Shop Till You Drop

Chapter 5

“Joe’s back!” Christina crowed when Helen came into work the next day. “He says he has my birthday present, and he wants to give it to me tonight. We’re doing the South Beach clubs first, then going to his house for my present. He says he has something I’ll love forever. It’s a ring. I know it.”

Helen had never seen Christina look so pretty. Her face seemed lighted from within. The deep lines around her mouth were almost erased. Her hair shone like burnished gold.

“Joe’s going to pick me up after work,” she said. “In a limo!” She was beside herself with excitement.

Helen hoped that Joe really was going to give Christina a ring. It would solve everything. The head saleswoman would marry her rich man and live happily ever after. She wouldn’t have to skim money or sell drugs. Helen wouldn’t have to worry about finding another job. She could stay at Juliana’s.

When she went out for lunch, Helen saw a flyer on a telephone pole that said “WANTED: WOMEN 21 TO 65! Earn $35 an hour. No experience necessary.” Helen called the number. A bar on East Sample Road was looking for lingerie models.

“I’m Frank, the owner,” he said. His voice oozed out of the phone like oil. Snake oil. “Our customers ain’t the youngest, you get my drift. Age ain’t a problem, long as you got yourself a good figure and big boobs. Forty’s young to them. They don’t mind a good-looking granny. Like ’em better than the young stuff, sometimes. Your older gal appreciates the attention and ain’t so inhibited, you know what I mean?”

Helen hung up the phone while Frank was still oozing. Once again she felt the Greek diner owner’s gut bump against her and his hairy paws on her chest and shuddered. Helen wanted this evening with Joe to succeed almost as much as Christina did.

When the store closed at six that night, Christina was waiting for Joe at the green door.

She was wearing a short black Gucci dress that managed to bare lots of skin and still look sophisticated instead of trampy. Her legs were impossibly long in her sleek Charles Jourdan heels. Her blonde hair was pulled into a low knot. Christina looked confident and ready for her brilliant future.

“How do I look?” she asked Helen.

“Stunning,” Helen said.

“Do you think he’ll like it?” Christina said, and twirled gracefully. Do you think he’ll like me, was the unspoken question.

“He’d be a fool not to,” Helen said. But she thought Joe was a fool.

Joe’s limousine was a black Mercedes superstretch. The driver opened the door for Christina, and she looked so happy, Helen was afraid for her. The last thing she saw, before the limousine door closed with an expensive chunk! were Christina’s long, slender legs sliding across the black leather upholstery. They looked white and vulnerable.

Helen hoped that Joe wouldn’t disappoint Christina again. She resolved not to say anything to Christina tomorrow, no matter how great her curiosity. She would wait for Christina to tell her.

Helen couldn’t spend any more time thinking about Christina. She had her own date with Cal that night. He was picking her up at seven. She was as excited and hopeful as a teenager. Helen tried on six outfits and four pairs of shoes before deciding on a slim black pantsuit and flat strappy sandals. She was determined to look graceful when she climbed into the boat.

She wondered if she should bring some money. Would they split the tab, or would Cal pay for their meal? She didn’t know how dating worked any more, but she was not going to ask the women at Juliana’s. Helen didn’t want their men or their lives.

Money is power, woman, she told herself. Give yourself some. She boldly pulled a hundred dollars out of Chocolate the bear and stuffed it into her little black purse.

Cal showed up at her door in South Florida formalwear: long khaki pants and a blue cotton shirt open at the collar and rolled up at the sleeves. Helen was a sucker for rolled sleeves.

“You look lovely,” Cal said, and Helen glowed. It had been a long time since a man had admired her.

“You look pretty good yourself,” she said, and felt shy again.

The drive to Lighthouse Point took almost an hour in Cal’s dented Buick. On the way, Cal entertained her with stories of his marathon drives from Toronto to Florida, his daughter the marketing expert, and his grandchild, the world’s most brilliant two-year-old.

“How long have you been divorced?” she said, finally.

“Almost fifteen years. My ex-wife is a fine woman.”

“You don’t sound bitter,” Helen said.

“I’m not. The divorce was my own fault. I was at the office until late every night, and she found someone else.”

Helen was silent for a moment. “What are you thinking?” Cal said.

“How nice it is that you got over your wife. There’s nothing worse than spending an evening with the undivorced.”

“Are they like the undead?” Cal said.

“Exactly,” Helen said. “Like the undead, the undivorced are in a state neither dead nor alive. They’re obsessed with their exes and spend the whole evening describing their faults and draining the life out of you.”

“You haven’t mentioned your ex-husband. I gather you’re over him?”

“Yes,” Helen said, so abruptly it cut the conversation like an ax blade. There was an awkward silence until Cal said, “Here’s the parking lot for Cap’s.”

Cal parked, and they walked a short distance to the dock. The waterway was lined with high-priced, low-slung homes and boats that were bigger and whiter than the Coronado Tropic Apartments. But Helen saw no sign of the restaurant, and there was no attendant or phone on the deserted dock.

“How does Cap’s know we’re here?” Helen said.

“They always do,” Cal said. “I see the boat now.” He pointed toward an open motor launch heading their way.

“It looks like the African Queen,” Helen said, as she climbed into the boat. She admired the open boat’s beautifully polished wood. On the short ride to the restaurant, Cal pointed out the old black lighthouse that gave the point its name. He ignored the tip jar. Maybe he was supposed to. Helen didn’t know the tipping custom for boats that took you to a restaurant.

All too soon, the boat docked, and they walked up the path to the long gray restaurant. Helen saw the waterline on the building’s side from a long-ago flood. A rotund yellow cat greeted them at the entrance.

“I wonder if Kitty got that fat on Cap’s food?” Cal said. Helen thought it was nice that he stopped to pet the cat.

Helen liked everything about Cap’s: its timeworn wood, the bare yellow light bulbs in white porcelain sockets, even the sound her sandals made on the uneven floors. She examined the photos of Floridians from around 1900, young men fishing in heavy wool suits. “How could they stand those clothes down here?” she asked Cal.

She’d never had salad with fresh hearts of palm before. She liked its odd nutty taste. She had the pecan-crusted mahi-mahi. Cal had the blackened grouper. They both ordered Key lime pie.

When the check came, Cal presented it to her with a flourish. “You pick up this one,” he said. “The next dinner is on me. I’ll take you to another Florida favorite, Catfish Dewey’s. I have to be in Tampa all week. Could you go next Saturday?”

Helen was so surprised, she agreed. Good thing she’d brought that hundred bucks. The dinner cost seventy-two dollars. She couldn’t afford it, but she was tired of worrying about money. It had been a wonderful evening.

“Maybe I’m the tightwad,” she told herself. But another part answered, “Cal was supposed to buy the dinner. He invited you. Remember what Margery said about never going to dinner with him?”

Cap’s boat brought them back by moonrise. The black waterway was sliced by the blinding white, rotating, lighthouse beam. The wedding cake yachts were lighted now. The interiors were molten gold against the dark velvet sky, but Helen saw no people inside.

Helen shivered in the chill night air. Cal put his arm around her, but she still felt cold.

On Monday morning, Helen didn’t have to ask how the evening went. Christina’s face said it all. She looked tired and old. Her hair was limp and unwashed. She had an ugly zit on her chin. She had no ring on her finger.

Christina slammed down the phone on a good customer. She broke a nail. She yelled at the florist that the flowers weren’t fresh enough. And she rejected one would-be customer after another, like a Roman empress sending slaves to their deaths. Their fatal fashion errors ranged from cheap shoes to bad pants. Helen prayed for the day to be over. She was afraid no one would get into Juliana’s today.

But Brittney wafted through the green door at eleven, looking gorgeous in a red floral Diane vonFurstenberg dress and incredibly high Sergio Rossi heels. She put her dainty foot right in her pretty pink mouth.

“So, what was the surprise from Key West?” Brittney said in that caressing whisper. “Did Joe give you a ring? A tennis bracelet?”

“A goddamn cat,” Christina snarled. “All that for a fucking cat.”

Helen had never heard Christina use those words before.

“But you like cats,” Brittney said. “You’ve been saying you wanted one for months.”

“And Joe’s been saying he’s going to get me a ring for months. Instead I got a counterfeit cat.”

“It’s not a real cat?” Brittney looked confused. Helen did, too.

“Of course it’s real. But the dumb shit thought he was buying me a real Hemingway cat. You know about them?”

Helen and Brittney both shook their heads no.

“Ernest Hemingway had a bunch of six-toed cats at his house in Key West. The house is a museum now, and their descendants are still at the Hemingway Home. Those cats live like kings. They’re a tourist attraction.

“Joe paid fifty bucks to a guy in a Key West bar who supposedly sold him a real Hemingway cat. But the Hemingway cats aren’t for sale. The Hemingway Home doesn’t adopt out the kittens, either. I knew that. Everyone knew that except Joe, who was so stupid he bought a cat in a bar. I told him he was an idiot. I was so pissed, I grabbed the cat and left. Now I’m stuck with this counterfeit six-toed cat.”

“It could still be a real Hemingway cat,” Brittney said. “Maybe it’s one who climbed over the fence to meet her boyfriend.”

“Then she got screwed and abandoned, too,” Christina said. Tears glittered in her eyes.

“There, there, baby, don’t cry,” Brittney cooed. “You’ll get wrinkles. No man is worth that. I know you like cats. You’ve probably fallen in love with this one already. I bet you even have some pictures to show us.”

“Well, a few Polaroids,” Christina said, sniffling.

She pulled two out of her purse. At first Helen thought Christina was showing her a picture of a plush toy. The cat had a cuddly body that made her want to pick him up and hug him. His golden-green eyes were wise. His gray striped tail was majestic. The cat’s dignified manner contrasted with his comical fur coat. His gray tabby stripes were interrupted by big white patches, like blank spaces.

Then Helen saw the paws. That cat had the biggest front feet Helen had ever seen on any cat anywhere. On the front paws, the sixth toe stuck out like the thumb on a mitten.

“Those are the famous six toes,” Christina said. “I’m calling him Thumbs.”

“Big Foot would be more like it,” Helen said, then regretted it.

“He’s adorable,” Brittney squealed. “I love him. I wish I had him.”

“You do?” Christina said, surprised.

“I’ll give you a hundred bucks for Thumbs,” Brittney said.

“He’s not for sale,” Christina said.

“Two hundred,” Brittney said, briskly upping the bidding.

“Nope,” Christina said.

“I’ll give you five hundred,” Brittney said. “Cash.”

“I’ll get your five hundred some other way,” Christina said, rather nastily. “I’m keeping this cat.”

Helen wondered if Brittney had staged the cat auction to make Christina feel better. Or did this absolutely perfect female fall in love at first sight with the oddly imperfect feline?

For whatever reason, Christina now wanted Thumbs. “He’s the only man I’m sleeping with now,” she joked, “and he’s always faithful.”

That relationship would outlast Christina’s romance with Joe. Christina couldn’t stop seething over her disappointing evening. The more she talked it over with Brittney, the more determined she was to end it.

“I’m dumping that man,” she told Brittney. “I can’t wait any longer. It’s time I found someone who wants to marry me. I’m telling him tonight.”

Maybe Christina secretly hoped Joe would apologize and promise to marry her. Or maybe she wanted to dump him first, before he dumped her. But Christina didn’t even get that pleasure. Joe broke off their relationship—by cell phone—before noon. He told her good-bye. Christina told him to take a flying leap. It was a sad and sorry end to her hopes of yesterday.

Now all Christina wanted was revenge.

“I still have Joe’s Neiman Marcus charge card,” Christina said. “I’m going to call and charge a diamond tennis bracelet. I’ll get it one way or the other.”

“ ‘Diamonds are a girl’s best friend,’ ” Brittney whispered. Helen thought she sounded a lot like Lorelei Lee, the character who first said those words.

Christina didn’t score the tennis bracelet. The crafty Joe had canceled that card.

“I’ve got one Joe doesn’t know I have,” Christina said. “It’s an old MasterCard. He thinks it was maxed out. But I know it still has two thousand dollars left. I was saving it for a rainy day. Well, it’s pouring now.”

“You go, girl,” Brittney said.

As a test, Christina tried for a five-hundred-dollar cash advance at the ATM across the street. She came back waving the money triumphantly.

“The spree is on. I have fifteen hundred left,” she said. “Now we have to decide how to spend it fast.”

“That won’t get you a decent tennis bracelet. Or even any serious clothes,” Brittney said sadly.

“I’m spending this on something more lasting than clothes,” Christina said.

Good, thought Helen. Finally, a sensible decision. “You could get a computer for that,” she said.

“Waste of time,” Christina said.

“Staring at the screen gives you heinous wrinkles,” Brittney said.

“I know! I’ll spend Joe’s money on my biopolymer treatments. I’ll have Doctor Mariposa fill in all my wrinkles. Joe can buy me a new man.”

“Brilliant!” Brittney said.

Dumb, Helen thought.

She listened distractedly as Christina called the doctor and made an appointment.

Brittney applauded. Helen was appalled. She’d learned a little more about biopolymer injections since she’d first met Brittney. They’d been featured in a TV exposé. “You don’t want to do that,” Helen said. “That stuff is illegal. The doctor is injecting liquid silicone right into your face. If your body rejects it, you’ll have these lumps on your face. Haven’t you seen the stories about it on TV? It left those women horribly disfigured.”

“It worked for me,” Brittney said with a seductive hiss, like the snake in the Garden of Eden. Her flawless face was Christina’s temptation. She wanted to look as young and beautiful as Brittney.

“You are lucky, Brittney,” Helen said.

“So am I,” Christina said, defiantly. But Helen knew she was not.