Fool's Gold

by Melody Carlson

  “I don’t know what I’ll do with a whole hour,” I say as we both head to the time clock that keeps track of when you are or are not working.

  “Some people walk for exercise. Some go shopping. Some bring books to read. And some just sit around and gossip. I’d invite you to join me for lunch today, but I need to run some errands.”

  “No worries,” I tell her. “I’m sure I can find something to do.”

  She smiles. “And I’m sure you’ll find that an hour goes by pretty fast.”

  “That’s for sure,” says a young woman named Carlita as she punches her card. “We’re sharing a cab to Macy’s Plaza today, if anyone else wants to come along.”

  “But we gotta hurry,” says her friend, whose name I can’t remember. “There’s a big sale at Macy’s — today only.”

  And I have no idea why, but the next thing I know, I am getting into a cab with Carlita and, as it turns out, Laticia. Within what feels like only seconds, we are there. “We could’ve walked,” I say as we climb out of the cab that cost $10.

  “Waste of time,” says Laticia as she hands the driver a ten.

  Carlita hands him a dollar that I think is for the tip. “We’ll let you off easy since you’re new. You can just pay $3.”

  So I dig in my purse for the money as we go into a large building that turns out to be a shopping center. But I can tell by the sign that there are food places nearby, and I reckon I’ll be able to find something to eat here.

  “Don’t you want to hit Macy’s first?” asks Carlita when she notices me starting to follow my nose toward the smell of food.

  “Well, I thought I’d grab a bite — ”

  “You can do that later,” says Laticia as she pulls me along with them. “Nice jacket,” she says as she fingers the fabric of my sleeve. “Feels expensive.”

  “My aunt bought it for me.”

  “Must be nice,” says Carlita. “Having rich relatives.”

  “I reckon,” I say as we go into the department store.

  nine

  AFTER THAT, I AM SWEPT ALONG WITH THESE TWO. THEIR STYLE OF shopping is very different from anything I’ve experienced so far. It’s more like a whirlwind, get-the-best-designer-for-the-lowest-price sort of shopping. Finally I decide that if you crossed my shopping spree at Ross Dress for Less with the way my aunt and cousin search out the best designers at the fancy shops, you might wind up with something like Carlita and Laticia’s style of shopping. But I’m actually impressed with some of the things they are finding — as well as the prices.

  “Wow,” I say when I see the cute skirt that Carlita has found marked down to only $39. “I could almost afford something like that.”

  Carlita laughs. “Judging by the threads you’re wearing, I’m sure you, or your aunt, could afford way more.”

  “Threads?”

  “That jacket.”

  “Oh, right,” I look down at my jacket. “Well, my aunt might be able to afford this, but I could never buy a Versace on my own.”

  “Versace?” Laticia pauses from flipping through a rack and looks at me with raised brows. “That’s a Versace?”

  I shrug. “Does the name really matter?”

  “It would to me.” Then she laughs. “Not that I’ll ever have that problem. Although I did find a nice pair of Prada shoes at the thrift store last weekend. They’d hardly been worn at all.”

  “What’s a thrift store?” I ask and am then treated to some of the secrets of dressing like a million when you have to work for a living.

  Now Laticia holds up a green T-shirt. “This would go great with your Versace jacket, Hannah.” She annunciates the name as if she wants to impress the lady in the next aisle. “Even if it’s only a deek-nee.”

  “What’s a deek-nee?”

  “DKNY, or Donna Karon New York. Not exactly Versace but not half-bad either.”

  “It does go with my jacket,” I admit as I examine the T-shirt. “But I’m a bit low on funds until payday.”

  “Get a credit card,” says Laticia lightly.

  “You mean a charge account?” I ask.

  She laughs. “It’s not as if I’m suggesting you get a tattoo.”

  “But a charge account? I’m only seventeen.”

  “Lots of girls your age have credit cards,” says Carlita. “And I’m sure with your aunt as a cosigner you could easily get one too.”

  “And then you could capitalize on all these fantastic sales,” continues Laticia as she holds a pair of bright yellow Capri pants up to her waist. “Just don’t forget to pay the bill when your check comes. Otherwise you’ll end up in deep — ”

  “Like you did?” says Carlita, pointing a finger at her friend. And then the two of them are going on about which one of them is more financially responsible. But their words float past me as I consider their suggestion.

  A charge account? I’m thinking maybe that’s not such a bad idea after all. At least I’m working now and making a decent wage, as it turns out. I was actually quite surprised when I learned how much I would earn per hour at Johnson’s Janitorial. Far more than I’d imagined. I reckon I’ll be set by the end of the summer. And I could probably afford to buy a few more things to round out my wardrobe in the meantime.

  “Hey,” says Laticia as she holds up the green T-shirt. “Why don’t I just put this on my account, and you can just pay me back later.” She winks at me. “I’m sure that you’re good for it.”

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t do — ”

  “No problem,” she says. “It’s perfect with that jacket. Way better than that boring white T-shirt you have on. I insist.”

  “But I can’t — ”

  “Look,” says Carlita, pointing toward the back of the store. “Why don’t you just take the shirt back there to where it says accounts and tell them you’d like to open one. Fill out the paperwork and see what happens.”

  So I carry the T-shirt, which is steadily growing on me, to the counter, and I do as Carlita has instructed. I fill out the form as best I can, then hand it back to the woman. She glances over it and then asks if I have any major credit cards.

  “No,” I tell her, realizing this is probably just a foolish waste of time when I could be getting something good to eat instead. “I’m only seventeen,” I say quickly. “And I just came to the States and am staying with my aunt and uncle, and this is probably not a — ”

  “Can one of them cosign for you?”

  “Well, I’m not sure — ”

  “Is that their phone number?” She points to a line on the application.

  “Well, yes, but I don’t — ”

  “Hold on, honey.” And the next thing I know she is dialing what I suspect is my aunt’s phone number, and I am feeling extremely nervous. In fact, I am considering walking away and acting as if none of this ever happened, but then she already has my name and information and, it now sounds like, Aunt Lori on the phone.

  “Very good,” she’s saying as she writes something down. “Yes, I agree completely, Mrs. Johnson. It’s an excellent way for young people to begin learning about credit. Thank you very much.” Now she turns to me with a bright smile. “Your aunt has cosigned, and you now have your own Macy’s account with a credit balance of $2,000.”

  “$2,000?” I repeat in disbelief.

  “I know that may seem conservative to start with. But you can always increase it over time.”

  “No no, it’s just fine.”

  She does some things with her computer, then hands me a slip of paper with some numbers on it. “This will work until you get your regular card. It should arrive within the next week or so.”

  I glance at my watch to see that my lunch hour is half over and I still haven’t had a bite to eat yet. But I do have a charge account now. Amazing.

  Carlita and Laticia are loaded up with clothes and are just heading for the change rooms when I get back. “I thought this would look nice on you,” says Laticia as she hands me a sleeveless top in a bright shade of turquoise.
“It would look great with your hair and it’s only $27, marked down from $89. Can you believe it?”

  So I follow them into the change rooms, then try on the two tops and decide that both of them will be assets to my wardrobe. And as we’re heading to the cashier, Carlita spots a rack of raincoats. “Oh, isn’t this adorable?” she says as she holds up a lime-green trench coat. “Too small for me, but it would fit you, Hannah. And this color would be fantastic on you. Here, try it on.”

  Suddenly I am standing in the middle of the store wearing a lime-green raincoat, and everyone is saying how totally great it looks on me. And as I look in the mirror, I can’t disagree. But the price tag says that it’s $250. Too rich for my blood.

  “They just came in on Friday,” says the salesgirl. “New for fall.”

  “But it’s only June,” I say, incredulous.

  Laticia turns to Carlita. “Just wait until Hannah sees all the Christmas trappings in place by mid-October. Poor unsuspecting thing.”

  Carlita laughs, and I remove the raincoat, put it back, and step away as if the garment is armed and dangerous.

  “The selection probably won’t last for long,” continues the salesgirl. “Already I’m out of the larger sizes in that same style.”

  “Do you have a raincoat?” asks Carlita.

  “No, but it’s so warm here that — ”

  “But we can have torrential downpours occasionally,” says Laticia convincingly. “You really need a good raincoat, Hannah.”

  So by the time the salesclerk tallies up my purchases, with tax, I am in debt for more than $300. The surprising total makes me rather queasy, but then I remind myself that I will earn that much money in just a few days, and I feel a tiny bit better. Even so, I’m nervous as I sign my name in the funny little box that reminds me of the Etch A Sketch I had as a child. But I feel something else inside me too. It’s this mixture of giddiness and excitement. And as the woman hands me my crisp Macy’s bag and says, “Have a nice day,” I’m thinking that shopping is actually rather thrilling.

  “We just have time to grab hot dogs,” says Carlita as she glances at her watch. Then, like a military commander, she says, “I’ll finish up my purchase here. Hannah, you run outside and get us a cab. Laticia, you go pick up some hot dogs, and we’ll all meet in front and eat in the cab.”

  “Right,” says Laticia, then asks me what I want on my hot dog.

  “Just mustard,” I tell her. “No tomato sauce.”

  “Huh?” she looks confused.

  “Ketchup,” I mean, realizing my mistake. “No ketchup.”

  Then, following Carlita’s instructions, I run out and flag down a cab, and within three minutes we’re piled into the back, packages heaped around us. We wolf down our dogs just in time to be dropped off at the office.

  “That was fun,” I tell them as we hurry to the time clock. “Thanks for letting me tag along.”

  “Anytime,” says Carlita as she punches her card and turns to face me. “You’ve got mustard on your chin, Hannah.”

  Laticia calls out, “Later!” as she heads back to her cubicle. I punch my time card, stow my Macy’s bag, and return to my desk at exactly noon.

  The rest of the day passes fairly uneventfully, and I only have to call on Cynthia for help a couple more times. “You’re really getting the hang of it,” she tells me. “I think you’ll be an old pro by the end of the week.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Oh, your uncle sent this down.” She reaches into her pocket to retrieve a sleek, silver cell phone. The kind that flips open and has a screen on it.

  “Wow,” I say, impressed. “I don’t even know how to use it.” So she gives me a basic lesson, and it doesn’t seem too complicated.

  “I don’t really have anyone to call,” I admit.

  “That’s okay,” she assures me. “In my opinion they should mainly be used for emergencies. I get so irritated when I hear people using them in restaurants or theaters. So rude.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  Finally the day ends, and it’s time to go home. But as I pick up my Macy’s bag, I feel surprisingly tempted to return to that store. And not to see if I can return these items but because I’m wondering what other things I may have missed. What if there are more great things that I could get “on sale”? Carlita said it was a “one-day-only sale,” and we had such a short amount of time to look. Finally I tell myself that I’m acting like a complete idiot and that I should just get into Uncle Ron’s Jeep and go directly home. But even as I’m navigating my way back home, retracing my morning route, I think I recall seeing the name Macy’s at one of the other malls, maybe the one that Aunt Lori took me to. I’m not sure. But maybe I should go and check it out to see if my magic number buys me instant credit with the other stores too.

  “Don’t be such a silly fool!” I chastise myself out loud as I cautiously enter the freeway, then speed up to stay with the traffic. “Focus on your driving and get home in one piece!”

  Fortunately I do. And by the time I park the Jeep in the garage and push the button to close the door, I realize that I’m actually rather exhausted. I retrieve my bag from the passenger’s seat and go inside. To my relief, the house is quiet, and no one seems to be about. I’m not sure why, but I’m not overly anxious for Aunt Lori or Vanessa to see that I’ve been out shopping today. Perhaps it’s my pride. Am I embarrassed because I made such a fuss over being forced to shop in the past but today did it on my own free will? Or maybe I’m still a bit uncomfortable with the whole charge-account thing. Whatever it is, I’m glad no one’s around.

  And I feel rather stealthy as I sneak up to my room and quietly unload my new clothes. I remove the tags and hang them, one by one, in my closet, then step back to admire everything. This looks like the wardrobe of someone fairly impressive. Or at least not Hannah Johnson, MK from PNG.

  Then I step back and scrutinize my image in the mirror again. I’m still getting used to this new look. But I’m definitely liking it. I can’t help but wonder what someone like Wyatt or even that snooty Felicia would think of me now.

  After a short but refreshing nap, I slip into my bikini and head down to the pool. But once I’m outside, I can hear voices.

  “Hey, Hannah,” calls Vanessa. “I thought you should be home by now. How’s the working girl?”

  I walk over to where she and Elisa are stretched out in lounge chairs, soaking up the sun and drinking iced tea. “Work wasn’t so bad,” I tell her as I stand there, careful not to cast a shadow over them.

  Elisa lifts her sunglasses and squints up at me. “Hey, I like your hair, Hannah. Very cool.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Pull up a chair,” says Vanessa. “There’s enough sun to go around.”

  “Right.” I set my towel aside and pull a lounge chair next to Vanessa’s.

  “Seriously,” she says as she leans back, “you like working for Dad?”

  “Yeah. It was okay, actually. The day went by pretty fast, and I even got to go shopping on my lunch break.” Now I can’t believe I admitted this, but it’s too late to take it back. I arrange my towel on the chaise and lie down.

  “You went shopping?” Disbelief fills Vanessa’s voice. “Without anyone holding a gun to your head?”

  “Amazing, isn’t it?”

  “What did you get?” asks Elisa.

  So I tell them about the sale at Macy’s and how I got “a couple tops and a raincoat,” but I don’t think they’re overly impressed.

  “Who’s the raincoat by?” asks Elisa in a sleepy tone.

  “Via something,” I say, trying to remember the exact name.

  “Via Spiga?” asks Vanessa.

  “Yeah, that’s it.”

  “Hmm . . .” murmurs Elisa. “Might not be too bad.” Then she turns over to sun her back.

  “It’s lime green,” I tell them, suddenly feeling hopeful.

  “Sounds nice,” says Vanessa. “You’ll have to show me.”

  Suddenl
y, and inexplicably, I get up. “I’m going to get some iced tea,” I tell them, knowing that I have something else in mind as well. And when I return with my tea, I am wearing my new raincoat over my bikini. And before I know it, I am strutting back and forth across the pool deck like I’m in a fashion show. And they are laughing and then hooting as I open the coat to reveal the plaid lining, as well as my bikini, underneath.

  “Nice outfit,” says Elisa. “Perfect for that rainy day at the beach.”

  “Or for riding the big one,” adds Vanessa.

  Then I set my new Via Spiga raincoat almost reverently on a table that’s in the shade, safe from any pool splashes, and rejoin them. I feel, for the first time since I arrived in the States, like I almost fit in.

  ten

  MY PARENTS ARE IMPRESSED WHEN THEY RING ME TOWARD THE END of the week. “You already got a job!” exclaims my mom. “How industrious.”

  “Yeah,” I tell her. “And it’s really great. I can save up all kinds of money by the end of the summer.” My mom is relaying this information to my dad as I speak. I think they’re in Texas today.

  “Dad says that he hopes you take some time out for fun too. You know what they say about all work and no play.”

  “No worries,” I assure them. “Vanessa makes sure that I get to play.” Then I tell her about the beach party that we’re going to on Saturday and how I may even rent a surfboard. “I just want to see if I can still do it.”

  “You be careful out there,” warns my mom.

  I laugh. “More careful than back in New Guinea?”

  “Yes, well, you’re probably right. Surfing in Southern California is probably much safer.”

  We talk a bit more, and I give them my cell phone number, just in case. Then Mom reminds me that they love me and that, as always, they pray for me and my brothers every single day.

  “I love you guys too,” I tell her, carefully omitting the praying daily thing. “You take it easy and don’t work yourselves to death out there on the road.”

  “We won’t. And same to you.”

  “No worries.”