watch out," he chanted like a rap tune, "you better watch out or Sharon the lady will
make sure you are OUT!" He wrapped it up with a complicated drum scheme that
included beating the metal edging of the chair next to him.
"Thanks, Charles, that's just lovely," she said, sitting down to her computer. "But I
hardly think they will fire me for being ten minutes late once a year."
"Well you just never know," he said, grinning. "Could be your lucky day. Me and you,
baby, in the unemployment line…."
She had to laugh. Charles was a trip.
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"Yeah, I heard you laugh," he said, proud of himself. "You ain't laughed enough lately
there, Jezzy girl. What's up with that?"
She paused. Maybe it has been more noticeable than she thought. "Things were getting
boring," she said lamely.
"And now they're not?" he asked.
She giggled and then covered her mouth embarrassed that it had slipped out. What was
wrong with her? Charles grinned, waiting. "Michael is moving in with me," she said
quickly, like she was afraid if she waited any longer, it either wouldn't be true or she
wouldn't say it.
"Uh oh!" Charles said, the smile slipping from his face. "Are you serious?"
"Yes, I'm serious!" she spouted. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Well, this is an awful big step, you know," he said. "Wouldn't catch me letting my girl
move in with me. Too much there, I think. You sure you want this?"
"Yes," she said, and then caught herself wondering. Stop it, she told herself. Charles is
just trying to freak you out is all. He's probably just jealous.
The truth was, she always did wonder if Charles was kind of jealous of Michael. Charles
liked to come in and chat with Jezabel quite a bit, and sometimes he would bring her
lunch and things to drink. At first, she thought he was just being friendly, but then one
day, Tonya started teasing her about Charles being Jezabel's other boyfriend and did
Michael know? Jezabel told her to shut up, that Charles was just friendly. "Uh huh,"
Tonya had said. "You keep talking, girl. Maybe you'll believe it."
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Jezabel wanted to believe it because it made it easier to have fun just talking to Charles.
When he chose to come in, of course. He was funny. He made her laugh. He wasn't the
most professional employee on the planet, but Jezabel didn't care about that. He
somehow made the day go by a little faster, and she appreciated that about him. It wasn't
romantic. It was friendly. She liked it.
Once, Michael came in and Charles was sitting in Jezabel's office. Charles stood up,
introduced himself, shook Michael's hand. Michael just grunted. Jezabel, embarrassed,
excused herself, leaving the two alone, which was probably the worst thing she could
have done. When she and Michael were outside, he let her have it.
"What'd you do that for?" he demanded. "Leaving me in there with that clown. Who the
hell is that guy anyway? Where's he from?"
"I guess he's from around here," Jezabel said. "I don't really know."
"Looking like he does, he ain't from around her," Michael said. "Don't ever do that
again. You want me hanging around your freaky foreign friends, you warn me first at
least."
"He's not foreign," Jezabel had said. "He's……" What had Charles said? His mother
was Jamaican and his father was Portuguese—that was it. Charles had an interesting
look about him. He was tall and thick but not heavy. His skin was the color of dark
Maple, and he had long eyelashes. He always seemed to wear the face of a wise-ass,
grinning high school kid, but he wasn‟t at all malicious. Sometimes there was the faintest
hint of a Jamaican accent in certain words he used, but other than that, Charles spoke
what Jezabel had heard termed “light street-wise.” And he was proud of his name. He
never let people call him “Charlie” or “Chuck.”
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“So you really gonna do it, huh?” Charles said, pulling her mind back to the office where
she would prefer not to be. “Uh, uh, uh,” he said, shaking his head. He held out his hand
to her. “Allow me to express my deepest condolences.”
“Shut up!” she said laughing, slapping his hand away. “It‟s going to be good. Besides,
it‟ll be so much cheaper than what we‟re doing now. Right now, we‟re both struggling,
so this will really help.” She wasn‟t sure why she felt she had to justify this to Charles or
why she was suddenly spilling her finances to him. Not a good move if he happened to
turn on her and repeat it to Sharon who would love this little juicy tidbit. But somehow,
she couldn‟t picture Charles turning on anyone.
Tonya walked in with a client for Jezabel. “I‟m sorry to interrupt your meeting,” she said
mocking seriousness, “but may I introduce your next client…”
Charles bowed elaborately and took leave. The Asian man Tonya had been escorting sat
down in the seat. He was holding his papers on his lap, looking straight at Jezabel.
“Thanks, Tonya,” Jezabel said. “How are you this morning, sir? Can I have your
application please?”
The man just looked at her. “Sorry?” he said in a thick accent.
“Your application?” she asked again. She pointed to his papers. “Your papers?”
“Ah, okay, here my papers,” he said in broken English.
Jezabel wondered how much English the man knew. He obviously knew enough to come
in here, but that didn‟t necessarily mean he understood everything from the intake, the
application, or the brochures. As she entered his information, she asked him, “So how
are you today?”
“Escuse me?” he said.
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She looked at him and said a little bit more slowly, “How are you?” She didn‟t want to
sound condescending. She hated that she didn‟t know how much he could actually
understand.
“Ah, good, good,” he said smiling. Thank god. She smiled back. He was cute in his own
little way, neat twill pants and a mulberry colored checkered shirt, button down, tie shoes,
looking kind of like a school boy but with more charm.
“You understand the information?” she asked slowly. He cocked his head. Uh oh, she
thought. “Um…you understand the papers?”
“Papers? You need more paper?”
“No, no,” she said, shaking her head. “Do you know what this says?” she asked, pointing
to the papers. He looked at her blankly. She tried again. “You read English?”
“Ah! Yes, yes, I read,” he said. “Talking not so good. Reading, better.” He smiled
proudly. She nodded and smiled again. Whew. At least he knew what he was signing,
to some extent.
“Okay,” she said, the typing done. “I be right back.” Stupid!! Why was it whenever
someone had a thick accent or dropped their verbs, after listening to them talk, she would
pick up on it and start talking like them? It was really embarrassing. What if he thought
she was making fun of him? She wasn‟t. How could she explain that?
Luckily, he hadn‟t seemed to notice. Instead, he was looking around her office, whistling
so quietly, she mostly knew it by the form of his mouth and not the sound coming out.
He looked content. She would have liked to be content like that, calmly making
decisions and then just letting them play out however they would. But that wasn‟t how
she was built. She would think things out. Yes, she would think them out again and
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again for a long time. She would plan and she would figure. And then she would make
the decision. But even though it was a conscious decision, she would always go back and
second guess herself. She got up to go to the printer.
She hated when she did that, second guessed herself. If anyone else went through a
similar decision making process, she would tell them, “Well, you did all your homework.
There was nothing else you could do to plan, so don‟t be so hard on yourself.” So why
did she expect something more from herself? It wasn‟t a logical part of her personality.
And Jezabel really did try to be logical.
Oh no. Speaking of illogical, Jezabel thought. There was Sharon. Sharon, in all her
gray-glory today. “Ladies and gentlemen, the color of today is gray,” Jezabel thought,
picturing a game show host speaking quietly into a microphone, giving the audience a
hint that the contestants weren‟t privy to. Jezabel took the plunge. After last night, she
was feeling brave: “Good morning, Sharon,” she said.
“Why good morning, Jezabel. And how are you today?”
“Just fine. Looks like another busy day.”
“Well it sure does,” Sharon simpered.
Jezabel saw Charles‟s head poke abruptly through his office door. He looked
incredulously at Jezabel and mouthed the words, “What the fuck??” Jezabel stifled a
laugh. Two surprises for Charles today. First Michael, and now Sharon. It was, indeed,
a fun kind of day.
Back in her office, her client was still softly whistling. “Okay, sir,” Jezabel said. The
man stood up and offered her his hand. “No, not, not yet,” she laughed, and motioned for
him to sit.
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“Ah, I sorry,” he apologized and sat down.
Here we go, she thought. “Okay. I must say this,” she said slowly. “This is a high
interest loan. You understand high interest?”
“Yes, yes, high interest,” he repeated.
“Okay, good. This is a high interest loan that you must pay back. How will you pay this
back?”
He tilted his head. Let‟s try again, Jezabel thought. “Do you work?” she asked.
“Yes, I work,” he said. “I work hard. I count.”
“You….count?” Jezabel asked.
“Yes, yes, I count and I give numbers to store. They sell things.”
“Oh!” said Jezabel. “You are an accountant?”
“No, I not accountant,” he said. “I just count. Manager. He accountant. I just count.”
He started to laugh, and for some reason, she found it hilarious and started laughing with
him. The more she laughed, the harder he laughed, and before she knew it, tears were
streaming down her eyes, and the man was slapping his knee. “Oh!” he said, gasping for
breath. “Funny….I not accountant. HE accountant. I just count!” and he would start to
laugh again.
Then, Charles did come in. “Am I missing something this morning? Jezzy, what is IN
your coffee, girl? I ain‟t never seen you like this!”
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She giggled trying to explain as the man took out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes.
“He said he counted and I thought that meant he was an accountant but really, what he
does is count and give the information to the store accountant,” she said, trying to avoid
going into a fit of laughter again.
“And that‟s funny…why?” Charles asked.
“Oh never mind,” she said, “I can‟t explain it.” She laughed a couple more times.
“Would you excuse us now or I will never get through the disclaimer!” she said. Charles
just shook his head and walked out. “Strange-o” he muttered. “Never can understand
some women.”
“Okay, now enough of that!” she pretended to scold the man.
He pretended to look apologetic. “I sorry,” he said. She smiled.
“So you work and you pay loan,” she said. “And since you count, you understand loan?”
Damnit. She did it again, talking like he talked. She went on quickly. “You pay interest.
If you don‟t pay, they make you pay. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand,” he said. “No problem me paying. I pay just fine.”
“Wonderful,” she said. “I need you to sign here and here,” she handed him the pen. He
found the signature lines and signed in small, neat handwriting.
“Your copies,” she said, handing them to him.
“Thank you,” he said. “I all done?”
“All done,” she said.
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“Wonderful!” he said. Was he imitating her now? “Thank you very much.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said, extending her hand. “You have a great day.”
“You have great day, too,” he said, and smiling once more, walked out.
Jezabel hummed as she entered his information into the computer. She couldn‟t
remember the last time she had fun with a client like that, and over what? Some stupid
joke that she couldn‟t even explain? Maybe she was just giddy. That had to be it. Giddy
and stupid.
In the next moment, she decided she had better revert back to her old self. Sharon was
knocking politely at her door (even though her door was always open). “Everything okay
in here?” she asked innocently.
“Yes, fine, why?” Jezabel asked. Damn. Shouldn‟t have asked a question. That gave
Sharon a reason to answer and talk to her longer.
“Oh I just thought I head a disruption is all,” she said smoothly, pronouncing each
syllable in that most annoying way of hers. “Thought maybe a client was giving you a
difficult time and we don‟t want that, now.”
“No, I‟m fine,” Jezabel said. She wanted to say, “I was laughing with a client. You ever
do that Sharon? Ever laugh with a client? Ever laugh at ALL?” But she bit her tongue
and just typed until Sharon understood that she was dismissed.
“Well if you ever need help or a client gets out of hand, you just let me know, now,
okay?”
“Sure, Sharon,” Jezabel said.
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Sharon was the last person Jezabel would call. Tonya would be her first selection,
Charles her second.
Sharon back in her own domain for the moment, Jezabel padded to the lobby to drop off
copies and get another cup of coffee. Tonya was directing a blond girl in a hospital
uniform through the application. “No, you need to fill in your current income here, even
if it‟s nothing,” Tonya said. “I know you work. But not everyone does, so just fill in
what you make here,” Tonya repeated, getting irritated. “No, not after taxes. „Gross‟
means BEFORE taxes. Here. Take the clipboard and have a seat.” The girl sat down
looking sad and confused.
Tonya got up abruptly and joined Jezabel at the coffee maker. “Damn,” she muttered so
the clients couldn‟t hear. “No wonder they‟re here for this shit-assed loan. Can‟t even
read the damned application? You think they have any idea what a rip this is? And this
chick works at a HOSPITAL? That is scary stuff, now, isn‟t it?”
“I don‟t think many of them do understand, no” Jezabel admitted. Jezabel was surprised
that Tonya said something like this, considering how good she was at her job and how
she obviously was rewarded for it by the owners. It was the first time she had heard
Tonya talk about the rip-off aspect of the business instead of just Sharon, and she wished
Tonya hadn‟t done that at that moment. Jezabel was in too good a mood to start
questioning the ethics of this business that kept food on her table, even if it was a table
from a thrift shop.
“Unbelievable,” Tonya muttered. “It‟s like I‟ve never seen before, all these clients,
lately. Anyway….she‟s going to Sharon. Maybe she‟ll understand her better. Cause she
sure as hell doesn‟t understand me!”
“Hopefully,” Jezabel said, and she returned to her own office with some relief and a cup
of coffee. Tonya, thought Jezabel. She sure is one tough cookie sometimes.
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Chapter 4
She hadn‟t been near the park in so long, she almost forgot what stop to get off on. The
bus braked abruptly at the corner, and she held onto the bar, jerking forward, barely
escaping bumping the back of the gray sweatshirt in front of her, a thick figure of a man
who smelled like suede even though he didn‟t seem to be wearing any.
She excused herself around suede-man and descended the black, bus stairs, the voice of
the driver mumbling, “Have a good day,” in that way tired bus drivers do—they say it,
but she wasn‟t sure they were aware they were saying it. It was a reflex, like hitting the
brakes when a car cut in front. “You too,” she said automatically. Did he even hear her?
The doors closed behind her, pulling at the back end of her coat with the rush of its
vacuum. She heard, rather than saw, the bus pull away from the curb.
It wasn‟t crowded on this corner. This city was funny. There were parts of it that never
seemed to have many people on the sidewalks, and then there were places where you
could barely find a space to call your own as you tried to make your way to the next
corner. This wasn‟t one of those places. This was a quiet section of the city with rows of
old Victorian houses turned into apartments or offices. It wasn‟t fashionable, it wasn‟t
popular, and it didn‟t even have a street sign. If someone asked Jezabel what street her
little park was on, she wouldn‟t be able to answer. It didn‟t matter. She got there on
automatic pilot.
The fence ran on her left as she made her way down the sidewalk. It was old-fashioned
looking, cast iron with spikes on the end of each piece, painted black, the kind of fence
you might see around a cemetery or a haunted house. She thought of horror movies in
which a hundred victims were impaled on such fences, and then she laughed to herself at
her morbid thought. There was nothing scary or gruesome here. The sun was bright, the
air was cold, and she couldn‟t wait to see the entrance, a sign on an arch made of the
same metal structure: Felonias Park. She didn‟t know who Felonias was, but whoever it
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was, he or she deserved thanks for keeping the little place separate from the rest of the
city.
She looked up as she passed under the arch. The walkway stretched in front of her, a
length of cement through a sitting area guarded by cast iron benched on either side. Once
past the benches, the walkway branched to the right and to the left, and it continued
straight as well. Jezabel had walked all the routes of the park in all seasons, but the last
time she was here, it was December and too cold to stay long.
The fountains on the main walkway had frozen up and were shut down for the winter, the
holiday lights were ready to shine at night, a few winter decorations hung about the place,
but since the park didn‟t receive that many winter visitors, not too much else had been
there. The cold of the severe winter had kept her out until now, and today, with the birth
of something new impending, she thought it would make for a great, late afternoon.
She took the right walkway, passing frozen puddles and bare trees. Some relentless
birds, daring the cold, hung about the branches, cawing at her as she passed. A squirrel
or two scuttled over still frozen grass, and she walked quickly. She wasn‟t cold yet—her
coat was long, her strides long, and her gloves thick. Her scarf pulled around her ears
kept her lobes protected from the bite of the March wind. She didn‟t mind the cold, so
long as she had winter clothes and stayed moving. It wasn‟t like trying to get to sleep in
a cold apartment. It was soothing to be here alone.
There wasn‟t much else to see in the park except for some short bushes, more benches,
and off to the side, a larger body of water she had always assumed was a pond. The
“pond” was really a recess that tended to fill with each rainstorm, and so sometimes it
nearly reached the edge of the sidewalk, but other times, it was completely dry. Now, it
held the remains of frozen rain, and the birds gathered in the sunniest spots to absorb
whatever the light had to offer, their feathers puffed up against the wind. Their stark
bodies and thin legs contrasted to the gray of the ice and freeze.
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A hundred more yards, and Jezabel reached what she fondly remembered as her “woods.”
A group of trees with thick undergrowth at least an acre wide ran to the right of this
section of the walkway. She and Michael had explored the woods before, she collecting
acorns and pinecones in order to make a holiday wreath at a later date. She had noticed
hoof prints or something in the dirt and wondered if any animals actually lived here, or if
something left over from the natural world was just passing through. For all she knew, it
was just a big dog or a police horse.
She did eventually make her wreath, buying the looped branches from the local grocery
store, adding the cones with twist-ties and hot-gluing the acorns to the pinecones and
needles. A white bow completed the thing, and she hung it on the hollow wooden door
of her apartment. She loved that wreath and wished it would have lasted longer.
Now, it was still winter as far as the woods were concerned, and a thin layer of crusted
snow remained on the floor, random pieces of grass poking through the white, sticks
breaking up the more frozen pieces into chunks of thick ice that reminded Jezabel of
pictures she had seen of Antarctica and icebergs. Part of a little fence ran alongside the
woods and Jezabel stopped a moment, peering into the dense trees, mostly leafless. It
was a different looking place in the winter.
She thought of the picture on her computer again and remembered that day. It had been
green out, and it felt so good to hold Michael‟s hand and roam with him, each walking in
sync. Michael had been telling her about his big plan to build his own house, a place
made to his exact specifications, a huge bathroom with Jacuzzi tub and separate shower,
the shower with ten showerheads set to high, massage-like pressure. He told Jezabel how
good she would look in his shower, and she had grinned, turning red, pleased that he
thought of her in his home, the home he was going to make. And it sounded like he had
wanted to make that home for them.
His moving in was not quite the image she had pictured that day, but it was a start. After
all, how would he be able to build his dream home without money, but what better way to
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save money than to have them move in together? She remembered their conversation
again last night and wished it had been longer. Was she imagining things, or was
Michael not so excited about this move as she was? Or maybe she was just so nervous
that she had to talk and talk and he had already made up his mind it was a good thing, so
he had little to say.
She didn‟t like to push Michael to talk when he didn‟t want to. It sometimes put him in a
bad mood. So she had hung up and decided to wait for him to express more of how he
was feeling. Besides, they both had the loan to think about. This weekend, she thought.
They would have time to discuss and plan more this weekend.
A rustle in the branches turned her full attention to the woods in front of her. Squirrels,
two of them, played chase from one tree to another, flying faster and faster, higher and
higher. Jezabel envied their balance and speed, and they looked like they were having
such fun. That‟s what she wanted to be in her next life—a squirrel in Felonias Park. The
place was loaded with food, would have plenty of places to roam, few enough visitors,
and ample squirrel friends to keep her company. She wondered if any horses had been
through recently.
She turned back to the path. Jezabel could see the arch of the park entranceway. She
pictured in her mind‟s eye the walk back to her lonely apartment, the strangers she would
pass, the cars. She remembered that her mother was far away. She had never known her
dad and she was an only child. It sometimes seemed that loneliness just kind of ran in
her blood. How long had she lived here and not really made any close friends? Well,
except Michael of course, but she didn‟t really count him because he was her boyfriend.
She didn‟t really count Michael‟s friends, either, or her work pals. That left her pretty
much….Michael.
She remembered the first time she saw him. He seemed so tall to her. He didn‟t feel that
tall any more, especially after seeing this weird…thing. Wasn‟t that strange, the way
someone could physically feel different once you got to know them? He had been in the
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Dunkin Donuts, apparently drinking coffee before starting a new job. She was getting
donuts for the office. He looked at her, and she had blushed because he had caught her
looking at him. He grinned in that arrogant way he had, and she had paid quickly and
rushed out.
The next day, she went back to the donut shop, this time for a coffee for herself. She‟d
had a lousy night‟s sleep, and she would need more than just In a Pinch’s caffeine to get
her through the morning. He was there again. This time, she made sure she didn‟t look
at him. She made it a point not to. She didn‟t know if he was looking at her, and she told
herself she didn‟t care, either. Who cares if some self-centered jerk knows I am looking
at him or not, she remembered thinking. She had the feeling he was looking, though,
probably trying to see if she was looking back at him.
The next day, she avoided the coffee shop, and the next as well. But then Tonya asked
her to get her some “good” coffee the next morning, so Jezabel felt like she had to go.
Michael was there and it was the same thing, but she let herself look for just a second to
see if he was looking. He was. She immediately looked at the floor. He came over and
started to put sugar in his coffee, stirring slowly, obviously staring at her now in that way
that made her wonder if she should run the other way or not. She didn‟t run. She looked
up. He was smiling at her, so she smiled back.
And that‟s how it started. He asked her if she came in a lot for coffee and she said yes,
that she worked close by. She had wanted to say, “But you know that because you have
seen me here before,” but she didn‟t have the guts to. So he asked her if she wanted to
come in a little earlier in the morning and coffee with him. She couldn‟t believe it. She
said yes. Those were the days when he would get up early and do things. He was
motivated then. He went out of his way to get to know her and get her coffee and donuts
even when she knew he didn‟t have a lot of money.
One of their first big dates was the walk in Felonias Park.
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She had never been to the park and thought it was a lovely little treasure near her house.
Funny she didn‟t know about it until after she met Michael, but he had lived in the city
longer than she had. Later that meaningful day, she showed Michael where she lived,
and he stayed late into the evening. They actually talked and drank coffee and Jezabel
made him a sandwich. The next day after work, he picked her up, and she went to his
place across town. Then on the weekend, he came to her house. Then by the next
weekend, he asked her to stay at his place. Then he started staying at her place.
That‟s how it worked. He began to enjoy staying at her place more often, he said because
it was so much neater than his. She noticed the more he stayed at her place, the messier
his place seemed when she went back there. She wondered if he just decided he didn‟t
need to clean up as much because he would be at her place, and he no longer had to keep
his apartment clean so as not to offend her. Men were weird when it came to things like
that.
Still, she didn‟t mind him coming to her apartment on weekends. They had some good
times, even if they just sat around watching television together. She wondered what
would happen to Michael‟s Tuesday night football parties, and she supposed they would
happen at her place now. That might make for some fun evenings. She was looking
forward to more of them, and she hoped they would start this coming weekend when he
arrived to stay over. And she really was excited to talk about their move.
The move. The loan. Oh my God, she thought. The account! The money! Hadn‟t
Michael needed the money in cash? What was she thinking? Here she was wandering
around the city looking at imaginary creatures (because the further she walked from the
park, the more she was convinced she had imagined it or just wasn‟t seeing correctly)
when he needed cash. He was not going to be happy.
She took a quick detour through another section of the block. The ATM. She withdrew
the money and looked at her watch. How had it gotten so late? In another few minutes,
it would be dark. She didn‟t want to be out here in the dark, and she didn‟t relish the idea
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of driving to his place in the dark if she could help it, but at this point, she didn‟t think
she could help it.
She wondered if she had gas in the car. The last month or so, she hadn‟t really driven it
because she had been using the bus for work, and Michael was staying at her place, and
they hadn‟t done anything really unusual. They mostly stayed in and watched television,
called out for pizza, fooled around, and what not. The car. That was something they
would have to address. Neither one of them had dependable transportation. Michael had
an old pickup truck that he kept barely legal by patching up holes in the exhaust, and her
car was not much better (though it was better looking, to be sure). Another detail to
discuss in this arrangement. She got to her car and sped to his place, the money sitting
like a stranger in the passenger seat.
________________________________________________________
From behind the other trees came another rustling sound, this one louder, like something
bigger about to come through. This was curious. She had never seen a person out this
way before. She wondered if there were any deer or other animals living in this park, but
after coming here at least the past three years, she didn‟t think so. She would have seen it
by now, for sure. Once in awhile, she would see a little rabbit, and certainly chipmunks
loved to live in the logs, but otherwise, she didn‟t think there would be…..
The rustle came again, this time closer. It stopped, as if the animal had frozen in its
place. She peered into the woods, beyond the squirrels, beyond a couple of fallen pines.
Further in, she could make out a large rock and a cluster of bushes surrounded by a tangle
of dried vine and fern that Jezabel thought must be lovely in warmer weather. She made
a promise to herself to actually walk through this wood once the weather got nicer. But
what was that she kept hearing?
Just beyond the rock, the tree limbs parted, like something starting to come through. But
it wasn‟t just the lower limbs. The limbs over the rock as well opened like leafy doors,
and then the middle of the trees by the rock did the same. She couldn‟t imagine even a
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deer would be that big. Maybe it was someone riding a tractor or something, a caretaker?
No, that was stupid. She didn‟t hear any machinery. And it was winter. It sounded like
something walking maybe…..
The outline of a brown, hoofed leg stepped into the light of the rock. It was a big hoof,
not like that of a deer at all, more like that of a big horse or something. Had someone‟s
horse escaped the reins and run off to the park? Maybe one of the police horses? While
she had seen the mounted police go through the city, she never did in the winter, and
never in this area. Maybe they had lost one. And then there was the possibility that…..
A second hoof stepped forward, and Jezabel followed the hoof up the leg as far as she
could. The brown fur ended at what looked to be the underbelly of a creature, the rest of
it still into trees and brush. When the rest of the animal did appear, Jezabel wondered
what she would do. In fact, she wondered if she should be standing here at all. What if
the thing was mad and decided to charge at her? Stupid, she thought. Who ever heard of
a mad horse? It was the cows that had gone mad, not the horses.
The thing took another step forward. The chest came through this time, and part of the
back, and part of the body closer to the rear quarter. Still, no head was showing, as if the
thing had its neck turned in the other direction, possibly feeding on something behind it.
The branches rustled a little more consistently now, like the thing was indeed moving its
neck to reach leaves or needles or whatever it ate. What did horses eat in the winter,
anyway, she wondered. It wasn‟t like there were carrots growing here in the park. She
didn‟t have any sugar in her pocket, though she did, for some reason, have a packet of
artificial sweetener from Dunkin Donuts.
Then, as far as it had come out, it retreated, back through the leaves. Jezabel cocked her
head like a dog in wondering.
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Chapter 5
Her mother had taken her to the park for a picnic. She spread a green blanket on the
grass, a cottony blanket with little holes through the stitching, not the kind you would
want to bring to the beach, but one perfect for a picnic. One item after another made its
way out of the cooler, Jezabel‟s mother passing her first the peanut butter sandwiches,
then the bottles of lemonade, then the individual bags of popcorn, then the apples.
Jezabel laid them neatly into two place settings, folded the napkins to the side of each
grouping, and place the drinks at the top, just like a real table. She put the green apples at
the top, together, like a granny-smith centerpiece, a little celebration of her time with her
mom. This was a rare treat.
Her mom sat cross legged next to her, opening the sandwich bags ceremoniously,
handing Jezabel‟s hers. “Don‟t drop crumbs on the blanket and don‟t let it leak,” she
instructed her daughter who was sure to keep a napkin wrapped around the bottom of the
bread. Grape jelly seeped through the crust and stained the napkin sticky purple. The
bread tasted fresh, the peanut butter not like the same stuff she got in her school lunches.
She guessed it probably was the same peanut butter, but it tasted different outside with
her next to Mom.
After lunch, Jezabel‟s mother laid back, eyes up at the clouds. Jezabel next to her, Mom
said, “What do you think those clouds look like, Jezabel?” Jezabel studied the white
puffs carefully in that thinking way she had even as a child.
“A rabbit. That one looks like a rabbit,” she said, pointing over her head. “And that
one,” she said moving her finger, “that one is a dragon.”
“I think it looks like a train,” her mother said. “See the engine? The smoke?”
“Yeah,” Jezabel said. “It must be a train.”
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She couldn‟t remember how long they stayed, but she remembered packing up and
leaving and wishing whatever that time period was, it had been longer.
_________________________________________________________
And then, it stepped through, one, two, three steps, and it looked right at her.
Jezabel rubbed her eyes.
She must have strained them being on the computer all day. What the hell was….?
It took another step forward.
It stared at her, no fear or apology in its large brown eyes.
The eyes seemed to look right through her. The nose was a kind of triangle with
huge….whiskers. And the ears. This was the part she really couldn‟t believe. They were
long and floppy, hanging right down to the middle of the beast‟s body, a thickly knotted
thing but tall, certainly not a horse, more like a moose. But the head…there was no
mistaking it. The head looked like that of a lop-eared bunny.
There‟s no way, she thought. I‟m overwrought. I‟ve been under a lot of pressure. This
is it. I‟ve finally reached my breaking point, and I‟ve cracked up. Well, I knew it was
coming. It was bound to happen with all the stress at work and Sharon and Michael and
Charles coming in every damned day and those clients! Oh my, those clients. It was…..
The thing stepped closer to her. Its face was a mottled brown, soft looking, the nose
twitching. It stomped it hoofs briefly on the frozen ground and tilted its head at her, its
loppy-ear hanging lower on the side it tilted towards.
She stared at it. The rambling in her head shut off, and she just looked. She looked the
thing in the eye, and it looked back at her, as if it knew something, knew something about
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her in particular. She found herself cocking her head in imitation of the thing, the two
creatures staring at each other from a similar stance, nothing really happening except that
Jezabel had the inarticulate feeling that everything was happening and it was happening
all at once and it was going to keep happening, that this was not a one-time vision of
strangeness that had suddenly come upon her in the woods in March. This
was…something.
Well of course it was something! She snapped at herself in her mind, words coming back
into her head, making more concrete thoughts come back to life. What WAS this thing?
It wasn‟t anything she had ever seen, and for all she knew, it wasn‟t anything the world
had ever seen. What was it? Combination rabbit and moose? A bunnymoose? Stupid,
she thought. Here, let‟s look that up on the internet, she thought. “Bunnymoose…..a rare
species of woodland animal found only in Felonias Park and visible only to women who
have officially slipped over the edge. The bunnymoose has been known to be rabid and
kill anyone it bites.”
Stupid! She said to herself again. Even if she had slipped into the other end of sanity,
this thing wasn‟t rabid. No drool. No foaming at the mouth. Everyone knew that
animals with rabies foamed at the mouth, and this thing had decidedly no foam.
Well, what are you? She found herself whispering. The thing turned its head back,
looking over its tail, and then looked back at Jezabel. The uncanny thing was the way it
would look her in the eye, not a like an animal at all. Most animals, as far as she knew
and her cat excluded, avoided looking humans in the eye, something about that being a
sign of aggression. This thing looked right at her. No, it was looking THROUGH her.
There was a difference.
And without warning, it abruptly turned, parted the branches once more, and walked
away.
Her mouth hung open.
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She rubbed her eyes again.
Wait, she wanted to call to it. She took a step into the woods, considering going out to
the rock. She wanted to look for prints to reassure herself that she had not imagined this
thing. But she was afraid. What if she got out there and there weren‟t any prints? What
then? Would that mean she really was nuts? Or would it mean she had some kind of
spiritual visitation. Oh yeah, she mocked herself. That must be it. Spiritual visitation
from a bunnymoose, half bunny, half moose. Oh, holy one, I have come a long way to
speak with you about this wonderful creature who chose to visit me in the wilderness.
What is it, you ask? It is the bunnymoose, of course. Yeah. That would go over well.
Silence. She was suddenly aware of being cold, and she huddled into her coat. She
looked at her watch, wondering how long she had been here. What? Over an hour? It
felt like she had just gotten off the bus. Weird.
She pushed herself to turn around and head back in the direction of the walkway. She
kept looking over her shoulder. Maybe it would come back. Maybe it would follow her.
She told herself to stop it. She didn‟t need any bunnymoose following her. What would
the neighbors think?
Not that she had ever thought about her neighbors before. In fact, the thought made her
think again. Did she even know any of her neighbors? She probably was one of the
tenants who had lived there longest. Her next door neighbors had changed at least three
times. The people across the hall from her were never home. On the other side of her
lived a young mother who seemed to take her kids out early in the morning and not return
until late evening, so Jezabel had only seen her once or twice to say hello. No, she didn‟t
really know her neighbors, so a bunnymoose might actually make it into the apartment
building unnoticed.
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But then there was this thing, this…apparition. Who could she tell him about this? What
could she possibly say? Maybe, in fact, she shouldn‟t say anything. Maybe she should
just pretend she had come home, made something to eat, cleaned the cat pan, checked
email….
By the time she came through the door, she had managed to put the creature out of her
mind. It was time to focus on the here and now, and the blinking on her answering
machine told her what that might be.
She dropped her coat on the couch, went to the phone and pressed, “play.”
“Hey! Where are ya? Give me a call.” Beep. Click.
___________________________________________________________
Yolanda prattled on from her chair. Jezabel typed, nodding once in awhile so as not to be
rude, but really tuning her out as best she could under the circumstances. Once in awhile,
Jezabel would interrupt Yolanda‟s ravings to ask a question. She wondered if she would
be able to get this woman to shut up long enough to recite the disclaimer to her.
“And let me tell you, when that happened, I said okay. That is the end, mister. No more
Mrs. Nice Guy.”
How could you have a Mrs. Nice Guy, Jezabel wondered.
“He had been in there for more than fifteen minutes, stinking up the place. I could smell
something but I couldn‟t tell just what. So here I am, waiting outside the door, arms
crossed, tapping my foot, and he finally comes out. He FINALLY comes out and do you
know what he smells like? Can you guess?” Yolanda paused. She stared at Jezabel.
“Well, can you?” she demanded.
Oh. Jezabel didn‟t know she was supposed to actually answer the question. “Um, I‟m
not sure,” she said. “What did he smell like?” Jezabel actually didn‟t want to know,
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considering Yolanda had been describing her ex-husband in the bathroom. Some things
fell into the category of just way too much information with these people, and this would
be one of those things.
“Weed! Pot! Mary Jane. You know? Can you believe it? That whole time he is in
there supposedly taking a crap, he‟s in there getting stoned. He comes out and his eye are
red….” Yolanda gestured to her own eyes, somewhat hidden by thin, wire glasses. Her
long, straight brown hair, no makeup, gray, fleece top and tattered wide-leg bottoms gave
her the look of a modern hippie, someone who might not have a problem with a little
weed. “Yup, that‟s right. High as a kite. Looking at me with this stupid grin on his face.
So let me tell you, I let him have it. „It‟s been three weeks since you‟ve worked and
you‟re in the john getting high? What the hell are you thinking?‟ I screamed at him. And
you know what he said? You know what he said?” Yolanda demanded again.
“What?” asked Jezabel, still typing.
“He said nothing! He just started laughing like an idiot. Laughing! Here we are, the
bills piling up and practically no food on the table, the car out of gas and this fool is
laughing. I got so mad, I mean, I was just SO mad. I couldn‟t help it. You know what I
did?”
“What?” asked Jezabel again, still typing and not even bothering to look up.
“I slapped him.”
“You what?” Jezabel looked up now and chuckled. Had she heard this right?
“Yup,” said Yolanda, dead serious expression on her face. “I slapped him right across
the face. And you know what he did? You want to know what he did?”
“What?” asked Jezabel, kind of curious now.
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“He laughed! That no-good bastard laughed. And I slapped him hard, too! I can‟t even
believe it.”
“Wow,” said Jezabel, returning to her keyboard. She had done it again, gotten suckered
into one of these conversations she didn‟t want to be involved in. This was more
excruciating detail than even Jezabel had heard lately. Jezabel knew better than to get too
wrapped up in it and wanted to slap herself whenever she did, and lately, she felt like she
did it a lot. Once a client had your ear, it could be dangerous. They would expect favors
from you, sympathy, special treatment, things Jezabel couldn‟t give any of them if she
wanted to keep her job. She treated each one the same, as much as she could, doing her
job accurately and she hoped professionally. Or at least as professionally as one could
BE in this line of work. This is what she told herself to keep the typing going. She knew
on some level she was kidding herself.
It‟s not that she was cold hearted. She was no simpering Sharon, reciting the disclaimer
like she was a partner in the business. She wanted to throw up when she listened to
Sharon say the disclaimer. “Now, we need to go over some of the finer points of the
contract,” Sharon would say. “First, let me tell you a little about our business.”
“Our” business. As if she, Sharon, had some stake in it other than a crappy desk, and
office, and a line of desperate clients waiting to beg, borrow or steal to meet their basic
needs. As if the business were something worth claiming. Then again, maybe Sharon
DID have some other stake in the business that Jezabel wasn‟t aware of. Maybe Sharon
really WAS sleeping with Bobby or John or both! Yuck, thought Jezabel. Anyone
sleeping with Sharon would have to be blind. Which Bobby and John certainly were
NOT, if their choices in women and cars were any indication.
It wasn‟t so much that Sharon was ugly. It was the expression on her face, that face that
never could smile sincerely, so much so that the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth
made her look much more than her forty-something years. She kept her hair short and
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the gray hair dyed. Her fingernails were always short and rounded, like she went home
and filed them daily. Between all that and her clothes which seemed to be more like
uniforms, it was the absolute sameness about Sharon that made her despicable to Jezabel,
that same sameness of this place, of this job, of the clients‟ lives, those clients who
needed people like Sharon. And all of a sudden, Jezabel understood something more
about herself.
She was afraid of some day becoming Sharon. She was afraid of doing the same thing,
day in and day out, over and over, that in another eighteen or twenty years, after almost
two decades of clients and disclaimers, she, Jezabel, would start wearing the same thing
every day, doing more of the same thing every day, and going home to nothing but a
closet full of navy and gray suits. Nothing to look forward to but another day in the wide,
wonderful world of predatory finance. Nothing.
Jezabel found herself staring at Yolanda. “And so, we‟ve been together now for more
than six months and let me tell you that man is HOT. I mean, he is the real thing and I
am just nuts about him and I know he works but let me tell you…no man is ever moving
in with me again. Never! I will not take that chance, and I will not take that
responsibility. It is just not worth it. No one needs that. No one. I mean, if I wanted to
have to take care of someone, I would have a baby, right? Do you see me having a baby?
Of course not.
“That‟s because I don‟t want a baby. And I certainly do not want a man who cannot take
care of himself to be my baby. You see these women all the time, smart women, taking
these ridiculous excuses for men in, taking care of them, taking care of their finances and
their personal problems and their laundry, picking up their underwear, throwing out their
trash. I mean, where do these men come from? Where? Don‟t their mothers know what
a disservice they do when they don‟t teach their sons to care for themselves? But then
that‟s what their mothers do. Their mothers took care of them and their fathers, so these
guys are used to having a woman servant around. That‟s all I was to my ex was a
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servant. I‟ll be damned if I‟m going to be anyone‟s servant again. You know what I
mean?”
Jezabel looked through her.
“Are you listening?” demanded Yolanda.
“Uh, yes,” she said, focusing back on Yolanda‟s face and not at the wall behind Yolanda.
“Sorry, I was thinking about something you reminded me of. We have to….I mean, we
need to…I have to get the printouts for you to sign.” Abruptly, Jezabel pushed her chair
back and headed out to the lobby.
“Hey Jezzy! What up, girl?” called Charles.
Jezabel couldn‟t answer. Her mind was spinning but empty at the same time. What had
she been thinking? Sharon? What was Yolanda talking about?
She flashed back to the conversation with Michael on the phone. She had been
apologizing. She had totally forgotten about the money and making it home on time.
She thought briefly of telling him her walk in the park, but then thought better of it. He
was already mad, and a story like that would just make it sound like she had lost her time
and her mind. She told him she would be right over with the money.
It was getting late, it was dark, and she had no gas, so she had to stop for gas first. On
her way over, she took a detour and drove by the park. She peered through her window,
through the dark, squinting beyond the arched entrance of Felonias Park. What had she
been expecting to see there? The reincarnation of a beautiful day?
Michael lived in a tan, run down Victorian that had been turned into apartments. It could
have been a nice place, but the landlord had lost all interest in it years ago. Now the six
apartments there housed by single men. Three of the men, Jezabel was sure, were drug
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dealers. One was a friendly guy Jezabel was sure was gay, but she almost never saw him
lately. The other was an elderly man who had lived there for ten years, supplementing
his rent payment with state benefits. Jezabel sometimes wondered if the old man had
family in the area, if anyone ever checked on him, if anyone would even know if he died.
She asked Michael this once. He shrugged and said it wasn‟t any of his business.
She had knocked at the door, and she could hear him unlatching it. The latch had that
clunky sound that deadbolts and chain-locks have against thick, brittle, old doors. It was
a strangely familiar sound to her. Michael opened the door. He wasn‟t smiling. She
wondered if they were in for a fight.
“You got the money?” he had asked her.
“Um, yeah. Hello to you, too,” she said, somewhat irritated.
He got the message. “Oh, hi,” he kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks for coming over with
this.”
“No problem,” she said. She had wondered why she lied like this, but she kind of felt
like he had acknowledged her irritation and made up for it with the kiss, so she didn‟t
want to make it any worse. No sense inciting a fight if there was reason to avoid it.
“You want something to drink?” he asked. She nodded. In fact, she hadn‟t had dinner or
anything. She sat on his metal kitchen chair. The table looked like something from a
1950‟s diner, beat up vinyl on the top, silver metal surrounding it. The vinyl was orange.
So were the chairs in her office and in the lobby at work, she thought. What the heck was
it with orange, anyway? Popular color for poverty or what?
“So I‟ll be at your place tomorrow night,” he had said, pouring some soda into a smudged
glass. She nodded. “You‟re quiet,” he said.
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“Tired,” she said.
“You want to crash here tonight?” he asked. “Just for old time‟s sake?”
She had been impressed. He almost never asked her that anymore. Maybe he thought it
would relax her about the move. She didn‟t know. She just knew she was tired. “I‟d
have to leave early enough to go home to get clothes,” she said. “I don‟t have any in my
car.”
“I think you left a few things in the laundry basket,” he said. “Want me to look?”
“Sure,” she said, taking off her coat and hanging it over the silver chair back. She took a
sip of the soda and waited for him to come back.
“It‟s wrinkled, but you can throw it in the laundry and it‟ll be good,” he said. “Or you
could just put it between the mattresses and press it and it‟ll be fine,” he added.
She smiled. “Ah, I think I‟ll take it down to the laundry.” She was quite sure it was not a
clean outfit, though she was also quite sure he would have worn it if he were her.
“Cool. Let me give you some more stuff to throw in with yours. No sense wasting the
load,” he said.
The laundry room in Michael‟s house was a scary place. While hers was right down the
well-lit, albeit worn hallway, his was in the dirt basement of the house. To get there, she
had to pass the other apartments, go down the narrow, creaky wooden steps, pull the
string on the light bulb, and walk further down into the dank, cold air that surrounded a
reconditioned washer and dryer set from the early 1980‟s. The set was avocado colored,
and the light was so dim in the basement, if you didn‟t know where to look to find the
appliances, you might walk right past them. The good part was that, unlike her own
laundry room, this one was always empty. She doubted any of the tenants even used it.
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She sometimes wondered if Michael even used it on his own. Whenever she was over, he
always had laundry to do, and he inevitably brought some to her place on weekends.
Remembering laundry and the conversation and the loan brought Jezabel back to the
present and the lobby and the copier. Yolanda. Better make her copies and get her
signed and out the door. Enough of this lady‟s chatter.
“Okay, here we go,” Jezabel said, re-entering her office. “I have your copies and my
copies to sign.”
“Good! Great! This will really help. I can get rid of all those old utility bills stupid-face
ran up and just pay this off and be done with it,” Yolanda began. Jezabel wondered why
Yolanda hadn‟t tried the budget plan from the electric company, but maybe her credit
wasn‟t god enough. She herself had tried it and didn‟t think it ended up helping her any.
It just made her more broke throughout the year, so she suffered the winters the best she
could.
Maybe it wouldn‟t be like that some day. Maybe with she and Michael living together,
things really WOULD improve, and in a year, they could even think about getting a
better place. Back to the present, she reminded herself. Dang her mind. It always
seemed to want to wander.
“Now there are some things I need to tell you,” Jezabel interrupted both Yolanda and her
own mind. Would this lady even shut up enough for her to get the words out? “I have to
remind you that In A Pinch is not…”
“You know how high he used to keep the heat? Can you imagine? In a tiny place like
ours and even with an electric blanket, he wanted the heat on 80 all the time. Can you
believe it?? Eighty degrees. So he could walk around in shorts! Of all the…”
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“I‟m sorry, but I really need to get through this part of the contract,” Jezabel said. “I
know how it can be, but we need to focus.” God, Jezabel thought. I sound like a
freaking school teacher. “Now, I have to remind you that In A Pinch is not a bank. You
are taking out a high interest loan…”
“Well it can‟t be any worse than his damn credit cards!” Yolanda interjected.
Jezabel continued, wondering how his credit card rates could possibly be THAT high,
and if she had been on them as well “….to be repaid over a six-month period. You will
be responsible for the principal of the loan, monthly interest accrued at 27% and the
initiation fee of $75.00.”
“He had a loan at 30%. Can you believe it? I mean, who would take out a loan like that?
If I was with him when they offered him that loan, I would have…” Then why was she
paying it off for him, Jezabel wondered. Never mind. None of her business. Women did
stupid things when it came to men.
“Ma‟am, please! Let‟s get through this!” Jezabel said more loudly this time. “If you
miss one or more payments, we reserve the right to aggressively collect from you and/or
the cosigners designated on your application form,” she finished quickly.” Whew! “Do
you have any questions?”
“Where do I sign?” Yolanda asked.
“Right here,” Jezabel said, and breathed a sigh of relief. For the first time since she had
entered the door, Yolanda was silent and so was Jezabel‟s mind.
____________________________________________________
This wasn‟t the first time he had said it. She looked at him through sleepy eyes. He was
next to her, naked, as she was. The half smile that said he was satisfied for the moment
played on his face, around his mustache, through his beard. She touched his beard,
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feeling the skin beneath the coarse hair, started scratching him. Though she didn‟t like
the beard covering his face, she liked the way it felt under her fingers, piercing the thin
skin beneath her nails.
“Don‟t do that,” he said, snapping her hand with his, holding her still. “Don‟t treat me
like the damn cat.”
“Let go,” she laughed softly. “I know you aren‟t a cat.”
“You need to get rid of that cat,” he said. “Cats are just creepy, and that cat of yours is a
real bitch.”
“Michael!” she protested. “Tarika isn‟t just a cat to me. We‟ve been through a lot
together.”
“So have we,” said Michael, flipping over onto his stomach and turning his face from
hers. “Don‟t I mean as much to you as that cat?”
“Well Tarika doesn‟t ask me to get rid of YOU!” Jezabel teased, trying to coax him back
into his peaceful mood.
“She might as well, the bitch,” he said. “You see how she hates me.”
“That‟s because you don‟t like her!” Jezabel protested. “Come on, Michael, she‟s a cat
for goodness sakes. She can‟t be in…in competition with you!”
“Sure she can,” Michael said, but it was hard to tell if he was kidding. He muffled his
face into the mattress. “Besides, you can‟t have a cat if you are going to have a baby.”
Jezabel paused. “But, I‟m not having a baby,” she said.
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“Well, not right now you aren‟t,” he agreed. “But you will some day and when you get
pregnant, you won‟t be able to have a cat around. You know how that goes. No cleaning
cat litter. It‟s the cat shit that‟s dangerous.”
“Well, you could always clean the litter pan,” she suggested.
“Ha! Yeah, right. I don‟t think so.”
“Do you hate all cats?” she asked him.
“Hate animals in general,” he responded. “Animals aren‟t supposed to be in your house.
They belong in the freezer or in your belly. That‟s what they were put here for.”
Jezabel suddenly remembered the picture she had seen of her father, a picture in which he
wore hunting clothes and was holding a dead duck “My father used to hunt,” she said
quietly.
“Yeah? Sounds like a good guy. You ever find out anything about him?”
“No,” Jezabel said sadly. “I tried to look up his name once, but there were too many. I
asked my mom for his social security number so I could buy one of those searches, you
know, the ones they advertise where they can find anyone?”
“Yeah, I know those,” he said. “What did she say?”
Jezabel paused again. Michael didn‟t often ask about her family or her past or anything
that had taken place before their meeting. It was like that part of her life didn‟t exist for
him. She rolled over on to her stomach and pressed her chin into the backs of her hands
resting on the pillow, remembering what her mother had said to her. “She told me to stop
chasing ghosts,” she said.
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“What the hell does that mean?” he asked.
She sighed. “I don‟t know. You know my mom,” she said.
He grunted.
As a matter of fact, Michael didn‟t know her mom at all. He had met her once, and she
had been so silent that he really never got more than an answer to “How are you?” from
her. “Yeah, well, if she likes me as much as she liked your dad, then I guess you can
understand some things about her,” Michael said. “You know what? Forget about them,
both of them. Fuck „em and their stupidity. You don‟t need them anyways.”
“Sometimes, though, I wish….”
“You don‟t need „em,” he said, rolling over to face her. He kissed her cheek. “You got
me. And you definitely don‟t need some stupid cat.”
She wanted to laugh and tell him to stop joking, but she knew he wasn‟t joking. So she
put her head on the pillow and closed her eyes, wishing herself to sleep.
_____________________________________________________
“So what? You mad at me or something?” Charles said, hanging on her door frame.
“Huh?” asked Jezabel, looking up.
“I try talking to you and you just walk off like old Charles is invisible or something,” he
complained.
“Oh! Oh, I‟m sorry, Charles,” I guess I am just distracted is all.
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“Oh I see, yeah, I understand. Lots on your mind now that you and the old man decided
to shack up, huh?”
She nodded. Then she said, “I mean, no. No, it‟s not that.” What was wrong with her?
Talking to Charles about anything other than Sharon was a no-no. The last thing she
needed was him to know any more about her than he already did, and…. She caught
herself. Her inner monologue was starting to sound like Yolanda. What the hell?
“Don‟t worry, I won‟t tell anyone,” Charles said.
“Charles,” sighed Jezabel, “there‟s nothing to tell. Okay? I had a really chatty client in
here. And I mean REALLY chatty. I couldn‟t hear myself think. And you know how
little thinking you need to do on this job.”
Charles smiled. “Yeah, I know. So how about you give yourself a break and come out to
lunch with me?”
Jezabel paused. She and Charles had gone to lunch before. It wasn‟t a big deal. And she
was really needing to get out of the office. She had her doubts about him and his
intentions, but she figured since they had lunched before and she was so permanently and
obviously attached at this point, it really didn‟t make any difference. And she could use a
change of scenery after Yolanda. That lady really had given her a headache.
“Sure. Let‟s go,” she said.
“Okay,” said Charles, grinning. “Okay. Now there‟s my old Jezzy. Let me get my coat.
Still damn cold out there.”
Jezabel put on her coat and walked out to the lobby. Tonya was at her desk, reliable as
ever. How could Sharon even insinuate Tonya was anything buy reliable? The woman
was always there on time dealing with the brunt of the clients, holding them at bay when
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they were short staffed, keeping them occupied when they went out to lunch, hardly ever
going out to lunch herself….and rarely was ever snide. What more could Sharon expect?
It occurred to her that Sharon might be jealous of the respect Bobby and John gave
Tonya. But then, Sharon treated most people like lint between her toes anyway, so it was
hard to tell. “Tonya, Charles and I are getting out of here for lunch,” she said. “What
can we get you?”
“Uh Oh!” Tonya said. “You and Charles. Michael know about this?” Tonya teased. A
teasing from Tonya was not like a teasing from Sharon, though. Tonya‟s teasing might
be more than a tease, but she was never sarcastic or condescending. Sharon‟s teasing
always had a nasty, double message to it.
“Yeah, you know how we are, slackers of the place,” Charles piped in. “Never do
anything round here except yap and lunch, yap and lunch. Just like you, Tonya, my girl.
Ain‟t never see you do anything round here either. Better watch out or you will get
reported by the,” he gestured ironically towards Sharon‟s office, “the REALLY big boss
here.”
“Just you rest your neck,” Tonya said. “And get me a steak and cheese over that Subway
over there. I‟m so hungry, I‟m ready to start munching staples,” she said.
“Not a problem. We‟ll hook you up,” Charles said.
Sitting in the Subway waiting for their sandwiches, Charles and Jezabel both looked
around at the customers. “Is it me,” Charles said in a tine lower than his stage whisper,
“or is this crowd starting to look a little more mangy?”
“Oh no, it‟s looking mangy,” Jezabel agreed. It was true. The poverty of the place
seemed to be spreading, and Jezabel wasn‟t sure if it was coming from their office and
spilling into the streets of the city or the other way around. For sure, though, there were
some poor looking folks in here today.
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One man slouched in the back booth, apparently nursing a drink, nothing else at his table.
His beat-up backpack laid in the aisle next to him, his tattered army jacket, stained with
fatigues, coffee, and god knew what else, crumpled behind his back. The man wore
sunglasses even though the sun was not bright and they were inside. He weathered hands
linked loosely around his cup, and Jezabel thought he might be sleeping. It was, after all,
a heck of a lot warmer in here than it was outside, and if the man hadn‟t slept in a bed in
awhile, a booth in a sub shop would be a luxury.
Guys like that couldn‟t even get a loan at In a Pinch, Jezabel thought. You had to have
some kind of income or situation to show you could pay the loan, even if were just a
good, believable lie. And you had to have an address. They didn‟t give loans to
obviously homeless people. Even Bobby and John couldn‟t legally justify that. It
occurred to her, though, that some of her clients who defaulted could easily become
homeless as a result or might be lying about their address. Some of them gave just a P.O.
box number, and it was pretty cheap to maintain those. She threw the thought out of her
mind. This was not time to add weight to her already heavy brain.
“Jezabel, you with me?” Charles asked, snapping his fingers.
“Yeah, I‟m here,” she said. She looked at him. “Charles, you ever think about our
business?” she asked.
“Oh yeah, I think all the time that next time those clowns Bobby and John come in, I‟m
going to give them some of my own business and tell them what they can do with their
crappy-assed offices and that witch they call an employee….”
“No, no, that‟s not what I mean,” Jezabel said.
The girl behind the counter called their number. Their subs were ready. They both got
up to collect their food and get a drink at the soda fountain. Back at the table, Jezabel
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decided to drop the subject. This obviously was one more thing not to talk to Charles
about.
“So what are you thinking?” he asked when he got back. He squeaked a straw through the
plastic hole in the drink cup cover.
“Huh?”
“About the business,” he said. “You know. What have you thought about it?”
“Oh,” she said, rather surprised he remembered her train of thought. “Well I just wonder
about the people that come in. How they can pay the loan. What it does to them
financially. If it‟s the right thing to do, giving these people loans like this.”
“What made you think about that?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Don‟t know. Guess I have to think about something while I‟m entering
the same information every day, saying the same things every day. Besides, some of
those people make you think, don‟t they?” she asked.
“Only if you listen to them,” he laughed. “See that‟s the difference between me and you.
You‟re too quiet. That gives them the chance to talk. Me, I do all the talking. Hell, I
never shut up,” he laughed, stomping his foot in appreciation of his own character. She
smiled. “You need to do more of that. Just sit there and talk and talk. Don‟t let them say
anything.”
“But how do you get the information you need then? I mean, we have to ask them
questions,” she said.
“Oh that?” he laughed again, taking a quick bite of his sub and chewing. “They give me
the answer, then I butt back in and start talking again. Never let them say more than just
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the answer, is all. It‟s that simple.” He chewed some more, taking a sip of his drink. His
long lashes looked longer when he closed his eyes to look down on his drink. Jezabel
wondered, in passing, what he looked like when he was sleeping. Probably like and
angel, she thought. How ironic!
“But what do you talk about?” she said. “I wouldn‟t even know what to say, and to be
honest, I don‟t know if I could type and talk at the same time like that.”
“You ever listen to what I say?” he asked.
“Um, not really,” she admitted.
He laughed. “Well, you ain‟t missing much. The biggest bunch of horseshit is what I say
all day long. Whatever comes to mind comes spilling out this here mouth, and half the
time it doesn‟t even make sense to me,” he laughed again. “Sometimes I listen to myself
and I say, „Charles, you really are spouting off a lot of nonsense today‟ and then I answer
myself, „That‟s right. Gotta keep on talking because if I don‟t, he will and I don‟t want to
hear anything he might say.‟ I go all day like this, babbling to the clients then asking
myself what the hell I‟m saying and you know what I come up with?” he asked.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing. Just a whole lot of absolutely nothing.”
She laughed. That was Charles, all right. Simple, basic, funny, never giving enough
thought to something to let it bother him. She wished she could be more like that, stop
mulling things over. And now here she was mulling things over about how she mulled
things over! How stupid was that? She took a bite of her sandwich again and looked at
the man in the back booth.
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He was slumped back in the seat a little more now, his mouth open and slack, obviously
asleep. Or dead. She paused. What if he WAS dead? Would anyone know? She looked
at the girl behind the counter. Would the girl come over eventually and tell him he had to
leave, only to find the guy was dead? She pictured the girl, screaming and running for
the phone. But realistically, the worst part was that the girl probably wouldn‟t even go
over there to throw the guy out. She probably didn‟t even notice him there back in the
booth and wouldn‟t EVER notice. Her shift would end, someone else would come in,
and that someone else would glance at the man and just leave him alone. They wouldn‟t
know if something happened until the place was ready to close. Then someone would
have to say, “Sir, we‟re closing now. Sir,” shaking him by the shoulder. When he didn‟t
move, then they would know, and not until then.
Scary. Jezabel had the urge to go over and shake his shoulder now, to see if he was okay.
But that was stupid. He was most likely just sleeping and would be pissed if she woke
him up. Probably punch her in the face, she thought. Better leave him be.
She glanced to her right. Two young mothers sat in a booth with pre-school boys. The
boys were dressed in new, bright clothes, reds and electric blues. The mothers were
dressed in beat up jeans and dingy coats. One of the mothers had long, black, wavy hair
that looked like it hadn‟t been combed in days. The tangles made a nest at the base of her
neck. Jezabel wondered if it would be better for her to just cut it off and start over than to
try to manage that knot. The other mother had long, straight, blond hair, about the color
of Jezabel‟s. But this lady‟s hair looked greasy, and the lady had bags under her eye,
prominent more because of her pale skin. At least the kids look good, Jezabel thought.
The moms looked in rough shape.
“So you gonna try it my way, or what?” Charles asked.
Jezabel turned her attention back to him. “Yeah, I‟ll give it a try. I‟m sure I won‟t be as
successful as a professional motor mouth like you, but I can learn,” she said, smiling.
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“Good. When I‟m free, I‟ll come in and coach you,” he said.
“Um….no!” she said, horrified. That‟s all she needed. Charles hanging around, listening
to her stumble through a litany of nothing and then the disclaimer. Sharon coming in and
clearing her throat like some crotchety librarian. Talk about a recipe for a bad afternoon!
Tonya was grateful for the sub when they returned. Jezabel asked her if she wanted her
to cover the front desk, but she said Sharon had already volunteered, and she didn‟t want
to disappoint poor Sharon. Tonya grinned. “And don‟t worry. I‟ll be sure to clean off
my desk first,” she said. Jezabel laughed. Everyone knew what Sharon was all about.
She would not hesitate to go through Tonya‟s or anyone else‟s stuff.
The afternoon couldn‟t go quickly enough for her. She wanted the weekend to come.
She wanted Michael to come over and to watch television with him and snuggle and talk
about their plans and…..
The phone rang. “This is Jezabel,” she said.
“Hey! Listen, I‟m going to be later tonight than I thought. Got some things to wrap up
before I come over and then go to that job next week.”
“Oh,” she said. “Okay, well what time do you think?”
“Not sure, but it‟ll be tonight,” he said.
“Okay. I‟ll keep a plate for you in the fridge.”
“Okay. See you later,” he said and hung up. She frowned. She had been looking
forward to this and now he was going to be late again. But then, last night had been nice.
After the dishes, they had gone to bed and he crawled in beside her, naked. He peeled
her clothes off in that way that always gave her chills, and they had both slept soundly
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after. It was only during the day, after listening to Yolanda and all her nonsense…..
Besides, this would give her more time to get home, relax, cook something nice, pet the
cat.
She had an idea. She would get off the earlier stop and go to the park again. That would
be a nice treat. Felonias Park on a Friday afternoon. It was still cold, but if she bundled
up…. And maybe she would see it again. She scolded herself. Jezabel, that thing was
not real. It was a figment of your weird imagination so just stop it now. Knock it off.
Enjoy the park and go home and cook for your honey.
She decided she would do just that.
Chapter 6
The man standing by the cast iron arch had his head down, back to the wind. His
backpack seemed to take the brunt of the cold, and his hands were stuffed deep in his
pockets. He glanced up as Jezabel approached. She stared at him. It was him. The man
from the sub shop. He wasn‟t dead. Whew.
He looked back down and started walking away from the arch, away from Jezabel,
heading up the street. Had he recognized her too? It was impossible to know, given the
sunglasses, which he still wore. She didn‟t want him to recognize her. She was well
aware of safety measures, of not walking the same routes at the same times, avoiding
stalkers, etc. It was difficult in some ways because anyone that came into In a Pinch
would know where she worked. And it would be easy to track her to the bus, since she
didn‟t drive to work. But otherwise…. She had to stop. She was getting paranoid.
She passed under the arch and looked up at the lettering, wondering again about this
person Felonias. What kind of people had parks named after them? What kind of people
had such odd parks named after them? Maybe someone who had lived in the
neighborhood long ago? Someone who once had a good track of land to donate? Jezabel
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knew some parks had little signs that described the park‟s history, but not this one. This
was still some unpopular little place. The only times she had seen it be anywhere near
busy were on sunny, warm, summer days. Then she would see college students walking
hand in hand, but not many. This wasn‟t the main park in the city by any means, and it
wasn‟t even the most interesting. That was one reason Jezabel liked the place so much.
And of course, she liked it because it reminded her of Michael and the picture of them
together. And now, she had another reason to like it. Or at least another reason to think
about it.
Once again, she told herself to stop it. If she was here just to see that creature, whatever it
was, she would be sadly disappointed. And she didn‟t want to waste her visit here with
any amount of disappointment and certainly not with hallucinations. The other day, she
had loved the place simply because of the layout, the feel and the memory. She wanted
the same thing now. She didn‟t want the anticipation of wondering and the excitement
of…whatever. Maybe she shouldn‟t even take that route, she thought. Maybe instead of
going right, she should take the walkway on the left instead, see if there were any
sections of that walk she had left unexplored. Then she wouldn‟t be able to walk past the
woods and look and wonder.
Oh, who was she kidding? Even as she thought this, her feet carried her faster in the
direction of the woods. She told herself it was because it was colder this time, that she
had to walk fast to keep warm. Her scarf had slipped down from her ears, and her
earrings felt like they had frozen to her lobes. At this rate, she wouldn‟t even make it to
the woods. She would just turn right around. And even if she didn‟t turn around, she
would hardly have the heat in her body to make herself stand there and stare into the
woods.
But of course, that‟s what she was doing right now. Staring into the woods. Looking at
the rock all the way back, searching for furry legs, hooves, something, anything that
resembled the creature she so vividly remembered. She thought of the whiskers, the way
the breath of the thing left a soft blanket of moistness against its nose and the whisker
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tips. It had looked warm enough, and the fur on the back, longer and shaggier, looked
soft. She would love to touch it.
She stood for awhile. Her feet started to numb, and she stomped them on the walkway.
She imagined the beast, whatever it was, the bunnymoose, doing the same thing,
stomping in the cold, leaving impressions in the dirt. If she saw the impressions, hadn‟t
she proven to herself that the thing was real? Maybe she would walk into the woods and
up to the rock again, look. Maybe at least the prints were there.
She didn‟t want to be premature about this. After all, how long had it taken for the
bunnymoose to appear before? Ten minutes? Fifteen? She really couldn‟t remember.
Time just seemed to slip away somehow, but now, it dragged. This was exactly what she
had wanted to avoid, the waiting and feeling disappointed. She wondered why she even
felt disappointed. Shouldn‟t she feel relieved, instead, because the thing really was just
an illusion? Did she actually want to see some kind of odd creature that didn‟t exist or
that she would at least have a hard time proving existed?
But then, she didn‟t HAVE to tell anyone, so she guessed she didn‟t have a problem. The
bunnymoose was her secret. She liked that, having a creature as a secret, even if it were
odd, possibly not even real.
It occurred to her she was far to old to be having this kind of fantasy. This is what crazy
people do, she thought. This is how it starts. You think about something so much that
you start to see it, and before you know it, the thing becomes real to you. You can‟t
separate reality from fantasy. Isn‟t that what insanity is? Am I going insane?
She glanced at her watch. She had been standing there for twenty minutes. It would be
colder soon, and darker, and the last thing she needed to do was to walk home in the dark.
Besides, she had to cook for Michael and get cleaned up even if he WAS coming in late.
She felt messy somehow, disheveled. Probably been looking at too many run-down
people today, she thought.
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She had to at least walk as far as the rock. So she did, one tentative step after another, the
still frozen layer of snow crunching under her feet. A twig snapped and she jumped. She
thought she heard a rustle only to discover it was a tiny bird walking, not flying, through
the low branches of some nearby bushed. Damn, she thought. Even if it was here, it
wouldn‟t necessarily come out with her there. Maybe it was really private, she thought.
Yeah, she laughed at herself. So private, no one but her had ever seen it. Wacko.
The stone came upon her soon enough, and she looked down at its base. Nothing. Of
course not, she thought. And that‟s because you imagined the whole thing. Now go
home and get your brain and your kitchen together. She turned resolutely.
Something snapped behind her. She whirled around.
Squirrel. No bunny. No moose. Just a squirrel juxtaposed with a weird young lady, a
young lady with an over-active imagination.
She sighed and made her way back to the walk.
She walked slowly, lowering her head against the wind, plodding along, her mind
actually empty. She passed the walkway, the bench, the arch, scuffing her feet in her old
pumps, making her way down the neighborhood street, barely noticing the Victorians she
usually looked at along the way. In the past, she would have looked at those houses,
imagined buying one and cleaning it up, painting it and bringing it back its youth. But
not now.
She threw her keys onto the table, her coat on the chair, and flopped on her itchy couch.
Tarika greeted her, rubbing against her leg and then unapologetically jumping into her
lap. Jezabel absently stroked the cat‟s head, feeling the purr erupting from her throat and
belly, reverberating through her whole body and ending in the tail. Purring was such a
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strange behavior, Jezabel thought. Still, it would be great to be able to purr, if one had
the need or desire.
She had no idea what time it was, but she realized she had fallen asleep and Michael
hadn‟t called and hadn‟t come by yet. In a way, she was thoroughly relieved. She hadn‟t
done a thing, hadn‟t cooked, hadn‟t cleaned up or changed the sheets. Not that he would
notice the sheet change, but Jezabel felt it was necessary to do those things before he
came over. She didn‟t want him to think she was a slob, and even though he didn‟t
bother cleaning his place before she came over (she wondered when was the last time he
changed his own sheets) that didn‟t stop her from her rituals.
Throwing open the cabinet, she pulled out a sauce pan and a frying pan. Boiled rice,
browned chicken, and veggies, she thought. Balanced, easy to cook, and healthy.
Michael preferred burgers, she was sure, but after eating out for lunch this week and
living off places like Dunkin Donuts and Subway, she looked forward to a home cooked,
healthy meal. And Michael needed to eat better anyway. He didn‟t take care of himself
the way he should.
She had tried to get him to take vitamins, but after one of those “horse pills” as he called
them, he wouldn‟t try again. So she had bought some children‟s vitamins for him, which
he said tasted terrible. She told him he was much worse than any child and if he got sick,
then what would he do? He didn‟t have health insurance, and she didn‟t want him sick.
He had said to her, “Oh, so if I get sick, you dump me, huh?”
“That‟s not what I mean, and you know it!” she had said, slapping him lightly on the
shoulder. As far as she knew, he still had a full bottle of children‟s vitamins in the
cabinet at his place.
The chicken was sizzling when she heard his knock at the door. Ten o‟clock. She
wondered what he had to do that had kept him so long, but it was okay because she
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apparently had needed to sleep. She unlatched the door and greeted him with a hug. He
hugged her briefly and came in.
“So how are you?” she asked. She looked at his face. He looked tired, too, which didn‟t
make too much sense. He hadn‟t worked today, had he?
“Okay,” he said.
“You look tired,” she said.
“Yeah, I am,” he said.
“You get everything done you had to?”
“Yeah. Had to get it all done because that job starts Monday and I wouldn‟t have time.
And I knew I was coming over here this weekend.”
She nodded. “Made some dinner,” she said.
“Thought it would be in the fridge,” he said.
“No, I got a late start. I actually fell asleep.”
“You slept all this time?” he asked, surprised.
“Well, not all this time,” she admitted. Should she tell him?
“Where‟d you go?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. She looked at his eyes, trying to read
him. She got nothing from looking at the expression around his mouth. Again, the beard
seemed to get in the way lately, and it was harder for her to see what his reactions were.
“I got off the bus and walked through the park,” she said.
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“Oh,” he said, looking at the stove. She breathed out, relieved he wasn‟t mad. Then she
was mad at herself for wondering if he would be mad. Why would he be, and if he was,
why would she care since he would have no right to be mad? “What‟s for dinner?”
“Chicken, rice and veggies,” she said. “I walked through OUR park.”
“Oh.” He plunked down in a kitchen chair and unlaced his boots, pulling the tongue out
and the boots off. He threw them in the kitchen corner with a loud “thunk.” Dried mud
cracked off the bottom and spilled on the floor. Jezabel looked at it and turned back to
the stove. “So what‟s so great at the park?” he asked, not in a particularly curious tone.
“Oh nothing, really,” she said. “I just felt like walking there.”
“Which one was it?”
She was disappointed he didn‟t remember. “You know, that little park we walked in and
took that picture. The one I have on my computers.”
“Huh-uh,” he said, shaking his head. “No clue.”
“You know, the one we walked in on our first date. It has this big arch made out of black
cast iron and the benches…Felonias Park,” she said. “You remember now?” He shook
his head again. She frowned. “Well YOU showed me it,” she said. She thought, since
they had their picture taken there and it was so early in their relationship, that it had
meant something to him, too. It bothered her that he didn‟t even remember the place. But
maybe he just had other things on his mind. He just shrugged and looked around for
more napkins.
“So what‟d you have to get done?” she asked.
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Michael went into the cabinet, got a glass and helped himself to some juice from the
refrigerator. “Saw this guy about a motorcycle,” he said. “He‟s selling it real cheap and I
thought it would be cheaper than the truck. Then I had to get the truck over to Sal‟s to
get the heads fixed and I owed him from the last time and he didn‟t want to do any work
until I gave him money up front. I told him I‟m sick and tired of this damn thing
breaking down on me all the time. Told him about the bike and he says it would be
cheaper and maybe even cheaper to fix.” Michael took a swig of the juice.
So that explained it, his needing the money and needing it right away. He had to have
something to get to work with, and he couldn‟t get the truck fixed unless he paid up front.
It made sense to her now, and she wished he had told her before. She would have spent
less time dawdling in the park the other day and more time focusing on what she had to
get done.
“Michael, a motorcycle?” she asked. “Isn‟t that dangerous?”
“Only if you drive like an idiot,” he said.
“Don‟t you need a special license for that?”
“Yeah, but I can get it easy. Besides, the thing‟s good on gas. I can get wherever I need
and go from one job to another.”
“But you won‟t be able to haul stuff,” she reminded him. “Didn‟t you use the truck to
haul stuff when you‟re on a job?”
“Won‟t do that anymore,” he said. “Shouldn‟t have to do it anyway. That‟s the problem
with these guys. They hire you to do a job and before you know it, you‟re hauling their
shit around all over the goddamned place and they don‟t pay you any extra for it. So now
when they ask if I got a truck for hauling, I just say no.”
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“But won‟t that mean you won‟t get certain jobs?” she asked, worried.
“Nah, shouldn‟t have any effect on that,” he said, confidently. He took another drink. “I
never have problems finding work, except in the winter,” he said. “Weather getting
warmer now, I‟ll be all set.” She walked over to the refrigerator to get the butter. He
grabbed her and pulled her onto his lap, started kissing her neck. “Don‟t you worry about
anything,” he said. His beard brushing against her skin made her acutely aware he was
running his tongue up to her earlobe, and she sat like that with her eyes closed until she
thought the chills would actually make her shiver.
“Enough of that, you,” she said, giggling, twisting away from him. “I‟m going to burn
the rice!”
“Let it burn then,” he said, holding her still tighter. She turned her face to his and his
kissed her in that possessive way he had, his lips on hers like he owned her.
And she thought, for all intensive purposes, he did.
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Jezabel grown up on only stories about her father, and they weren‟t nice stories. She
could recite some of the more colorful ones by heart, such as the time her father had to
watch her. She had been three. He got a call from one of the guys to go meet him at a
bar. He told his pal he had to watch his daughter, that his wife was working. His pal said
to bring “the kid.”
According to Jezabel‟s mother, her father brought her to the bar. And while Jezabel had
heard lots of stories of irresponsible parents taking their children into bars, this story was
a little different. Her father had left her locked in the car.
There had been a big fight after that, none of which Jezabel remembered, but it resulted
in her father being told to leave. Several years later, Jezabel‟s mother said she heard her
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estranged husband was living on the streets, drinking from a bottle barely hidden in a
paper bag. Her mother said, “That‟s where he belongs.”
Jezabel didn‟t ask about her father that often because about the last thing she wanted to
hear was that story again. She would have liked to hear something good about him, that
he bought her a toy or painted the bathroom or made good cornbread, or something. She
couldn‟t believe he was all that bad. After all, he and her mother had been married.
There must have been something there.
Once, when Jezabel was about ten, she asked if her mother had a picture of her father.
“What do you want that for?” her mother asked.
“Just kind of want it,” she had mumbled in that way kids have when they are
uncomfortable with a discussion. Her mother had gone into the bedroom and dug into an
old shoebox filled with pictures. Most of them were black and white and had people in
them Jezabel didn‟t know. From the bottom, she pulled a wallet size photo, crinkled, the
color fading. She handed it to Jezabel silently, put the box back in the drawer, and
walked out of the room.
Jezabel remembered sitting on her mother‟s bed for a long time staring at that picture, the
one she still looked at. A mustached man wearing hunting clothes stood grinning,
holding a shotgun in one hand and holding up a dead mallard in the other. Jezabel had
looked closely at the man who was her father. His face was creased, and it wasn‟t just
the picture. It was the face of a man who spent a lot of time outside and around smoke.
Jezabel remembered the bar story. She put it out of her mind and took the picture into
her own room which didn‟t smell so much like mother—dirty pantyhose and room
freshner.
Her own bedroom had been painted yellow. As long as she could remember, it had been
yellow, and Jezabel felt comforted by the cheery color. Whenever she felt upset, she
would go to her room, not necessarily because she wanted the security and amusement of
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her toys and bed, but because of the yellow walls that seemed to smile at her. She would
sit at the edge of her bed and stare at the far wall, with the window curtained in pale,
yellow, Pricilla sheers. She would just sit and stare like that until the bad feeling went
away. She didn‟t remember crying or pulling covers over her head. Just sitting there.
Jezabel kept the picture in a little notebook where she stored other things she felt were
secret—notes from boys in her class, notes she had wanted to send a boy but didn‟t, notes
from her girlfriends, and short, journal entries describing details like what was on the
school lunch menu. The notebook never left the narrow, center drawer of her white
enameled desk. If she had a lock, she would have used it, but she didn‟t. She would
know if something had been disturbed, though.
One day after school, she went into her room, shut the door, and opened the drawer,
looking for her notebook. It wasn‟t there. She just stared at the space in the drawer
where the notebook had sat, somehow believing that if she stared long enough, it would
reappear. There was just no way it was missing.
After several minutes of this, Jezabel realized the notebook was indeed gone. Just to
make sure, she took the drawer out and felt behind the wooden slats to make sure it
hadn‟t slipped through the drawer somehow. She didn‟t feel anything other than the
frantic catch in her throat. Where was her notebook? Where? She put the drawer back
in. Her mother? But why?
She opened her bedroom door and called out, “Mom, have you seen a notebook?”
Her mother came to the top of the stairs. “Such as this one?” her mother asked her,
waving it in front of her.
“Yes! Mom, what are you doing with my notebook?”
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“Maybe the real question is,” her mother said, her voice low like it got when she was
about to erupt in anger, “why do you have notes from boys in here? And why are you
writing notes to boys when you should be doing your schoolwork?”
“That‟s not fair. That‟s my notebook!” Jezabel had screamed. “Give it to me!”
“I will not give it to you. And you will explain yourself!” her mother said, now raising
her voice. “And if you raise your voice again, I can promise you that you will regret it.”
Jezabel silenced herself. She wouldn‟t scream, she wouldn‟t argue, but she wouldn‟t
talk.
“Nothing to say?” her mother demanded.
Jezabel said nothing. She merely stood, silent, looking at the floor.
“Okay,” said her mother, calmly. “Then you won‟t be getting this back.”
Jezabel went into her yellow room, closed the door, sat on the edge of her bed, and stared
at the dirty, linoleum floor. She heard the sound of pages ripping and trash being
collected. She heard the front door squeak open, and she heard the sound of a garbage
can lid clunking. She heard a loud “thunk,” and then the scraping sound of the lid being
returned to its rightful place. The front door opened again, and she heard her mother
running water in the kitchen.
That was the last time Jezabel ever had a private notebook or a picture of her father.
____________________________________________________________________
“Come on,” he said, “do it. Do it!” He was panting from behind, grabbing painfully at
her breasts. “You‟re all lubed, now,” he grunted, “It won‟t hurt.”
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She shook her head no. But it was dark, and he couldn‟t see it.
“Come ON!” he demanded, “Say you want me to do it. Say it.”
“I don‟t want to,” she whispered, barely audible.
She never could decide if he hadn‟t heard the “don‟t” or had just chosen to ignore it.
In an instant, he slid out from her, spread her buttocks, and stabbed her. She knew she
had screamed. She heard it from outside herself. She could feel herself sobbing from the
pain that threatened to rip her in two. She heard his grunts and his demands to “take it,
take it all.” All she could do was wait for it to be over.
He finished. He fell asleep almost instantly. She lay awake, eyes wide open, staring at
her open bedroom door. The door creaked and opened a little more. Tarika slinked into
the room, quietly, seemingly not disturbing even a fiber on the rug. Tarika, her silent
friend, Jezabel thought. The cat rubbed itself against the side of the bed and began to
purr, silently, though Jezabel could feel the vibrations through her fingertips and up
through the palms of her hands.
Hot tears had leaked from her eyes and suddenly took a round full form, lingering at the
edge of her eyelashes and falling, falling from her to the bed, past the bed, onto Tarika‟s
back. Jezabel thought the cat might run from the sense of water on her back, but instead,
she rubbed harder against Jezabel‟s hand, refusing to leave.
Michael rolled over on the other side of the bed and both woman and cat froze, waiting.
He snorted and fell back to sleep. She felt like both she and Tarika exhaled at once.
Don‟t worry, Tarika, Jezabel thought. I‟ll never get rid of you. It doesn‟t matter what he
says. He doesn‟t mean it. He doesn‟t mean half the things he says, she thought.
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But didn‟t he? She wondered why he said those things, those things that really bothered
her or why he hurt her and didn‟t stop. Didn‟t he know? She blamed herself, telling
herself and Tarika that she wasn‟t communicating well, that it was her fault and if she
had the courage to say what had to be said, he would change and stop. But then she
remembered some of the conversations where she did tell him things, told him clearly,
she thought, and he didn‟t seem to care. Was this how he was, or was this just how men
were?
It was hard for her to know, never really living with a man. The couple of boyfriends she
had before were never serious. And she had never heard communications between her
father and her mother. She had only heard what her mother said about her father, and
that certainly wasn‟t a good lesson in male/female communications. She tried to
understand relationships by looking at other people‟s relationships, but other than
Michael‟s friend Tony, she didn‟t really know too many people in relationships. Charles
was single, Tonya was divorced and Sharon….who would want to be in a relationship
with Sharon anyway?
Michael, she thought, I don‟t understand you yet, but I am going to. Her anus throbbed.
She picked up Tarika and hugged her. At least we understand each other, Tarika, she
thought. The cat purred and snuggled into Jezabel‟s arms.
_____________________________________________________________________
“I‟m moving,” her mother had announced on the phone. Just like that.
“What?” Jezabel couldn‟t have been more taken off guard if her mother had told her she
was getting remarried.
“Jezabel, I‟ve been talking about it for awhile. You know how I feel about this area.
And it‟s getting worse and worse.”
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“Mom, it‟s the same place,” Jezabel said. “It just has different people.” They were
talking about the city again, her mother giving the familiar argument that the place was
going downhill, that no one even spoke English anymore, that crime was everywhere and
it just wasn‟t safe.
“It‟s not the same place. It‟s more dangerous now. You shouldn‟t be living there either,”
her mother had told her. Jezabel heard that stubborn, low tone her mother used just
before she got angry. She wanted to diffuse it.
“Mom,” she said, “I can see why you might think that. But really, I‟m perfectly safe
here. The dorm is great, all kinds of people, dorm supervisors, security guards….come
on, you‟ve been here.” She told her mother this even though she didn‟t particularly like
the dorm crowds. Still, it had its positives.
“And I haven‟t been impressed, either,” she said. “Those rooms are dingy, the windows
are filthy. The last time I was there, your neighbors were throwing a beer party and the
place smelled like smoke. I was told that was a no-smoking dorm. I don‟t know what is
wrong with your dorm managers but they obviously aren‟t doing their jobs.”
Jezabel couldn‟t argue there. The dorm wasn‟t in the best shape. At least six or seven
generations had lived in the refurbished warehouse—six or seven generations of partying,
smoking, and having sex in between the auspices of studying hard. It was expensive to
dorm, though, but even more expensive to live off campus. At least the dorm offered
some kind of protection, regular meals, and a routine that helped Jezabel make and keep a
3.9 grade point average, an average that kept her in a constant flow of scholarships that
paid for her dorm. It was working. Why her mother wanted to disturb that, she didn‟t
know.
“You can get a place,” she said. “Use your scholarship money for that and come visit
over the summer or stay there. You come with me for the summer, you can have a nice
room and get a little job.” But even her mother didn‟t believe that one. How would they
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afford the plane tickets every summer? And how would Jezabel afford her own place
PLUS college and living costs? Jezabel knew neither of them had that kind of extra
money.
“But Mom,” Jezabel said, starting to panic. “I haven‟t been here long enough and I…”
“Jezabel, this is my decision,” her mother said, firmly. “This isn‟t really up for
discussion. You do what you want. You‟re an adult now.
“I already have a realtor. They have a buyer for me, and they have several homes for me
to see. I‟ve been telling you this for a long time. My mind is made up. Now you need to
make up yours.”
“Mom,” Jezabel said, starting to cry, “That‟s not fair! I mean, I‟m in college. Why are
you telling me this up when I‟m making it and doing well here? How can you do that?”
“Jezabel, I am being perfectly fair,” her mother said, now in full-blown angry tone. “I‟ve
done everything for you. I‟ve lived my whole life for you. I‟ve taken care of you, put
you through school, and now you are in college. I‟ve done it on my own, without your
worthless thing called a father, without help. You‟re doing well because everything I‟ve
invested in you, time and money. That‟s what I‟ve done for you. And now that it‟s time
for me to make a decision for me, you want to give me grief about it?” she demanded.
“How dare you!”
Her mother had hung up. Jezabel sat in her room, staring at the telephone. It was like
being back in her yellow room. She just sat and stared. But there were no cheery colored
walls to make her feel better.
For a long time, she didn‟t let herself feel anything about her mother. She didn‟t want to
hate her mother, not when she didn‟t have her father or really anyone else besides her
college acquaintances. And she could see how her mother would want a place of her
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own and not be tied to some college kid who was just starting out. Her mother was
getting older and she wanted to live a few more years as an independent person,
independent of having to take care of her. Jezabel worked hard and tried not to be an
imposition, but she understood that just being there and needing to go back home on
breaks and over the summer was a responsibility, a responsibility that her mother didn‟t
need or want at this time in her life and certainly not one her mother wanted in this city.
She remembered it all again, now, looking at Michael, drinking coffee and smoking a
cigarette in her kitchen. “Hey, you wanna get together with Tony and Jen tonight?” he
asked, taking a drag from the cigarette.
“Sure,” she said. Tony and Jen were old friends of Michael‟s. They had gone to high
school together, and the other couple had been an item since the tenth grade. Tony and
Michael occasionally worked jobs together, Tony working the inside wiring while
Michael finished up siding and roofing. Jezabel liked to listen to the two of them banter
stories back and forth about the other‟s ineptitude and sometimes, outright stupidity. She
looked forward to the evening even though she wasn‟t really close to either of them. It
would be a diversion. But first, there was grocery shopping and planning to do. It looked
like it would be a busy Saturday.
Chapter 7
Jezabel couldn‟t help it. She was staring. The boy or the man, she wasn‟t sure which to
call him, was talking to her. He was in his early twenties. And his tongue was forked.
Literally. He was telling her how he had a record and it was hard to get a job. He liked
to work and was good at detailing cars. “No one cleans „em up like I do,” he said, his
tongue flicking in an out, mesmerizing and horrifying at the same time. Behind the fork
flashed the gold bulb of a tongue ring. “I polish and clean and when the owners come
back, they look at it like it‟s a new car. It looks new, too, cause I get the wheels and the
rims and the inside. Smells new. They like that.”
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She remembered the advice Charles had given her, that she should do all the talking and
not let them get a word in edgewise. But she had told him she couldn‟t possibly type and
talk at the same time, and now she was once again proving that was true. She had tried
with the last couple of clients and just ended up with a load of typos that slowed her
down in the end. So now, she was typing, and the boy was talking, and she was at least
half-listening. She couldn‟t help it.
From his neck down, he was covered in tattoos. All of snakes. Green snakes, purple
snakes, red snakes, crawling from under his chin, down from the short sleeves of his
purple t-shirt, through his fingers, and up his forearm. She could picture the others,
slithering their way down his stomach, past his belly button, towards…..Stop it! She told
herself. Back to the tongue, which brought to mind some other images that made her
physically have to turn away from the speaker. She started her typing as usual. What the
hell was she doing in this job, anyway? Oh yeah. She was stuck. That‟s right.
“So you use the leather cleaner all over the seats, even on the dashboard. But see that‟s
how you can tell if it‟s a decent car. You use that cleaner on a cheap car and your
dashboard ends up all streaky. The good cars, you know the ones that cost some real
bucks, they‟re all shiny and nice.” She nodded, and the boy/man shifted his weight,
throwing his jeans jacket over the chair next to him. The jacked was painted in green, red
and purple graffiti that she couldn‟t read.
She tried to picture him without the tattoos and the tongue stuff. He‟s probably pretty
good looking, she thought. Actually, he was good looking anyway: dark hair, close
cropped, blue-gray eyes that had this piercing look to them, a broad smile and dimples.
His jail story was mild compared to a few others she had heard. In a year for dealing at
an early age, let out early for good behavior.
He had earned his GED while doing his time, and he was out now, ready to work.
Problem is, he had to work under the table. “Every time I apply somewhere and check
off that little box, I never get called,” he said. “Keep telling my mom what the problem
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is, but she says it‟s cause of my tats. It ain‟t about my tats, though. I‟m not dumb. I get
it. Who wants to hire a jail bird?”
She could tell he wasn‟t dumb by any stretch.
“You need your car detailed?”
She thought about her car, her car with the cracked dashboard, the filthy steering wheel,
the more than one-hundred thousand miles that threatened to blow the engine at any
point, and the way Michael sometimes drove the poor old thing. Like it was a race car or
something. Of course, compared to his truck, yes, her car could make turns more
quickly, and it had been known to run a yellow light or two, but not because it was a fast
vehicle. It was a vehicle that had seen lots of use, some care, but a lot of activity that
older cars just were not made for. Some day, she thought, she would get a newer car, one
that didn‟t threaten to break down in the dead of winter or blow a tire on the highway just
because something was wrong with the front end. Some day…
She was staring into space and remembered the boy, the boy with the forked tongue.
She wanted to laugh about the detailing offer but didn‟t because she didn‟t want him to
think she was laughing at him. She looked at him, seriously, and said instead, “If you
saw my car, you wouldn‟t be asking me that.”
“That bad, huh?” he grinned. “What, don‟t you make the big bucks in a job like this?”
Now she did laugh. “Yeah, right. Listen, you‟re having a hard time getting a job but
trust me, it‟s bad all around. Just don‟t give up. You‟ll get something else eventually.”
Why she felt the need to give him this advice, she didn‟t know. Maybe it was that she
needed to actually believe what she was saying. Again, she told herself to stop it, not to
get personal with these people, not to let them get to her like this. In spite of Charles‟s
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advice, she realized the less she said to them, the better off they all would be. Who knew
what might come our of her own mouth? Better to let it come our of THEIRS and just
ignore it. Bobby and John would say the same thing.
She remembered Bobby and John were due in today. She had arrived early after her
weekend with Michael. She had dressed in a suit, something she never did if she could
help it because the last thing she wanted was to resemble Sharon in any way. Of course,
it was a cheap suit, one of only two she owned, so she had little to worry about in terms
of really copying Sharon. Jezabel had purchased the suits at the same thrift shop where
she got her furniture and silverware, but still, it was dressier than she was used to.
Besides, she cringed at the idea of having to dress up just because she knew the big
bosses would be in. It felt hypocritical.
“Let me get some copies for you,” she told the boy. At this point, looking at his hair and
his snakes and his jacket again and thinking about him living with his mother, she
decided he was, indeed, still a boy in a lot of ways. The short hair and the jail thing had
given him an air of experience and maturity, but the rest….and compared to Michael…..
Michael, she thought, as she made her copies and listened to the hum of Tonya answering
the phone and Charles reciting his spiel to his client. The weekend had been okay. They
talked about Micheal giving notice to his landlord and moving out by the middle of next
month. Tony and Jen had come over, and Michael explained about the truck, that he was
going to get that motorcycle. Jezabel had wanted to know earlier how Michael was going
to buy it, but he wouldn‟t discuss it other than to say there were places out there just
dying to give people like him loans. Jezabel knew all about those places. She worked for
one.
Tony and Jen had stayed a few hours, drinking beers and laughing over a stupid movie
they had rented and brought over, something about killer paper dolls that came to life.
“This is great,” Tony said. “It just doesn‟t get any better than this, does it, Mikey?
Remember all that time and money we used to waste in the bar?” he laughed. “Tell you
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what, nothing like hanging with good friends and laughing. Glad you two finally decided
to co-habitate, as they say,” he said raising his beer bottle. “Here‟s to the love birds!”
They all drank. Jezabel screwed up her face. She didn‟t really like beer, but she drank it
to be sociable. She preferred sweet mixed drinks that didn‟t taste like alcohol, but she
couldn‟t afford them, and even if she could, she wouldn‟t know how to make them. So
beer had to suffice on a Saturday night with a stupid movie. She was enjoying it anyway.
Tony was the consummate gentleman, opening Jen‟s beer, offering her a comfy seat next
to him, putting his arm around her and patting her now and then. When he got up, he
offered her another drink, something she was almost sure Michael had never done. She
wished some of Tony‟s manners and good nature would rub off on Michael, so whenever
he suggested the two couples get together, she always said yes. Besides, Jen was very
sweet even though they weren‟t terribly close.
“I can help you unpack,” Jen offered. “It sucks trying to unpack on your own. I know
when I moved my stuff into Tony‟s it was a drag, and I didn‟t even have all the stuff
Michael has. You have to figure out how all that crap is going to fit with yours, like his
kitchen things. You won‟t want to have too many duplicates, but it‟ll be good because he
has things you don‟t have and you put them together, and it‟s a whole lot of stuff. But
you have to figure out how to get it all in and organized,” she said.
“Hey, thanks Jen,” Jezabel said. “I really appreciate that. I‟ve been trying to figure out
what we‟ll do if we have double stuff.”
“Easy,” said Michael and laughed. “We throw your junk OUT!” He laughed again,
slapping his knee. “Including that damn cat!”
“Hey, that ain‟t nice, man,” Tony said. “You want this to work, you gotta give and take,
you know?”
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“Yeah, yeah,” Michael said. “I know. I‟m just kidding.” He took a swig of his beer.
“But I‟m not kidding about that cat! God I hate that bitch,” he said.
“What wrong with cats?” Tony asked. “I think cats are cool. They‟re kind of like
women. You know….they only want you when they want you but when the DO want
you, well then man, LOOK OUT!” He laughed. Jen hit him in the stomach playfully.
“See what I mean?” he said. “They‟ll fight you all the way, but when it comes down to
it, they really love you even if they pretend they don‟t.”
Jen shook her head. “Don‟t worry. I‟ll help you,” Jen said again to Jezabel who looked
worried now in spite of the other couple‟s fun. “We‟ll figure it out. Your place is big
enough.”
A thin brunette, Jen worked as a cashier in a busy department store, had worked there for
several years, moving from general clerk to cashier to supervisor. She had lots of regular
customers and lots of patience. Jezabel liked that about Jen and liked to hear the ways
that Jen had learned to deal with difficult customers. She took some of Jen‟s advice back
to the office with her, and now, thinking about their weekend, she reminded herself to tell
Jen about the boy with the forked tongue. What would Jen do with him? And what
would ever possess anyone to split his own tongue, Jezabel wondered. She walked back
into her office and handed snake-boy his paperwork.
“Okay,” she said, showing him where to sign. “There are a few things I have to say to
make this a valid contract.” She caught herself over-explaining the agreement again, a
no-no according to Bobby and John. The last thing they wanted was one of their
employees giving the clients more information that could make them change their minds
at the last moment. “Remember, In A Pinch is not a bank. You are taking out a high
interest loan to be repaid over a six-month period.”
The boy looked worried. She stopped, wondering if he wanted to say anything, but he
remained silent. “You will be responsible for the principal of the loan, monthly interest
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accrued at 27% and the initiation fee of $75.00. If you miss one or more payments,” she
said.
He did interrupt her. “You think I‟ll be able to pay this off?” he asked.
“Well, um, I mean,” she said. What was she supposed to say to him? “I mean, you just
went through the whole thing,” she said. “You said you were going to get some more
cars to detail, right?” she asked. Now she was nervous. She hated this. She knew the
collections rate, and she knew she had told him the risks, and he had still accepted. It
wasn‟t her job to advise him, was it? No. It was her job to make loans and let the
customers leave all happy and relieved that they could pay off their bills for the moment.
That was her job. That‟s it, she reminded herself.
“But, what if I don‟t get the cars?” he asked.
“Okay, look,” she said, regrouping, I mean, if you are that worried, do you want to take
some time to think about it? I can hold your paperwork if you want.”
“You know, that might be a good idea,” the boy said. The crease in his young forehead
disappeared. He exhaled. “I think I should do that, you know. I‟ve really been trying
not to make snap decisions lately. That‟s what got me into trouble in the first place, you
know, not paying attention to what I was doing to get money, not caring, and I can‟t do
that anymore, no matter how broke I am.” She nodded. “So, thanks. I really appreciate
that.”
Snake-boy grabbed his coat. A pack of cigarettes fell out of his pocket. She wanted to
tell him he could save lots of money and his lungs if he quit smoking, but she resisted the
urge. She wasn‟t his mother. He had a mother! And she didn‟t like his tattoos.
“Thanks,” he said. “So should I call you and let you know?”
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She didn‟t have a card. Bobby and John didn‟t give the reps cards. The only calls came
through Tonya. That‟s how they wanted it. Cards made the clients feel like they had
reps who had time and ambition to work closely with them. It wasn‟t that kind of
business. It wasn‟t personal.
“Just call the main number,” Jezabel said. “Ask for me. Tonya can put you through. Or
come back in. It‟s up to you.”
The boy stood up and offered Jezabel a handshake. “Thanks,” he said. “I‟ll give you a
call.”
The boy walked through the door, nearly colliding with two men standing outside.
“Excuse me,” the boy said. The men stepped into the office.
Bobby and John were dressed in their usual expensive suits. “Jezabel!” Bobby said, his
blond hair slicked back, smile covering his face like wallpaper. “How are you?”
Jezabel jumped. She hadn‟t seen or heard them outside her office. And her client that
hadn‟t signed just walked right past them. She wanted to smack her own forehead. What
an idiot she was!
“Good,” she said, extending her hand to shake Bobby‟s instead of slapping herself. His
hand was cold and rough, but clean with manicured nails, like he had done manual work
at some point but had given it up.
“Mind if we sit down?” John asked, sitting before she answered.
John looked at her directly. He wasn‟t smiling. He was the one who never bothered with
niceties. “We just bumped into one of your clients,” he said. “One of your clients who
didn‟t sign the agreement.”
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“I know,” she said quickly. “It‟s the first one I‟ve ever had who didn‟t sign
immediately,” she explained. Her hands threatened to start shaking. She put them
quickly on her lap.
“You know what you did wrong?” he asked. He picked up a pencil from her desk and
started tapping it, a regular, rhythmic beat.
“I‟m not sure,” she lied.
Bobby smiled, “Now come on, John,” he said. “Can‟t blame a girl for being nice, right?
Isn‟t that what we like about girls?”
“Right,” said John. “You can be nice,” he paused and stopped tapping, looking closely at
Jezabel, “but make sure they sign.”
Jezabel nodded silently.
“If they‟ve gotten through the whole thing and come down to signing, they want the loan.
You get the signature and they leave. Happy. That‟s it. That‟s all there is to it.”
Jezabel nodded again, silent.
“You don‟t give them options or reasons or explanations. And you don‟t listen to their
sob stories. That‟s not what we hire you to do. You give them the loan and you explain
policy. No more. You understand?” John said quietly. He had thin lips that stretched to
unusual lengths when he smiled, the kind of smile that looked like it took a lot of effort to
produce and so when he did, you somehow owed him for making the attempt.
“Yes,” she said. “I‟m sorry. I‟m usually better at that. I don‟t know what happened just
then. Guess I was just kind of…”
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Bobby shook his head, “No apology necessary, Jezabel. We know you‟ve had a perfect
client record. We know you can get them in and set up just fine. You‟re dependable and
we know you do your job well. Just don‟t let it happen again.” Bobby‟s smile was less
forced. It was the natural smile of someone who smiled a lot because it was his job to
look happy and positive, but still, you could tell from the lines on his face and the
seriousness of his dark eyes that he was capable of much more than smiling. What else
he was capable of, Jezabel didn‟t want to know.
“I won‟t,” she said, grateful for Bobby‟s friendlier tone. John scared the shit out of her.
“So anyway, the real reason we came her,” Bobby continued, “is to tell you we‟ve
decided this place needs an official manager.” His smile spread wider, if that was
possible. His blue eyes focused on her intently, making her uncomfortable. She held his
gaze for a moment and then looked down at her desk.
“Oh!” Jezabel said.
Uh-oh, she thought. Were they brining someone in from the outside, someone new? Or
were they….
For one brief moment, she wondered if they were going to offer her the job. After all,
she had been here long enough, had a good record that they noticed, and did have some
education behind her. She didn‟t know if she wanted the position, but she knew she was
qualified for it, and the extra money would be great on top of having Michael move in
and help with the bills. But no. She wasn‟t aggressive enough. And that meant…..
Her mind took off, in time for John to say, “So starting today, Sharon Stuart is the new
Office Manager.”
Jezabel sat silent. She knew this was going to happen, but she still felt like someone
wearing boxing gloves had punched her in the stomach. Both men looked at her, raising
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their eyebrows, waiting for a response. “Oh, um, well, that‟s great!” Jezabel said, trying
to sound bright and positive. “I‟ll be sure to congratulate her,” she said, hurriedly.
“She‟s um, she knows what she‟s doing,” she trailed off.
“We thought you‟d say that,” John said. “We‟ll make the formal announcement this
afternoon, so you can hold the congratulations until then. We‟ll all meet in her office at
2:00.”
“Okay,” Jezabel said. “Okay.”
The men got up. “We‟re heading into Charles‟s now,” they said. “Tonya already knows,
and Sharon knows, so it‟s no secret or anything. See you at 2:00.”
Jezabel managed another weak smile.
She felt like she was going to throw up.
_____________________________________________________________
Tony and Jen had left, and Jezabel had Michael had gone to bed. Michael propped
himself up on his elbows, looking at her. “Let‟s have a baby,” he said.
“Right now?” she laughed, kidding.
“Yeah, right now.”
“Right this minute?”
“No, not right the minute, stupid,” he said. “You go off the pill. Then we‟ll have a
baby.”
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“Isn‟t this a bit premature?” she asked, still light and kidding. “I mean, you haven‟t even
moved your stuff in yet.”
“So by the time I move my stuff in, you can be off the pill, and we can be making a
baby.”
She sat up. “You‟re serious, aren‟t you?” she said.
“Yeah, I‟m serious, why?”
“Michael! We haven‟t even done the move-in thing and already you‟re talking about
having a baby. Don‟t you think that‟s a little….”
He rolled over, away from her. “Forget it,” he said. “Forget I said anything about it,
okay?”
“Well, no, Michael it‟s not that it‟s just that the last thing I expected was you to ask me to
have a baby. I mean, our jobs are so…”
“So what?” he asked, flipping back around, facing her, angry. “What? What about our
jobs?”
“Well I mean, you aren‟t working right now….”
“Oh so that‟s it,” he demanded. “I‟m not working right now so that makes me some kind
of loser. Doesn‟t matter that my job starts next week or that me moving in here is going
to save your poor ass….”
“What?!” she asked, sitting up now. “What? Wait a minute…where did THAT come
from?” Her tone was louder than usual. That‟s how shocked she was that he would even
say that.
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“Forget it. Just forget it!” he said. He threw the covers off and grabbed his jeans from
the floor, pulling them up.
“What are you doing?” she asked, incredulous that this conversation had started, that it
was taking place and had gone in this direction. “Michael, don‟t be silly. Let‟s talk….”
“Nope. I ain‟t talking,” he said, heading for the bedroom door.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Out,” said, and she heard the front door slam.
She had flopped back against her pillow. What was WRONG with that man? First he
wants to have a baby, then he accuses her of asking him to move in and for the sole
reason that she didn‟t have enough money. As if she had suggested it to him! As if she
were the one not working steadily! Sure, she knew things were tough at work. She
didn‟t make a lot of money, it was true, but she did work full time. She had health
insurance and she managed to pay her bills, so long as she didn‟t spend any more than
she had to on household and food items. How dare he?
She had been so angry, she didn‟t know what else to do, so she cried, for the second time
that weekend. This was ridiculous. Stupid. Why was she even bothering with him and
this move? She remembered the girls in the dorm. They would have said to dump him as
soon as he was jobless, which he had been just six months into their relationship because
his contract ended. But would they know about contract work and real labor anyway?
Some of them had never had to work. Their parents put them through school, they had
mothers AND fathers, and they didn‟t have to worry the same way Jezabel did. Besides,
that was a long time ago, and those girls didn‟t matter anymore. They were probably
married and divorced since then, themselves.
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Jezabel had pulled the covers over her eyes.
She must have fallen asleep, because she did hear Michael come through the door. He
slid into bed and kissed her. “I‟m sorry babe,” he said. “I‟m really sorry. I lost my head
and..I‟m sorry.” He smelled like beer. But he didn‟t sound drunk or angry the way he
did when he really did a lot of drinking. So she took the apology and a hug that lasted
into a long holding and ended up with them making love. They had both fallen asleep,
exhausted.
Chapter 8
She knew that she needed a walk in the park after work. She looked forward to it, like
visiting an old friend who always seemed to be there when you needed her the most.
One minute before her shift ended, she was putting on her coat and heading for the door.
She didn‟t care if Sharon noticed or if Sharon even existed. She had to get out of that
place.
Tonya was on the phone and waved Jezabel out the door, giving her a sympathetic look.
They had all been giving each other those looks since this morning‟s visits and the fateful
2:00 meeting. At the meeting, the three of them had nodded brief congratulations to
Sharon. Then Charles looked at Jezabel and rolled his eyes. Jezabel was certain John
saw him do it. But Charles wouldn‟t care. “Let me tell you something,” Charles had said
to her, “I don‟t let NO thug, no matter how good he dresses, intimidate ME.” He meant
it.
The bus screamed up to the corner a couple of minutes later, and Jezabel didn‟t even
bother trying to find a seat. A good crowd was riding this afternoon, and she preferred to
stand, even if it did mean occasionally being bumped by the succession of mostly teens
and workers coming on at the end of the day. A burly, curly haired worker in a thick,
corduroy jacket jostled her and turned to say, “Hey, sorry.” He paused, seeming to
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briefly admire her eyes, but Jezabel was too tired, too preoccupied to acknowledge it or
care.
She had wondered why she often felt a disconnect between her outer self and her inner
self, her external shell that seemed to exude a kind of beauty and attraction that her mind
and heart never fully absorbed. She knew she was pretty, but she didn‟t feel pretty, or at
least she thought she didn‟t feel pretty. She thought she knew what pretty people who
felt pretty actually did feel like, and she knew she wasn‟t it. She always seemed to have
this kind of wall that didn‟t allow her to enjoy being looked at or admired or attractive.
She never did anything really to call attention to herself or her looks. She didn‟t wear
much makeup, if any, did hardly anything with her long, straight hair, and paid minimal
attention to her clothing. Jezabel didn‟t go out of her way to dress sexy, even for Michael
who had asked her several times to wear lingerie or a short skirt that he said would look
hot on her shapely legs. When she wasn‟t in dress pants and a sweater, she mostly wore
jeans and sweatshirt. In the summer, she wore Bermuda shorts and sandals, and while
she did wear a two piece bathing suit the rare occasions they went to the beach or
swimming, it was the kind that looked like a jogging suit with shorts. No one could ever
say that Jezabel was vain.
In fact, she wondered if anyone could really say anything about her at all. She thought
about the people who might claim to know her, what they actually knew about her, and
what that actually meant. Of course Michael knew all about her family and her job, and
Charles and Tonya knew about Michael, and her mother knew about Jezabel‟s formative
years, and there were Jen and Tony and a few of other people she and Michael would get
together with, but all in all, Jezabel had the uncanny feeling that no one really knew her,
all of her. She both relished that feeling, protected it, and hated it. In the middle of the
jerking bus, holding onto the cold bar that served as support for all the standing riders,
she sighed. Sometimes, she had to admit, she felt absolutely alone.
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That thought and feeling took her down the stairs and towards the park, through the arch
of the entrance where no homeless man hovered this time. When she reached the circle
with the benches, she did notice a man in a long, dusty looking black coat, ragged khaki
pants, and a thick wool hat lying on the left bench. The hat was pulled over his eyes, and
three sheets of newspapers barely clung to the length of his fetal-positioned body.
Jezabel wondered if the man had been reading the newspaper or was trying to use the
sheets as covers.
She took her usual route to the little woods, not caring how many homeless men might be
camping there or whether or not some mystical creature was waiting to pounce on her
and her funk. Her world couldn‟t get much heavier than it was now, she thought, so what
was one more weird event in the life of a nobody that nobody knew or cared to know?
She stopped in front of the little, rickety fence and briefly wondered if it had been longer
and better built at some other time, if it was meant to keep people out or other things in.
Things like what, she asked herself. Things like bunnymooses? She might have laughed
at herself except that she wasn‟t in a laughing mood. She might have cried, but she
couldn‟t.
And she might have been surprised when she heard the familiar rustle of the underbrush
just beyond the landmark rock, but she wasn‟t. She waited because she knew what she
would see next—the furry legs and hooves of a creature she had seen only once before
but had come there seeking again only to be disappointed. But somehow, she knew she
would see it again. It wasn‟t her imagination.
Part by part, the bunnymoose appeared, first the legs, then the chest, then the nose with
its oddly elongated whiskers, then the forehead and part of the long, floppy ears. The
neck and huge shoulders came through slowly, as if the woods were giving birth to the
creature, and the back, belly, and buttocks took their time before the rear legs and tail
appeared. Jezabel noticed the tail this time, a kind of mangy looking thing, like Tarika‟s
tail after she had run through her cat pan and then rolled around the apartment. Leaves
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and brush and some drying mud clung to the tail, and Jezabel wondered if there were
more than just mud there. The thing was obviously an animal, and in the absence of a
place to bathe, there probably wasn‟t much the bunnymoose could do with the dirtier
aspects of animalhood, things she and Michael sometimes referred to as “cling-ons.”
She looked into the orbs of the beast and wondered briefly if the bunnymoose ever went
to the little overflow pond to bathe or if it stayed in its woods, covered in brush and trees
and privacy. Its wading pool sized brown eyes stared back at her. She waited for the
thing to stop walking, the way it did before, but it didn‟t. It came closer to Jezabel. It
was heading straight for her.
Jezabel might have turned to run if she hadn‟t been more than amazed and paralyzed by
the sheer height of the thing—she still didn‟t know what it was or if it were dangerous or
again, if she were imagining this. She didn‟t believe she was imagining it, though. This
thing was real. And it was coming over to check her out.
It stopped just in front of the little fence, as if it had this strange sense of personal space
that it respected. It looked down at her, cocking its heads, its huge ears brushing the top
of the fence. Jezabel looked into its eyes and just stood like that. “Hello,” she said. And
while she was aware the thing wasn‟t moving its mouth, it talked to her. In her head.
“Hello,” it said.
“What are you?” she asked.
“Oughtn‟t you ask HOW are you?” the bunnymoose asked her.
“Oh. I‟m sorry. It‟s been a terribly long day. HOW are you?”
“I am well and I am timeless,” it said.
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Jezabel paused. She was reminded of Alice in Wonderland but for some reason, it felt
normal to her. “Well, I feel timeless,” she said, “and I am not sure I like how it feels.”
“It‟s doesn‟t matter how it feels,” said the bunnymoose in her head. “It just is.”
Jezabel thought about that and didn‟t say anything.
“If we went all the time by our feelings, we would never have made it to where we are
now,” the bunnymoose said.
She absorbed the idea and the creature‟s voice. It was a low voice, a deep voice, male
and female at the same time, resonating and peaceful. She thought it would sound more
awe-inspiring but it didn‟t. It sounded natural, part of her, like her whole body felt the
voice from her head through her veins. She breathed it.
“Do you have anything else?” the bunnymoose asked.
“Anything else?” she said. “What do you mean?”
“Anything else you want to ask?”
She had a million questions, at least, and at the moment, she couldn‟t think of a single
one.
She shook her head.
The buunnymoose twitched its large, wet and soft looking nose, bowed its furry head,
and offered her itself to her touch. She raised her fingers to the bridge of its nose and ran
her fingertips from between the huge eyes and down to the nostrils. The hair felt fine and
coarse at the same time, neither bunny nor moose. And definitely not human.
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It nodded at her and turned to go.
“What are you?” she called to it, not wanting to let it leave without having at least that
question answered.
The thing turned its head back. “I‟m a bunnymoose, of course,” it said in her head.
And it made its way back into its woodsy home.
___________________________________________________________________
She sat at her kitchen table, alone with her hot tea, the cat on her lap, and the picture of
the creature in her mind. What a bizarre way to spend an evening, she thought….sitting
here alone, petting a pretty, purring thing, and thinking about something that doesn‟t
exist. She supposed it was better than the way she had spent the rest of the day, however.
And she was too tired to wonder if she were really going insane.
The meeting had been more than just horrible. Sharon‟s obscured her gloating face with
the demure half smile of a professional accustomed to succeeding. That she worked in a
cruddy little building for lecherous lenders didn‟t seem to make any difference to her.
That her soon-to-be underlings hated her didn‟t seem to faze her either. She appeared
oblivious to everything except the lauding of first, the understated John and then the
boisterous Bobby. The men‟s gold rings gleamed as they clapped their hands in
appreciation of their new star employee, and the three others felt forced to do something
similar.
After the men left, Charles and Jezabel walked as normal back to their offices, and Tonya
back to the front desk. Sharon made a personal appearance to each of them, simpering
that she so appreciated their enthusiasm and she looked forward to working with them as
a unified group. “Together, I am sure we can make, meet and exceed our goals,” she
said, her voice rising a bit, her pronunciation even more heightened. Sharon really did
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believe all the stuff that came our of her prim, irritating mouth. “We can overachieve, I
know it, and in the wake of increased revenue….”
That‟s about where Jezabel stopped listening to her and just watched her lips moved,
those cracking, dry lips that faked smiles, hinted, insinuated, and probably outright lied.
Her skin had started to wrinkle, and the makeup didn‟t do a very good job of hiding the
fact that Sharon was aging.
The orange-tinted lipstick made Sharon even uglier, though her face wasn‟t the worst
looking one Jezabel had ever seen. Jezabel decided it was Sharon‟s attitude, her air of
haughty superiority, her conviction in the higher power of the company structure and her
unwillingness to see herself as anything other than a pawn of Bobby and John‟s rapacious
business practices.
When had she come to this realization? She guess it was recently. Jezabel had worked
there long enough to see it all and too much of it. She had ignored it, for the most part,
but sometimes it was hard and lately, impossible. And after Sharon‟s promotion, she
knew it would be harder and harder now to dismiss the rumors, a now and then ragged
client coming in with a final payment, a client that didn‟t look that ragged the first time
but somehow looked more under the weather now, sickly, and in some cases, bruised.
Jezabel didn‟t see it often because most of the time, delinquent clients either settled the
account outside the office doors. But on a couple of occasions, as she stood at the copier,
she watched a client that she had processed limp through the door and place a money
order in front of Tonya who stopped whatever she was doing, logged into the client‟s
account, noted the payment, and quickly sent the client back on his or her way. The last
thing she wanted in the lobby was exhibit “a” of In a Pinch’s collection techniques.
It was another reason Jezabel didn‟t want to remember her client‟s names, didn‟t want to
get personally involved with them, and didn‟t spend a lot of time in the lobby other than
to make her copies, print, stretch her cramped legs. The last thing she needed was
something more to feel bad about. Little by little, comment by comment, Tonya and
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Charles and Bobby and John said things that made Jezabel understand collections was not
a nice process.
And she wasn‟t sure it was an entirely legal process, either. It worried her. She didn‟t
know if she should outright ask Tonya or Charles or if she should just pretend she knew
nothing or how she should act now. She decided to pretend ignorance if for no other
reason than she really didn‟t know what was going on, it didn‟t affect her job directly,
and she didn‟t want to end up as someone who knew “too much.” While Jezabel was not
prone to dramatics, she was intelligent and pragmatic—she worked in a city with a high
crime rate and a large population of poor. And given her own life experiences, she knew
that things didn‟t always operate the way the law or the majority expected they would.
Better she just keep out of it, keep her job, and keep quiet.
She commended herself on doing a pretty good job until lately, especially until now.
Now, for whatever reason, she felt like everything was coming to a head, and she was
drowning in it. She took a sip of the hot tea and stroked Tarika‟s ear. Tarika purred.
Lovely kitty, she thought. I don‟t care what Michael says. You aren‟t going anywhere.
Michael. He hadn‟t actually said a word about the cat again, and Jezabel was surprised.
Maybe he had just forgotten. Tarika had just taken off the last time he was here, hid
somewhere until after all the fighting and love making. Once he was gone, she came
back out, jumped into bed with Jezabel, and replaced Michael, lying contented on his
pillow. Jezabel giggled. Michael would have a fit for sure!
The phone rang, and Jezabel wondered if she should even get it. After three rings, she
sighed, got up, and said “hello.”
“Jezabel?” It was Michael. “Hey, look, I have some bad news.”
She sat down. He had to be kidding. Bad news? What more bad news could there be
after a day like this?
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“God, this sucks,” he said. “I am so fucking pissed, I just can‟t deal. You know that job
I was supposed to start today?”
“Yes,” she said quietly. She thought she should feel something, some more kind of
foreboding, but curiously, she felt nothing.
“Well, I go to the site today, right. I had to take a cab because my truck is dead. So I get
over there and the foreman says, „Hey, where‟s your truck?‟ So I tell him. So you know
what the fucker says? „Well sorry man, can‟t use you then.‟ So I say, „Whaddaya mean
you can‟t use me? You said you could use me last week,‟ and he says, „Yeah but you
said you had a truck. You need to be bringing stuff back and forth, I need you hauling.
Can‟t use you without wheels, man.‟ I wanted to punch the mother fucker in the face but
what the fuck could I do?”
Jezabel sat in silence.
“You there?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I‟m listening.”
“So he says he might have something for me in a couple of weeks, something that doesn‟t
require hauling, but right now, for right now….” Michael paused. He actually sounded
panicked. “Right now, he‟s got nothing for me.”
“Michael, what are you going to do?” she asked. She was trying to focus, trying to make
herself feel something other than just a heavy weight, sitting in a cheap chair in an
apartment, a heavy, voiceless, numb weight.
“Shit, I don‟t know. I know I already gave my notice here, so he‟s going to expect
something before I leave, last month‟s rent or something or maybe he‟ll just use my
security deposit, but shit, I don‟t know. I don‟t have any money to get the truck out, can‟t
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sell it, and now I don‟t have a job so it‟s going to be kind of hard to go in and get a loan
for the motorcycle. Shit, I don‟t know. You got any ideas? Got any money?” he asked.
She said nothing. She had lent him the last bit she could stretch out without going into
debt herself. There was nothing left. That‟s how she felt, like there was nothing left to
the little bit she considered her. She was gone.
“Guess not,” he said, since she said nothing. “Hell, I don‟t know. I‟ll figure it out. Just
start packing my stuff and try to get something else. You mind if I use your car for a
couple of weeks?”
“No, I don‟t mind,” she said. And she really didn‟t. She didn‟t feel anything, so why
should she mind?
“Can you come over and get me and I‟ll drop you back off? I‟m going to need it
tomorrow to take care of some things.”
“Sure,” she said. “I‟ll be right over.”
She hung up the phone, put on her shoes, and grabbed her keys. It was late, and she had
to be up early in the morning. But it didn‟t seem to matter somehow.
Like the bunnymoose said. If she went by how she felt, she wouldn‟t do anything ever
again.
___________________________________________________________________
She pulled up to his apartment house. The driveway was pitch black, the porch light out
again. She had been here in the dark enough to have memorized the steps up to the door,
feel her way into the front hall, and up the steep, wooden staircase to his apartment.
“How are you doing?” a voice said.
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She jumped enough to drop the keys.
“Hey, sorry,” the voice said. “Didn‟t mean to startle you.” She squinted in the dark and
recognized the voice and frame of Michaels‟ neighbor, the one she thought was gay.
“Oh, good, good” she said. “Whew, you scared me,” she laughed nervously.
“I know. Sorry,” he said. He reached down, felt around the ground, and handed her the
keys she had dropped. “Damn landlord lets this light go out all the time. Dangerous, you
know? You be careful on those steps, now.”
“I will,” she said. “Thanks.”
He followed her in as far as the foyer and then went his own way.
Something about him made Jezabel want to stop and talk more. Irrationally, she wanted
to spill her guts to him. She wanted to cry and tell him about work and Bobby and John
and Sharon getting promoted and her terrible job and Michael losing his job and not
having enough money and how she knew she was losing her mind because, had he ever
been to Felonias Park? Had he ever seen it, that thing, that thing with the head of a lop-
eared rabbit and the body of a moose? No? Would he want to come with her some time
and see if it appeared, just so she would know she wasn‟t crazy? She would really like
that. She could really use a friend.
With a sad shake of her head, she realized she was once again carrying on conversations
in her mind, this time with a man she hardly knew. But, she thought, at least she knew
HE existed, which was more than she could say for that bunnymoose thing.
She knocked on Michael‟s door.
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“Hey,” he said. “Come on in.”
His apartment looked like a real moose had traipsed through it. Clothes were strewn
throughout the living room in piles, a hill of broken boxes sat in the corner. By the
window snaked cords and wires apparently attached to a broken down stereo system that
Jezabel couldn‟t tell if he was trying to repair or dismantle or what. It looked like he had
started some packing. She saw three dishes and two glasses in a box on the kitchen table,
and the refrigerator was open. Nothing was in it except beer, and Michael had been in
the process of throwing away old jars of molding things like jellies and relish that he
never did use.
“Hey,” she said. She handed him the keys.
“Hey, well, I‟d ask if you wanted to stay over here, but it‟s kind of a wreck,” he said. “I
started to….” he gestured.
“Yeah,” she nodded. “Let‟s just go. I‟m real tired.”
“Okay,” he said, and they went back to her car. The seats were cold and they drove back
in silence. She wondered if he thought she was mad at him, if he even cared if she was
mad or if he was so caught up in his anger that he had thought she might have an opinion
over him being jobless again. Or still. Whichever.
She looked at his profile. He was so good looking, but somehow, she couldn‟t see it right
now. Not that he looked ugly or anything, but he seemed to fall into that big pit of
nothingness that had attacked her tonight, that no feeling whatsoever. She didn‟t like it,
but she didn‟t like it enough to hate it, so she just accepted the fact that at this very
moment, she was not attracted to Michael in the least.
If he wanted to make love she wondered if she could even do it. Well that was
ridiculous, she thought, because sometimes, she didn‟t feel like doing it but she did it
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anyway because….. Because why? Because she felt like she had to? Because she felt
like he would be mad if she said no? Because she was worried if she said no she would
lose him? Because if she said no, would he do it anyway? She might have stopped
herself from this train of thought, but since she had no feelings attached to it, she just
kept going. What would he do?
She remembered one night when he had been drinking and she told him no. It was the
night he had come banging on her door, demanding to be let in. She wouldn‟t let him in
and when she finally did (because she was afraid her invisible neighbors would call the
police and he would be arrested), he lunged at her, grabbing her shoulders, and pushing
her down on the couch. She told him to stop and he didn‟t. He was mad and he kept
saying, “What‟s the matter? Don‟t you want me? Huh, don‟t you want me?”
She told him no, not like this, and he ripped the shoulder of her shirt down, tearing her
bra away and bit her breast, hard. He unbuttoned her pants and raked them down her
legs, did the same with his pants and jammed himself inside her with even removing her
panties. He panted, humping her, saying, “What‟s the matter? Don‟t you want me?
Huh? Don‟t you want this?” She was crying and shaking her head. It hurt but he didn‟t
stop. He didn‟t stop, and she remembered looking at him in that same way she looked at
him now, like he was someone who seemed like he should be good looking but wasn‟t in
the least.
He brought the car into the lot of her apartment buildings, and she got ready to get out.
She didn‟t know if she should ask him to stay over or not. They hadn‟t been in the habit
of staying at each other‟s places in the middle of the week, but lately, things hadn‟t been
usual. He looked at her, so she asked. “Did you want to stay over or did you want to go
back to your place?”
“Think I‟ll go back to my place and do some more cleaning up,” he said.
“Okay, I‟ll talk to you tomorrow.” She got out of the car.
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No kiss or anything. She wondered when that had started. They used to kiss all the time.
Now she felt like he only kissed her when he wanted to have sex, and even then….
Forget it, she told herself. Go to bed.
She did.
The phone rang. It was 3:00 a.m. “What, Michael?” she asked.
“Can I come over?”
“Michael I have to work tomorrow and I have all this crap going on at work.”
“So the answer is no,” he said. He sounded mad. Oh no. Was he drunk?
“Michael, have you been drinking?” she asked.
“Little,” he said. “Not much.”
“Michael, I gotta get some sleep. Can we talk tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Sure. We can talk tomorrow,” he said, and he hung up.
Jezabel unplugged the phone and fell right back to sleep.
Chapter 9
The man leaned over, practically folding himself in half to reach the ties of his shoes.
The shoes themselves had the look of old suede that had been cleaned. On one side, a
piece of tape poked through a hole that had been patched. The laces had started to fray,
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the plastic ends long since replaced by knots preventing the laces from slipping through.
The man straightened in his chair just as Jezabel came into her office.
“Sorry for the delay,” she said, hanging up her coat. “It‟s been a crazy morning.”
“Judging from the crowd in the lobby, I can see that,” the man said. He wore a tweed
jacket with worn patches at the elbows, and wrinkled, navy blue shirt underneath, and
navy colored trousers. Jezabel immediately thought “trousers” and not “pants” for some
reason after hearing the man speak.
There was something regal, educated, or dignified about his speech, the tone of his voice
and words he chose, not in that overly-enunciated way Sharon had, but in the way that
says the speaker has gone through several years of college. Jezabel would have bet he
graduated. She wished she did.
Sharon‟s first day on the job as supervisor, and already she was raising her eyebrow,
looking at the clock, as Jezabel hurried in ten minutes late. It had indeed been a crazy
morning. She had forgotten to set the alarm, and all night long she had dreams of
Michael calling her, Michael at the door, Michael starting to move his things into her
apartment. In some of the dreams, they were fighting and in others, making love, usually
with her realizing she was in pain but not saying anything about it. When she finally did
awake for real, she looked at her clock, horrified to see she was due at work in twenty
minutes.
She readied herself in literally less than five minutes, washing her face, brushing her
teeth, throwing on an outfit and running to the bus stop. She brushed her hair on the bus
and wiped toothpaste off her mouth as she crossed the street. This was the worst way to
start a day, she thought, especially a day supervised by Sharon, a day on which the lobby
was crammed full of clients waiting to sell their souls for a quick fix.
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“Take your time,” the man said. “Really. I‟m in not hurry, and you will have plenty of
others after me who might not be so patient, so please. Don‟t rush on my account.”
She looked at him, studying his clean-shaven face to see if he was serious. He wore a
small, kind smile, his graying blond hair swept to the side, his thick neck resting
comfortably within the collar of the wrinkled shirt. She smiled and logged into her
system.
“Well it will take a few minutes to get in here,” she said. “May I see your paperwork?”
He handed it to her. “Here it is, such as it is,” he said. “The address I have listed is only
temporary, but I have a P.O. Box as well in case you need to send me anything in the
mail.”
“Okay,” she said, examining the papers. “So I should mark the P.O. Box as your mailing
address, is that correct?”
“Yes,” the man said. “Word of advice. If you think your housing situation might be
unstable, always get a P.O. box. Then at least you have a mailing address to list on job
applications.”
“I‟ve hear that,” she said, looking at him, understanding. “Thank you.” She didn‟t know
why she was thanking him, but it seemed appropriate somehow, like he was trying to
give her advice. Right now, she appreciated any advice, no matter who it might come
from. It made her feel like someone cared.
“Don‟t worry. I‟m not shy about it. I‟ve lived in some pretty bad spaces, and the hardest
thing to do is to get yourself out of those spaces if you don‟t at least have the know-how
to pretend you are not in such a space. Do you understand what I mean by that?”
“I think I do,” she said.
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The man leaned against her desk, on his elbows, his chin in his hands. “It‟s the most
remarkable thing I have learned about this world,” he said. “The world creates these
spaces and helps you get there, but once you are there, the world would like to pretend
those places don‟t exist. And if you remind the world those spaces do exist, you have
then damned yourself to those spaces forever.
“So it seems best, that if you do wind up in one of those spaces, and you know the kind of
mean, I think, young lady, then you do best by yourself to play the denial game for
awhile until you extricate yourself. Then and only then, should you choose to do
something about those spaces, can you really effect any kind of change. If you try to do
it while you are there, you are just damning yourself. Don‟t do it to yourself, young lady.
Please, if you ever find yourself in such a position, get out first. Don‟t try to change the
world when you aren‟t in a position to do so.”
The man‟s tawny eyes stared at her. His face looked sad and intent and urgent. She
nodded, suddenly nervous, as if he were trying to tell her something very important that
could somehow save her life. Was she in some kind of trouble that she wasn‟t aware of?
Should she be scared?
Stupid, she told herself again. You‟re doing it again, getting too involved. Stop listening
to these people or you WILL go crazy. After all, she hadn‟t done anything to put herself
in danger, other than arriving a few minutes too late. That, and of course, unplugging the
phone last night so she could get to sleep. She had meant to call Michael this morning,
but she just didn‟t have the time. She made a mental note to call him before lunch if the
crowd let up at all.
“Thank you,” she said firmly. “I hope to not get into a situation like that, but I
understand how easy it can happen,” she said neutrally. “Now, in reviewing your
paperwork, I see you are working, so you will have a way to pay this loan?” she asked.
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The man nodded. “I tutor math,” he said.
“Well good,” she said. “So….”
He interrupted her. “It‟s pretty steady right now. Problem is in summer. Some parents
want their kids to keep up with tutoring so they don‟t fall behind, but most, if the kids are
that bad, send their kids to summer school and don‟t want to pay for tutoring. What I
really need is to break into a new market, one of those newer schools, you know the ones
I‟m talking about, the ones with real money. Then I can get referrals and some students
who are better off. And then,”
“Thank you, sir, I understand,” she interrupted. “It sounds like a steady business, so you
should be able to handle the loan,” she said.
“Such as it is, yes.”
“You‟ve completed the rest of the fields so if you just give me a minute here…” She
entered the information as quickly as she could. Sometimes she felt like she spent her
days in avoidance, typing quickly, reciting disclaimers, avoiding the conversations sure to
spring up in her office, trying to avoid those connections which sometimes felt
inescapable no matter how politely she dismissed them.
I need to get out of this job, she said. There. She said it to herself, admitted it more
bluntly than she had before. I need to get out of this job, and I need to do it soon. If the
clients don‟t drive me right over the edge, Sharon will. There is no way I can go on like
this. And then, to her own surprise, she thought, I am going to start looking for a new
job.
A panic rushed through her fingertips as she typed. How? What? How would she
explain her current position? What would she say about her company‟s reputation? Who
could she use as references? There was no way….
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No, she told herself firmly. There had to be a way. She would not be trapped in this
office by an overbearing supervisor and a rotten financial image, not when she could earn
at least the same amount somewhere else with a lot less stress. And while she was at it,
she might as well face up to the fact that this job was starting to make her feel guilty. No,
it wasn‟t just starting. It WAS making her feel guilty.
She had almost admitted it the day snake-boy came in to apply and never came back. She
knew something had changed because she felt RELIEVED he had not come back, she
had mentally APPLAUDED him for not coming back. Her mind had muttered, “Good
for you, snake-boy. You just got a new start for yourself. Don‟t let them ruin it for you.”
Guilt. Why spend the day feeding it, lining Bobby and John‟s already silken pockets,
when she could be doing something else without that terrible burden? She had enough
burdens in life. Why should her job have to add more?
“If you don‟t mind me saying,” the man said, leaning forward again, pulling her out of
her reverie, “you don‟t seem very happy with your job.”
Jezabel burst out in a short laugh. And it suddenly occurred to her that the last time she
had laughed, it had been with a client, the little Asian man with the wife who was an
accountant. She remembered that conversation and burst out laughing again. The man in
her office cocked his head like a confused puppy, setting her off even more. Before she
knew it, tears were streaming down her face, hot tears, tears she couldn‟t identify as tears
of laughter or sadness, but it didn‟t matter.
“Knock, knock,” said the all too familiar voice of Sharon. “Everything all right in here?”
Jezabel looked at her. Sharon was in gray today. Surprise, surprise. She laughed even
more now, holding her sides, gasping, “Everything….is…just….just fine, Sharon.” She
wiped her face. Oh my god, she had better pull it together. She was losing it for sure.
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She giggled once more. “Just fine. I‟m just printing now,” she explained, trying to sound
serious.
“And you are satisfied with the way your loan is being processed?” Sharon asked the
man. The man nodded sagely. “I am quite sure she is doing a fine job and I have to
admit, the laughter has added a rather different dimension to my day, and I am not
unhappy about it.”
“I see,” Sharon said. “Well, I just wanted to be sure. We are quite concerned about the
happiness of our clients,” she annunciated.
“Well, then, kind lady,” said the man in a tone Jezabel wasn‟t sure he meant as sarcastic
or serious, “be comforted that I am quite satisfied.” Sharon nodded and returned to her
own office.
Jezabel gave the man an appreciative look.
“I see you have adequate supervision,” he noted.
“You might say that,” Jezabel said and giggled again.
“Well that explains your current…disposition,” he said. “I do hope you are able to find
whatever it is you are looking for.”
“Can I ask you…what made you think I was looking for something else?” she asked.
“My dear,” he said, “I have worn that same expression you had on your face so many
times in my life, I can barely count that high, and I am a math tutor!” he exclaimed.
“What human being has not resented the shackles he has been given to wear and then told
to appear gracious while wearing them?”
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She wondered if he were quoting a book or if he just enjoyed dramatically spouting off
now and then. Either way, she appreciated the reference and greatly appreciated the fact
that someone else might recognize her position as one of imprisonment. “Thank you,”
she said again. “I am hoping to make some changes, but I haven‟t been sure how to go
about it. I hope I can do something soon,” she added. “Because…”
“….because your patience is running out?” he asked. “Because you have reached that
point where you question if you can take another moment? Because you are wondering
why you were put here on this Earth, if God had some kind of vendetta to settle in
creating you, if this place is your version of Purgatory?”
She looked at him blankly. “Well, maybe not all that, but some, yes,” she said. She was
getting that feeling again that she had allowed this man to step past a certain line, and
now it was going to become more obvious why he would push that line to begin with and
why he had ended up at her desk in the first place.
His face remained kind and eager enough, and she was certain if he were a wacko, he was
a harmless one. Still, she didn‟t think it would be wise to let him draw conjecture on her
life and decisions, so she had better draw the line once again and do so in permanent,
black ink.
“I need to make some copies,” she said. “Excuse me.”
“Of course,” he said, and leaned back again. She hurried away from her desk, and the
man began to hum.
The lobby sounded like an explosion of voices and languages drowning out Tonya‟s
English, the little Spanish she knew, an occasional word in Portuguese or something
Jezabel remembered Tonya had picked up just from working there. She patted Tonya on
the shoulder and quickly made her copies. Charles was heading to the copier as well,
staring open-mouthed at the crowd in the lobby. The chairs were full, and a line stretched
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from the counter out the door, spilling onto the sidewalk. “What the hell?” he said to
Jezabel. “Is there a sale someone forgot to tell us about?”
“Guess so,” Jezabel answered. “I don‟t think I‟ve ever seen it like this.”
“Must be because the news of our fair boss has spread throughout the city,” he said
ironically in the air of a regal announcement.
“Charles, don‟t start,” laughed Jezabel. “I was already late, and I am sure it has been
duly noted.”
“Don‟t worry, Jezzy girl,” Charles said. “I‟ll stand with you in the unemployment line.
Just me, you and a couple thousand other losers.”
“Thanks, Charles, but I‟m not ready for the loser line yet,” she said. “I‟ve got lots of
planning to do, and standing around unemployed isn‟t part of that plan. And besides, who
says those people are losers?”
He was about to come back with some wiseass crack, she was sure, but lo and behold,
Sharon was coming out to the copier to either break up the happy conversation or to
check on her fans. Jezabel thought if Sharon spent less time patrolling and more time
processing, the crowd would not be quite so large this morning. But it was none of her
business. She went back into her office where her tweed-wearing philosopher awaited.
“If you could sign here and here,” she said, indicating the lines at the bottom. She
prepared to recite the disclaimer: “And legally, I have to remind you that In A Pinch is
not a bank. You are taking out a high interest loan to be repaid over a six-month period.
You will be responsible for the principal of the loan, monthly interest accrued at 27% and
the initiation fee of $75.00. If you miss one or more payments, we reserve the right to
aggressively collect from you and/or the cosigners designated on your application form.
Do you have any questions?”
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The man stared at her blankly. “I‟m sorry. I‟m afraid I didn‟t understand all that.”
She looked at him. Was he kidding? He was a math tutor, wasn‟t he? “Sir?” she asked.
“What part would you like me to explain?”
“Well, I suppose if you would repeat the whole thing slowly, I would appreciate it,” he
said.
“Okay,” she said, wondering about this man. Then, slowly, she said again, “I have to
remind you that In A Pinch is not a bank. You are taking out a high interest loan to be
repaid over a six-month period. You will be responsible for the principal of the loan,
monthly interest accrued at 27% and the initiation fee of $75.00. If you miss one or more
payments, we reserve the right to aggressively collect from you and/or the cosigners
designated on your application form. Do you have any questions?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do,” the man said. “But first, let me tell you how impressed I
am that you can say that whole thing ver batum without missing one word.” He paused.
“Now, what exactly do „they‟ do to collect on these loans?”
She was silent. “Well, um, I think they call and send you letters, and of course they can
ruin your credit….”
“With all due respect, miss, I am quite sure your clients could care less about their credit
being ruined. What, then, motivates them to pay if they are bound and determined not
to?”
She felt shaky all of a sudden, as if this was the thing she had been warned against.
Ridiculous, she thought. This man was just intelligent, inquisitive, and more than just a
bit eccentric. He wanted to know details she was not privy to, and the best she could do
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for herself was to explain she was not privy to that information. “I‟m sorry, sir, I really
am not privy to that kind of information.”
“Well, who might be?” he asked.
She paused. Before, if anyone asked difficult questions (which was not often), she would
refer people to the owners, give them a card with Bobby and John‟s alternate office
phone number. The clients usually were happy with this answer and signed anyway,
even before actually getting their specific answers. Jezabel had the feeling this man
would not be so easily pacified, however. “Well there are the owners but…” she stopped,
suddenly thinking. “But really, you probably would have to speak with my supervisor,
Sharon Stuart.”
The man nodded. “I would like that very much,” he said.
“One moment, please, sir,” she said. She walked back to Sharon‟s office where Sharon
was asking the usual questions of a lady holding an infant. The infant cried now and
then, and the lady, dressed in middle eastern garb, bounced the infant on her brightly
robed legs and gently mumbled, “shhhhhh, little one, shhhhhhhhh.”
“Excuse me, Sharon,” Jezabel said, knocking on the open door.
“Jezabel, I am with a client right now,” she said in a brittle tone. “It will have to wait.”
“I have a situation,” said Jezabel, looking Sharon in the eye. Sharon put down her pen.
“What is it?” Sharon asked.
“My client would like to ask some very specific questions of the person who is in
charge.”
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“Oh,” said Sharon. She paused. “Well, in that case, if you will tell him I will be right
with him, I would appreciate it.”
“Okay,” said Jezabel.
She walked back into her office. “She will be with you shortly,” she told the man.
“Would you care for a cup of coffee?” she asked brightly, suddenly smiling.
“That sounds absolutely wonderful,” he said. “Thank you. As I said before, I am not in a
hurry and I could use something warm.”
“Then I will be right back,” said Jezabel. For some reason, she suddenly felt like dancing
out the door into the lobby.
She hummed as she poured the coffee into the little Styrofoam cup. She had forgotten to
ask him if he liked cream or sugar, so she poured some powdered cream into another cup,
threw a couple of packets of various sweeteners on top, and stuck a stirrer in. She was
about to carry both cups back to her office, a little smile still on her face, when Charles
stood in front of her, blocking her route.
“Okay, you look way too amused, especially considering the way you rolled in here this
morning. It‟s time you talked,” he said leaning close to her to overcome the din of the
line in the lobby without shouting the gossip alert.
Jezabel smiled sweetly at him. “What?” she asked. “What‟s there to talk about?”
“Don‟t play that game with me, Jezzy,” he pretended to growl at her. “You never smile
that much in this place even on a good day.”
Was it that noticeable? It must be, she thought. In fact, Charles had hit a kind of nerve
because Jezabel felt like she didn‟t really smile that much at all outside of this place
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either. “Nothing, it‟s nothing. Really,” she said. After all, what was it anyway, other
than her own satisfaction at being able to refer a problem to Sharon who was still basking
in her newly-appointed glory?
“There is a man in your office who has been in there a long time. Now, either you two are
making a date, or something more interesting is going on. And given the fact that you
and Michael are planning to move in together at the end of the month, I highly doubt
you‟re making a date, girl, so you betta talk!”
She laughed, now, but felt herself wince a little at the reminder of Michael moving in.
Why had she told Charles that? “Okay, but really,” she said. “You‟re going to be
disappointed.”
“Try me,” he responded, folding his arms and waiting. Beside them, beyond Tonya‟s
desk, a loud conversation had erupted among some Spanish speaking clients.
Two babies had now begun to cry, one from Sharon‟s office, the other in the lobby. A
little black boy and an Indian girl raced each other from one end of the lobby to the other,
a pale girl about ten cheering them on until Tonya yelled out, “Hey, you need to stop
that! Stop that now!”
“The man in my office doesn‟t want to sign until he knows more about the collections
process. I didn‟t know what else to say to him, so….”
Charles‟s face broke into a grin that threatened to take over the entire office. “You
referred him to Sharon,” he said.
“Yes,” said Jezabel, perfectly serious.
He burst out laughing, slapping his knee. “Oh…oh Jezzy, I gotta thank you for that, girl!
You just made my whole freaking morning!” He was still laughing as he made his way
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back to his office. Tonya looked over. Jezabel shrugged and walked back into her own
office. She handed the man his two cups.
“Sir,” she said, I forgot to ask you how you took your coffee, so I got you the fixings
here.”
“I thank you,” he said. “Now, I know you have a room full of people out there, and that
might not end up being a good thing, so how about I take a seat in the lobby and let you
get to your next client while I wait for…..what is her name?”
“Sharon,” Jezabel said. “Sharon Stuart.”
“Yes. I am sure you can let Ms. Stuart know I am waiting for her in the lobby,” he said.
He stirred up his coffee, dumped the extra cup in the trash, nodded to Jezabel, and walked
out of her office.
Jezabel jotted down the man‟s location on a post-it note. She walked into Sharon‟s
office, and without knocking, leaned past the woman and her crying baby and stuck it in
the center of Sharon‟s desk. Sharon shot Jezabel an ugly how-dare-you-barge-into-my-
office look which Jezabel ignored.
She headed back into the lobby. “Tonya, you can send in the next client,” she said. “My
last client will be waiting her to see…Ms. Stuart.”
Tonya raised her eyebrows and then nodded.
Within the next minute, one of the Hispanic women who had been part of the lobby
discussion walked into Jezabel‟s office. She carried with her the paperwork and a huge
satchel made of leather and suede patches. The bag was cinched closed with a leather tie,
which the woman now loosened. From the bag, she removed a small black, device of
some kind.
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“Hello,” said Jezabel. “Please have a seat.”
“Hello,” said the woman. She had a slight accent, medium length, dark hair, thick
eyebrows, and piercing, almost black eyes. “I want to discuss paperwork with you, but I
want to tape,” she said.
“Excuse me?” asked Jezabel, just now realizing the device was a tape recorder.
“I need record to give to my husband. He want to know everything you say, and I forget,
so I want to record.”
“Oh,” said Jezabel. For the second time this morning, she was faced with an unusual
request. Just last week, she would have been begging for something different, something
to break up the monotony of this job. Today, though, after the trials of the past week, she
almost regretted wanting such diversions. A few moments of hum-drum today would
have been welcomed.
“Um, I guess you can,” said Jezabel. Sheesh. What if she said something wrong and the
woman got it on tape and brought her to court or something? That was ridiculous. What
would she say other than what she said every day? And why would the woman bring her,
Jezabel, personally to court? She didn‟t own a thing, other than her broken down car.
She told herself to shut up. Why was she being so paranoid?
Paranoid or not, Jezabel decided she better stick to the basics: review the paperwork, ask
about how the loan would be paid, get the signature, recite the disclaimer, and send this
woman on her way as quickly as possible. That was the strategy.
“Okay, can I see your paperwork?” Jezabel asked?
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“One moment, please,” the woman said, clicking on the recorder and placing it on
Jezabel‟s desk. “Would you mind repeating that?”
Jezabel gave the woman an irritated look. “I asked you if I could see your paperwork.”
“Here it is,” the woman said, handing it over. Jezabel scanned it. It figured. Line three,
previous address, was left blank, and the current address was less than five year old,
which meant the woman actually had to fill in lines three and four.
“You need to fill in your address history here and here,” Jezabel pointed out. “Fill in the
addresses of your previous two residences.”
The woman looked scornfully at the paper. “I skip these,” she said.
“I know. I need you to fill these in.”
“I skip these because I did not live in this country,” she said, slowly, like Jezabel didn‟t
understand English.
“I understand. It doesn‟t matter where you lived,” Jezabel explained. “You have to fill
in the lines.
“I lived in Mexico City,” the woman said, proudly, defiantly.
“And that‟s fine,” repeated Jezabel, trying to make her tone sound patient for the benefit
of the tape recorder, “But I need you to fill in the lines or they won‟t give you the loan.”
The woman shrugged. She took the pen from Jezabel‟s hand and filled in the
information.
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Jezabel sighed internally. She couldn‟t blame the lady for wanting to protect herself or
for not filling in the information. After all, it‟s not like Bobby and John could run
international credit information. They could do extensive background checks if they
wanted to, Jezabel supposed, but she was sure they wouldn‟t bother. She didn‟t get
involved in that part of the business either, and she preferred not to know how the two
owners actually verified the application materials. It occurred to her they might not do
any verification at all, considering they had their collections gurus to back them up.
The woman handed the paperwork back to Jezabel who made it clear she was entering
the information into the computer. She typed, tapping the keys more loudly than she
usually did, and then wondered why she was bothering. What would the woman do, have
her husband listen to the sounds of data entry? This was ridiculous.
“How do you intend to pay this loan?” Jezabel asked, no emotion in her tone.
“My husband. He pays,” the woman said.
“What does your husband do for work?” she asked.
“He works,” the woman said and folded her arms across her chest. She wore a cranberry
crochet sweater, and when she pulled on it, the holes opened up, exposing the lighter
shades of her belly.
“I need to know what he does for work, how he plans to pay for the loan,” Jezabel said,
patiently.
The woman sat, stubbornly silent.
Jezabel sighed. “Look,” she said, “I know this is not fun. I know you are not here
because you want to be here. I know your husband plans to pay this loan, but I cannot
give you a loan if you will not tell me what he does for work.” She added, “I‟m sorry. I
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have to ask you that.” Jezabel damned herself in her mind. Why was she apologizing for
having to do her job? She didn‟t owe this woman anything, especially considering the
hard time she was giving her. Why on earth….
“Carpenter,” the woman said, releasing her arms a bit and letting the crochet fall back
into its natural, close-knit order. “He a carpenter.”
“Okay,” nodded Jezabel. “Thank you.”
She entered in the rest of the information, sent the documents to the prints, and then went
out for her copies. “I will be right back,” she said.
“This mean we get a loan?” the woman asked.
Jezabel nodded. She got up and walked towards her door.
Suddenly, the woman smiled up at her. Jezabel stopped. “Thank you,” the woman said,
grabbing Jezabel‟s hand.
Jezabel nodded. “You‟re welcome,” she said. The woman would not let go of her hand,
so she shook her hand and said again, “You‟re welcome.” She gave the woman a little
smile.
She made her copies thinking to herself how sad it is that most people walk through life
being so very, very afraid.
The woman signed on the lines. Jezabel said the disclaimer. The woman asked no more
questions, snapped off the recorder, smiled, and left.
Jezabel felt exhausted.
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Chapter 10
That‟s what she needed, she thought, passing the man sleeping on the bench. A
newspaper. The help wanted page. She needed to take that first step and see what was
out there that she could do. Maybe she would have time to go buy one before she went
home. She had to go to the grocery store and…
She remembered then that Michael had her car. Shit. She had forgotten to call him. Or
had she just put it out of her mind? With all the craziness of the day, the man who
wanted to see Sharon, the lady with the recorder, and the stream of wild eyed clients who
followed, Jezabel hadn‟t even had time for a lunch break, never mind to a conciliatory
phone call to her boyfriend.
She really needed to talk to him, had to make him understand that she knew he had
problems but she was having them too, and they were all coming at the same time.
Tonight. They needed to have the discussion tonight. And she needed her car.
Otherwise, she wouldn‟t be able to get a newspaper and groceries.
The man on the bench groan and rolled over, flipping to face the back of the bench. One
sheet of his newspaper cover took off in the breeze and landed at Jezabel‟s feet. With the
way this day was working and with what she was expecting from the visit in the park, she
wouldn‟t have been surprised if it was the Help Wanted section laying at her feet. In fact,
it wasn‟t. It was the classifieds. Motorcycles. Jezabel groaned. That‟s the last thing she
wanted to see at her feet.
She remembered the little rhyme they used to say: Michael, Michael, motorcycle, turn
the key and watch him pee. The idea of Michael on a motorcycle scared the hell out of
her, not because of the rhyme but because of his drinking. It made HER want to pee.
She had spoken to him about that bike thing before. He had driven drunk several times,
had never been caught. He wasn‟t worried, she said, and she shouldn‟t be either because
he was a good driver. She said she didn‟t care how much of a good driver he was. Drunk
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people were not good drivers. He got mad, then, so she just dropped it. Driving a car
while drunk was one thing, but a motorcycle was even worse. Half of her didn‟t mind
giving up her car if it meant Michael wouldn‟t get the bike. But then, he didn‟t have a
job either, and that was very bad.
She stepped over the newspaper and walked the path, the day reverberating in her head
like the hum of an overblown amplifier at a rock concert. Her brain ached from it. Her
legs moved quickly, on their own, streaking past the usual landmarks of trees and bush,
anticipating the fence and woods. She knew the bunnymoose would be there. It was just
too weird of day for it not to be there.
She stood at her fence, and she waited.
The silence eased the droning in her head. She picked up the last evidence of frozen
snow and melted it on her temples, easing the pain that had formed the backdrop of her
day. She closed her eyes.
She head a rustle.
When she opened her eyes, she saw a squirrel. Nothing more.
She closed her eyes again. A drop of snow skiddled down her back, making her shiver.
After a moment, she opened her eyes again. Still nothing. “Come on,” she murmured.
“Where are you?”
She waited a few more moments, and then wondered how long she would wait. The
uncanny feeling that she had imagined the creature and the previous conversation started
to nag at her. But what, she thought. She had imagined this thing twice? That couldn‟t
be. She might be losing her mind, but she wasn‟t that bad. Was she?
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She closed her eyes again, telling herself not to worry.
“Scuse me, miss,” a gruff voice said, not two feet in front of her. She jumped.
He wore sunglasses and a tattered army jacket. She looked at his tussled hair. She
recognized him from somewhere. Yes, that was it. The man from the sub shop, the man
she had seen outside the entrance that one time. It was him.
“Can you spare a dollar or two?” he asked.
She had started to worry he was following her, but now, looking more closely at the
creases in his mouth, the lines on his face, she didn‟t think he would care enough to
follow her. He looked like he hadn‟t shaved since the last time she saw him, and his
beard was growing in awkwardly, thin in some places, completely missing in others,
patchwork like a quilt gone bad.
“I‟m…I‟m sorry,” she said. “I really don‟t have any money.” She was sorry, and she
really didn‟t have any money. “I‟m so sorry,” she said again.
“That‟s okay. Thank you for your time, miss,” he said. He continued on, past the woods.
He stopped, and he turned back to face her. “Don‟t stay out here too long, now, miss.
Cold out here. Long winter we‟re having this year.”
“Yes,” she said. “I know. Thank you.”
The man turned around and continued walking.
Jezabel took one more look into the woods, scanning the underbrush and the distant,
landmark rock, turned around, and headed home.
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________________________________________________________
She listened to the whir of the computer as it started up. Looking around the spare room,
the room she hardly every used, she thought she might redecorate it. Correction. She
should decorate it, period. It was always just “the spare room” so she had never bothered
with more than a pair of sheers on the window.
The rest of her apartment housed walls full of used old painting prints she had picked up
at library and yard sales, and two shelves, one in the kitchen, the other in the living room,
with dusty knick-knacks she had collected over the years, some from the same thrift shop
but certainly not all of them.
Her mother was fond of sending her knick-knacks every Christmas for some reason, even
though she knew Jezabel didn‟t dust often. Jezabel felt these were remnants of her
relationship with her mother, a mother she never saw more than once a year, so she kept
them all and didn‟t put them away, even when the holidays came around and the
Christmas stuff came out. Not that Jezabel had a lot of Christmas decorations, but again,
these were things she had accumulated over the years, some from her former life at the
dorm almost, was it really eight years ago? The parties they threw around the holidays
were something—lots of decorations meant to be disposable that Jezabel asked for and
never did dispose of.
The decorations held up year after year with careful folding and storage, and Jezabel
liked them. They reminded her of the fun she had in the dorm, the supervisors who made
sure all the students had at least one gift under the dorm tree, and the cards posted all
around the hallways. It was one of the few times she really felt a part of the dorm and
didn‟t feel like she needed to segregate herself. Because that is what she did, she knew.
She didn‟t connect, but part of it was her fault.
Christmas wasn‟t like that any more, but she liked to keep those decorations, the same
way she liked to keep those old art prints, and the same way she knew she wouldn‟t get
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rid of the knick-knacks. They were part of each other, these little items that had been
with her for so long, and she felt if she gave them up, she would be giving up what little
pieces seemed to hold the stages of her life together. They were glue for fragmented
years that had led her here.
The picture of her and Michael holding hands assaulted her. She tried to dial up her
Internet connection to check her home email, something she hardly ever did anymore
because she just didn‟t use it, and she couldn‟t get through. She told herself to stop
putting off calling Michael and just call him.
She sighed and picked up the phone next to her, the line active since she had re-plugged
it. She heard it ringing and he picked it up saying, “Yeah?”
“Um, hi Michael,” she said.
“Who‟s this?” he asked sarcastically.
“I know, I know it was crazy today. Michael, I really need to talk to you…there are some
things….”
“Michael, it was just CRAZY today,” he mimicked her, raising his voice an octave.
“You have no idea how it is….”
“Michael, come on. I really need to talk to you about all this and I didn‟t get to yesterday
and then I was exhausted when you called last night…”
“And you unplugged your phone. Don‟t forget to mention that little detail,” he said in his
own voice.
“Yes, because I had to get some sleep and I never know if you are going to call back
again or not,” she said. There. She said some of it. She didn‟t know why she was so
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nervous all the time, talking to him about these things. That was stupid. Just say it, she
said. Come on, just say it. “And I need my car back,” she blurted.
“What??” he asked. “What do you mean you need your car back? You just said I could
use it.”
“I have to go to the grocery store and I don‟t have any way to do that. And I‟m not
taking groceries on the bus.” She sat silent, waiting for this to sink in.
“Okay. Why didn‟t you just say so? I‟ll be right over,” he said.
“But,” she said. She gulped. She knew maybe she should say this all to his face, but the
fact of the matter was, she was too scared. Just saying it on the phone, knowing he would
come over later, was hard enough. Saying it to his face where he could become enraged
right then and there just felt too risky. “Michael, we can‟t do this. We can‟t move in
together.”
“Yeah, yeah, stop getting cold feet. I‟ll be over in a few minutes and we can talk about
it.”
“Michael,” she said, “I mean it. We can‟t move in together. We can talk about it, but
there is just no way.”
“I said we will talk about it when I get there,” he demanded. “Now let me get cleaned up
and I will be right over.”
“Okay,” she said, trying not to sound meek and defeated. She had to hold strong on this,
no matter what he said when he came over.
“Just go outside in a few minutes and wait for me there so we can just go get the
groceries and I don‟t have to park,” he said. He was trying to sound patient. “Okay?”
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“Okay,” she said again and hung up.
She sighed and sank back in her chair. What was she doing? What had she been doing
these past two weeks? Had she been crazy to even tell his that yes, she had decided to let
him move in, or was she crazy now, nuts with all the stress at work and the money
problems and the clients and her boss and…..seeing things.
It didn‟t matter, she thought. She wasn‟t comfortable with him moving in, and that was
final. There was no way around it. She got up, put her coat on, and went out the front
door, waiting for him by the front entrance. Less than ten minutes later, he pulled up and
unlocked the door for her.
“So,” he said without further greeting, “what‟s with the cold feel all of a sudden?”
“Michael, it‟s not all of a sudden. I tried to tell you this a couple of days ago, but it just
kept getting crazier and crazier and by the time I got home, there was no time to talk
about it, and….”
“Yeah, yeah, okay, I get it,” he said. “So what‟s the big deal? What‟s happening?”
She rattled off the series of events that had taken place at work, starting with the snake-
boy and her decision to tell him more of the truth. “Now wait a second,” he interrupted,
“What did you do that for? It‟s not your business to be this kid‟s mother.”
“I know, I know,” she said, “but I couldn‟t help it. I mean, here he was trying to start a
new life for himself and what a way to do it…to get a loan from Bobby and John. Then
what if he couldn‟t pay it? You know what would happen to him? It might be enough to
make him do things….”
“Things like what?” Michael demanded.
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“Things like….like things that would get him sent right back to where he was. Maybe
sell some dope to pay it all off, then he would go back to jail. I just didn‟t want that on
my conscience,” she said. “I mean, he seemed like a good kid that just made a few
wrong turns and was trying to get his life back.”
She desperately wanted Michael to understand, not only why she decided to tell snake-
boy more than she should have but why that was such an important decision. So far,
though, he didn‟t seem to get it even though she hadn‟t spit this much out at once in a
long, long time.
They pulled into the parking lot of the grocery store and got out. Walking in, she said,
“And then, I didn‟t know it, but Bobby and John were outside my door.”
“Oh, great,” he said. “And let me guess. They heard you.”
She nodded, miserably. Damn it, why did she feel like she had failed HIM somehow?
This was about her job, not about him. “But they said I usually had such a good record
that they didn‟t mind a little slip,” she said, exaggerating their charity.
“Yeah, right. That‟s a „don‟t fuck up again or you‟ll be outta here‟ if I ever heard one,”
Michael said.
Jezabel ignored him. “So then, they make the announcement, the one we‟ve all been
dreading, that Sharon is now the office manager.”
“Okay, so? So you get a boss you don‟t like. So what. I never like my bosses.”
“Michael,” she said, “it‟s not just that. It‟s the boss, it‟s the business, it‟s the clients, it‟s
what those loans do to the clients. I can‟t deal with it anymore. Michael, I‟m going to
look for another job.”
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“What?” he said turning to her. “You‟re doing what? Don‟t be stupid!” he exploded.
Three people in the store entrance turned to stare at them. “You can‟t do that, not now.
You‟ve been there too long. They pay‟s good and you have some benefits, which is more
than I can say for me.”
“But Michael,” she said quietly, trying to avoid the pressing eyes of the interested
customers, “that‟s the whole thing. You don‟t have a steady job and I want to switch jobs.
This isn‟t a good time to make that move we‟re talking about….”
“You‟re nuts,” he said, grabbing a cart and walking into the store with him. “If anything,
it‟s the perfect time, it doesn‟t get any better. Look, I‟ll have work in a couple of weeks
now, you‟ll settle in with your new boss, and between the two of us, we‟ll make it. It will
be better than it is now, you‟ll see, once you see how much money we‟re saving by doing
this. I decided to sell the truck for parts, and that‟ll give me a little money in the
meantime, and we have your car, so we‟re good. You‟re just freaking out. Now stop it.”
She walked silently beside him, stopping now and then to put milk or eggs into the cart.
She passed a newspaper stand and quickly dropped a paper into the cart, hoping he
wouldn‟t ask why she wanted it. She wasn‟t going to change her mind and just “settle in”
with Sharon. No way.
They made their way to the registers, less than twenty items in the cart. Jezabel‟s
stomach growled. She remembered she had forgotten to eat dinner, she had been so
worked up over telling Michael about her decision.
She sighed, writing a check for the groceries that came to more than she had expected.
When would this get better? Maybe Michael was right. Maybe she was just freaking out
over nothing and the two of them, collectively, would do better than either of them
singly. It made math sense, and she read numbers all day, so she should know. But it
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didn‟t make other sense to her. She didn‟t know what that “other” sense might be, but it
sure didn‟t feel right.
Michael helped carry the groceries inside and put them in her refrigerator. He turned to
her, grabbed her by the hips, and pulled her towards him, kissing her solidly on the lips.
“Look,” he said, looking into her eyes, “look at me now. It‟s going to be okay. I know
this is a big step,” he said, his voice soft, cajoling, “but really, it will be okay. I told you
about that guy and the job and I called him today. He says I can start in two weeks, no
hauling. He asked me if I had transportation, and I told him yes, and he says as long as I
have that, it‟s no problem now. He got someone else with a truck and we can both do the
job, okay? Okay?” he asked again, shaking her by the shoulders. “Now stop worrying.”
She looked up into his eyes, those eyes that brought back her attraction to him, those eyes
that could look kind and soft when they wanted to, and she felt that same melting feeling
she always felt when she looked at him. She should have just done it all over the phone,
she thought, just told him to give back the car and go away. It was too late now, and he
knew it. She disappeared into his embrace.
____________________________________________________________
The alarm clock went off, and she hit the snooze button. Lately, she felt like it was
harder and harder for her to fall asleep, harder and harder for her to wake up in the
morning. Maybe a sick day. Maybe that is what she really needed. She rolled over and
reached for Tarika. She got Michael instead.
That‟s right. She had told him he could stay last night, her last ounce of self restraint
gone. She studied his face in the half light, the way sleep softened his expression and
kept it soft, even through the beard. She touched his face lightly, so he didn‟t wake. She
snuggled closer to him. He was warm.
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Maybe he was right. This was right and she was just panicking. She gave herself a few
more minutes of bathing in Michael‟s warmth before she made herself get up, shower,
and get dressed.
She dressed in a suit today, even though the owners wouldn‟t be in. Might as well get
them used to seeing me in a suit, she thought, so when she did get an interview, it
wouldn‟t be such a big deal. She rolled the newspaper up and buried it in her purse. She
hadn‟t even had time to read it last night, not with everything else going on. She was out
the door in time to take the early bus, which would make up for yesterday‟s late morning.
She hoped it wouldn‟t be another day like yesterday. Another crowd in the lobby just
might put her over the edge, she thought.
She found a seat on the bus and opened the Help Wanted section. Financial. She
skimmed the ads. Nothing. Everyone wanted someone with a degree, and she didn‟t
have one. Even the bank preferred degreed tellers, and if that didn‟t disqualify her, the
note that said, “strong references and background check required.”
She didn‟t know if her references would be considered strong or not. She thought about
using Charles and Tonya and avoiding Sharon all together, but now that Sharon was her
new supervisor, how could she do that? And a background check? Jezabel herself had
nothing to hide, but would a bank really appreciate the kind of business Jezabel worked
for? Would In a Pinch hold up to close scrutiny? That had been her fear, always, and it
still worried her. Stop it, she commanded herself. You have to stay positive. Keep
looking.
Window washers. Sales. Food services. Nothing she was qualified to do, or nothing that
would pay the same amount of money she earned at In a Pinch. It was ridiculous, really.
In terms of a business, the company didn‟t really pay all that much. Compared to what
they charged their clients, they really didn‟t pay all that much. And compared to the
finance industry, well, they practically paid nothing, Jezabel thought. But still, she got
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paid better than minimum wage, better than most retail or food service workers or other
workers in entry level positions.
The problem was, she might be able to work for another private lending company (as
Bobby and John referred to In a Pinch) but she didn‟t want to, nor was it pleasant to think
about the owners‟ reactions when they discovered she had gone to work for the
competition. No, it was true. She felt trapped, imprisoned, and now she had a new,
official warden: Sharon Stuart.
Jezabel rolled up the newspaper and stuffed it back into her purse. The bus pulled up to
the curb. Jezabel crossed the street and went in. Sharon was already there, pouring
herself a cup of coffee in the lobby. They had both beaten Tonya in today, but thank
goodness, the place wasn‟t officially open yet, so there were no clients waiting.
“Well, good morning!” said Sharon, as if nicely surprised that Jezabel was early.
“Good morning,” Jezabel responded.
“I see you‟re early this morning?” Sharon simpered.
“Nice, early start, yes,” Jezabel replied, immediately heading for her office. “Yesterday
was so busy, thought I would get organized and prepare for today,” she said.
“Good idea! I like that spirit, Jezabel!” Sharon said with fake enthusiasm.
Good, thought Jezabel. Keep liking it, you phony bitch and leave me alone so I can do
my work.
Wow. She really did hate this woman, didn‟t she, the thought to herself, examining her
own thoughts about Sharon.
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Oh well, she thought, hanging up her coat and turning on her computer. Nothing she
didn‟t deserve for the rotten way she treated people.
Jezabel was ready for another day.
Chapter 11
The girl looked at Jezabel, or rather, she looked through Jezabel. She had this dreamy
expression on her face, an ethereal smile, and a soft, angelic voice, high enough to sound
sweet but resonating so you knew she was sincere. “I‟m getting this loan so Joseph and I
can be together,” she said.
“Okay,” Jezabel replied, “but how do you plan on repaying it?”
“Well,” said the girl, taking her time, “Joseph works at the bakery, and he said he can
work some overtime. I work at the flower shop, and I can do some overtime. So
between the two of us, we can easily pay off the loan.” She added, dreamily, “And that
means we will have already paid for the reception hall and the photographer and the cake.
You see, the cake is separate, and we really wanted a nice cake. My aunt knows how to
decorate cakes, but Joseph‟s bakery has someone there who has decorated for very
famous people, you know, like senators and people like that.”
The girl continued, “So the man who decorates said he would do it privately for us and
give us a better price than Joseph could get even with his discount. You see, it‟s not the
ingredients that cost so much….we could go out and buy those ourselves, but it‟s the
labor and that artistry. There is an art to decorating cakes. Did you know that?” she
asked.
“Um, no I didn‟t,” Jezabel said, starting to type, half listening to the girl carry on with her
wedding plans. The girl wore her blond hair long, longer than Jezabel‟s, and it looked
like she hadn‟t cut it in years. The waves, bumps and split ends gave her the appearance
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of a tousled angel, her white face literally shining as she spoke about the future for her
and her love, Joseph.
“I didn‟t know that either,” she said. “But I understand it now, after looking at all the
beautiful cakes this man had decorated. You can see why he decorates for senators. He
makes all kinds of flowers, not just roses, but lilies and wildflowers and orchids and all
kinds of things that he surrounds the cake with. It‟s the most beautiful thing I‟ve ever
seen,” she sighed. “And I just wanted us to have a beautiful cake like that. You only get
married once, and we just want it to be the perfect day.”
“I can understand that,” thought Jezabel. But she really couldn‟t understand it. Taking a
loan like this for a cake? It didn‟t make sense to her, but she didn‟t say anything to the
girl who really believed “you only get married once.”
She remembered the time when she was so sure she and Michael were going to get
married. They had been about a year into their relationship. It wasn‟t long after the
picture of them in Felonias Park. Michael called her and said, “Honey, I need to see you.
I mean I need to see you now!” He sounded frantic with some kind of exploding joy.
She wondered how long it had been since he called her “honey” and dismissed the
thought.
She had met him, though, in a little café about two block from her office. She waited in
the dark little place, supposed to be decorated like a colonial tavern. Dark wooden seats,
tables with thick legs, pewter tableware, and sliver candle holders. It was a cute place
with brass dishes hanging on the walls, the dishes with scenes of colonial sailors and
soldiers and farmers, the kind of place Jezabel wouldn‟t mind accepting a proposal in.
Jezabel nursed a cup of coffee. At that time, there was no Sharon to worry about, no
model of financial perfection hovering about the lobby waiting to pounce on an employee
who happened to take five extra minutes for lunch.
Michael slid into the seat in front of her. “Just coffee,” he told the waitress.
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“Hi!” Jezabel said. “So what‟s up?”
He grinned at her and was silent for a brief moment. He wanted to make her wait in
suspense, but it was obvious he couldn‟t wait to tell her, and his mouth looked like it was
about to burst open around the edges. This was before the beard. Jezabel could read his
face and his excitement, and she leaned forward in anticipation. “What is it? What is
it?” she asked, dying to know.
“What if I told you I won the lottery?” he asked.
Her mouth hung open. “Michael, you are kidding me,” she said.
He shook his head. “Nope. I‟m not.”
She wanted to jump up and scream, but she contained herself. “Oh my god! Oh my god!
Oh my god!” was all she kept saying, holding her hand over her mouth. “Michael!”
He laughed. “Yup. I know.”
“I mean…..mean…how? I mean, how much?”
“Five thousand,” he said.
“Oh my GOD, MICHAEL!” she half screamed.
Sad, she thought now, how excited she had been. Five thousand dollars. It had sounded
like so much money at the time, enough to get married on, enough to live on for a long
while. That coffee seemed to last forever, the planning even longer. By the time they left
the café, Jezabel could picture their future together. She had been what then, twenty-two
or so? It seemed like forever ago.
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“And we have the most beautiful church in the city,” the marrying girl said, breaking
Jezabel out of her memory. Do you know the shrine of Saint Mary? Well it practically is
a Cathedral, isn‟t it? That‟s where we want our wedding. We‟ve both been in there, have
you been in there?” she asked.
“No, I haven‟t,” said Jezabel, getting annoyed, but she thought, hiding it well as she
continued to type.
“There are these clouds painted on the ceiling, so as you look us, you feel like you are in
heaven. And the angels are playing in and out of the clouds. Then there are pillars, and
some of the angels are painted on the pillars as well. It is the most lovely thing,” the girl
sighed again, obviously in la-la land. Jezabel wanted to ask her if her angels were going
to help her pay the bills. But she kept her mouth shut.
Five thousand dollars. To this day, Jezabel still didn‟t understand where that money had
gone. They had started talking about getting engaged. Michael talked about buying her a
ring. He said he wanted to find them a place to live, the two of them, a nice place with
new furniture they bought together at a store, not a thrift shop. For the next months,
every time they got together or had a nice date, Jezabel held her breath, waiting for
Michael to show her the ring and officially ask her to marry him. And every time, he
didn‟t.
New things showed up in Michael‟s apartment, a television, a stereo (the same one with
the cords dismantled in his living room now as he packed), a couple of new portable
telephones. He got some work done on his truck and on the days he didn‟t work, he and
Tony took some day trips but Jezabel never was sure where. She was glad he was having
fun during his time off, and she didn‟t want to intrude. It was his money, wasn‟t it, so it
was his business. It wasn‟t for her to tell him what he should do and not do.
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“And then, at the alter are giant marble steps leading up to the tabernacle and behind the
tabernacle is a gold cross, a real, gold cross. Sometimes around Easter they take out the
gold chalices, too, real gold, not brass or anything else. It makes you feel like you are in
Rome with the Pope himself.” The prattling girl never shut up. Finally, she took a breath.
“What did you say you did for work?” asked Jezabel, interrupting during the girl‟s breath.
“Well, I arrange flowers. Do you know the Smithston shop three blocks over? That‟s
where I work. It is so perfect because I can get a discount on the flowers too. Isn‟t that
amazing? I want to arrange all my own flowers. I want Joseph to know I did it all for
him, so every flower he looks at, he knows I did it out of love.”
Jezabel wanted to puke. “I need to print this out,” she said abruptly, “and get copies. Be
right back.”
She hastily made her way to the printer.
“Well Jezzy, girl, what up?” called Charles in his stage whisper, obviously not caring if
Sharon heard or not. “What‟s the good news?”
Jezabel imitated her client quietly as Charles approached, “Well, I have this wonderful
client this morning and now I know how to put together a perfect wedding,” she said in
her own version of a high, la-la land voice. “Isn‟t that just wonderful? I just love how I
get to meet so many interesting people here. And I learn so much. Do you know if you
work for Smithston Flowers you can get a discount on flowers? It‟s amazing, isn‟t it?”
“Whoa, someone is in a very sarcastic mood today, I see,” Charles said, amused. “This is
so rare, Jezzy. I think I like it. Really. You must continue this way and go to lunch with
me. Amuse me. Please. I need to be amused.”
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“Well,” said Jezabel, making another copy and still imitating her client‟s high voice, “I
will have to think about it. You know I wouldn‟t want to do anything that might offend
my boyfriend.” As soon as she said it, she wanted to hit herself. What was she thinking?
Kidding around was fine, but she had sworn not to talk about her love life at work,
especially with Charles. She had known him long enough for sure, but that didn‟t really
mean anything.
“Hmmmm……Jezzy, I sense some underlying issues here,” Charles said, imitating a
television talk-show host. “Perhaps you can tell us what this is all about and see what our
audience has to say?”
“No,” she said, turning her own voice back on. “Sorry. Not for public commentary or
amusement.” She finished her copies and turned back.
“Well, what about lunch?” he whined.
“That, I can do,” she said. What the heck. Her life was so weird right now, who cared?
Why not make it a little weirder by adding a touch of Charles to it? Could be fun.
She entered her office and handed the papers to the girl, saying brusquely and quickly,
like one of those disclaimers at the end of an auto sale commercial, “Okay, you need to
sign here and here. And while you do that, I have to remind you that In A Pinch is not a
bank. You are taking out a high interest loan to be repaid over a six-month period. You
will be responsible for the principal of the loan, monthly interest accrued at 27% and the
initiation fee of $75.00. If you miss one or more payments, we reserve the right to
aggressively collect from you and/or the cosigners designated on your application form.
Do you have any questions?”
“But I don‟t have a co-signer,” the girl said.
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“I know. But if you did, it would make that person responsible as well. Since it‟s only
you on the loan, you are solely responsible.”
“Okay, I understand,” the girl said. Jezabel thought if she had to listen to that high,
sweetness more second, she would have to slap her.
“Here is your copy, and here is ours,” Jezabel said. “You‟re all set. Have a nice day.”
The girl looked at Jezabel and blinked her blue eyes at her. “Is that all I have to do?” she
asked.
Jezabel nodded. “You‟re done,” she said coldly.
“Oh, well, okay. Thank you.” The girl picked up her coat and stumbled a step. “And
you….you have a nice day, too,” she said sweetly but nervously. She folded up her
copies and scrambled out of the office.
Thank god, Jezabel thought. She wished she could have been more nice to the girl, but
really, one more minute of that and….
“Jezabel, I would like to speak with you a moment if you could, please.” The voice came
from Sharon. How long had she been there? Or had she gone so far as to bug her office
so she could listen in on her meetings with clients?
“I‟m between clients,” Jezabel said, “but I think there are at least three waiting in the
lobby.”
“Well, they can wait a few minutes more,” Sharon said, matter-of-factly. “I heard you
working with that young woman.”
“The one who just left?” Jezabel asked, even though she already knew the answer.
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“Yes, the one who just left,” Sharon repeated, patiently. “You were a little abrupt with
her, not your usual style,” she said.
Jezabel wanted to laugh. Not her usual style? What did Sharon know about her usual
style? And didn‟t she, Jezabel, just get chastised for not being abrupt enough with snake-
boy (who never did come back)? What was this?
“Yes, as you know, we need to make our clients feel as comfortable as possible as we
maintain our standards. I think that young woman could have used a little more courtesy,
don‟t you think? A little congratulations?”
Congratulations? Was Sharon kidding? “Well, she signed,” said Jezabel.
“Oh yes, I know she signed,” Sharon said. “But we don‟t want to be known as just
wanting to get people to sign, now do we?” she asked. Jezabel assumed it was a
rhetorical question and didn‟t answer. “We want to be different from those other
companies. We want people to know we care and that there is a reason to come here
instead of there. Wouldn‟t you agree?”
It was all Jezabel could do to restrain her laughter now, which was bubbling up in that
crazy way laughter does when the world seems to have tipped upside down and
everything looks like a bizarre parody of itself. Sharon wanted to make In a Pinch look
like the “good guy.” Oh my God. That really is funny. And the idea of SHARON
changing the company image. Jezabel nodded, not trusting the laughter, sure it would
erupt all over Sharon‟s lapel.
“So I think we need to have a plan for you,” Sharon said, her low tone sounding
monotonous and unfriendly but still professionally soft. “We will write something up so
we know what your goals are,” she said. “How does that sound?”
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“Fine,” said Jezabel who didn‟t really follow what Sharon was saying. She willed herself
to care, but she couldn‟t.
“We will make some number quotas for you. I would like to see you closing thirty
people a day.”
“What?” Jezabel asked, paying attention now. “Thirty people a day?”
“That should be a reasonable amount, given all the clients we have. You said yourself
there are three waiting right now.”
“But thirty? There‟s no way I can do that. And there‟s no way you can know if all those
people will be in on a particular day!”
“Well, we will shoot for an average of thirty,” Sharon explained. “We will look at how
your overall month is going, and then…”
“What‟s my average right now?” Jezabel interrupted.
“Fifteen,” Sharon said, looking Jezabel intently in the eye.
“So you want me to double that?”
Sharon blinked. “Yes,” she said.
Jezabel did laugh then. It came out as a gargled, gruff, HA! She shook her head. This
lady was nuts. If she had another job, Jezabel thought, she would walk out right now.
Why deal with this? Charles and Tonya would give her good references, she was sure of
it. The last thing she needed or wanted was dealing with Sharon and her unrealistic goals
meant to do nothing more than tax Jezabel and impress the boss.
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“Do you have any questions?” Sharon asked.
“No. I think it‟s unrealistic, though,” Jezabel said. “Unrealistic if not impossible.”
“Oh, now you are just engaging in negative thinking,” chided Sharon. “Of course it is
possible. Look at how many people we had in here the other day. With a little more
concentration, you could easily get those numbers up,” Sharon said.
Yeah, thought Jezabel, if I slept here, opened the doors early, didn‟t go to the bathroom
and skipped lunch, well maybe. But even then, it was a maybe.
“Let‟s set that as a goal and see how the first month works out, okay?” Sharon asked.
“Sure,” Jezabel said. Whatever you say, Sharon, she said in her head.
“And Jezabel, I would like you to practice being courteous to the customers. Smile more
and let them talk. Show them you are interested in their plans for the future. You are
giving them something very special, Jezabel, a chance to fix their broken pasts and create
a great future for them. Show them how happy it makes you to be doing that.”
Jezabel couldn‟t believe what she was hearing. Did this lady actually believe what she
was saying, or had she just not been privy to the collections techniques? No, there was
no way, with Sharon‟s snoopiness, that she didn‟t know how collections were conducted
or what the collections rate was. For the second time this morning, Jezabel wanted to
throw up. And listen to the clients? Wasn‟t that contradictory? None of this made sense.
“If you‟ll excuse me, Sharon,” she said getting up, “I need to work on getting my thirty
clients processed for the day.”
“Of course,” Sharon said, getting up as well. “I appreciate your good attitude and your
spirit. Keep up the good work.”
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Oh, I will, thought Jezabel. But it won‟t be here.
______________________________________________________________
“I‟ve just had it,” she said. She and Charles were eating subs and drinking soda across
the street from the office. “I can‟t work for her, I don‟t feel good about what I am doing,
and I don‟t even know if I should be telling you this,” she told him. She took a bite of
her sandwich and raised her eyebrows at him, and uncanny admission that she felt she
was spilling her guts to an unknown source.
“Okay, well,” said Charles, clearing his throat. “I can see why you‟d feel that way,” he
said, imitating a psychiatrist. “Let‟s process that for a moment, shall we? What led you
to this point?”
Jezabel had to laugh. Good old Charles. He could be royal pain, but when it came down
to it, he just breezed through anything, taking it all in stride. “Well, Doctor,” she said,
playing along, “I think the issue here is Sharon‟s strengthening hold on the company
management, and her apparent need to micromanage everything and every one in her
sight. This puts us in a power struggle because…”
Charles interrupted, “You want the bitch to leave you the hell alone and let you do your
job at least until you can find something better?”
“Why yes, Doctor, how nicely put,” Jezebel said, grinning. Charles had hit it right on.
“Seriously, Jezzy, you know you are really smart. You got it going. You‟ve been here
longer than me, you have more experience, you can do better. I understand. Me, I‟m not
so sure yet. I don‟t have the time in that you do. But you, you can go anywhere.”
“But that‟s the problem,” she said. “I can‟t go anywhere. What am I going to go to? I‟m
basically working for loan sharks, I don‟t have a degree, I don‟t want to go work for the
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competitor, and I make too much to go back to flipping burgers. What am I going to
do?”
“You need a career change,” he said. “What about going to a head hunter?”
She hadn‟t thought of that. A head hunter might overlook the kind of company Jezabel
worked for, get her in with a legitimate company and out of this business. “Good idea,”
she said. “Thanks. See? You‟ve got some brains you‟re hiding in there, too.”
“Why thank you, ma‟am,” he said, tipping an imaginary at her. “Now let‟s move on to
you and Michael.”
“Um, let‟s not she said,” looking down at her sandwich, suddenly not feeling hungry.
“Something up with you two?”
What was she going to say? That she didn‟t want to move in with Michael, but when she
was with him, she changed her mind? That she had told him he could, that he already
gave his notice at his apartment, and now she didn‟t want to go through with it? That he
sometimes got in very bad moods and kind of scared her? That he was unemployed and
was driving her car, and that she had actually let him become dependent on her by letting
him take her car, leaving herself without transportation? That her attraction to him
seemed to wax and wane lately, depending on his disposition?
There had been too much, too many emotions lately. She would have loved to feel close
enough to Charles to say, “Hey, me and Michael…it just isn‟t happening. Work…it‟s
bad. And let me tell you about this creature I saw in the park. It‟s really tripping me out.”
But she couldn‟t, especially that last part. She hadn‟t told a soul about her encounter.
She was too scared the listener would want to have her admitted to the psych ward.
No. These were not the kinds of things she wanted to share with Charles.
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“Got cold feet, huh?” he said, matter-of-factly. He bit the end of his sub and chewed, still
talking. “Hey, I would too. Only natural,” he said. “Don‟t be so hard on yourself.”
“Hey, how did you know?” she asked, glad he had guessed only the less painful aspects
of the situation.
He shrugged. “Common sense. You guys have been together for what, four or five
years? Having your own space and doing your own thing except on weekends or
whatever? Seems like a normal thing to me. I know I would have a hard time of it,
living with a chick.” He looked at her ironically, obviously trying to get a reaction from
her.
It worked. “A chick?” she said, raising her eyebrows again.
He grinned. “You know. A dame. A wench.”
“I‟m going to have to hit you,” she said threatenly.
“Okay, okay, you know what I meant,” he said. “Seriously. That would be a hard
adjustment to make. Have you guys talked about it?”
“About moving in?” she asked. “Of course.”
“No, I mean about how you are feeling about it.”
She looked guilty and shook her head. “Not really. I mean, I tried, but he said it wasn‟t
really a problem, I was just nervous.” She had to wonder about Charles sometimes. He
seemed like such a joker, such a person not to take anything serious. And then again….
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“Hmmm…..” Charles said, putting on the “fake psychiatrist” look again, falling back into
joke mode. “Very interesting. Some denial going on there. Let me think about it and I
will get back to you. Because…..our time is up.”
Jezabel looked at her watch. Yikes! He was right. She crumbled up her wrapper, threw
away the trash, and waited for Charles to put his coat on. The left the place together,
crossing the street back to the present.
Chapter 12
Please. It had to be there. Even if it didn‟t really exist, she needed it to be there for her
today.
Felonias Park was empty, and it felt colder than it had the other times she was here. The
wind wasn‟t as strong, but the temperature had fallen again, and Jezabel had to cover her
ears with her scarf. She didn‟t like doing that because she wanted to listen for the sounds
of movement through the frozen brush.
She remembered all the other times she had been here, walking through this park, with
Michael, without Michael, looking for the mystical creature, and not. She remembered
the homeless man on the park bench, the newspaper covering him, the one she knew for
sure now was serving as blanket until the wind picked up a sheet and dropped it in front
of her. The classifieds.
And the man with the glasses, the one from the sub shop with the army jacket and ragged
pack. Was he really as old as he looked? Or had life simply led him to too many places,
like the man in the tweed suit who want to ask Sharon questions, or the Chinese man
counting, landing them all through Jezabel‟s mind in Felonias Park, the one place where
something imaginary still might survive?
But it wasn‟t imaginary. It‟s real, she thought. Whatever it is.
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She sighed. The park looked undisturbed, the bushes still somewhat sparse, the landmark
rock in the distance, the still frozen floor of the little wood where the mystical creature
lived. Yes, she was sure of it. She didn‟t imagine it. It had been there. It didn‟t matter
if she hadn‟t seen it the last time or the other time. She had seen it twice, and that had to
count for something.
She started to analyze why she wanted to see the thing so badly, but decided it didn‟t
matter. Her life was reason enough to need it.
She heard the familiar rustle. She seemed to lose her breath in the sudden burst of her
excitement, so strong she didn‟t have time to examine the strangeness of it all, this thrill
of seeing a bizarre creature who silently communicated with her. The why‟s and the
how‟s didn‟t matter. What mattered was that it was here.
This time, the forehead appeared first, breaking through the sparse leaves with mottled
hints of brown fur. Each ear cleared the branches, and the bunnymoose shook its huge
head, casting off the inevitable itchiness of breaking through brush. The nose looked
moist and shiny, and she noticed for the first time the sharpness of the whisker ends, like
they would impale the leaves that got in the way of their tips.
The bunnymoose brought its legs forward, heaving its huge chest through, loping up
towards the rickety fence, closer this time than the others, Jezabel thought. In its serene
position, it stared at her once again, its ear hanging to below the chin, its mouth, a thin
strand of healthy pink, quiet and still, its big eyes looking through her soul.
“Can I pet you?” she asked aloud.
“You may,” the bunnymoose replied once again in her mind.
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She raised her shaking hand to the bunnymoose‟s right ear and touched the middle of it
tentatively. The fur was coarser here than she expected, even though she had touched the
bridge of its nose that last time. The ear and face fur looked soft, like a rabbit‟s, but the
rest of the body had the longer coat of a moose, and so she assumed that‟s where the
rough texture came from. Of course any animal that was made of more than one would
have a mixture of traits. It only made biological sense. Not that the idea itself made any
sense.
She plunged her fingers deeper into the fur, reaching the skin of the creature, and
watched as it suddenly blinked, as if in surprised pleasure. She scratched it like she did
Tarika when Tarika was in the mood for such a touch. The bunnyoose blinked again.
“Thank you,” it said. “It has been a long time since someone has scratched my ears.”
“How long ago?” Jezabel asked, softly.
“Decades,” he said.
She was silent, mulling this over, curious how old the creature was and how it had
avoided detection this long.
“Yes,” said the bunnymoose in her mind, “it has indeed been a long time, and I suspect it
will be a long time again,” it said.
“Why do you say that?” asked Jezabel, now stroking the length of its ear.
“I must migrate,” it said.
“Why?” she asked. She felt a kind of panic well up in her that she had not felt since her
mother had announced her move.
“It is what I must do,” said the bunnymoose, “if I want to live.”
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“Well, what is it?” Jezabel said, hearing a kind of whine in her voice. “Is it the weather?
The food? The park? What?”
“It is merely my time is all,” the bunnymoose said.
“That‟s silly,” she said. “You don‟t need to do this. Please, don‟t do this. I know it
sounds stupid, but I….I‟ve come to look forward to you and I feel like I‟ve just
discovered you!”
“Don‟t worry,” said the bunnymoose. “Silence your mind for a moment and don‟t
worry.”
“How can you say that?” she asked, her hand removed now. She had begun to pace,
agitated. “How can you say that? Silence my mind? That‟s not fair.”
“Shhhhh,” said the bunnymoose in her mind again. “I say it because it is true. We
cannot run from the truth, no matter how painful it might be. And my truth is that it is
my time.”
She said nothing. She stopped pacing and looked up at him. “So I won‟t ever see you
again?” she asked, sounding angry.
“Oh, you will see me again, I am quite sure,” said the bunnymoose. “You will see me
again and again, but I will not look like this again. But, you will recognize me when you
see me. Don‟t worry. You will recognize me.”
She stared at him, tears welling up in her eyes. “I don‟t want you to leave,” she said.
“I know,” it said back to her.
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“I….I love you,” she said.
“And I know that too,” the bunnymoose said, nodding its huge head at her.
It lifted its hooves, twitched its tail, and began to turn around.
“What will I do?” she asked.
“You will do what is right,” it said.
It rustled through the woods, leaves clinging to its retreating form, the head disappearing
first, then the shoulders, then the body, then the hooves, and finally, the tail.
“Please don‟t leave!” she called out to it. “Please…”
Jessica sobbed, her head in her hand. “Please….” she said, shaking.
She quieted. She wiped her nose on her sleeve. She hugged her arms around her cold
body, and she made her way out of the park, feeling like all magic and hope had left the
world.
________________________________________________________
At home, she picked up the telephone. She dialed the number. She heard him pick up.
“Michael,” she said. “We have to talk.”
“Bout what?”
“You and me.”
“What about?” he asked.
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“There isn‟t any you and me any more.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“You and me. We are done. Please don‟t call or come by. Ever again.”
She hung up and unplugged the phone, grabbed the newspaper ads, and sat down. Tarika
jumped onto her lap. It was hard to tell which one of them was purring.
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Epilogue
The headlines read, “Former private lenders charged with loan sharking, assault, and
blackmail. Bobby and John Spellini, owners of In a Pinch were arrested last night after a
three year investigation which uncovered a series of illegal collections methods
including allegations of threat, force, and blackmail. Attorney for the Spellini brothers,
Matt Ford, was unavailable for comment. One other employee, office manager Sharon
Stuart is being held for questioning.”
Jezabel shook her head and put down the paper. She turned back to her computer and
began entering the information for the client in front of her.
“Ma‟am,” she said, “I have to explain this to you….
“… Caring Places is a private, not-for-profit organization providing temporary shelter for
the homeless. If, in thirty days you still require shelter, we will ask that you complete
this paperwork again and verify your financial status. In a moment, we can go to your
room and get you set up. I am here to help you in whatever way I can, okay?
“Do you have any questions at this time?”
End
Anonymous
Invite as author
Amazing!
Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt
Consider the timeframe