The Worst Romance Novel Ever Written (49 page)

“
Amen,” Marion said from the window upstairs. “Preach!”

Paul tried to get up, but Gloria stepped closer and blocked his attempt, her hand firmly on his chest.

“
What did I ever see in you?” Gloria asked.

“
You saw a—”

“
It was a rhetorical question, you idiot,” Gloria interrupted. “I must have been
really
drunk that night.” She pressed her hand harder, stepped back, and pointed to his car. “Get off my porch, Paul.”

Paul blinked rapidly. “But I must protest—”

“
Visitation hours are over, Paul,” Gloria interrupted. “And don’t call. If you do, I’ll block all your numbers. And don’t visit. If you do, I’ll get a restraining order. I’m sure your new employers would love to hear that their star professor has been stalking the mother of his child.” She narrowed her eyes. “This is how this is going to work. I will let Angel decide if she wants to see you again. If it were up to me, you would never see her again. If she decides to see you, we’ll work something out. If she doesn’t, don’t make trouble or I will.” Gloria removed her hand from Paul’s chest.

“
You have no right—”

“
One more thing, Paul, and then you can go,” Gloria interrupted. “If I make just one phone call to the right person, the United States government will not allow you to leave the country because you owe me so much back child support. They will take your passport. Until you pay, you can’t go play in the dirt.”

Paul’s eyes widened.

“
You want me to make that call, Paul?” Gloria asked.

“
You … you are bluffing.”

Gloria smiled. “I never bluff.”

Paul shook his head. “When will you call me?”

Gloria smiled. “It isn’t up to me, right?”

Paul nodded. “May I at least say goodbye to Angel?”

Gloria nodded. “I doubt she wants to say goodbye to you.”

“
Why not?”

“
Because I know my child.” Gloria looked up. “Mama and Angel were upstairs airing out her room. Angel’s room faces the front yard. She heard everything you just said.”

Paul looked up at the porch ceiling. “She could not have heard everything.”

“
It’s a small house, and Minnick women have excellent hearing,” Gloria said. “You want to say goodbye or not?”

Paul stood, opened the door, and almost ran into Angel, who stood with her hands by her sides just inside the door, her lips a straight line. “I must go now, Angel.”

Angel only nodded.

“
Did you hear … were you listening to what I said?” Paul asked.

Angel nodded.

Paul closed his eyes. “I am sorry you heard what I said.” He opened his eyes and smiled. “I was angry. I just want to spend more time with you.”

Angel nodded and stuck out her hand. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Leffel.” She shook Paul’s hand once. “We will have to talk about archaeology again sometime.”

Oh, baby,
Gloria thought.
You are such a rock, but my heart is breaking for you!

“
I am sorry, Angel,” Paul said. “Please call me. Anytime.”

“
Goodbye,” Angel said.

Paul backed out with his head down.

Angel shut the door and returned to her puzzle.

Gloria wiped a tear then sat on the loveseat watching her amazing daughter.
She didn’t even cry. I know I’d be bawling my eyes out.
“Are you okay, Angel?”

Angel nodded.

“
You sure?”

Angel nodded.

“
Your daddy isn’t a bad person, Angel,” Gloria said. “I’m sure if he had known about you from the start, he would have been around.”
Maybe.

Angel sighed and nodded. “Is he really my daddy?”

“
Yes, Angel.”

She placed a puzzle piece in Canada. “He wasn’t what I expected.”

“
What did you expect?”

“
Someone shorter with shorter hair.” Angel looked out the front window. “Someone like Johnny, except without the beard.” She placed another piece in Canada. “Mama?”

“
Yes?”

“
Is Johnny coming back?”

I don’t know.
“I hope so, baby.”

“
I hope so, too.” Angel said. “He owes me another chapter of my story.”

36

Johnny had pulled down the street and cut off the engine with a loud clank-clank-bang. He hadn’t known why he had stopped, only that he was supposed to stop.
That’s what he-men in romance novels do. They walk out, count to fifty, and then return to whisk their women off their feet while factory employees cry and cheer—

Wait a minute. That was from
An Officer and a Gentleman.
Richard Gere gets all the girls.

Since Johnny was neither an officer nor a gentleman—nor even remotely Richard Gere-like—he had simply watched Gloria and Paul talking on Gloria’s porch through his right side mirror. After Paul’s Prius hummed by twenty minutes later, Johnny dropped his head onto the steering wheel.

I’m done,
he thought.
I’m through, I’m done, I’m through, I’m toast, I’m heel toast …

And once again, Johnny was dead wrong, ignoring the little words on the mirror: “Objects in mirror appear closer than they actually are.”

They seemed awfully cozy and at home up on that porch,
he thought mournfully.
Paul was sitting in that uncomfortable chair like he was a king, a regular Louis XVI, and Gloria was practically bowing down to him like she was a regular Marie Antoinette. She has obviously lost her head, preferring the man with the French-fried hair over …

A guy wearing a doofy pizza uniform in a ’74 Vega.

She put her hand on his chest and kept it there. That means something. She never did that with me unless she was pushing me away from her or trying to get me to be serious for a change. And that little mini-drama where they both looked up at the ceiling at the same time was pure “aren’t we two shy people who don’t know what to say” ridiculousness. I ought to know. I’ve looked at many ceilings, counters, and floors just like that. So this is how they begin … and I end. In with a bang, and out with a whimper.

Johnny started and pushed the Vega to the limit—about thirty miles per hour—on his way back to Señor Pizza, and the Vega wasn’t responding very well, nearly stalling out at several stoplights, groaning and grunting up even the slightest grade.

Is the hero allowed to be angry with the heroine? I mean, what kind of a romance is this? The boy gets the girl, the boy doesn’t get the girl, then the boy might have gotten the girl because the girl still seemed to be somewhat interested in the boy, and then the boy has no chance of getting the girl because there’s a rich Frenchman from her tortured past who shows up just in time to royally mess things up.

No one would ever believe that story.

Okay, okay. I should have answered my phone. If I had just answered the phone … I probably would have moved into Gloria’s basement the next day because of that stupid toilet … and clogged up their toilet … and been kicked out by Marion … But now …

But now …

He left the Vega chugging in the parking lot and went inside.

“
You are back?” Hector said, his eyebrows nearly one bushy line.

“
Yes,” Johnny huffed. “What about it?”

“
But you are sick, and I do not want you to drive tonight.” He pointed to the order slips flapping above the make table. “I am going to set a record!”

Johnny eyed one of the slips. “This one is for delivery.” He looked down the row. “Most of these are for delivery.”

Hector shrugged. “My cousin, he is visiting, and he will use my car to—”

“
No,” Johnny interrupted. “I’ve got ‘em.”

“
You are this close to being fired,” Hector said, making an inch with his thumb and forefinger. “This close.”

“
Fired for what?” Johnny asked. “For doing my job?”
You don’t want any part of me tonight, Hector,
Johnny thought.
Not after the ridiculousness I’ve been through.

“
You hear me, Johnny?” Hector shouted. “This close.”

And I’m that close,
Johnny thought,
from quitting this ridiculous job.

Johnny dropped his previous receipts, checks, and money near the register. Then he cut the delivery pizzas as soon as Hector slid them into the box. After stacking his deliveries, he left without a word.

His first delivery just happened to be Randy.

Life has a way of staying interestingly crappy,
Johnny thought.
At least I’m not bored.

Randy came to the door wearing only a purple bath towel this time, his scrawny chest and single chest hair still wet and curled into a backwards C. In one hand, Randy held a bottle of champagne, its contents bubbling onto the porch. “I just got out of the shower, Hector,” Randy cooed, “but I’m sure we can find something hot and steamy to get into.”

This foolishness is over. Right now.
“Have some self-respect, man.”

“
I beg your pardon?”

“
My name is Johnny, not Hector. Do I even sound or look Spanish?”

“
Well, I—”

“
And I’m not gay,” Johnny interrupted. “I’m not randy. I will never be gay or randy.”

“
I just thought—”

“
You thought wrong, man,” Johnny interrupted. “Put some freaking clothes on and don’t drink so much. You’re not a very pretty man when you’re drunk.”

Randy’s mouth opened wide. “You have no—”

“
I’m not done, Randy,” Johnny interrupted. “If you come to the door without big boy clothes on from now on, I will walk away, and I won’t spin around once. And FYI, Randy—I’m twice the man you’ll ever be, and I don’t need to wear Speedos to prove it.” He smiled. “Thirteen-fifty.” He offered the pizza to Randy.

“
I want my change this time,” Randy said, beginning to remove the towel.

“
Nah, man.” Johnny dropped the pizza box onto the welcome mat.
Oh yes, your cheese will taste like cardboard now.
“Keep your money. It’s on me.” He turned to go and stopped. “Oh yeah.” He faced Randy, who was fumbling with his towel. “Here’s a nice big tip for you. Get counseling, you freak!”

Two ordinary deliveries later, Johnny had composed a new Christmas song. This, of course, made no sense whatsoever since Christmas was as long gone as his relationship with Gloria. Johnny shrugged his entire mind.
Just making up for the lost diarrheic weeks of author Johnny Holiday. I could call it my “Poo Period.”

Deck the halls with business bailouts

Fa la la la la la la la la

‘
Tis the season Congress punks out

Fa la la la la la la la la

Go we now into recession

Fa la la la la la la la la

Soon we’ll have a great depression

Fa la la la la la la la la

Then Johnny found himself in the cavernous kitchen inside the house of a bazillion bricks watching Bobby picking his nose.

This, too, must come to an end.
“Quit picking your nose, kid,” Johnny said. “It’s nasty, gross, unsanitary, and could lead to a life in politics.”

Bobby’s eyes wobbled momentarily, and then he stuck out his tongue. “You’re not the boss of me.”

Johnny smiled. “I am so glad of that, kid. If I were your boss, you’d be fired for gross misconduct.”

Bobby picked a whopper and moved his finger closer and closer to the box.