Going For Broke (14 page)

             
“Mother -- “

             
“No arguments.  I think you can handle taking Fritz on one walk.  Both of you need the exercise,” Barbara argued.

             
Upon hearing his name combined with the beautiful word “walk” Fritz perked up.  Barbara stood up and grabbed the dog leash that hung next to the front door.  “You can start right now.”

             
Victoria let her body drop back onto the sofa.  “Noooo,” she yelled into the cushion.

             
Barbara just stood over her holding out the leash.  Fritz was beyond excited, hopping on Victoria’s back and sniffing in her ear.  She couldn’t say no to both of them.  She reluctantly sat up and took the leash.  “Fine,” she said.  “I’m not happy about it.”

             
She stood on the front porch with Fritz, who was pulling wildly at the leash.  The sun was just about to set, and the light cast a rosy glow on the school across the street.  Maybe this won’t be so bad, she thought as she set out on her walk.  Once around the block and she’d be back on the sofa where she belonged.

             
When she got to the corner, she noticed the black pickup truck like the one that had been blocking her mother’s garage the other night.  Maybe it wasn’t the same one, as this one had a sign on the side that read “Sewage Savers”.  Now she was getting paranoid.  Every black truck was not following her.

             
As she walked down the block, she got a wave of nostalgia mixed with resentment.  She recognized so many of the houses as those of people she knew growing up.  There was Jenny Flanagan’s house - she was the girl in the fourth grade that threw up on the substitute teacher and never lived it down.  Down the block was Brian Hartong’s house.  In high school they used to call him Brian “Harbong” because he was the biggest drug dealer in school.  She wondered what old Harbong was doing these days.  She found herself in front of the gates to Kayty Ellery’s house.  Kayty Ellery was so rich that she had a limo drive her to school each day.  Even in a suburb filled with affluence, a child that was delivered to school in a chauffeured-driven car was noticed.  She vaguely remembered hearing that the Mr. Ellery had done some time for embezzlement while she was in high school.  Back then she thought it was karma.  Now, she knew enough to just feel sad.

             
For every house that she recognized, she was even more surprised at how many houses she didn’t.  The teardown mania had swept though Tenaqua in the past decade or so and it drastically changed the feel of the town.  The old houses she had coveted in her youth were gone.  Now the McMansions were built lot-line to lot-line, each with it’s own trademark turret.  One house had stained glass windows on the doors, with an enormous “G” in the center of the glass.  She could only imagine how someone would decorate such a mausoleum.  Dark red curtains and dark medieval claw foot furniture.  Maybe Cher had moved to town.

             
As Victoria was lost in her own architectural review, it took her a while to notice the man who was following her about half a block down on the other side of the street.  In New York City, or even downtown Chicago, if someone was following you half a block away, you’d never notice.  In Tenaqua, you notice.

             
She suspected it was the same FBI agent from the other night.  Maybe she wasn’t paranoid after all.  She stopped to tie her shoe, slowly, to see if he would keep walking.  She had watched enough
Bourne Identity
movies to know the drill.   As he passed her, she changed direction, and headed back towards home.  She quickly turned around to see if he had turned as well.  He had.

             
Victoria wasn’t one to avoid confrontation, even in her current state.  As he neared her, she crossed the street to meet him head on.

             
“Do you think I’m secretly meeting Trip at the playground?” she asked.

             
Mike was impressed with her directness.  Most women would have high-tailed it home and scurried inside.  He smiled a slow smile, which, for some reason, infuriated her. 

             
“It’s not funny,” she said.

             
“You just don’t strike me as the playground type,” he said.  “More like the girl who used to smoke out behind the gym.”

             
She hadn’t smoked since high school.  In the smoking area behind the gym.   “What, you’ve been tailing me since the 9th grade?”

             
It’s amazing how much you can pick up from a high school yearbook, Mike thought.  “Oh, I know your type,” he said.

             
Victoria had spent the good part of the past 25 years trying to escape being a ‘type’.  He might as well had told her that her ass was the size of Texas.  She was one-of-a-kind, not a ‘type’.   She started to answer him, but instead walked way.  She wasn’t going to give him the benefit of an answer.

             
“Oh, you know, the type that won’t ever admit she’s a type,” he said as he followed her.   “The type who acts like nothing bothers her when she’s got steam coming out of her ears.”

             
Victoria didn’t say a word, only started to pick up her pace.  She wouldn’t give this guy the satisfaction of turning around.  What a jerk - wasn’t it bad enough that he was legally stalking her?  Now he was going to harass her?

             
“The type who tries to control every situation, even in an uncontrollable situation.  The type who can’t take a joke.”

             
“I have an excellent sense of humor,” she said over her shoulder. 

             
“I bet,” Mike lengthened his strides to keep up with her.  She could cover some ground when she wanted to.  “Come on, lighten up Francis.”

             
She stopped, confused.

             
“Francis?”

             
Okay, not a pop culture lover, Mike thought.  “Lighten up Francis.  One of the best lines from the movie ‘Stripes’.”  He waited for some kind of response.  Nothing.

             
“Right.  Well, I really should be going,” when in doubt, be super polite.  It throws people off. 

             
Just when her mother’s house was in sight, Fritz decided to stop and take care of some business.  Victoria wouldn’t have any of it.  She kept walking, pulling poor Fritz, who was squatting, trying to take a little poop.  He would drop a piece of poop every few feet, scrambling to keep up with Victoria. 

             
“Hey, didn’t you forget something?” Mike called after her. 

             
Victoria turned around and looked at Mike.  “What?” she asked.  He motioned down at the parade of poop that Fritz had left behind. 

             
“Yes?” she said.  She had no idea what he was talking about.

             
“You have to clean it up,” he said. 

             
“Very funny,” she said. 

             
“Have you ever walked a dog before?” he asked her.

             
“I’ve seen it done,” she answered.  How hard could it be? 

             
He walked up to her and grabbed the leash from her hands.  He untied the plastic bag that was tied around the end of the leash, and handed it to her.  “Here you go,” he said.

             
“You have got to be kidding me?” she said.  “With my hands?”  There was a reason they had never gotten a dog before. 

             
Mike laughed.  “With your hands.  Any idiot can do it.”

             
Victoria pushed the plastic bag into Mike’s hand.  “Then I’ve got just the guy,” she said as she walked off. 

CHAPTER 10

             
The next morning, Victoria started the shower in her mother’s circa 1967 bathroom and nearly hit her head on the sliding glass door that enclosed the bathtub.  Oh, what she wouldn’t give for her limestone shower with twelve jets, steam and waterproof surround sound.  As she crawled over the tub, she closed her eyes and allowed herself a moment to miss the fresh fluffy white monogrammed towels that would have been waiting for her, the heated floors that would have warmed her feet, and the steaming cafe au lait Lumi would have quietly placed on the counter while she was in the shower. 

             
When she opened her eyes, she was staring at a ceiling that had so much paint peeling it looked like the scales on a very large, very white fish.  The plastic soap dish was broken in half, and the plug to the shower was on the corner of the tub.  Her mother (or the previous owner - they looked old enough) had put in bright yellow non-slip daisies on the floor of the tub.  The water had the water pressure of a sprinkling can.  Yes, she missed her old shower. 

             
As she got out and dried herself with a towel that she was sure came out of a box of detergent, she thought about the day before her.  She was going to go downtown to the legal aid office.  Screw Jack Taggert.  Screw Kiki Montgomery.  Screw Lucy Whitman.  Screw them all.  She didn’t need them.  Victoria Vernon could take care of herself. 

             
She stood naked in front of the closet, trying to find the right outfit to wear downtown.  Chicago was a two-horse midwestern town, but it was still ‘downtown’.  She had been living in Bud’s sweatpants since she got here, and wanted to look her best.  She had a hard time even surveying the clothes in the closet.  They were jammed in there with Posey’s clothes, her mother’s off season clothes (who knew slacks and a ‘shirt-jacket’ had a season?), and everything that came out was wrinkled. 

             
She laid a pair of black Donna Karan pants on the bed.  Don’t want to be too flashy.  A simple Alice + Olivia tank.  A good start.  Ooh, and an Anna Sui matador sweater to top it off!   Stylish, yet subdued.  Okay, now we’re cooking!

             
She stood on one foot and tried to put on her pants, except her balance was off.  She hadn’t done yoga in ages - she’d really have work on her tree pose.  She sat on the edge of the bed instead.  As she began to slide the pants up her legs, she knew.  Before they even got over her knees, she knew.

             
They didn’t fit.  She could barely get them over her hips, and there was no way she could get them buttoned.  Her stomach glared out at her from between the zipper, mocking her.  She tugged them off and threw them in the corner.  She picked up the shell and started to pull it over her head.  It wouldn’t fit.  She quickly took it off to look for the zipper,  then realized that it had none.  She didn’t even get near the sweater. 

             
She eyed the sweatpants that she had been living in the past few weeks.  No wonder half the country was obese - they wore clothing that grew with them! 

             
She marched herself into her mother’s room and opened her closet.  Her mother’s clothes were organized by color: lavender, dark purple, pink, seafoam green.  She dug through the closet and came up with a pair of black pants and a white dress shirt.  She may look like a waiter, on the other hand,  it was better than sweatpants.  At least they fit.  Barely.