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Gia tipped hers across the table. “To gainful employment.” The habit was hard to break. Drinking, yes. But that wasn’t all. Glass-tapping, can-tapping, mug-tapping—vessel-tapping in general was as automatic as breathing.
“I bet you’re going to be the best night stocker they’ve ever had.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. But thanks.”
In the corner booth they sat, talking like old friends over what was becoming old coffee. Laughing at the stupid things they’d done in their wilder years, fantasizing over celebrity crushes, ranking the best movies of all time.
“How’d I do?” Roxi asked as she drained the last drops of her second cup of coffee.
“How’d you do at what?”
“At being serious.”
“Except for the fact that you think ‘The Wedding Planner’ is the best movie ever, you did great.”
“It IS the best movie ever. J-Lo wasen fuego!”
“I’m not having this conversation again.”
“You’re wrong, but suit yourself,” Roxi smiled. Her smile lifted her eyes and lit up her face. When her phone buzzed, the smile vanished, leaving her smooth skin furrowed at the brow.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Fine. I need to go, sorry. Family stuff.”
“Okay, let me just settle up and I’ll walk you to your car.”
By the time Gia paid for the coffees she never promised to buy, Roxi was gone.
Just get in
July in Palm Springs must be what hell’s front porch was like, Gia thought as she picked out a fresh tank top and pair of cut-offs from the laundry basket that served as her dresser. One basket held dirty clothes; the other, clean. It was a simple system, but it worked. When the dirty clothes one was full, the clean was empty. She had two outfits left—both shorts and tank tops. The washateria was in her near future.
The clock on Gia’s phone said it was 3:13 p.m.—normally still sleeping hours. She’d been working graveyard for a month and had instantly adjusted to the schedule. It was a throwback to the hours she kept when she’d bartended. But Tuesdays weren’t for sleeping the afternoon away. They were meeting days. With
military precision, she came straight home from work, got in bed by 7 a.m., was up and showered by 4 p.m., and sitting in that creaky plastic chair in the Fellowship Hall at 5 p.m. sharp.
Gia told herself she liked Tuesdays so much because she felt better after sharing her feelings. She was working the program, and it was working for her. That Roxi Delgado was in the meetings had nothing to do with her enjoyment, she reminded herself as she looked in the full-length mirror hanging by a wire on an exposed nail behind the bathroom door. The previous tenant had left it, and they must’ve had children—the frame was painted with a little pink cartoon pig.
The mirror reflected that she’d gained weight since she’d been in California—in good ways. The gaunt woman who looked back at her for years was getting definition in her arms and calves. Stocking shelves was helping build muscle, as was the healthy food she often took home as part of the perks. Her face had filled out, too, its usually too-thin silhouette a thing of the past. She noticed her cheeks weren’t hollowed anymore, and her golden eyes were as clear as a pint of filtered Pilsner. Her nose was strong, not a bend or crook in it, its strength a symbol of her Italian heritage. Her body was catching up with the strength of that nose. Gia ran a hand through still-wet wavy dark locks—still cut just below the ears—and stared at the woman she’d become. She looked her age for a change—not older. In the mirror, she saw a healthy thirty-two-year-old.
“I barely recognize you,” she said to her reflection as she flexed. She had legit biceps. “You look good. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”
Right on schedule, Gia slid her key into the front door lock, an efficient half-turn locking it with a click. She checked it anyway.
“Gia! Dear!” A frail voice called.
“Hi, Mrs. Edelman! You okay?” Gia yelled back, leaning over the wrought iron railing in search of the voice.
“I am, dear, but Galileo is up the tree again. Do you have a minute to fetch him?” Mrs. Edelman was wearing a brightly colored long-sleeved caftan and full-face makeup. She looked like an aged ‘50s movie star, including the cigarette. If she was bothered by the heat, it didn’t show.
“I’m in a bit of a hurry, but I’ll try.” Gia bounded down the concrete stairs towards her car, ignoring the inferno burning from the steps through the soles of her sandals. Mrs. Edelman reminded her of her grandmother—and she could never say no to her nonna.
Cut-offs and a white tank top weren’t proper tree climbing apparel, but there wasn’t time for a costume change if she were going to save the cat and make the meeting. She’d spotted the tabby about thirty feet up a palm tree—the same as before. Gia grabbed the climbing harness and rope she kept in her trunk, kicked off her flip-flops in the grass beneath it, and climbed the tree as if she were climbing a pole in gym class. She’d started rock climbing and bouldering when she quit bartending—the climbing gym gave her someplace to go and something to keep her mind off her troubles. As it turned out, she was a natural.
In three minutes flat, she’d ascended the tree, secured her rope, cajoled the cat into her arms, and begun rappelling down with his claws digging into her shoulder.
“Here you are.” Gia surrendered Galileo to his owner as if she were handing over a bomb—arms rigid, cat balanced steadily between them, furrow in her brow. Her shoulder was shredded, but the cat was safe.
