The Right and the Real (14 page)

He nodded.

“Can I ask you something?” I said.

“Go for it.”

“Why do you wear sunglasses inside?”

“Don’t want to ruin your appetite.”

“What?”

He shrugged and slipped off the shades. A jagged, pinkish-white scar ran under his right eyebrow and down across his eyelid. It looked all bumpy and gross, like a chewed up earthworm, but also like it was an old injury.

I couldn’t help it, I gasped. “How did it happen?”

He put the glasses back on. “You don’t wanna know.”

I decided he was probably right. He took our empty bowls and washed them in the tiny bathroom sink, and when he was done, he lifted the tablecloth and revealed a small fridge like the one in the corner of my room. He took out two candy bars and tossed one to me.

“My downfall,” he said.

“It’s good for you,” I joked.

He shook his head. “Bad for me. Bad for mankind.”

“How is chocolate bad for mankind?” I asked.

“Slave labor,” he explained.

“What do you mean?”

“Man, I’m tellin’ you,” he said, his voice getting louder as he got revved up, “it’s pathetic. The farmers who grow the cocoa beans don’t get nothin’. It’s like not gettin’ paid at all. They can’t even afford to live in poverty like you and me,” he said. “You gotta buy organic, fair-trade chocolate if you wanna sleep good at night, but I can’t afford that shit.”

How did he know this and I didn’t? I ripped open the candy bar, but I felt kind of bad doing it. “I had no idea.”

“No one does, man,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “No one does.”

We sat there eating in silence. I didn’t know about LaVon’s chocolate, but even with the guilt factor, mine tasted delish after the spicy curry.

LaVon probably wanted me to tell him more, but the truth was, I couldn’t. It was past midnight, and after that morning’s shopping with Krista and Liz, and the fiasco at my dad’s, plus the scrumptious food, I thought if I didn’t get back to my room right away, I’d fall asleep in his chair.

“I better go,” I said. “Thanks for dinner.”

“I’ll give ya some leftover curry, if you want,” he said. “You can heat it up downstairs in Stub’s microwave for a buck. You got a fridge, right?”

“Yeah, but it smells super bad. I am soooo not using it.”

“What? Like old food?”

“I don’t even want to know. My whole room stinks. The bathroom’s so ripe I can hardly use it. You’re lucky yours is so nice.”

“Like hell I am. This place smelled like there was a dead body under the bed when I moved in. Did you clean yours?”

I stood, stretching. “I wanted to, but I keep forgetting to buy some Lysol and rubber gloves.”

LaVon took a white bottle, an orange box, and a scrubber pad from under the bed. “That chemical shit’ll kill you anyway. Baking soda and vinegar is all you need to clean a bathroom.”

“Ummm…okay.” I took them from him. “How exactly do I use them?”

LaVon burst out laughing, and I blushed.

“Girl, you don’t know nothin’, do you? Ain’t you ever cleaned a toilet?”

I shook my head. He reached out and grabbed the stuff back from me. “Never mind,” he said. “I’ll come over in the morning.”

“Oh, you don’t have to clean my bathroom.”

This time his laughter came all the way from his belly. I was so glad I could amuse him.

“I ain’t gonna touch your dirt,” he said. “You are. But I’m gonna show you how to do it right.” He opened the door. “Go on, now. I need my beauty rest.”

He watched me walk down the hall and hesitate outside my room. I had accidentally left it open while we talked with the police earlier.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Nothing…The door was open.…”

“Scared someone’s hiding under the mattress?” He stepped past me and looked under the cot. “Anyone hiding under there?” In a falsetto, he added, “Only me, an ax murderer.”

“Very funny.” He started to leave. “Ummm. What about the bathroom?”

He stuck his head inside. “All clear.” His amusement vanished when he got a whiff of it, though. “Smells like a Dumpster in there.”

“I know. Thanks. And for dinner too,” I said, letting him pass.

“No prob.”

After he was gone, I locked the door and crawled into bed in my clothes.

The next morning I woke up because someone was rapping lightly on my door. “Maid service,” LaVon called, and his laugh rumbled through the walls.

I staggered out of bed and undid all the locks. “What time is it?”

“Time to clean up this shithole.” He grinned.

With all my boxes, plus the two of us, there was hardly room to turn around in the tiny room, let alone clean it, so we stacked everything out in the hallway and left the door open to keep anyone from messing with my stuff.

“You got a lot of crap,” LaVon said.

“Everything I own.”

“How much of it you actually use?” he asked.

I shrugged. “So far only the clothes. I don’t have a place for CDs and books anyway.”

“If you don’t unpack it in six months,” he said, “you never will.”

“Well, hopefully I’ll have my own apartment and be in New York by then. I’m going to drama school.” At least I hoped I was.

“What? Like you gonna be a movie star?”

“Maybe. Or on Broadway.”

“Hmmm…not a life I’d want,” he said.

“Why not? Would all the fame get to you?” I asked.

“I’ve had enough of people pryin’ in my life to last me till eternity,” he said, his voice kind of sad.

“Oh, well. Not me. Bring it on.”

He smiled and shook his head at me. I wasn’t sure if I liked that habit much, but what could I do about it? He opened my bathroom door and coughed dramatically.

“Man, girl. How do you breathe in here? This is nasty.”

“I know,” I agreed.

LaVon showed me how to wet down the tiny shower stall and then scrub it with baking soda. The white powder turned a dingy gray as he stood over me, watching, making sure I scrubbed hard enough.

“That is foul,” he said. “I can’t believe you used it like that.”

“Only when I had to. I usually take a shower at school.”

He gave me his signature look of disbelief. “You real desperate to shower in the locker room.”

“No kidding.”

I guess I’d passed some sort of test last night, like I’d proved I wouldn’t freak out too much over his eye, because today he wasn’t wearing his shades. In the harsh bathroom light I noticed little crow’s-feet around his eyes. LaVon was older than I’d thought, but I still wasn’t sure how old.

I rinsed off all the gritty baking soda and then he made me do it a second time because he wasn’t satisfied. While I scrubbed, I sang a piece I’d been working on with my voice teacher, Betsy. I hadn’t had any lessons lately because she’d taken a three-month singing gig at a casino in Vegas. I missed working with her, but at least I didn’t have to make up some reason about why I was going to have to quit. If I told her I couldn’t afford the lessons, she’d probably offer them to me for free, and I couldn’t accept that. She needed to make her living.

“Nice song,” LaVon said. “What is it?”

“It’s called ‘Poor Wand’ring One.’ From the operetta
Pirates of Penzance,
” I said.

“You sing good.”

“Thanks.”

The tiles weren’t exactly sparkling when I was done, but you could see they were yellow instead of brown. After that, I scrubbed the sink and then the floor, which was so gross around the toilet I literally gagged and had to run into my room and stick my face out the open window, gulping for air.

“Don’t forget the toilet bowl,” LaVon said, ignoring my theatrics.

I went back to the bathroom and looked at the brown-stained toilet. “But I don’t have a brush.”

“What’s wrong with the scrubber pad?”

“Ew! I’d have to put my hand in there.”

“What’re they made of?” he asked. “Gold? It ain’t gonna kill you.”

“No way,” I said. “I’ll buy a toilet brush at the dollar store.”

“Your dollar,” he said.

The vinegar was for cleaning the faucet and the mirror, and LaVon had provided an old T-shirt to use as a rag. Wiping it down almost made it worse, though, because the faux chrome flaked off the faucet. The mirror had those brown age splotches all over it, so it was still hard to see my reflection, but knowing it was all germ-free made me happy.

LaVon surveyed my work. “Better,” he said.

After that, we cleaned out the refrigerator and plugged it in. LaVon went and got a small dish from his room and put some baking soda in it and told me to keep it in the fridge.

“What’s all this crunchy shit in your carpet?” he asked.

“Glass. I broke the lightbulb in the lamp.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I heard you freakin’ yesterday.”

“Yeah…well…” I felt myself blush.

“Go to the front desk,” he said, “and tell Stub you want the vacuum cleaner.”

“Okay.”

I lugged the dust-encrusted monstrosity back up the stairs, the long hose winding itself around me like a snake and tripping me more than once. When I finally got to my room, I found LaVon scrubbing the filthy window with crumpled newspaper. The strong smell of vinegar wafted out to meet me.

“This ain’t coming clean,” he said, “so I guess you won’t be able to enjoy the stunning view of the parking lot after all.”

I laughed, then unwound the power cord and plugged it in, but I couldn’t see any way to turn the vacuum on. LaVon tossed the newspaper in the recycle bag he’d started for me and said, “You like watching paint dry too?”

“What?”

“That vacuum cleaner ain’t gonna work by magic.”

“Well…I ummm…”

Comprehension dawned across his face.

“No fucking way.” He laughed. “You ain’t never vacuumed before neither?”

I shrugged. “My dad’s kind of a crappy housekeeper, so my grandpa hired us a maid to come in once a week,” I mumbled.

“Man, I been meaning to get me one of those,” he said. “You think they take fifty cents an hour? That’s ’bout what I can afford.”

When I didn’t respond, because, really…I was too embarrassed, he nudged my shoulder and said, “I’m just teasing ya. Don’t be so serious.” He stepped on a round button I hadn’t noticed and started running the vacuum up and down the threadbare carpet. “It ain’t brain surgery,” he said, moving out of the way so I could try it.

I pushed it across the carpet and for about thirty seconds there was a satisfying clicking sound of glass being sucked into it, but then a thread from where the rug was worn through caught in the vacuum and the motor made a high whining sound. Before I could decide what to do, the room filled with a burnt rubber smell. LaVon pulled the plug out of the wall without bothering to turn it off and gave the string a yank, ripping it loose.

He surveyed my carpet. “Good enough,” he said.

I started to take the vacuum downstairs, but he said he wanted to use it and took it to his room. After lugging my boxes back into my room, I sat on the cot breathing in the quickly fading scent of vinegar and burnt rubber. A minute later, LaVon tapped on my door and handed me one of those curly lightbulbs.

“Don’t bash this into the wall,” he said. “These ones got mercury in them, and I don’t want to have to identify your body.”

“Thanks. Hey, aren’t these environmental ones really expensive?” I asked.

“Kinda, but they’ll last a long time.”

I reached for my purse.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I got a two-pack. I only need one.”

“I really appre—”

“It’s all good.”

He shut the door behind him.

Maybe it wasn’t all good, but it wasn’t all bad either.

I TRIPPED OVER AN EMPTY MILK JUG, AND TRENT
reached out and steadied me, essentially keeping me from falling right on my butt. A little zing of electricity went up my arm.

“You might want to wear other shoes tomorrow,” he said.

“Yep.” I looked down at my favorite pointy-toed boots, now splotched with coffee. My feet killed me already, and it was only seven-thirty. A café was no place for anything but comfortable shoes. My white cashmere sweater had a pink syrup stain on the sleeve and was damp with sweat. Chocolate milk splatters covered the left leg of my pale blue jeans too, in spite of the black apron Trent had given me. Why hadn’t I noticed the other employees wore dark clothes and short sleeves? The worst part was I would have to go to school like this.

“Jamie? Did you make the decaf yet?” Trent asked.

“Uh…I’m doing it now.”

“You’re going to have to move faster,” he said, all business. He squirted whipped cream on a mocha while taking a swig of his own quadruple espresso at the same time.

“Sorry.”

Trent had been kind of annoyed when I’d shown up and didn’t know how to make any of the espresso drinks. “Damn it,” he’d said. “I knew I couldn’t trust Amanda to train you. She’s still mad because I wouldn’t take her to the prom.”

“Is she your girlfriend?” I asked.

“Not anymore,” he admitted. “Too high maintenance.”

“You or her?”

He smiled. “Me.”

The fact she wasn’t his girlfriend was a relief, and it totally shouldn’t have been. Especially since I needed to concentrate on my job, not Trent’s love life. There were at least six impatient people in line, and we’d run out of decaf in the big urn because I’d forgotten to start it. How anyone could live without caffeine this early in the morning mystified me, but apparently the guy who was complaining to Trent could.

“I thought this was a coffee shop,” he sniped.

“I’ll make you a drink on the house,” Trent offered. “What’s your poison?”

“Double decaf soy latte,” the guy said, perking up at a free drink.

A girl with black dreadlocks and a nose ring dumped a pile of dishes onto the counter. “All the tables are dirty,” she told Trent, and she huffed off.

“We’ve got a new girl,” Trent called after her. “Give us a break, and I’ll give you a cinnamon roll.”

She waved her hand at him like,
forget it.

I flushed. “Sorry.”

“She’s a regular,” he said. “She’ll get over it. I’ll handle the counter, and you try and clear some tables.”

I grabbed a rag and ran it under hot water, feeling totally stupid
for not having thought of it myself. Trent was going to be sorry he hired me if I kept screwing up. All last week when I’d been sitting here doing my homework, he and the girl I’d replaced had made it look so easy. They’d kept the line moving, and most of the time the tables had been clean and shining. Now everything was a mess, and I kind of knew it was my fault.