Jill Smolinski - The Next Thing on My List

‘ You’ d rather you got canned?’

‘ Of course not.’ I took another Snickers, a question forming. ‘ But why wasn’ t it me? I was in charge of the project. Plus, I’ m the one the gas station manager was so angry with.’

‘ That I don’ t have the answer to. I suspect it may be that Lou sees potential in you& thought you might deserve another shot. And you know, with Lizbeth gone that means there’ s a vacant position now.’

Or in other words, just because I was in the house that landed on Lizbeth didn’ t mean I couldn’ t yank off her ruby slippers.

‘ When are they going to post the position?’ I asked.

‘ Didn’ t you learn anything from the last time you got passed over for the job? That’ s not what Lou’ s about. He doesn’ t put people in management unless he sees that spark in them. Then rules and protocol be damned. They’ re hired on the spot.’

‘ Spark? Come on, Phyllis, who are you kidding? He hires eye candy.’

‘ Is your friend Susan only eye candy? Am I? If you want the job, prove yourself. The braless stunt you pulled was brilliant.’ I felt myself go hot with embarrassment as she continued, oblivious that it hadn’ t been an intentional career move. ‘ That’ s enough to get noticed, but it won’ t close the deal. You’ ve got to deliver the goods.’

‘ Deliver the goods! I am not sleeping with Lou Bigwood!’

She tipped her chair forward so that she landed with a thud and gave me a hard stare. In that moment, I could picture her around the pool hall with the other Hell’ s Angels, talking trash and chugging cigarettes. I wondered if that was why Bigwood kept her around-because he was afraid of her. ‘ Do I strike you as a pimp? I thought you were bright, but you’ re not getting it. Do something. Make it big so it wows the pants off him. And do it soon before he finds a honey who’ s willing to wow him first.’

Chapter 14

M y dad was sitting on the front porch drinking a glass of wine and listening to Roy Orbison on a boom box when Deedee and I walked up carrying our overnight bags.

‘ Lawn’ s looking good, Dad,’ I said, and then I introduced him to Deedee.

He shook her hand hello. ‘ We’ re barbecuing steak for dinner-you like steak?’

‘ Sure. Love it.’

‘ I was afraid you might be one of those vegetarians.’ Then he turned to me, apparently out of small talk. ‘ Your mother’ s inside.’

It was Thursday evening, and the ride-along with Troy was the next morning. I was spending the night at my parents’ house since they lived only a few miles from the Van Nuys Airport. If I had to report in at four-thirty a.m., I was cutting the drive as short as I could. I’ d invited Deedee to join me-it wasn’ t as if Lizbeth needed the seat anymore, and I thought the girl could use a special treat. Even if I had a chance to talk on air, I knew it wouldn’ t be enough to wow Bigwood. But it might, I hoped, get his attention-not to mention cross two items off my list while I was at it.

‘ Honey, I’ m home!’ I shouted as Deedee and I made our way into the kitchen. My mom stood at the counter, chopping vegetables for a salad. Something spicy was cooking, and it smelled divine.

‘ Jeez, you look so much like your mom,’ Deedee said quietly, and I guess on first glance we did-same wild hair, only she wore hers short. And Doris is where I inherited all those curves. I got her chin, too, which is slightly pointed, but thank the Lord I didn’ t get the Delaney nose, which suits my mom but if you ask me is beaky on the rest of her family.

‘ So this is Deedee!’ Mom exclaimed. She set down her knife and marched past me to give Deedee a quick hug. ‘ I’ ve been looking forward to meeting you. June tells me she’ s been having so much fun with you.’

As we set our bags on the floor, my mom asked me, ‘ How was the drive out?’

‘ I took the 405,’ I said. ‘ It was how it always is-a mess.’

She shook her head and then said in a joking voice, ‘ I always say that traffic is like the weather. Everybody talks about it, but nobody does anything.’

‘ I try!’ I protested.

Ignoring me, Mom said to Deedee, ‘ Are you excited about your helicopter ride?’

They started to talk about the morning to come-a safe topic. I’ d primed my parents ahead of time. No talking about the baby. In fact, no talking about any babies or baby-related topics. As far as they were concerned, there was no baby. Deedee was six months along, and her belly was starting to pop. She was back in the oversize clothes, however, so you couldn’ t tell. She said she hadn’ t told anyone at school and, so far, nobody’ d guessed.

Deedee, my dad, and I helped carry the food out to the dining room table and took our seats. Dinner was soup, salad, ‘ Oprah’ oven fries, and steak from my dad’ s grill. My mom had set the table with tikithemed place mats and dishes. The cutlery had palm tree designs, and the water glasses were painted with hula girls.

Dinners at my parents’ house had gotten progressively more elaborate since my father retired. He’ d always been relegated to the grill, over which he is lord and master. But in the past couple of years, he’ s tried his hand at a bit of experimenting in the kitchen-a salad here, a pasta dish there. Mom must’ ve felt threatened, because suddenly she was adding sauces and trotting out new recipes the likes of which we’ d never seen before and saying things like ‘ Martin, this salad you made is delicious. Hey, did you guys know that a baboon can make a salad? They can! I saw it on the Discovery Channel!’ Dad was edging into what had always been my mother’ s domain, and enjoying a good meal as I do, I wasn’ t above fueling the competition.

‘ Dad, those steaks sure smell good!’ I effused as my mom carried in bowls of soup and set them in front of us. ‘ Mmm, and Mom, is this soup homemade?’

My dad poked at his bowl. ‘ What is this?’

‘ In honor of Deedee’ s Mexican heritage, I made taco soup.’ My mom gave Deedee a smile and said, ‘ Now I know it’ s not a traditional recipe, but I thought it would be silly of me to try to make a dish that you probably get at home every day, only better and more authentic. A friend of mine got the recipe at her Weight Watchers meeting, and& ‘

I have no idea what she said after that because my brain was buzzing as if bees had set up shop in there. Did she say taco soup? The taco soup?

I was about to ask what was in it when I tuned back in to hear my mom say, ‘ And truthfully, it’ s nothing but opening a bunch of cans.’

Deedee dug in. ‘ If weawwy goog,’ she said, her mouth full of hot soup.

‘ Gracias, señorita,’ my mom said, showing off that she had about as vast a command of the Spanish language as I do.

I regarded the soup as if it were a murder weapon, which it sort of was. Then I thought, What the hell, I’ m starving, and it smells delicious. I took a spoonful and blew on it before tasting it. Okay, it was pretty good. Weawwy goog, in fact, I thought, scooping up more. Why not? It wasn’ t as if the soup had been driving the car.

‘ Do you enjoy school?’ my mom asked Deedee.

‘ It’ s okay.’

‘ June tells me you’ re an honors student. Good for you! So, do you have a boyfriend at school?’

Deedee poured ketchup over her oven fries, looking as if she’ d like to crawl under the table. ‘ Not really.’

I shot my mom a look. What was she doing? Had I not made it clear there would be no talk of babies, and didn’ t the fact that Deedee was pregnant imply that there was, in fact, a boy in the picture, at least at one point?

My mom barreled ahead, pretending not to notice the daggers I was shooting at her. ‘ You will. You’ ll have lots of them, that’ s for certain. You’ re such a pretty girl.’