Sass & Serendipity (9 page)

“Cool. Give me one ticket, please.”

“Just one?”

He flashed another gleaming grin. “That depends. Would they let you come see it with me?”

Gabby could feel the blood percolating in her cheeks. She’d been surprised, that was all. She’d assumed he’d be meeting some giggly, jiggly thing with too much makeup. Only now he probably thought she wanted to check out the backseat of his Mustang.

“No. No …,” she stammered, wondering if she should try to explain.

“Aw, too bad. Then just one.” He slid a twenty-dollar bill into the tray at the bottom of the partition.

Her face still steaming, Gabby made his change and pressed the button for the ticket. “Thankyouverymuch. Theater’sonyourleft,” she said without making further eye contact. She was having a bad enough day without some tanned sociopath thinking she was melting under his smile. How could someone like him even be related to Sonny?

“Thanks for your help,” Prentiss said.

“Uh-huh,” she replied, still not glancing up. Instead, she concentrated on reorganizing the cash drawer.

“Hope you have a nice day,” he went on.

“Mmm,” she grunted as she straightened the stack of credit card receipts.

For several seconds he remained standing in front of her, either waiting for the usual squealing and panty throwing he got from local girls or to double-check that she’d handed him the right amount of money—she wasn’t sure since she wouldn’t look up. Eventually his shadow moved off, reexposing the setting sun behind him, and she could hear his cowboy boots clomping toward the entrance.

She had a minute and a half to feel relieved, and then Mr. Pinkwater’s stooped form shuffled into view, heading for the doors of the cinema.

“Mr. Pinkwater?” she called out. Unfortunately, he didn’t hear her and stepped through the entrance, the sparse fluff on his bald head flying upward as he passed under the AC vent.

Gabby groaned. Just her luck. Now she had to leave her post if she wanted to speak to him. For an old guy, he sure moved fast.

She could remember first meeting Mr. Pinkwater when she was little and her dad had brought her and Daphne to the movies. She’d thought he was ancient then, and that had been over a decade ago. She had no clue what his actual age was, but she wouldn’t have been shocked to discover it was in the triple digits.

Mule’s hypothesis was that Pinkwater had actually died sometime near the turn of the millennium but just kept on working as a zombie. Not a bad theory, since he did have snaggly teeth and crepey, mildewy-looking skin that hung over his eyes and gathered in loose folds around his neck—and he did like to show the horror flicks. But Gabby doubted there were enough people with actual brains in Barton to sustain a real zombie.

She leaned the
BE BACK SOON!
sign against the window, stepped out the rear door of the ticket booth, and fell into step behind Mr. Pinkwater as he lurched across the lobby.

Lila, her loud, twentysomething coworker, was stretched across the candy counter in a cleavage-baring pose talking to Prentiss. As soon as she saw her boss, she quickly stood up straight and smoothed the front of her red polyester uniform.

Gabby caught up with Pinkwater at the door to his office. “Mr. Pinkwater? Could I speak with you for a second?”

His bleary eyes found hers. He looked inordinately shocked, as if he couldn’t understand what language she
was speaking or even fathom what type of creature she was. “I suppose,” he said eventually, starting the sentence with a sigh. “Come inside.”

It took a couple of minutes for him to unlock his office, set down his briefcase, and settle into the leather chair that looked as cracked and ancient as he did. Meanwhile, Gabby stood patiently in front of his desk. She stared down into a cut-glass candy dish piled high with petrified peppermints and butterscotches, no doubt the very same mass of sweets that had been sitting in that bowl on the day he’d hired her—three years ago. It was a bad sign. Proof that Pinkwater had rarely asked people into his office for happy reasons, like raises and promotions.

Mr. Pinkwater looked over at her and frowned. “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing toward a square metal and vinyl chair that had been shoved carelessly into the corner. As Gabby pulled it over to face his desk, she noted that the seat and armrests were covered with a fine layer of dust. Even more proof of Pinkwater’s bah-humbug, don’t-bother-me nature. While he busied himself with some papers, she snatched a Kleenex from a box on the desk and wiped off the cushion before settling onto it.

Gabby glanced at the clock on the wall above Mr. Pinkwater’s shiny head and realized that her sister was probably applying for the hostess job that very moment. Hopefully she’d get it—if she had even remembered to show up, of course. Gabby closed her eyes and sent out a cosmic plea that Daphne wasn’t doing anything stupid during the interview, like smacking gum or texting her latest guy obsession.
Please
don’t let her start doing cheers when they ask about her experience
, she urged the forces of the universe.

Then again, knowing the way things were, probably all Daphne had to do was smile and bounce and she’d get the job.

Eventually Pinkwater finished messing with his files and looked up at Gabby. “Now then,” he said, his chair letting out a crackling sound as he leaned forward. “What’s so important that you are leaving the theater short-staffed for almost five minutes?”

Gabby bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from pointing out that
he
had kept
her
waiting.

“I was wondering … since I’ve worked here for a few years now … and I think I do a pretty good job … would it be possible for me to get …” She met his eyes—two glints of blue ice amid all that saggy flesh—and swallowed hard. “… a small raise?”

Mr. Pinkwater started shaking his head the second she stopped talking. “No, no. That’s just not possible.”

She’d been expecting this answer, but it still bothered her that he couldn’t even pretend to think it over. “Why not?”

His brows rose, lifting mounds of skin so that his upper lashes were actually visible, and the craggy slits of his eyes regarded her for a long moment. Obviously no one had ever questioned him like this before. Gabby started to panic, worried that he might get angry enough to fire her. Then she’d really have failed her mom.

“It’s my policy,” he replied. “Yes, you’ve worked here a good while—longer than most. And yes, you do good work. But you’ll be going off to college in less than a year, right?”

“Well … yes. I mean, I hope so.”

“You see? I lose most of my teenaged employees after three years, tops. I’ve got to save raises for the people who stick around. People with families.”

“But I’m trying to help my family.”

“Yes, yes. I know cell phone bills can be big. But there’s nothing I can do. Maybe if you young people spend less time texting, you’ll find yourself with more money. You should learn that before you go off to college.”

“But that’s not … I don’t …” Gabby pursed her lips and inhaled deeply through her nose, trying to cool the inferno raging inside her.

It was the stupidest of reasons. She was being denied a raise because she was smart and determined enough to go to college? Because Pinkwater thought all teens were irresponsible? She wanted to help with food and rent, not waste money on expensive clothes or the latest gaming system!

Only now it was too late. Mr. Pinkwater was already back on his feet and trundling toward the door. Judging by the steep curve of his frown, there would be no further explanation or second thoughts. She knew she’d already pushed things as far as she could with him.

“Thank you, sir. For … listening,” she said as she stepped back into the glare of the lobby.

He waved away her words with a big mottled claw of a hand. “Yes, yes. Get back to work now,” he said before shutting the door.

Gabby clenched her teeth and fists. Creepy old velociraptor! Normally she respected Mr. Pinkwater. He wasn’t exactly
likeable, but at least he wasn’t calling her sugar and making chitchat about the football team like all the other shopkeepers in town. Right now, though, she wanted to string him up by his scaly hide and hang him next to the giant inflated hot dog above the snack bar.

She spun around angrily and nearly collided with Prentiss, who had walked up behind her for some stupid reason.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed, rearing back slightly. His right hand held a jumbo bucket overflowing with popcorn—obviously the work of Lila, who was known to short cups and cartons by a centimeter if she
didn’t
like someone. “What’s up? Bad day?”

He was still wearing a big doofus grin, as if everything around him were happening for his own amusement. As if nothing could ever go wrong. And even if something did—like a drunken joyride that caused a pesky car crash and ended someone’s life—then Mommy and Daddy and all his fawning sycophants would step in to make it better.

This was a guy who would never have to work hard. A guy who had no idea what it was like to feel real frustration or disappointment or guilt.

Suddenly all the anger she felt toward Pinkwater shifted onto Prentiss, and if she hadn’t been absolutely certain it would cost her her job, she would have punched him in his perfect-right-triangle nose.

“Excuse me,” she muttered, and scurried past him to the box office before he could ask her which theater seat she recommended he sit in.

Oh, it was a bad day, all right. One of the worst. As if
some archnemesis were sticking pins in her voodoo doll likeness. She had failed with apartment managers and she had failed with her boss. And the only person willing to talk to her was the most morally reprehensible guy in Barton.

Once she reached the snug safety and quiet of the ticket booth, Gabby rested her head on her hands and gazed out the partition glass, trying to clear her mind of Pinkwater’s scowling face and Prentiss’s idiotic grin.

Across the parking lot, a girl was strolling down the sidewalk of Bowie Street. Maybe it was the tilt of the head and the goofy half smile on her face. Or maybe it was the slow, twisted way she was walking with a gigantic plastic-wrapped garment slung over her shoulder. But something made Gabby fix on the girl and recognize her as Daphne.

And something else—perhaps the fact that she was two miles away from the Lucky Wishbone restaurant, ambling at the pace of a drunk snail—told Gabby that her sister, once again, had forgotten to apply for the hostess job.

The bad day had just gotten worse.

Daphne slowly turned the knob and eased the front door open a couple of inches. The living room was empty, and she could hear muffled voices coming from her mom’s bedroom. If she was quick and quiet, she could make it.

She widened the gap enough to slide inside, careful not to push it open to the angle where the hinges creaked and making sure her plastic-swathed dress didn’t snag on the scuffed wood. Then she silently shut the door and tiptoed to her room. The plastic rustled a bit and the floor let out a faint moan when she stepped into the hallway, but otherwise she made no sound.

There
, she thought as she opened her side of the closet and hung the dress on the far end of the rod. It gleamed slightly in the half-light like a gold nugget in a pan of pebbles, and she wondered if Gabby would notice. No, she decided. Gabby didn’t even seem to take stock of her own clothes. Why would she go through Daphne’s?

She slid the door shut, spun around, and instantly let out
a squeal of surprise. Gabby was standing in the doorway to their room.

“So you’re home,” she said. Her wavy hair hung down around her shoulders, free of its usual clips and elastics. She looked pretty but stony. Like a Roman statue. “
Please
tell me you applied for that job.”

Daphne was prepared for this. Her mouth curved in a weak grin and she wrinkled her forehead apologetically. Now, what was it she was going to say? Something about after-school tutoring?

“I knew it!” Gabby exclaimed, before Daphne had a chance to launch into her rehearsed explanation. “So what’s your excuse this time, huh? That you had to
buy a dress
?”

A prickly feeling spread over Daphne, like a sudden rash. “How did you …?”

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you let us down—again. Do you care that we’re in dire straits and Mom needs all the help we can give?”

“Of course I care.”

“Then why won’t you go find a job? And why are you out spending money on stupid things? Please don’t tell me you charged that dress.”

“No! She let me put it on a tab or whatever. I’m supposed to go pay it tomorrow. And don’t look at me that way. I’m going to use the money Grandma left me.”

Gabby’s eyes and mouth widened in a look of horror. “How could you do that at a time like this? What if we need that money for an emergency?”

“It’s my money.”

“It’s
our
house. It’s our well-being. God! It’s like you don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

“Shut up!” Daphne pressed her hands over her ears. “Shut up! Shut up!
Shut up!
” It was so unfair. She’d had one of the best afternoons of her whole life and her sister was determined to ruin it.

“Girls! What on earth is going on here?” Great. Now Mom was swooping into the room, as usual. Like some wide-eyed, frowny superhero.

“More of the same,” Gabby said. “Daffy is going daffy over some guy again. What else is new?”

“Leave me alone! You’re just jealous because I found someone special.”

Gabby rolled her eyes and made a huffing sound. “Please! You’ve just met the guy. How can you even know that he’s
so special
?” She uttered the final two words in the breathy voice of a total ditz while waving her hands in the air.

“Because! I just do!” Daphne yelled. She quickly tried to think of some evidence to back up her claim. “He’s … different. He’s sweet. He reads Brontë and—”

Gabby started laughing. “Oh, my god. You are falling for a guy because you like the same
books
? If that’s the best basis for a relationship, you should date Mrs. Shropshire down the street. She has stacks of paperback romances all over the floor of her living room.”

“What do you know?” Daphne was really screaming now. Her throat felt warm and raw. “When did you ever even have a boyfriend? Real guys won’t even come near you!”

“Girls, stop! I’ve had enough of this!”

Daphne pointed at her sister. “It’s her fault! She jumped all over me for no reason! She thinks she’s the one in charge but she’s not—you are.”

Mrs. Rivera studied her for a moment and then nodded. “You’re right. Gabby, you really should let me handle things,” she said. But before Daphne had a chance to look triumphant, her mom added, “Although she does have a point, sweetheart. You really do tend to lose your head over these boys.”

“No! It’s not like that. This time it’s different. Why do you always have to take her side?”

“I’m not taking her side. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Now who’s jumping to conclusions? You’ve never even seen him and already you think he’s a jerk?”

“It’s not that, honey. I’ve lived longer. I know more about men.… Boys …” Her mom seemed to be struggling to find the right word. “… Relationships.”

She reached out and placed a hand on the back of Daphne’s head, stroking her hair. It seemed more condescending than tender, the same gesture a preschool teacher would use with a sad four-year-old. Daphne’s teeth clenched. It was more proof that they saw her as a baby.

“Real life, real
love
, isn’t the way you see it in movies or read about in books,” her mom went on. “I hate to see you risk yourself like this. I just wish you’d be more … sensible.”

“Sensible.” It was one of those words Daphne hated. Something she apparently wasn’t—along with being “responsible” or “mature.” “Sensible,” she repeated, considering the term. The opposite would be “foolish,” right? “Silly.” “Idiotic.” “Stupid.”

“Do you mean sensible like Gabby, who’s never even been on a real date? Or sensible like you, who couldn’t make her marriage work?”

Gabby sucked in her breath. “Who the hell do you think you are? You can’t say that to Mom! Say you’re sorry! Say you’re sorry
right now
!”

Daphne already felt bad. She knew she was hitting below the belt. But she couldn’t help it. She wanted them to take her seriously. To realize that her feelings for Luke were real and special.

She glanced over at her mom, expecting to see her looking shocked or hurt. Instead, she just seemed really tired—as always. For some reason, this made Daphne feel even more angry and desperate. They weren’t going to pull her down into their gloom. She wouldn’t let it happen.

“I’m sick of you both telling me what to think and feel!” she said in a shaky voice. “Maybe I don’t know anything, but you don’t either! You’re just … hypocrites!”

“You don’t get to judge Mom!” Gabby’s face had turned a deep red and her eyes flashed through thin slits. “Mom was just trying to
help
you! She was trying to stop you from embarrassing yourself over some redneck who thinks he can read!”

“Girls …”

Daphne shook her head. “Well, I don’t want y’all’s help! You guys are just sad and mean! I don’t want to be like you!”

“Girls,
please!
”

“Fine! Keep on being you! Keep on being thoughtless and ungrateful!”

“You always think you know everything, but you don’t!”

“And you think the world is just one big passionate drama and you’re the star!”

“At least I’m not a cold bitch!”

“Stop it right now!”
The tremor in her mother’s voice made Daphne stop and stare at her. Now she looked sad as well as tired. Pink splotches had appeared on her nose and around her tear-filled eyes. “We can’t treat each other this way,” she said hoarsely. “I can’t take it.”

Daphne was used to the sighs and the pleading and the helpless glances at the ceiling. But sobbing? This was new—or rather, something she hadn’t seen since the first few months after the divorce. It scared her, and she couldn’t help feeling a rush of guilt.

“I’m sorry, Mommy. I didn’t mean it.”

Mrs. Rivera dabbed her eyes with the back of her right hand. “I know, sweetie. It’s okay. Now please, apologize to each other.” She set a hand on each of their shoulders and gently pushed them toward one another.

Gabby was the first to react. “Sorry,” she said, stepping forward. “I shouldn’t have been so bossy.”

Maybe it was the flat tone of Gabby’s voice, or the way she kept her chin raised at a snottier-than-thou angle, but Daphne was unmoved. She crossed her fingers and used them to push some hair out of her face as she mumbled, “Sorry too.” All the while she kept her eyes on Gabby’s, daring her to restart the fight by complaining.

She knew it was a babyish thing to do, but so what? They already thought of her as a baby. She had nothing to lose.

“Here’s a proposition,” Gabby said, pinning the phone against her shoulder with her chin as she pulled all the cereal bowls out of the dishwasher. “You always say it sucks to be an only child, so … I’ll give you a sister at a low cost. No, make that free. Hell,
I’ll
pay
you
to take her away from here. How about that?”

“Hmm. Does she know how to do an open C chord on a Stratocaster?”

She could hear some off-key strumming in the background. Lately Mule had been inspired to learn guitar but was upset to find that it wasn’t as easy as it was on the virtual rock band video games.

“Can’t say that she does,” Gabby replied.

“Then no. Sorry. Not interested.”

Gabby stacked all the bowls in the cupboard before speaking again. “So did you notice that technically I’m not complaining? That I’m not burdening you with the sordid tales of my evening here?”

“I did notice. Although I can tell you really want me to ask what happened.”

“You don’t have to,” she lied. “This is a new goal of mine. I’m going to stop unloading on you all the time.”

“Can I just ask if it’s over? Has your sordid tale reached some sort of resolution?”

Gabby pushed herself onto the counter and held the phone with her hand again. “Well … kind of. We made up—in a way. But can you believe Daphne actually crossed her
fingers when Mom asked her to apologize? Like a first grader! I swear, it’s useless for us to even talk. It’s like, no matter what, she just can’t be grown-up about stuff.”

“So … maybe
you
should?”

Gabby frowned. “Should what?”

“Be the grown-up.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying maybe you should keep on being the responsible one. Make peace—even if you’re right and she’s wrong. I mean … if you really want to help your mom and stuff. You said she’s been stressed.”

As much as she wanted sympathy, as much as she would have loved for him to join her in her outrage, Gabby had to admit he had a point.

Mule was always better at long algebraic equations. He could always spot solutions when she got hung up on the steps. In a similar way, he was good at sorting through the details of her life to get at the big picture.

And this skill—both of them, actually—was why she kept Mule around.

Gabby had been standing in the doorway of their bedroom for two whole minutes and still Daphne hadn’t noticed her. She was sitting up against her headboard with her right thumbnail in her mouth, staring at some invisible point in the middle of the room. It was annoying, but also kind of amazing how Daphne could completely disappear into her thoughts.
Must be nice
.

Eventually Daphne became aware of her presence.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“I was wondering …” Gabby took a breath and forced the words up out of her. “Could I see your dress?”

Daphne studied Gabby suspiciously. “Why?”

“I’m just curious. That’s all.”

She watched as Daphne’s features slowly softened. “I guess.” Her sister bounced up from the bed and over to the closet; then she reached into its depths and pulled out the plastic-sheathed garment. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she said, holding the hanger up next to her collarbone.

Gabby stepped forward for a closer look and immediately froze. It was the dress in the window, the horrendous one she and Mule had made fun of. Sweetheart neckline. Layers and layers of skirt. The same shade of pink as a plastic flamingo lawn ornament.

But of course Daphne would love it. It was the kind of dress you’d see on the cover of a cheap romance novel. All she needed was to stand on a cliff with some muscleman’s arms around her and the wind blowing her hair back into a billowy cloud.