The Saver (10 page)

He laughed and said, “Any time, honey.”

What does that mean?

Yours forever,

Fern

Friday

January 4

Hi, Xanoth,

Mrs. Cooper called to wish me Happy New Year. She invited me for dinner tomorrow. I couldn't think of an excuse, so I had to say yes. Then she asked if there was anything I didn't like, and I said, “I don't eat mammals.” She laughed and said, “Okey-dokey, no mammals. Is spinach lasagna OK?”

I was surprised to hear Mrs. Cooper laugh.

Yours forever,

Fern

Sunday

January 6

Hi Xanoth,

I finally found an ad for kitchen help that didn't say
EXPERIENCE
. I have an interview tomorrow morning in Park Extension. I never even heard of Park Extension. I'll ask at the metro how to get there.

Dinner at the Coopers was OK. They invited another couple with a son called Paul who's around 16. They mostly talked about computers and how they're affecting the world, and Paul explained iPods to them. He's very cute. Totally out of my league.

Then they asked me what I'm doing and I said I was a janitor, and they acted like I got chosen to go up in space.

I mentioned Beauty, and that led to a long discussion of pets. The Coopers talked about experiences they had with animals in Africa. Mrs. Cooper's allergic to cats.

The food was OK. The lasagna was a bit soggy but I liked the salad and there was very good cheesecake for dessert. There was wine too, but I didn't have any. I was afraid it might affect me in a stupid way and I'd ruin whatever credit I'd managed to get with them.

After dinner Paul played songs from Broadway shows on the piano. The Coopers kept saying how talented he was.

Paul asked me if I had any requests. Out of the blue, I remembered one of the sappy songs Ginnie's parents sang on Saturdays. I told Paul how the chorus went and he knew it. Mais mon amour... He didn't know the words, but he knew the tune, and he made up funny words in English. Like oh you my friend, you have such nice new clothes from Gap, my friend. I'll give you everything I own, my friend, for that nice T-shirt.

Paul's parents gave me a lift home. The windshield kept fogging up because their fog thing wasn't working right, so I had to wipe the glass in front and Paul kept wiping the side windows. We both used our sleeves. When we got to my place they said, “It was a pleasure meeting you. We must do this again.”

They were just saying it, but that's OK.

Yours forever,

Fern

Monday

January 7

Hi Xanoth,

I got hired at a Lebanese restaurant!

I get $50 cash for the evening, six to midnight, with a half hour break in the middle to eat, and I get paid every Sunday. On Mondays they're closed. The good thing is that it's evenings, in case David comes to check on things during the day. Another good thing is that the restaurant is two blocks from the Jean Talon metro. That means I don't have to take any buses, and the metro ride is only eight stops.

The woman who interviewed me was wearing a bright red dress and about thirty silver bracelets. I brought the reference letter from Dr. Cooper and she read it with this paranoid look on her face. Then she turned the letter around to see if something was written on the back. She did that like ten times.

I was sure I wouldn't get the job, but she said I could start tomorrow. Her name is Mrs. Taza, and she and her husband own the restaurant. She said supper was included, but I can only eat certain foods that aren't going fast.
They get to decide. I said right away that anything was fine with me and that I don't eat beef or lamb or pork. I could tell she was glad to hear that.

What I'm hoping is that I can take home all the food they're planning to throw out. But maybe Mrs. Taza takes the leftovers home herself. I'll see how it goes. At least I'll get experience.

I had to buy a bus pass for January. It's $36 with my Reduced Fare card, which doesn't expire until the summer. That leaves me with one bus ticket I don't need. Maybe I can sell it to the giggly girls on the third floor. They're probably not eligible for reduced fare, so it's a saving for them.

Yours forever,

Fern

Tuesday

January 8

Hi Xanoth,

The building is falling apart!!!!

I got a call really early this morning from the East Indian guy on the second floor. He said one of the bathroom pipes is leaking and it flooded the floor and the water's dripping into the bathroom in the apartment below. Then all of a sudden everyone was calling me about water problems, like their hot water only comes out in a gush or not at all and their toilet is leaking and taps aren't closing.

I pretended I wasn't in a total panic. I called the guy who moved me, Jeff, on his cell and asked him what to do. He said he was going to be in the area and he'd come by at noon.

I was a mental case until he showed up. On top of everything else, I was worried because I had to leave for the restaurant at five. I took Jeff to see the problem apartments. He said it's a job for a plumber, and no one expects me to be a plumber. He said the pipes have to be replaced.

He came on to me. I guess he's one of those guys who doesn't care what you look like. They just want sex bad. I said I was too stressed out and maybe another time. I don't think he was serious anyhow.

I called David and luckily he came over right away. He swore under his breath and began making these angry calls on his cell, some of them in French, all about money and who's going to pay for what. I told you there were big problems with who owns the building.

I got from the conversation that David's father is unconscious and they need him to sign over the power or something like that. Meanwhile he's not dead but he's not conscious so that's the problem, but it's more complicated.

Finally David said a plumber would be coming first thing tomorrow. He was in the worst mood. He didn't take it out on me though. Actually, he sort of joked. He said, “Well, Fern, I hope you can swim.”

Gotta run!

1:45 a.m.

My job was a nightmare. The guy in charge, Amir, is severely communication disabled. He'll say DISHES and I'm supposed to figure out if that means wash the dishes, dry the dishes, put food on the dishes, or what. Or FILL POT and he doesn't bother saying fill with what or how much. Or PUT IN MICROWAVE. I
never used a microwave in my life. He's around 30 and his English is fine. He just has a communication problem. Or maybe a personality problem.

There's another cook who's very good-looking and much friendlier. I didn't catch his name. He didn't say a word to me all evening, but in his case I think he really doesn't know much English.

The owners do the cash. The paranoid wife does some of the waitressing if it gets busy, but the main waitress is a skinny pretty redhead, around 20. To someone like that someone like me is invisible.

I was sure I'd get fired after tonight. It wasn't my fault. I can't read minds. But they didn't say anything. I was there until one. The job ended at midnight and they told me I could leave, but I still had more pots to wash and I didn't want to leave a mess on top of everything else I did wrong.

The only good thing was supper. The food was weird, and I was afraid I wouldn't like it, but I did. They didn't watch to see how much I was eating. Amir kept going in and out of the kitchen, Mr. and Mrs. Taza don't come in the back, and the quiet guy doesn't care what I do. I had pita with fried chicken, rice with vegetables, rice with lentils, rice with chickpeas, fried potatoes, fried cauliflower, bean salad, and falafel, which I heard of but never tasted before. So at least that part went OK, but they'll probably fire me by the end of the week.

The place was full most of the evening. A lot of people
can afford to eat out. Or else they can't afford it but they use their credit card.

I'm in bed now. I like sleeping in Mom's double bed. My old bed was a single and the mattress was saggy, but Mom's is still OK.

Yours forever,

Fern

Wednesday

January 9

Hi Xanoth,

My arms are killing me from lifting those heavy pots yesterday. The Tazas haven't called to fire me, so I guess I'm working again tonight. They probably couldn't find anyone to replace me on such short notice. At least I'll make another $50.

The plumbers were here all day, and tomorrow some builders are coming to repair the damaged floors and ceilings.

I had a conversation in the hallway with this woman who lives on the fourth floor. She's around 35, kind of high strung, with really bad taste in clothes, like a top with vinyl pink hearts, and tight white slacks with a metal belt, and high heels with sequins. Her name's Adorée and she has an eight-year-old daughter. I really like that name – Adorée. She told me she had her daughter with a man who's been coming to see her almost every evening and on weekend afternoons for 16 years, even though he a wife and three kids at home. And his wife doesn't know a thing about it! He tells his wife he's working
late, or that he has to go to the office on the weekend to catch up, and he never lets her see how much he makes so she doesn't know that he gives Adorée a big part of his money. He runs his own import company, so I guess he makes enough for his wife and for Adorée.

I can't believe his wife doesn't know. How can you not slip up in 16 years? I mean, how clued out can a person be? Also, if Adorée goes around telling people, wouldn't someone eventually tell his wife? But Adorée said his wife has no idea at all.

I read a murder mystery once about a guy like that. He ended up in a cement mixer.

Yours forever,

Fern

Thursday

January 10

Hi Xanoth,

The restaurant job was a little better yesterday. I only made about a thousand mistakes. I also managed to fill a plastic bag with scraps for Beauty. Instead of scraping food that people left on their plates into the garbage, I scraped some of it into a plastic bag to take home. Beauty couldn't believe her luck when I filled her plate with chicken. I have enough for a week at least.

New tenants moved into the last vacant apartment today – an old pruny woman and her son. I have a bad feeling about her. I gave them a 1 because I was sure they'd pay, but now I think maybe I should have given them a 3. I think I was just getting tired of showing the apartment. It's the one where Victor lived before he moved upstairs.

The woman's name is Mrs. Coleville. Her son, who's around 30, is called Markus. Markus looks exactly like Humpty Dumpty. He never says anything. He just stands quietly next to his mother but half a step back, as if he's a kid who got sent to the corner, except that the corner for him is behind his mother's shoulder.

The reason I'm worried about Mrs. Coleville is all the complaining she's been doing. She says everything needs repairs in her apartment. She gets really angry, and she acts like everyone's her servant. You should have seen the way she shouted at the movers. You wouldn't think such an old skinny person could have such a loud bossy voice. All that's missing is a rifle on her shoulder and a whistle.

The rent in this building is really high, considering how rundown it is. It's $850 for a two and a half, $950 for a three and a half and $1025 for a four and a half. That's why they'll be glad we left our old place. They'll double the rent now.

On her application form Mrs. Coleville wrote that her former address was in Beaconsfield, and she was a homeowner for 38 years.

Those houses in Beaconsfield are mansions. Mom used to clean a place out there, but I made her quit because she had to take two buses and a train, and they wouldn't even pay for the train.

I wonder how you can go from a mansion to this place in like one month? Especially a three and a half for two people. Markus will have to sleep in the living room.

Everyone else in the building is OK, I think. Some of the tenants are a bit grumpy, but they're not a problem. But Mrs. Coleville has a long list of complaints: the windows are stuck, there's paint on the glass, the linoleum in the kitchen has cracks, the bathroom mirror is stained, those wood strips between the floor and the wall are coming
off in a few places, the bedroom lock is broken, and I forget what else. She made it sound like everything that's gone wrong in her life is my fault and I have to fix it.

I told her I'd talk to David, but he's just going to say that this is what you get for $950.

I really wish I'd given her a 3!

Yours forever,

Fern

Monday

January 14

Hi Xanoth,

It's my day off. I baked two cakes and slept most of the day.

The restaurant job is a bit better. I don't think they'll fire me. Amir is still not explaining anything, but I can mostly figure out what he wants me to do.

So now I have my supper taken care of. But I need more food, and I need to make more than $50 a day. That means I'm going to have to find a job for during the day at a hotel or restaurant.

Mrs. Coleville is driving me crazy. I really made a mistake with her. She left like twenty messages on my machine while I was at the restaurant, asking where I was and complaining that the door of the woman next to her keeps banging all night.

Then this morning she woke me up at eight. I'm a deep sleeper, but she was pounding away on my door. Beauty got totally freaked out.

I crawled out of bed and opened the door. She didn't care that she woke me up. She was probably happy about
it. She stood there in the hallway, with Markus in his usual spot. She began ranting again about people going in and out of the apartment next to her all night. She said, “I'm paying enough rent. I expect decent accommodations, not a house of ill repute.” She has a kind of British accent. Fake, if you ask me.

I left a message for David. He called back a few minutes later, and I told him there was a problem with one of the tenants. I said she's been asking for repairs and she's complaining about doors banging.