The Worst Romance Novel Ever Written (14 page)

“
I’ll mark them for you,” Gloria said, “only if it’s all right with you.”

“
Um, sure,” Johnny said. “Go right ahead.”

Gloria rang up the sale, sliding a cherry Dum-Dum across the counter. “When will you be back?”

Johnny focused on the clock behind her. “I get off at two or so.”

“
I’ll still be here.”

He rapped the counter. “See you later then.”

“
Drive safely,” Gloria said.

“
I will.”

Gloria watched Johnny go and sized up the manuscript.
Fanfold paper,
she thought.
Either he’s old school, or …

Gloria didn’t know what to think.

After tearing off the edges and separating all the pages, she stood at the counter and prepared to read.

The bell on the door tinkled.

Shoot,
Gloria thought.
I hate when work gets interrupted by work.

She set the manuscript aside as Vic, a regular, entered the store followed by a young white kid.

“
Hey Vic,” Gloria said.

Vic only nodded. Vic rarely spoke to her or anyone else, preferring to chat only to himself and occasionally to a bag of Andy Capp’s Hot Fries.

Gloria wished that Johnny would look at her for more than a few seconds at a time. It was obvious that Johnny was shy, but it was also obvious that he liked seeing her. There were four other gas stations closer to Señor Pizza, but Johnny always bought his gas at Quick-E Mart, even when Quick-E Mart’s gas prices were often higher than the others were.

And here I am flirting with a man using cheap suckers,
Gloria thought. She kept a handy stash of Dum-Dums under the counter just for Johnny.

And she didn’t know why.

Johnny wasn’t Gloria’s type, not that she actually pursued a specific type of man or any man for that matter. She had always preferred men who took care of their bodies and had a decent education, which had severely limited her choices. These men didn’t necessarily have to be athletic, just fit. She wondered often if Johnny had once been an offensive lineman or a wrestler in high school.

“
Hey, baby.”

Gloria looked down at the skeletal boy in front of her. He wore an Atlanta Braves baseball cap tilted to the side, a white hoody covered with skulls, creased jeans, and unlaced Vans skateboarder shoes.

“
How ya doin’, beautiful?” The boy pointed behind her at the cigarette case. “How ‘bout gettin’ me soma dem Black ‘n’ Milds?”

Gloria didn’t move, staring holes into the twelve-pack of Budweiser the child was trying to buy. She had leg stubble older than the peach fuzz under his nose. “I need to see some ID.”

The boy’s eyes darted to a car idling outside. “Sure thing, beautiful.” He handed her a shiny ID, its edges ragged and held together by Scotch tape.

It’s his picture all right,
Gloria thought,
but he isn’t Salvatore Bella, who was born in 1967.
“You’re older than I am, Salvatore,” Gloria said, hoping the kid would get the hint and give up.

“
What can I say?” the kid said. “I age good.”

You age
well
,
Gloria thought.
Lazy public schools don’t teach these kids a thing these days.
“Uh-huh.”

The boy leaned in. “Look,” he whispered, “the other lady don’t give me no trouble, yo.”

Because, Gladys, the other manager, don’t care about nothing, yo,
Gloria thought.
And as soon as they make me store manager, I am going to fire Gladys, yo.
“Okay, um, Salvatore, what’s your social security number?”

The boy slapped a twenty on the counter. “My social security number is two-zero, and you can keep the change, beautiful.”

No wonder Gladys drives a nice car,
Gloria thought.
I have to ride the nasty city bus.
“Put the beer back now, whatever your real name is.”

“
What?”

Gloria opened the register, dropped in the illegal ID, and closed the register. “The cameras are rolling, Sal.” She pointed at several cameras. “Don’t make trouble or I’ll send your video to
World’s Dumbest Criminals.
I’m sure you’ll make the top ten.”

The boy cursed and kicked the counter. “Gimme back my ID!”

“
No.” Gloria pulled back the twelve-pack. “I’ll put these back. You have a nice, safe night, okay?”

Vic shuffled behind the boy, and the boy turned to stare at Vic. “Who you eyeballin’, old man?”

Vic whispered something in the boy’s ear, the boy’s eyes popped, and Vic whispered something else.

The boy took off his hat and turned to Gloria. “I’m sorry, lady.”

Gloria smiled, but only at Vic. “Apology accepted,” she said.

The boy tore out of the store and the car outside squealed tires and roared away.

Vic placed a can of Diet Coke and a bag of hot fries on the counter, sliding a pile of change to Gloria.

“
What did you say to him, Vic?” Gloria asked.

Vic held up his right index finger, the fingernail at least an inch long. “Told him I had a blade in his back, gonna cut him if he don’t apologize.”

“
Oh.” Gloria quickly separated Vic’s coins and pushed several pennies back to Vic.

Vic winked. “Keep the change, beautiful.”

As crazy as he acts,
Gloria thought,
Vic doesn’t miss a thing.
“Thanks, Vic.” She put the remaining three pennies in the “Need a penny, take a penny” cup.

Vic shuffled out, talking to Andy Capp.

And to think I went to college for all this fun,
Gloria thought, secretly wishing the boy would have tried something. She knew she could whip his tail, and not because she once took a karate class. Gloria Minnick knew how to fight, learning firsthand on the mean streets of Northwest Roanoke. She still had scars from a fight in seventh grade with a much bigger girl …
who still won’t speak to me almost twenty years later. What’s up with that?

She rubbed the tiny scar over her right eyebrow and sighed.
At least Vic did something,
Gloria thought.
Now if only Johnny would do something, say something.
She pulled the manuscript from under the counter.
This will just have to do for now. Okay, Johnny, what are you going to tell me tonight?

A minute into the manuscript, Gloria’s eyes ached, threatening to withdraw from her face.

She blinked often for half an hour.

She picked her jaw off the floor several times, glad she had earlier mopped it so well.

She even laughed when she should have been cursing.

“
No … way,” she whispered often.

“
Is he serious?” she cried several times.

“
I can’t believe a single word of this!” she yelled into the page.

Unfortunately, no customers kept Gloria from finishing Johnny’s rough rough draft.

When Gloria finished the last offensive page, she sat on her stool, her entire body shaking, her jaw muscles tight.
This,
she thought,
is the all-time worst romance novel ever written. Vic talking to his hot fries makes more sense than this does!

She closed her eyes.
Unless …

Calm down, Gloria. Breathe. That’s better.

Unless Johnny is trying to write a satire or a farce. I hope he’s trying to do that. It might actually work as a satire on romance novels, but as a straight romance? No freaking way!

Gloria had to admit to herself that Johnny, the seemingly down-to-earth shy guy she gave suckers to, was probably insane and did not have a firm grip on reality. She feared he might never have had any grip on reality at any time. Johnny saw women as evil, brain dead bimbos dragged along by their hair by their cave dwelling Neanderthal men. Johnny didn’t know a thing about logic, plot, character development, pacing, or transition.

Gloria knew that Johnny couldn’t write.

A lick.

She opened her eyes, and the manuscript was still there. She was amazed that it didn’t instantaneously burst into flames out of shame.

She took a deep breath and tried to collect her thoughts.
Okay, yes, he can string a group of words together, he generally has a subject and a verb in each sentence, he’s pretty decent with his punctuation and paragraphing, but … He’s no storyteller. Yes, he tells a story, but his story is whack. It’s crap. It’s gum on the bottom of a shoe. It’s literary excrement.

But how can I tell Johnny all this without hurting his feelings?

Gloria knew she couldn’t keep the truth from Johnny, deciding that Johnny’s feelings would have to be hurt for his own good—and for hers. Gloria had self-respect, character, and integrity. She couldn’t say a book was great when it wasn’t, even if she was somewhat sweet on its author, who now scared the living crap out of her.

Gloria’s integrity was all she had sometimes. She said, “Excuse me,” whenever she burped or pooted, even when no one else was around. She never cursed and kept her ample bosom and skin hidden under her clothes where they belonged. She did her own hair and nails and wore sensible, quality, comfortable shoes. She ate only when she was hungry, didn’t drink or smoke or hang out with those who did, and exercised daily, rarely sitting on the stool behind the counter for any length of time. She still brushed her teeth after every meal, still took multi-vitamins every morning, and still managed to get eight hours of sleep every night. She didn’t go clubbing, she didn’t flirt (except with Dum-Dums), and she didn’t raise her voice to be noticed. She was always in church every Sunday that her schedule allowed, and she always started each day with a prayer.

Gloria Minnick considered herself a spiritual no-drama hot mama.

And she was lonely because of it.

Gloria was single and waiting for the right man to notice her integrity, her simplicity, her self-respect, and her sensible shoes.
And here I am giving Dum-Dums to a dum-dum so he’ll notice me! What does that say about me?

She sighed and looked at the clock: 2 AM.
Johnny should be here by now. Oh yeah. It’s coupon night. Maybe I should get a coupon and order a pizza this weekend. But do I want a misogynistic sexist freak delivering a pizza to me?

She saw a pair of headlights turning into the parking lot.

I am so glad the store is empty. I hope to God that I’ve read this thing wrong. I really hope to God that I haven’t been reading Johnny wrong all these months. But if I haven’t, well, I have to tell him the truth, no matter how much it hurts him
.

Or me.

14

Johnny approached the counter gradually, his hands shoved deeply into his pockets, his eyes no higher than Gloria’s brown hands firmly planted on the orange counter. “Sorry I’m so late.”

“
It’s all right.”

“
It’s sometimes hard to get folks to give me the coupons,” Johnny said. “They want to use them again.”

“
It’s fine. Really.”

Johnny looked at Gloria’s right thumb. “Um, did you have time to …”

Gloria nodded then realized Johnny didn’t see her nodding. “Yes. I read it.”

“
So, um, what did you think?”
She has a cute thumb.

Gloria caught a strong whiff of bleach mixed with degreaser, oregano, and pizza sauce. “Well, it was an interesting satire.”

Did she say “satire”?
“A what?”

Crap,
Gloria thought.
It wasn’t a satire. It really was crap. Maybe I can make him think differently about his book.
“A satire. You do a pretty fair job of satirizing the romance novel.”