Going For Broke Read online

  It was filled with photos of Victoria when she was a baby and toddler. Taken in true 1960s fashion, most of the small square photos were filled with lamps and sofas, with only the bottom quadrant of the photo filled with Victoria’s little face. There were pictures of her with her mother - who had to be about Victoria’s age at the time. Victoria looked a little closer. Damn! Her mother looked good. That was without the constant maintenance that Victoria was accustomed to. There was just one photo of her with both parents. Her father was holding her and her mother was smiling at her father. They looked to be at some sort of fair, and Victoria had to be around three years old. When Victoria thought of her childhood, she only focused on what she didn’t have and how different she was from everyone else in town. Looking at the photo, she wondered what her life would have been like if her father had lived. From the looks of the photo, they would have been happy. Victoria shut the album with a snap. No time for meandering down memory lane. She had work to do.

  Back on the hunt for the phone book, Victoria scoured the house. Come on, she thought, her mother was the kind of person to keep all her phone books back to the ‘80s. What brought on this new sense of clean living in the Brewster house? It wasn’t until she got to the top shelf of her mother’s linen closet did she finally find one. Who the hell kept their phone book in their linen closet, she thought as she dragged the tattered 1997 Yellow Pages off the shelf. She flipped through the pages looking for legal aid, but was distracted when she got to the pages for “Salons, Beauty”. It had been so long! Even ‘Marjorie’s House of Style’ was looking good. After a couple of minutes of wistful window shopping, she shook herself out of it and continued onto ‘Attorneys’. That, too, had her easily distracted. Who knew there were so many kinds of attorneys? They had always just used Jack.

  Where to start? Bankruptcy Law Attorneys? Very likely. Criminal Law Attorneys? Again, very likely. Divorce Attorneys? More likely every day. If she had someone to divorce. All well and good, though those attorneys would be billing hours too. Probably not at the same rate as Jack Taggert, still any rate was more than she could afford.

  She finally came across ‘Legal Assistance Foundation of Metropolitan Chicago’. Even when she was living over the fried chicken joint, she never thought she’d be dialing for free legal help. She put the phone book down and went to the refrigerator instead. If she was going to hit a new low in her life, she might as well do it well fed.

  After polishing off last night’s leftovers and half a carton of ice cream, Victoria worked up the steam to call for a lawyer. Her trepidation at calling for public assistance was soon replaced with frustration. She spent the good part of an hour in a maze of TelePrompTer announcements, being placed on hold and being transferred to someone who would promptly disconnect her. After finally getting to speak with a real live person - who Victoria swore could not have possibly graduated from 6th grade, let alone law school - they told her they couldn’t offer any advice over the phone and that she should come downtown to their offices instead. No appointment was necessary - it was on a first-come, first-serve basis. The last person she spoke to suggested that she plan to spend the day there.

  Defeated, she retreated to her favorite place on the sofa. Fritzie hopped up to take his place beside her. She grabbed the remote and had to laugh as “Judge Judy” was the first thing she came across. Finally, here was some legal advice she could afford.

  Parker and Posey came home from school, and as had become their routine, they grabbed a snack from the kitchen and came out to join Victoria on the sofa. The fact that their mother had regressed into the World’s Most Accomplished Couch Potato didn’t disturb them in the slightest. Suddenly they both found their mother more accessible than ever.

  Barbara walked into the house, exhausted from a long day of work. She slumped when she saw Victoria and the children glued to the television, empty plates and snack boxes surrounded them. The phone rang and none of them even noticed.

  “Can someone get that?” Barbara called.

  No answer. Barbara put down a bag of groceries on the dining room table and grabbed the phone as quickly as she could.

  “Victoria, it’s for you,” she had to yell over the volume of the television. No answer. She walked in front of the TV to block the view. All three groaned audibly.

  “Victoria, telephone,” she scolded. Barbara’s yellow princess phone was still attached to the wall, which required that Victoria leave her perch on the sofa.

  “Oh, mother, who is it?”

  “It’s the mother a friend of Parker’s. She’s calling for a play date.”

  “Please. Can you handle that?”

  “Victoria! She sounds nice. You should talk to her.” Barbara wanted to get her out of the house. Maybe she could even make a friend or two.

  “Honestly mother, scheduling play dates is not in my skill-set. Besides, you or Bud would have to drive him, you should make the date.” She turned back to her program, effectively dismissing her mother. Barbara shrugged and went back to finish the phone call, for Parker’s sake.

  After she set up the date in question, she came back into the living room and shooed Posey and Parker into the kitchen to do their homework. She turned off the TV and sat next to Victoria for a much needed and much overdue talk.

  “Victoria,” Barbara said with a scolding voice Victoria remembered from her youth.

  “Mother, I don’t do play dates. That’s why I have a nanny.”

  “Had a nanny,” Barbara corrected. “Vicky, this has got to stop. It’s getting out of control.”

  “What?”

  “The TV, the junk food, it’s ridiculous.”

  “They’re my kids. They’ll be okay.” Victoria was bored with the conversation and just wanted to get back to her TV show. She was never one much for ‘talking it out’.

  “I’m not talking about Parker or Posey. I’m talking about you,” Barbara answered.

  Victoria sat up on the sofa and looked at her mother with genuine confusion. “What are you talking about? I’m fine.” She looked at the coffee table littered with soda cans and wrappers. She picked up the butt of a Ho-Ho and popped it in her mouth. “Mother, in the last twenty years I have not had dessert. Ever. I have never had a hamburger or a potato chip. Don’t you think I’m due?”

  “Honey, it’s not just the food. Although I think you’ve had your due and then some. Look at yourself! You’re a mess. When was the last time you wore anything other than sweatpants?”

  “I wear leggings,” Victoria protested.

  Victoria remembered vividly the last time she had tried on a pair of her New York pants. She could barely get them over her thighs. She had worn Bud’s sweatpants every day since. “So I’ve put on a couple of pounds. So what?” She was more than a little defensive.

  “Vicky - what do you do all day? Watch TV? Eat? Do you even leave the house?” Barbara realized that when she laid it out, it sounded horrible.

  So did Victoria. She had never really had a plan beyond what she was doing. “It’s working just fine for me,” she protested.

  “Obviously. Victoria, we’re going to make some changes as long as you’re in my house. First new rule is no more TV. Second rule is that you need to get out of the house at least once a day.”

  “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 por
ch 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 sim
ple 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.

  Thank God her feet had not grown with her. She chose her favorite pair of Christian Louboutin pumps in baby-soft black leather with the trademark red sole. She may look like a middle-aged Midwestern librarian, but her feet were all New York.

  She expertly applied her makeup in no time. She had always hired Stephanie McCarthy, the most in-demand makeup artist to ‘do’ her face before any benefit or event where she knew she’d be photographed. Victoria was an excellent student, taking copious mental notes about everything that Stephanie did, so she could easily recreate the look at home. She watched Stephanie blend the three different eye shadows together, and the next day she applied them the exact same way. Every trick and tool was hers for the taking.

  She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her mother had an appalling lack of full-length mirrors, then again, given her current state, maybe half a mirror was still too much. She critiqued her outfit with an unforgiving eye. If she had seen someone dressed like her on the streets of New York, she would have told them to go back to Nebraska. Something was missing - besides the obvious answer of natural fibers. She rummaged through her closet again and came out with a stunning Andrew Gn black coat with darling black patent leather toggles. She slipped it on and prayed.