The Wonder Bread Summer by Jessica Anya Blau Page A

Then, since Beth was talking on the phone, she erased the duct tape.
    “No, I’m not tied up! I just can’t leave. This guy is fucking living with me until you come back. And he eats, like, nonstop? I swear he had, like, two large pizzas for lunch. TWO. By himself. And it’s not even noon yet!”
    “You didn’t have any pizza? Not even a slice?” Allie tried to stop whispering, but her voice kept slipping there in reply.
    “Allie, where the fuck are you?! I swear I’m going to call the police the next time this guy takes a bathroom break and the only reason I haven’t called yet is because you’re carrying, like, a suitcase of coke and, like, I totally don’t want you to get arrested. They told me that if you called I’m supposed to, like, tell you to just come back, return the coke and they won’t hurt you?”
    “Do you believe them?” It seemed impossible to Allie that Jonas would employ a guy named Vice Versa and a seven-feet-tall-double-pizza-eating man if he didn’t intend to use them in violent ways.
    “Not really. This guy has a gun down the back of his pants . Like you know when people have, like, plumber’s butt? He’s got gun butt. Every time he bends over I see a pistol sitting there above his crack just wedged into his pants. And he’s huge. I swear. Totally enormous.”
    “So what should I do?” Allie felt her face going hot. Her hands started to shake.
    “I don’t know.” Beth’s hushed voice sounded so sad, Allie wanted to cry again.
    “I’m trying real hard to figure this all out,” Allie said, although she had yet to formulate a plan that seemed good enough to share with Beth.
    “I know,” Beth said. “Oh! I forgot to tell you. Your dad called? He said he moved and he wanted to give you his new phone number.”
    “Did he say anything about his restaurant? I’m in L.A. now. I went to his place and it’s closed.”
    “He barely said anything about anything.”
    “I know,” Allie said. “He doesn’t like talking on the phone. He doesn’t even like talking in person. But at least I know he’s alive now.”
    “You ready for the number?” Beth said.
    “Yeah.” Allie grabbed a black Magic Marker off the nightstand and wrote it on the bread bag as Beth recited it to her. “Why do I have to have a father who never lives in the same place long enough for me to memorize his phone number?”
    “Why do I have to have, like, a seven-foot man who just ate two large pizzas taking a ten-hour dump in my bathroom?” Beth asked.
    “Okay, okay. Sorry. Listen. I’m going to start by calling my dad to see if he can help somehow. I’ll try to get the pizza-eating-dumper out of your apartment as soon as possible. I promise.” Allie picked up the bread bag and looked at her father’s number. It was smeared from her hand. “Shit. Give me my dad’s number again, I can’t read what I wrote.”
    “Oh my god!” Beth said. “I just heard the toilet flush! He’s coming out!”
    “Didn’t he hear the phone ring?”
    “I don’t know! He probably has the fan on in there—it’s like a jet engine. And I, like, picked up in the middle of the first—” Beth hung up.
    Allie held the phone against her ear as if Beth would reappear on the line. The phone started beeping and then an electronic voice asked her to hang up and dial again. Allie hung up but she didn’t dial again. Instead she went to find more tamales.
    Back at the kitchen table, Allie ate and stared at the smeared number on the bread bag. Even if she did get a hold of her father, what would she tell him? By the way, Dad, I just stole a few kilos of coke and I’m trying to figure out how to give it back—minus the salary Jonas owes me, of course—without getting murdered, killing anyone else, or going to jail.
    Consuela was at the kitchen sink, wearing pink plastic gloves and a half-apron with oysters printed on it. She was doing the dishes and singing along with Spanish-language radio. When the song ended, she