No time to dwell on Bobby as I have to be at work.
My part time job at the Carlos Pizzeria keeps me busy and by the end of my shift, I’m totally exhausted. But I need the money. Also, I get free pizza at the end of my shift to take home to Angel.
The location of the Carlos Pizzeria is great – not far from the water’s edge and in the midst of several other restaurants around. Since my boss, Carlos, keeps it open from 10 AM
till 3 AM, it’s a popular hang-out for all ages.
Carlos puts tables everywhere. No walking space – no problem. Who needs to walk when you can fly over the tables with plates of pasta in your hand?
He’d put a table on the window sill if he could find a way to balance it. He’d put a table in the toilet if the health inspector suddenly died of food poisoning and couldn’t be replaced.
Now, when you hear “Carlos” and “Pizzeria, the image that probably comes to mind is a fat Italian man who says, “Mama Mia” and “Buongiorno” and “Bambino,” right?
Right. Except … Carlos is actually Tong Lok from … China. Let me break it down for you:
Tong arrived in the US about a year ago and bought the Pizzeria from the previous owner, called Carlos. Then Tong decided that, to keep it real, he would call himself Carlos.
You gotta give him points for trying to be Italian. He walks around, trying to be jolly and says (or mispronounces) words like Ciao belly and Buonosarah,, but hey, you can’t say Tong doesn’t try.
In the beginning, it was hard, cos we’d call, “Carlos! Carlos!” and he wouldn’t answer ’cause he forgot that that was his name. Then we’d call, “Tong Carlos!” and he’d answer.
Most people find it really weird when they see a Chinese man who can barely speak English answer to the name of Carlos or being called Carlos by his staff. He doesn’t.
His wife Mi Mi Mi Lok also works at the Pizzeria and she is another paragraph waiting to happen. A long one, I must warn. But very quickly – if it’s anyone’s birthday, staff must gather around, clap and sing “Happy Birthday.” In Italian.
We can barely speak it, let alone sing it. It usually embarrasses the hell out of the singled out patron and entertains the hell out of the rest of the patrons, especially when they see Tong and Mi Mi Mi link arms and dance around. Staff get entertained just watching the anguish on the singled out patron. It makes our night.
Anyway, a couple with a child walks in and takes a seat. They order pizza and some drinks and sit in silence. The woman talks to the child and plays with her, but the man picks up the newspaper and buries his head in it, ignoring both his wife and child. A few times the woman tries to make conversation with the man, but his reply is mainly in the form of shrugs. I assume they’re husband and wife – if they were anything else, they’d be talking nonstop to one another. Also, the woman sports a what’s-the-use? look.
Let me explain: she wears no make-up, her clothes are faded, navy sweat pants and a mismatched sweat top, her hair is in a ponytail, her nails are bare, and her shoes are fugly sneakers.
In other words: what’s the use of enduring the pain of a Brazilian, starving myself to be a size zero, wearing top designer wear all the time to look glamorous, torturing myself and my back in stilettos all day, taking the time to put on tons of make-up each day so I look amazing all the time, only to find that my precious man doesn’t look at me and doesn’t notice how I look anymore. Get my drift?
I see it often among married couples who frequent the restaurant and eat in silence.
While they’re eating in silence, a lady with a red scarf around her neck, stilettos, a fake tan, and a Guess handbag, enters the Pizzeria and joins them. The couple seems relieved to have company and they quickly order her a pizza too. A short time later, Guess, who’s barely touched her vegetarian pizza, starts to leave. She kisses the lady with the child goodbye, then glances at the man.
Parking lot, 10 minutes?
I heard that clearly even though her lips never moved.
The man’s nod is so faint, that the wife doesn’t see it, but I do.
Guess sashays away without looking back. For about five minutes I watch the man shift about in his seat, his eyes flitting between his wife, his wristwatch and the door. Finally, he mumbles some excuse and heads for the bathroom. The lady with the baby is distracted and doesn’t appear to have noticed anything.
As he walks, he glances back at his wife, sees her busy with the baby, then veers away from the bathroom and towards the parking lot. Intrigued by what I heard and what I’m seeing, I grab a trash bag and follow him outside.
I watch him race towards a grey Pontiac, where Guess and her red scarf awaits. The moment he gets into the car, they neck furiously.
With a smile, I reach for my iPhone and hit the video button. YouTube, here I come.
“And what are you doing?” Erro asks, eating a slice of pizza.
“Hey, you eat a lot. All the time. Junk too. What’s with you?”
“What?” she asks with her mouth stuffed. “Am I gonna get sick and die from unhealthy foods? Look where I am? Duh!”
“God, you’re sounding like a teenager – lose those words, will ya?”
“You know my whole life, I refrained. From everything. I ate colorful salads, drank eight glasses of water, skipped bread, skipped butter, skipped dessert, skipped the wine, skipped caffeine, skipped tanning, wore sunscreen, never smoked - all because I wanted to look good and look young. And I was a miserable, uptight bitch. Frigid, unhappy and despised happy women who dared reveal a muffin-top, who dared to indulge in bread, who dared to eat ice cream and not throw up, who dared to slur and dance on a table. Then I die at the age of sixty-three. Yes, I had a fine looking corpse, I tell you. But I felt cheated by … me. I had no fun, because I stopped me from having …”
After a quick glance at Erro, I hit the zoom. The man’s hand slips under her skirt and dances there. They’re too caught up in the moment to notice me standing a few feet away from them.
“…fun. Now, I’m doing everything I avoided and it’s exhilarating. I’m eating everything, drinking everything and hey, I’m even considering a tattoo.”
“What?” I frown at her. “You must be joke …”
She touches her left breast. “A paw print here,” She touches her left butt cheek, “and a paw print here.”
I throw my eyes heavenward. Dear Lord, in my past life, I probably offended you big time. Did some terrible things, like forge Carlene’s signature, stole her cigarettes …whatever!
Maybe I was a prison warden or an immigration official or a hangman or something in another life, but … I apologize. Sincerely apologize. So please Lord, make her go away. I’ll be good. I’ll do my math homework and I’ll give up cigarettes. Well maybe not give it up, but I’ll certainly cut down by at least …”
The couple straightens up and the man starts to get out of the car. “See you tonight? Eight sharp?”
Quickly, I back away but continue filming. When I get all the incriminating footage I need, I skip back to the lady with the baby.
Without a word I pull out my iPhone and hit play. With a confused look on her face, the lady watches the footage. Then, her head swivels to look outside, her eyes wide with shock. “I … wha …?”
“Where are you tonight at eight?”
“I …I got classes. Why?”
“She’s gonna be at your house then. Take your video camera, catch them red-handed and post it on YouTube. Then confront them. It’s the way to do it. Trust me.”
With a crushed look on her face, the woman nods, then hangs her head.
I put my hand on her shoulder. “Or call me and I will do it for you,” I say in a gentle voice.
She looks up at me, her eyes glassy. “T … thanks.”
The man enters the pizzeria. “Here comes asswipe,” I say. “Act normal. You have plenty of time to be angry.” I dart away.
Erro appears in my line of vision, eyebrows raised.
“What?” I ask. “What’s the use of having a gift if you cannot use it to help someone? Someone deserving.”
“Hope she kicks him in the nuts,” she says, before she vanishes.
The shattered look on the woman’s face haunts me for days and I wonder how she went with the busting of her cheating ass husband.
A week later, a woman I’ve never seen before walks into the pizzeria and touches my shoulder.
She smiles and says, “I want to thank you. I let myself in with two cameras, not one, caught them red-handed and posted it on YouTube and emailed the link to everyone I could think of.” Her voice is light with excitement. “Thank you so much …” She peers at my name tag. “Burn.”
My jaw falls “You’re the same lady?”
She nods.
“Ohmigod!” My eyes dart all over her. She looks hot! She’s wearing make-up which shows her beautiful grey eyes, her hair is shiny, copper and straight, her nails are painted bright pink, her lipstick is flattering, she’s wearing heels, a short black dress that clings in all the right places – very Playboy Mansion girl.
“Gosh, you look like a babe!” I whisper. “How did you …?”
She laughs. “I heard somewhere that women are most desirable when it comes to the three D’s.”
“Huh?”
She counts on her fingers. “Death of a spouse, desertion and divorce – the three Ds – they bring out the best in a woman, Burn. Always remember that.”
“Gosh …I’m like so …” I shake my head slowly. “You’re amazing, and yeah, I will remember that.”
She smiles at me, showing all her white teeth. “How can I ever thank you for what you did?”
Just write me a check. Or a fifty will do. Man, even a twenty will do.
Erro immediately appears in my line of vision with a you-can’t-take-money-for-your-gift look. I turn away from her.
“I’m embarrassed to tell you this, but I’m with Emhart County Police and I don’t know how I can possibly help you, but,” she hands me her card, “if ever you need help, call me.”
I look at the card and smile. “Thanks Detective, Lisa Farrell. You sure look nicer than Detective Olivia Benson.”
She cocks her head at me.
“Law and Order,” I say.
“Ah.” She smiles. “Anyway,” she says, pointing to the card in my hand, “I sincerely hope you don’t, but if ever you do ...”
Then as if she’s reading my mind, she pulls out a fifty and hands it to me. “A little something …”
Hawk appears in front of me. “Burn don’t!”
“Oh fuck, Hawk, it’s a fifty, Hawk! Allow me this.”
“Don’t Burn!” Hawk says. “You can’t take money for your gift. Tell her to pay it forward.”
If I had a taser, Hawk would be breakdancing on the fucking floor right now.
“I heard that!”
“Let her take it,” Erro says. “It’s no big deal.”
“You stay out of this!” Hawk yells.
“She needs money for a joint,” Erro explains.
“Will you shut up?” Hawk snaps. “You’re incorrigible.”
Erro rolls her eyes.
With a heavy heart, I hold up my hand and choke out the words, “Eh, t … thanks, but I’m okay.”
A frown appears on her pretty face. “You sure?” She seems flabbergasted that I’m refusing the money.
“Yeah, just … just …” It cuts me to say this, “Pay it forward, I guess.”
“Wow! You’re amazing, Burn,” she says. “For a teenager.”
“Tell her you watch Oprah,” Erro says.
“Don’t, it’s lying,” Hawk says.
“I watch Oprah,” I say with a straight face.
“Wow, you’re something. I will never forget you, Burn.” With a smile, she turns and leaves.
“Why did you lie?” Hawk asks.
I turn and storm off. “Don’t talk to me! Ever again!”
“You know what your problem is, Hawk?” Erro says, “You probably, your whole goddamn life, skipped bread, stopped at five glasses of Merlot, skipped the truffles, never had a tattoo …”
“Oh, shut up!” he says.
I zone out and hold a private funeral for my fifty that got away.