The Latecomers Fan Club

by Diane V. Mulligan

  Perhaps the worst aspect of Maggie’s new busy schedule was that she had no time to see Claire. Her midmorning tea-time visits had become a routine between the two of them on Claire’s days off, but now those never seemed to coincide with Maggie’s. Her new friendship with her sister was an unexpected pleasure of moving home. She had taken to calling Claire during her lunch break so she didn’t feel so alone sitting in the mall food court.

  One gloomy Tuesday, after failing to reach Claire and leaving a voicemail, Maggie grabbed a cappuccino and pulled a People magazine from her purse. She resisted the urge to get a huge slice of pizza. She had noticed that since moving home, her jeans had gotten tight. It was easier to get exercise when she lived a few blocks from the beach and the weather was almost always nice. In the winter gloom of Worcester, taking a walk hardly seemed worth the effort.

  She flipped through the pages of the magazine, feeling a little twinge of regret as she skimmed past pictures of celebrities in sunny Southern California.

  Maggie was startled when someone paused at her table and said, “Excuse me?”

  Maggie looked up to see a girl with dark hair, probably in her early twenties, wearing a smock and Macy’s name-tag that read Vanessa. She was short and heavy, with thick glossy hair pulled from her face in a ponytail.

  “You work in Misses, right?” she asked.

  Maggie nodded.

  “I’m in cosmetics.”

  That explained the smock.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “No, not at all,” Maggie said, glad for the interruption of her solitude, even though she didn’t often like the sort of forward women brash enough to walk up to strangers in mall food courts.

  Vanessa pulled out a chair and set down her tray—a slice of pizza, French fries, and a large soda. “I don’t usually eat this way,” she said, seeing Maggie eye her tray. “Usually I bring lunch from home, but today I just couldn’t resist.”

  “I know what you mean,” Maggie said, her stomach rumbling.

  “So, you’re new, right?” Vanessa asked, blotting grease from her pizza with a napkin.

  “Yeah, I started a month ago.”

  “How are the old hags treating you?”

  Maggie laughed. “Oh, as well as can be expected.”

  “If you can hold your own with them, you can get along with anyone,” Vanessa said, and then she asked, “I’m sorry, but what was your name again?”

  “I’m Maggie.” Maggie had learned that it was best to remove her name-tag the minute her lunch started. Walking around the mall with her name on her chest was an invitation to weirdos and perverts. “How long have you worked here?”

  “Three years,” Vanessa said. “I started my junior year of college as a part-time thing, and after college I just sort of stuck around. As it turns out, there isn’t a huge market for anthropology majors in Worcester. Who knew?”

  “Yeah, not much for art majors either,” Maggie said.

  “Ah, an artiste. You should try to get transferred to make up. So much better than apparel. I mean, I started in Juniors. Talk about a shitty department. Teenage girls make messes like you would not believe. You never see many people over there, but every time you go into the dressing rooms, there are heaps of clothes. When I heard they were looking for someone in cosmetics, I went straight to Mel—you know, the big boss—and asked him to transfer me. Bat your eyes at Mel a few times and you’re all set. Cosmetics is fun. You get to try all the new products and do makeovers on people.”

  “That does sound like more fun that Misses,” Maggie said, glancing at her phone for the time. Ten more minutes. Why was lunch the only hour of the day that was always too short?

  “Well, I’ll let you know if I hear about openings at any of the counters. Do you always eat lunch down here?” Vanessa slurped her soda through the straw and dumped the rest of her French fries onto the tray, picking them over for the crispiest ones.

  “I hate the break room,” Maggie said. “It’s so depressing.”

  “Yeah, but it’s too expensive to eat down here all the time. Chill with me and it’ll be all hilarity all the time.” Vanessa grinned. “You get two choices in life: Be skinny or be funny. I like pizza too much to be skinny. Anyway, you should come out tomorrow night after work. The under-thirty crowd usually goes out on Fridays. A few drinks, a bite to eat. It’s a nice way to unwind, even if most us will be here again Saturday morning. We have to stick together. The old crones outnumber us.” Without waiting for Maggie to answer, Vanessa got up and took her tray to a trash barrel. “Shall we?” she asked, returning to the table.

  Maggie stood and walked with her back through the mall to Macy’s. She wondered if she should admit that she wasn’t technically part of the under-thirty crowd, but decided against it. They weren’t going to card her.

  The next night, at ten after nine, as quickly as she could get out of the store, Maggie drove across the mall parking lot to Tequila Joe’s Mexican Cantina. Some of her coworkers who had finished at eight were already there at the bar. Maggie was shocked by how busy the place was. Who knew so many people drove to a restaurant out on the highway next to the mall on a Friday night? Vanessa arrived right after Maggie and the hostess led the group to a big corner booth, one of those circular ones where everyone has to move if one person wants to get out. As soon as they were seated, Vanessa ordered two pitchers of margaritas and made quick introductions.

  “The new girl drinks free,” she said, when she was done offering Maggie names and helpful tidbits like what department each member of the party worked in.

  The ten young revelers were mostly women, some of whom Maggie recognized from cosmetics, perfume, and juniors. Of the three guys at the table, one worked in shoes, one in furniture, and one was a security officer. He sat to Maggie’s left and looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

  “Don’t recognize me, do you?” he asked once the first round of drinks was poured.

  Vanessa had introduced him as Chris, but that wasn’t much help to Maggie.

  “Chris Hayes,” he said.

  Chris Hayes, who sat directly behind Maggie in homeroom for three years of middle school. The red hair and the height—he had to be six foot five—should have been a giveaway. Maggie felt bad for not recognizing him, but for crying out loud, she hadn’t seen the guy since they were thirteen. She couldn’t remember where he had gone to high school—St. Peter’s? Vo-tech?

  “Wow, good to see you,” Maggie said, trying to hide her embarrassment.

  “You look exactly the same. I’d recognize you anywhere,” Chris said.

  “I hope I don’t still look like an awkward preteen.”

  “Okay, you look the same, except you no longer have braces.”

  Maggie took a big gulp of her drink. Chris had a hell of memory. She couldn’t say the same for herself.

  Vanessa topped off Maggie’s glass and raised her own. “To the new girl,” she said, commanding the attention of the table. “It’s been a while since we had fresh blood to feast on.” She winked at Maggie and everyone drank.

  “Should I be scared?” Maggie asked.

  “Don’t listen to her,” Chris said. “She has nothing but bad advice to give.”

  “Don’t listen to him. His favorite pastime is sitting in the security office watching the ceiling cams so he can look down all of our shirts.”

  “Professional perk,” he said, shrugging.

  “I’m not sure I should listen to either of you,” Maggie said.

  “She’s smarter than she looks,” Vanessa said to Chris.

  “Always was,” Chris said, casting Maggie a sidelong look.

  Maggie didn’t know what to make of that comment. She sat back against the booth and listened to her coworkers chatter around her. She was on her third margarita before they even ordered food. At some point, people shifted
around in the booth so that Vanessa was too far away for Maggie to talk to, but Chris kept up a steady stream of conversation. Maggie didn’t remember him being so talkative or so funny when they were kids. She had been a little nervous to go out with a pack of strangers, but he made sure Maggie was included, filling her on inside jokes that everyone found so funny.

  After dinner there was some talk of fried ice cream. While everyone figured out what to order, Chris leaned towards Maggie and whispered, “You know, I had the craziest crush on you.”

  Maggie did know that. Everyone knew that. Chris may have been quiet, but his best friend Alan was a real loud mouth. Maggie wondered whatever happened to him. “Yeah, Alan used to torment me on your behalf,” Maggie said.

  “Middle school boys are supposed to tease the girls they like, but I was so shy, I needed a friend to tease you for me,” Chris said. He took a sip of water and then smiled at Maggie. He didn’t seem embarrassed at all. If anything, he seemed confident

  “Anyway, it’s great to see you again,” he said.

  “Good to see you, too,” Maggie said.

  Chris leaned forward as if he was going to say something, but Maggie suddenly felt an urgent need to get to the ladies room. How many margaritas had she had? “Um, excuse me for a minute,” she said, forcing a smile. She nudged the girl next to her and managed to get everyone to let her out. The minute she stood up, the booze hit her and she had to steady herself against the table. It took all of her concentration to walk in what she hoped was a straight line to the restroom. When she finally got there and into a toilet stall—and thank God for that small miracle—it took a minute for the room to stop spinning. How the hell was she going to get home?

  “I think I may have had one too many margaritas,” Maggie said when she returned to the table. She wondered if her words were slurring. They sounded okay to her, but she had no idea if she could trust her senses. “I definitely should not get behind the wheel of a car.”

  “I’ll give you a ride,” Chris said.

  Maggie wondered if Chris had put Vanessa up to inviting her out. He had been shamelessly flirting with her the entire night. She’d hardly spoken to anyone else. Maybe it was his idea that she drink for free. She never should have come. “Shit. I have to work at nine tomorrow, too. I can’t just leave my car here.”

  “I’ll pick you up in the morning. I have to work, too.”

  “You’ve had as much to drink as I have,” Maggie said, looking around the table. All of them had been slamming back margaritas. How were any of them going to drive home? This was a total disaster.

  “I’m bigger than you, and I suspect I have a better tolerance.”

  “You need a ride, sweetie?” Vanessa asked, overhearing the conversation. “I got ya covered.”

  Maggie’s panic receded a little. It wasn’t that she was afraid of Chris, but she didn’t know him well. She didn’t want to get a ride with him. Not when she was so drunk.

  “Well, at least let me pick you up in the morning,” Chris said, looking disappointed. “You’re at your mom’s house, right? I live much closer than Vanessa does.”

  Maggie saw Vanessa shake her head at him.

  Once they were in Vanessa’s car, Maggie couldn’t help but ask if Chris asked her to invite Maggie.

  “What? No,” Vanessa said. “I mean, he told me he knew you from middle school, but I’m sort of the social coordinator.”

  “So you weren’t trying to set me up?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Maggie said, hating herself for accusing her new friend of such a devious act as helping to get her drunk so some guy could make his move.

  “Chris is a nice guy.”

  “I’m so drunk,” Maggie said, resting her head against the car seat.

  “That’s the idea. We had to initiate you.”

  “I may have made a fool of myself.”

  “No more so than anyone else.” She turned on the radio and flipped through a few stations before stopping on some pop song that Maggie only vaguely recognized. “You know, I used to have a thing for Chris when I started working at the store. He’s a cute guy, you know, and he’s so flirty.”

  “What happened?” Maggie asked.

  “I thought he was into me, but then I realized he just flirts with everyone, even the old ladies.”

  “Oh.” That made Maggie feel slightly better and slightly worse.

  “That was like three years ago. I’m totally over him. Moved on to greener pastures, as they say. He does seem pretty into you, though.”

  “He had a crush on me like twenty years ago.”

  “What if he asked you on a date now?” Vanessa said. They had reached the exit from the highway. She slowed along the ramp to the traffic light. The stop-start motion of the car made Maggie dizzy.

  “I don’t think so,” Maggie said. “I’m sort of seeing someone.” Could she call one coffee date with Nathaniel seeing someone?

  “Do tell,” Vanessa said after Maggie gave her quick directions towards her mom’s house.

  Maggie explained then about Nathaniel, and as she did she felt as stupid as a teenager making a huge deal over a guy smiling at her in the hallway or something. She directed Vanessa through the last few turns to her mom’s house. When Maggie got inside, she stumbled upstairs to bed, where she stayed until Gloria woke her the next morning.

  “Don’t you have work at nine?”

  Maggie was afraid that if she moved at all, she would puke.

  “Good God, you reek.”

  Maggie groaned. She needed a brain transplant.

  “It’s after eight.”

  Maggie squeezed her eyes shut and willed her mother to go away.

  “Maggie. Where is your car?”

  Her car. Where was her car? How did she get home the night before? It took her a minute to solve that puzzle. “Tequila Joe’s.”

  “How are you getting to work?”

  Maggie wasn’t sure. Was Chris picking her up? Was Vanessa? Should she ask her mom for a lift? “I think Vanessa is picking me up,” she said, running her tongue over her mossy teeth and pulling a pillow over her eyes.

  “Is that how you got home?” Gloria asked, moving to the window and snapping open the shades.

  “Uh-huh.” Maggie peeked out from under her pillow.

  “Okay. There’s coffee downstairs. You’d better get your sorry ass out of bed.”

  Maggie waited until she heard her mother walk away and shut the door behind her before slowly forcing herself to sit. Her head throbbed and her mouth felt like it was full of wool. Her stomach lurched. It was going to be a long day.

  Abby

  After the engagement party, the jig was up. Abby hadn’t been telling Breanna the truth about how supportive (or unsupportive) Nathaniel was being; it was easy since Breanna was spending so much time at Pat’s. But Nathaniel’s failure to accompany her to the party along with Pat’s knowledge of her secret changed everything. On the one hand, Abby felt bad. She didn’t want to bring Breanna down during what should have been such a happy time. On the other hand, she was so glad that Breanna was spending more time around the apartment now, because she had been losing her mind being on her own so much. Even though their work schedules didn’t coincide so they didn’t have much time to hang out most days, it was nice to see Breanna in the mornings or evenings. Even when Pat came to stay, Abby was thankful for the company. Besides, Pat was sweet all the time. It was hard to be jealous or to feel like he was intruding.

  Abby had been letting things get away from her. When Nathaniel showed no enthusiasm to help her with any of the baby stuff, she had gone into denial. Instead of moving forward with things she knew she needed to do, like looking for apartments and figuring out what the hell to do about work, she laid around in the apartment watching reality TV and wallowing in se
lf-pity. But once she had to face Breanna every day, inertia was no longer an option. Breanna’s first self-appointed task was to help Abby make a plan relative to work. Each morning they scanned the classifieds together, and throughout the day Breanna emailed Abby links to things she saw on Craigslist and other websites. The problem was that outside of bartending, Abby had no skills or experience. There were plenty of jobs that sounded okay, but she had no qualifications.

  “I could be a paralegal,” she said one day when the ads were especially skimpy.

  “Yeah, but you’ll have to go back to school,” Breanna said.

  Abby chewed her fingernails and circled the ad anyway.

  “Maybe I should go become a hairstylist,” she said, another morning seeing an ad for stylists at a Newbury Street salon.

  “Right, but not before you pop out that kiddo,” Breanna said.

  “It says they’re hiring a receptionist, too. I could get in the door.”

  “True,” Breanna said. “But do you really think you’ll make more money than you do now?”

  Abby knew that the answer was no.

  After two weeks of dead ends, Breanna took matters into her own hands. She explained one night as they watched reruns and ate ice cream. It was Abby’s night off and Pat was out with boys, so for a change, it was just the two of them at the apartment.

  “Here’s the thing, Abby,” Breanna said, taking advantage of a commercial break, “you’ve got to be realistic. You need a job for which you don’t need a college degree or any other kinds of special certifications, and you need one now. Soon you’re going to start to show—”

  “Start?” Abby said, grabbing her breasts and pushing them together dramatically. “I think—”

  “You don’t look pregnant. Not yet. Maybe someone who knows you might think you gained a few pounds, but no stranger would guess. So anyway, you need to get something now. Something secure. Something where they won’t find a reason to fire you when they find out their new employee will be taking maternity leave soon.”