[What's Luck Got To Do With It 02.0] Down on Her Luck

by Carmen DeSousa

  Thirty minutes of bumper-to-bumper traffic through the Squirrel Hill tunnel later, even without a single “tunnel monster” in sight, I made it back to the Pittsburgh suburb where I’d spent the first half of my life. In all the years I’d lived here, I couldn’t understand why drivers hit the brakes before entering the tunnel. Even when an eighteen-wheeler was in front of them, drivers would drop to nearly a crawl, as if their passenger cars wouldn’t be able to fit into the same tunnel the semi had. The city had even widened the entry, making the entry an arch in hopes to keep the traffic moving. But nothing seemed to work, so the locals had decided there must be “tunnel monsters” hanging from the outside wall that scared drivers.

  As I drove through the streets of Squirrel Hill, or “upstreet,” as my mother and Zayde had always referred to the area around their shop, a pang of nostalgia hit me. For just a moment, I allowed myself to imagine what life might have been like if I’d stayed in Squirrel Hill. If I’d acted on my feelings for the boy I’d left behind. I shook my head to clear it. The past was just that, the past. I focused my attention back on the shops, wondering why my mother hadn’t thrown in the towel on her hardware store.

  While most of the shops had updated their interiors and the products they sold, nearly all had kept the beautiful original fascia of their buildings. Many buildings even still had the names of the original companies carved into the brick or stone headers right below the rooflines or above the ornate entries.

  Most of the shops around my grandfather’s old shop, which my mother now ran, had transitioned to trendy bakeries, cafés, fine-dining restaurants, and pizza joints. Only a couple holdouts remained. Like the boutique toy store a few spots down, I wondered how my mother’s hardware store could possibly compete with places like Walmart and Home Depot. Why she didn’t sell the store was beyond me. Even if she didn’t want to leave Pittsburgh, she could still sell. It wasn’t like the store was turning a profit. It couldn’t be. The first chance I got, I’d have to have a sit-down with Raylene. Mom shouldn’t still be stressing out about keeping her father-in-law’s shop going. It hadn’t been Mom’s fault that Dad had died, then Bubbie had died, and that we had been all that Zayde had left. It didn’t mean that she had to work until she died.

  I had to parallel park down the street from my mother’s store, but the weather was a perfect fifty-five, cool enough to wear a sweater and boots without sweating — and yet, sunny. In New York, the sun would have already set, but here I got at least an extra half an hour of sunshine, enough to make it home during rush hour.

  The bells on the door clattered as I pushed open the heavy glass door. “Mom?” I shoved all my thoughts about the store and house from my mind and plastered on a smile, knowing that my mother would be ecstatic, especially when I told her I saw the author and director. Who knew? Maybe I could get an autograph or two tomorrow.

  I skidded to a stop at the end of the aisle as I saw a man behind the register. The bright sunlight that streamed through the front windows of the shop made it hard to make out his features, but his height and wide shoulders, not to mention the sharp features of his profile, communicated to my brain that he definitely wasn’t my mother. Something about his face looked familiar, though. But it couldn’t be … “Umm … hello?” And what are you doing behind the counter? I wanted to ask, but he looked as though he knew what he was doing as he busied himself with a shelf of everyday items behind the register. Was my mother tied up behind the counter, though? He didn’t look threatening in his khaki pants and white work polo, but then again, neither did Ted Bundy. My mind still battled with the familiarity of his face, but Mom had never had an employee other than Raylene or me. “Where’s Belinda?” I demanded.

  “She’ll be back in a little bit.” The man offered me a friendly greeting as he turned to face me fully. I nearly gasped as I saw the face of my friend — the face that had starred in nearly every one of my sexual fantasies since our one passionate night — on a body that could grace any male fitness magazine. “Don’t you recognize me, Laina?” he asked. “It’s me, Markus Klein.” The man who claimed to be and had the face of my best friend, Markus Klein, lifted the old wooden counter that separated the back area of the hardware store from the customer area and stepped toward me.

  I tilted my head and smiled. “Markus? You can’t be little-Markey-from-three-houses-down Markus?” You can’t be the boy who’d been there for me nearly my entire life, I wanted to add, the boy who’d grown into a man after high school, who I’d run from after the night I’d crossed the friendship line.

  “Yeah.” He laughed, but his tone had an edge, as if he hadn’t found my question funny, as if he might be thinking about that one night, too. “Things change. People change.” His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “You never called me that, though, did you? I’d always hoped that was just your mom and Zayde.”

  I gulped. “You’ve … grown …” Even more than the last time I’d seen him when I was home from college twenty years ago, and he hadn’t been so small then.

  He closed his eyes, and dropped his head, shaking it. “You can’t imagine how many times I hear, ‘But you were so short … so skinny … so, so … ugly …”

  I darted forward and wrapped my arms around my childhood friend, then hit him on his chest, which was wide and hard as a rock. “You were never ugly. Who said that?”

  He stepped back from my arms and shrugged. “Anyway, what’s up? Your mom said you were back for an audition.”

  I leaned against the counter. “Actually, I came back to visit, and my mother insisted I go on one more audition. I’d already decided I was going to quit.”

  Markus scoffed. “Alaina Ackerman quit? Never!”

  “I am … was …” I shrugged. “I made callbacks, though, so we’ll see, but this is it. Alaina Ackerman’s last stand.”

  “Ooh … I like the sound of that. Could be a book title.”

  “Right!” I laughed. “The day my life is worthy of a story will be the day Hell freezes over.” I reached under the counter into the tiny fridge I knew was beneath the register and pulled out a bottle of water. “So, what’s up with you? Last I heard you’d gone to work for your father, rolling in the big bucks via real estate sales.”

  He lifted a brow. “Do I look like a salesman to you?”

  “Ummm … I’m not really sure how a salesman looks. Is there a standard uniform code?” I twisted off the cap and took a pull off the bottle of water as I tried to think what Markus did look like. He didn’t look like the nerd-next-door anymore. His golden hair had grayed some on the sides, but his green eyes were as bright as they’d always been. And his build … dannnnngggg … Markus had filled out. Would it offend him if I said he looked like a personal trainer?

  “I didn’t mean looks in general,” Markus said. “I meant … I’m just not salesman material. I don’t have that killer instinct that my dad kept pushing for. If someone told me they wanted to think about it, I said, ‘Okay.’ And when he put me in an office … best to say, I wasn’t excited about the prospect of sitting in a ten-by-ten cell for twelve-hour days for the rest of my life. So after ten long wasted years, since I wasn’t willing to work my way up to manage the company, we parted ways and I went back to college.”

  “And now, you’re working at a hardware store. Barely a hardware store, at that.” As always, Markus wasn’t offended with my blunt statement. He just smiled and busied himself with straightening up the counter, which was already in perfect order. We’d been friends since kindergarten, and he knew some of my deepest, darkest secrets and some other less-pleasant and embarrassing memories from high school, and especially after high school.

  “Only part-time … I guess it’s only fair that you see how far I’ve fallen, since I know all your secrets. Like how you padded your bra to get on the cheer squad.” Markus winked, and I shook my head at the fact that he had practically read my mind. “The hardware store isn’t so bad, though, Markus continued. “It helps your mom, and I get a few frin
ge benefits. And more time to concentrate on what I really want to do.”

  “Which is?” I inquired, taking another swig of the cool water, wishing it were a glass of wine about now. It’d be nice to kick back with Markus and reminisce about high school and college life over a couple of drinks, especially since he didn’t seem to be upset about my fleeing town after our night together. Maybe it hadn’t been anything but a fling, something he hadn’t thought about since. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, especially since I’d relived that night a thousand times in the last twenty years.

  “Write,” Markus said.

  “Oh, that’s right! I thought you’d given that up. What do you write?”

  “Sci-Fi.”

  I stood straighter, cocking my head at this revelation. I’d never imagined Markus as a sci-fi kind of guy. “Markus! That’s so cool! How come you never showed me anything?”

  His shoulders lifted and dropped and, without warning, he looked like the skinny kid I remembered in high school. “Too embarrassing. All your friends picked on me enough as it was.”

  “No they didn’t …” But they had, and I knew they had. I’d never joined in, but I hadn’t defended him the way I should have, either.

  The bells on the door jingled, and Markus leaned around the aisle to greet his customer. “Hi, Mrs. Jones. I have your bag ready.” He kept his eyes on the elderly woman as he walked past me. Stepping behind the counter, he rang up the order and then waited while the woman counted out the exact change, placing each bill and coin on the Formica top, and then pushed the money toward him without a word. Markus scooped up the change and handed her the receipt. “Thank you, Mrs. Jones. See you next week.”

  The woman left, and the small store seemed to have gotten darker in just the few minutes it had taken for her to come and go. It was so quiet I could hear the low hum of the overhead florescent light.

  “So …” I started, hoping to cut the suddenly tense air between us. It was hard to believe that as good as Markus looked, he could still be affected by what stupid high-schoolers had said years ago. “Do you know where my mom is?”

  Markus glanced at his phone. “She should be back in a few minutes.”

  My curiosity was piqued immediately. I hadn’t asked when she’d be back, I’d asked where she was, but I decided not to press the issue.

  I looked at my phone, too. Just a few minutes after five, which meant it was happy hour at most of the local restaurants. “Do you … umm … Do you work tonight?”

  He smiled again, a smile I recognized from a long time ago, a smile that had put me in a precarious situation with my best bud. I’d been back from college. We’d both wanted to get away from our parents. He’d had a car and a couple bottles of wine from his father’s private cellar …

  “I don’t have to work tonight,” he said smoothly. “The shop closed at five.”

  “Well, um … do you have to work … ummm, you know, um, write … tonight?” What was wrong with me? This was Markus, the boy who’d been my best friend, why was I nervous about asking him out for a couple of drinks?

  “Is Miss Cheer Captain, Drama Queen stuttering over asking a guy out on a date?”

  I blinked. “Not a date. Just … a couple of drinks.”

  “Sure, Laina. We can go get a couple of drinks.”

  The bells rang again, and Markus and I darted our heads around the corner of the aisle at the same time.

  “Hey, Mom!” I offered my mother a wave.

  “Hi, honey.” My mother locked the door behind her, then bustled down the aisle toward me. “How did it go?”

  I bit down on my lip to hold back a smile, but she knew me too well.

  She threw her hands over her mouth in response. “You made callbacks!”

  “Yep!”

  My mother wrapped her arms around me, and I noticed Markus retreat to the stairwell that led to the apartment upstairs. Room and board … I hadn’t been sure what he’d meant when he said “fringe benefits” earlier. Apparently my mother was allowing him to live in the apartment over the shop. How utterly author-like.

  My mother leaned back from my embrace. “Tell me all about it. I want to hear everything.”

  “Okay …” I shot a glance at Markus as he stood on the third step up. “But, I was —”

  Markus shook his head, cutting me off. “You two have a lot to catch up on. I’ll see you around, Laina.”

  Mom seemed to miss the entire conversation and just squeezed my hand, leading me out the front door. I peeked over my shoulder to see Markus just as he turned away and headed upstairs.

  “Meet you back at the house, or would you rather go out?” my mom asked.

  “The house.” If we went out, she’d insist on paying, and I really didn’t want her spending her hard-earned money on me. While my mother lived in a house that was probably worth eight hundred thousand dollars, I knew that any money she’d received after Zayde had died had to be dwindling. She simply couldn’t keep up with the maintenance and upkeep on her ancient house and store forever. Maybe if I got a job I could start paying her rent. Living in Pittsburgh was sounding better and better every minute I spent here. Besides, Joe had barely taken the time to return my texts. He’d responded to my asking him how things were going with short responses: Okay. Lots of work. One text he’d said he missed me and that he would call soon, but he was just so darn busy he could barely find time to eat, let alone make a phone call.

  Humph!

  Mom hopped in her Ford Edge, which she had double-parked in front of the store, and I trotted off to her beat-up Taurus, happy she’d told me I could use it as long as I wanted. Getting around Pittsburgh wasn’t as easy as New York, especially in Squirrel Hill where life seemed to be cut off from the rest of the world via tunnels. Before I lowered myself into the car, I glanced up at the windows above the store. Had I imagined that the blinds moved just slightly?

  Yes, life in Pittsburgh might be interesting, after all.

  5

  Callback

  The next morning I headed out bright and early. Early enough to get through the tunnels and actually have time to stop near the theater for some coffee.

  Unlike the previous day, which had been an open call, Howard Edwards had said ten o’clock sharp, and he didn’t seem like the kind of person who liked to wait.

  To my surprise, a line of a hundred or so actors and actresses lined the sidewalk again. Thankfully, I’d thought to check before taking the time to grab coffee. I was early, and the line had already started to form, so I found a parking space and grabbed a place in line. The doors hadn’t opened yet, so I found myself staring at the urns of coffee and other delights lined up on a patio adjacent the theater. Catered food for the crew, no doubt. My mouth watered at the scent of fresh-brewed coffee, wishing I had had time to grab some.

  A few minutes after ten, a side door opened, and Howard trailed the woman, whom I was now certain was the author, Jana Embers, outside to the buffet table.

  “That’s him,” a woman squealed beside me with a high-pitched voice that sounded as if it’d come from a thirteen-year-old girl. Her tone and excitement made it sound as though she were at a concert, watching as the lead singer in a boy band stepped on stage. “That’s Howard Edwards!”

  “Who’s the woman?” the woman next to her asked in a whisper.

  “That’s the author,” responded the teenager in a woman’s body. “Jana something.”

  “Embers. That’s Jana Embers,” said a man with an effeminate voice. The man poked his head around me. “I heard she was going to play the lead in the movie. Can you imagine?”

  I bristled at the man’s comment. I could imagine Jana playing the part. Other than her beautiful bronzed hair, Jana Embers had nearly the same build, facial structure, and was the same age as I was, and I wanted to play the lead.

  The women were in complete agreement with him, so I turned to the man behind me. “Wanna jump in front of me so you can talk?”

  “Sure,” he sai
d as he sauntered next to the women who were barely twenty-something. As if they’d know a thing about playing the part of a middle-aged woman forced to take on a new life and career. Part of what made the story so intriguing was that the woman in the story had been cheated on by her husband of fifteen years, and even though she had no job, a fourteen-year-old-son to raise, and no idea how she would make it, she’d kicked him out and found a way. I didn’t have a child to take care of, but I could definitely understand feeling as though I had nowhere else to go. If I hadn’t had my mother and sister to come home to, it would have been quite a struggle for me. Not to mention I was going to have to start working on a new career.

  Howard Edwards and Jana Embers talked quietly. Howard didn’t look at the line of gawkers and admirers once, but Jana peeked up a couple of times, smiled shyly, then turned her attention back to Howard. How could she not keep her eyes focused on him? He had the most amazing blue eyes. I wondered if they looked as good up close as they did on TV and magazines.

  Out of nowhere, Jana snapped her head back, as if Howard had said something unpleasant. My neighbors didn’t miss the action either. They all let out soft “Ohhhs …” at the same time.

  Howard looked contrite, though, and Jana seemed to immediately forgive whatever he’d said. An “Ohhh …” nearly popped out of my throat when I saw Howard reach across the table and touch Jana’s hand.

  Lucky woman… Not only was one of Hollywood’s most eligible bachelors staring at her as though she were the only woman in the world, he was also adapting her book into a major motion picture.

  Jana muttered something, then jumped out of her seat and charged back into the side door.

  Howard stared after her for a second, but then whipped his head toward us. His piercing blue eyes made contact with mine, then his brow furrowed as though he were confused. Embarrassed by my gawking, I dropped my gaze at once, hoping he wouldn’t remember me when I auditioned. I watched just his feet as he walked with a slow and easy gait back into the building.