friend. That beaner bitch used stolen ID and credit cards. The whole thing was a rip-off, from the get-go. I’ve been on the phone with the business office. The bank put a hold on their check days ago and then redeposited it. It bounced twice. Total flimflam. Pretty slick too. Christ knows where that 4Runner wound up. Probably some friggin’ chop shop in East L.A.”
Hearing this information was like a punch to the head. I took a deep breath. Now I was up shit creek—in hock to my best friend and out over two grand in commission. “Okay, so what happens next?” I said.
Max interrupted: “Look—I’ll ask this point blank. I have information. Were you involved here in any way?”
I glared at Max. “Absolutely no way! And fuck your information !”
Rhett frowned. “Let it go, Max. He’s clean. You can see it in his face. Back off!” he snarled.
“I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all,” Max hissed.
I faced my manager again. “If you’re accusing me of something, tell me now! Otherwise shove your information up your ass. Or maybe I’ll shove it up there for you.”
Rhett waved his arms for us to stop. “Look, JD, I checked over your commissions,” he said.
“Okay. And . . . ”
“If we deduct the money you earned from the sale, your check on Friday comes out to be $1,310, before taxes.”
“Jesus,” I said, my head now banging, “I’m screwed here.”
“Then, there’s the five-hundred-dollar spiff I paid you in cash. That has to come out too.”
“C’mon, Rhett,” I said, “that’d leave me with six or seven hundred bucks for two weeks’ work!”
“Sorry, Fiorella, the store is getting short-sticked and so are you. I’ve gotta spend tomorrow morning at the bank to clean up this mess. It won’t be fun.”
“Okay, then how about this: spread the money out over a couple of paychecks. I’m really in a tight spot here. I borrowed fifteen hundred based on that sale. Now I owe the money back. You’re my boss. Help me out here.”
“I know,” Rhett said, pulling out his handkerchief and blowing his nose, then picking more snot out with his fat index finger and wiping it on the handkerchief. “It’s a tough break all around, but there’s nothing we can do. Company policy is company policy.”
AFTER LEAVING RHETT’S office, I went back to my desk. Vikki watched from two cubicles away as I tore my tie off and picked up my sales tracking notebook. “What’s up, Tiger,” she whispered. “You look like your dog just got run over. What happened in there?”
I was angry. I couldn’t talk. I felt like hurting Max—the guy had developed a hard-on for me and my anger was starting to build, and that scared me. And tomorrow I would have to face Woody with the news that I could not pay him. I was royally screwed.
“Look, do you mind,” I said to Vikki, “some other time. I can’t handle any chitchat at the moment.”
My expression apparently startled her. “Hey,” she shot back, turning away in her swivel chair, “whatever you say.”
OUT ON THE lot, on my way to my demo Corolla, I told Fernando about the situation. We were standing in our sales patch, between cars, alone.
Nando sneered, then spit on the window of a Camry. “Deeza preeks. Maz and Writ, dey fuk jou any way dey can. Maybe becauz a da kees. I tink zo. Theysa make up some big fukkin’ lie to tell jou.”
TWELVE
T he following morning, out on Point Dume, with my head pounding after almost no sleep and another dream about dead-body parts, I woke up sweating.
While I was dressing I decided that I had no options. I’d make the move anyway, then worry about the consequences on the back end. Hopefully, I’d make a few sales and get even as quickly as possible. I’d tell Woody the truth and let the chips fall where they fell.
After packing up my clothes and computer I was ready to leave Mom’s place. She and Coco were sunning themselves near the back patio table while Mom studied the astrology chart
Hearing this information was like a punch to the head. I took a deep breath. Now I was up shit creek—in hock to my best friend and out over two grand in commission. “Okay, so what happens next?” I said.
Max interrupted: “Look—I’ll ask this point blank. I have information. Were you involved here in any way?”
I glared at Max. “Absolutely no way! And fuck your information !”
Rhett frowned. “Let it go, Max. He’s clean. You can see it in his face. Back off!” he snarled.
“I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all,” Max hissed.
I faced my manager again. “If you’re accusing me of something, tell me now! Otherwise shove your information up your ass. Or maybe I’ll shove it up there for you.”
Rhett waved his arms for us to stop. “Look, JD, I checked over your commissions,” he said.
“Okay. And . . . ”
“If we deduct the money you earned from the sale, your check on Friday comes out to be $1,310, before taxes.”
“Jesus,” I said, my head now banging, “I’m screwed here.”
“Then, there’s the five-hundred-dollar spiff I paid you in cash. That has to come out too.”
“C’mon, Rhett,” I said, “that’d leave me with six or seven hundred bucks for two weeks’ work!”
“Sorry, Fiorella, the store is getting short-sticked and so are you. I’ve gotta spend tomorrow morning at the bank to clean up this mess. It won’t be fun.”
“Okay, then how about this: spread the money out over a couple of paychecks. I’m really in a tight spot here. I borrowed fifteen hundred based on that sale. Now I owe the money back. You’re my boss. Help me out here.”
“I know,” Rhett said, pulling out his handkerchief and blowing his nose, then picking more snot out with his fat index finger and wiping it on the handkerchief. “It’s a tough break all around, but there’s nothing we can do. Company policy is company policy.”
AFTER LEAVING RHETT’S office, I went back to my desk. Vikki watched from two cubicles away as I tore my tie off and picked up my sales tracking notebook. “What’s up, Tiger,” she whispered. “You look like your dog just got run over. What happened in there?”
I was angry. I couldn’t talk. I felt like hurting Max—the guy had developed a hard-on for me and my anger was starting to build, and that scared me. And tomorrow I would have to face Woody with the news that I could not pay him. I was royally screwed.
“Look, do you mind,” I said to Vikki, “some other time. I can’t handle any chitchat at the moment.”
My expression apparently startled her. “Hey,” she shot back, turning away in her swivel chair, “whatever you say.”
OUT ON THE lot, on my way to my demo Corolla, I told Fernando about the situation. We were standing in our sales patch, between cars, alone.
Nando sneered, then spit on the window of a Camry. “Deeza preeks. Maz and Writ, dey fuk jou any way dey can. Maybe becauz a da kees. I tink zo. Theysa make up some big fukkin’ lie to tell jou.”
TWELVE
T he following morning, out on Point Dume, with my head pounding after almost no sleep and another dream about dead-body parts, I woke up sweating.
While I was dressing I decided that I had no options. I’d make the move anyway, then worry about the consequences on the back end. Hopefully, I’d make a few sales and get even as quickly as possible. I’d tell Woody the truth and let the chips fall where they fell.
After packing up my clothes and computer I was ready to leave Mom’s place. She and Coco were sunning themselves near the back patio table while Mom studied the astrology chart
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