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doomed. This morning, he couldn t sit still long enough to sell. He d flit to his computer and make a call, then buzz around, bothering everyone. He looked like a big dragonfly in his bright yellow shirt. Nick, sit down and sell, she hissed. I will, but I gotta get a sody, he said, and zipped up front to the machine. Next she saw him crawling on the filthy car- pet with Marina s little boy, Ramon, playing with his dump truck, promising to get him a candy bar. Nick had an unerring instinct for bothering the wrong per- son. He tried to borrow a quarter for the candy machine from Mabel, the boiler room s longest survivor. She d been there an astonishing five years. She was a large, placid woman who used a headset so she could knit while she called. Mabel seemed friendly, but Helen noticed that she watched every- one. Helen heard her reporting their minor infractions to Vito at the end of the shift. The Madame Defarge of the phone room would complain about Nick panhandling for sure. Nick sat down at his computer and made a call, then threw down his phone and said, They hate me. Everybody hates me. I can t get any sleep. My roommate was drunk and he kept me awake all night. How am I going to sell if I can t sleep? I m sorry, Nick, Helen said. I ve got to get back to work. By twelve thirty, Helen had been insulted one hundred and twenty-six times, propositioned twice, and hung up on sixty-three times. Some woman in Oklahoma blew a police whistle into her phone. Helen s ear was still ringing from that. She put the whistle woman on CALL BACK. She d be pur- sued by septic tank calls till her last breath. DYING TO CALL YOU 77 Helen managed to make two sales, one in Maine and an- other in Kentucky. It wasn t enough to get her into survey heaven, but at least her job was safe for the day. Nick had not sold anything. Helen was not surprised. When he did sit down at his phone, he argued with the callers. She heard him saying, Listen, lady. I m trying to tell you something. I can save you thousands in septic-tank bills. Lady, please don t say that. He hung up his phone in despair. It s over. I didn t sell anything again. That lady just told me to fuck myself and die. I can t take all this hate with no sleep. He put his forehead down on his sticky desk. It was five minutes to one. Nick! Vito called. Nick sat up with a trapped, panicked look. He knew the end was coming. He hunched his skinny shoulders and went up front. Vito s firings were always done in public. Nick, you haven t had a sale in two weeks. You re out of here. Please, Vito, Nick said. Give me one more day. I can t waste space on losers. And I can t have you both- ering the help. You re out. I ll lose my home, Nick pleaded. I gotta have sellers. Get lost. Nick left. She saw him sitting next to the smokers trash can at the entrance, weeping. He didn t notice he was sitting in a pile of cigarette butts. Helen averted her eyes and walked past him, then wondered if she should go back and give him some money. Would it be an insult, reducing him once more to a homeless beggar? In their world, money was never an insult, Helen decided. She found twenty-two dollars in her purse, and gave it all to Nick. Here, buddy. Dinner s on me. He would be panhandling soon enough. At the Coronado that afternoon, Margery was drinking a screwdriver by the pool. I thought you d be high on life, Helen said. 78 Elaine Viets OK, I admit it. Fred and Ethel are getting on my nerves, too, Margery said. But they pay the rent, they aren t weird, and they aren t conning anyone unlike some of my previ- ous tenants. I m beginning to miss the con man, Helen said. At least he never lectured me on the joys of clean living. How long are they staying? For the season, at least. They signed a lease through March. March seemed a long time away, especially when Fred and Ethel came bouncing through the gate, looking preter- naturally chipper. We had a lovely lunch on Las Olas, Ethel said. Helen could just imagine what the exclusive Las Olas restaurants made of her gold tennis shoes and I LOVE FLORIDA sweats printed with maps. The state looked even bigger stretched across Ethel s rear end. It was lovely till some bum asked us for money, Fred said. I told him to get a job, Ethel said. I don t know why those people won t work. Helen saw Nick sitting by the trash can, crying for his lost job and soon-to-be-lost home. Because you people hung up on him. Helen stormed off, slamming the gate. She heard Ethel say, What set her off? I can t take any more misery, Helen thought, as she wan- dered aimlessly around her neighborhood. The walk did not comfort her. The neighborhood was disappearing. The exu- berant Art Deco apartments and affordable cottages were being torn down for overpriced condos. Soon only the rich would live here. Porta-Potties and construction Dumpsters camped on every block. A construction worker whistled at her, and Helen glared at him. He was the enemy, the destroyer. She shouldn t complain about Fred and Ethel. If her landlady couldn t keep their unit rented, the Coronado might be torn DYING TO CALL YOU 79 down, too. Then where would she live? In a soulless shoebox [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |