The Things We Do for Love

"Mom!" she called out, pushing through the unlatched door. There was a cigarette burning in an ashtray on the coffee table. The mound of used butts was huge. Here and there, smoked-down cigarettes lay littered across the Formica table.



The apartment was empty. Mom had probably come home from work about five (if she'd even made it to work in the first place), then changed her look from white-trash beautician to biker slut and run off to her favorite bar stool.



Lauren hurried down the hallway and into her bedroom, praying all the way there. Please please please.



It was empty beneath her pillow.



Mom had found the money.



EIGHT



LAUREN MEANT TO MOVE. SHE MEANT TO GET UP, put on fresh makeup, and borrow Suzi Mauk's suit again, but somehow she sat there, on the floor, staring at the stack of cigarette butts in the ashtray on the coffee table. How much of her twenty dollars had literally gone up in smoke?



She wished she could cry the way she once would have. The tears, she now knew, meant hope. When your eyes dried up, there was none.



The door swung open, cracked against the wall. The whole apartment shuddered at the force of it. A beer bottle rolled off the sofa cushion and thumped to the shag carpet.



Her mother stood in the doorway, wearing a pleated black miniskirt with black boots and a tight blue T-shirt. The top--which Lauren thought looked suspiciously new--made her look much too thin. The once beautiful bone structure in her face was now a collection of sharp edges and dark hollows. Booze and cigarettes and too many bad years had chiseled away at her beauty, leaving only the stunning green of her eyes. Against the harsh pallor of her face, Mom's eyes were still arresting. Once Lauren had thought her mother was the most lovely woman in the world--lots of people had back then. For years, Mom had gotten by on her looks; as her beauty had faded, so had her ability to cope.



Mom brought a cigarette to her lips and took a long drag, exhaling sharply. "You're staring at me."



Lauren sighed. So it was going to be one of those nights; the kind where Mom came home more sober than drunk and pissed off about it. Lauren got slowly to her feet, started picking up the mess in the living room. "I'm not staring."



"You should be at work," Mom said, kicking the door shut behind her.



"So should you."



Mom laughed at that and flopped down on the sofa, putting her feet up on the coffee table. "I was headed that way. You know how it is."



"Yeah. I know. You have to walk past the Tides." She heard the bitterness in her voice and wished it weren't there.



"Don't start with me."



Lauren went to the sofa and sat down on the arm. "You took the twenty bucks from under my pillow. That was my money."



Mom put out one cigarette and lit up another. "So?"



"The homecoming dance is less than two weeks away. I ..." Lauren paused, hating to admit her need, but what choice did she have? "I need a dress."



Mom looked up at her. Smoke swirled in the air, seeming to exaggerate the distance between them. "I got knocked up at a school dance," Mom finally said.



Lauren fought the urge to roll her eyes. "I know."



"Fuck the dance."



Lauren couldn't believe it still hurt, after all these years. When would she stop believing that her mom might change? "Thanks, Mom. As usual, you're a big help."



"You'll see. When you're older." Mom leaned back, exhaling smoke. Her mouth trembled, and for the merest of moments, she looked sad. "None of it matters. What you want. What you dream of. You live with what's left."



If Lauren believed that, she'd never be able to get out of bed. Or off a bar stool. She reached down, brushed the blond hair out of her mother's eyes. "It's going to be different for me, Mom."



Her mother almost smiled. "I hope so," she murmured so softly Lauren had to lean forward to hear it.



"I'll find a way to pay the rent and buy a dress," she said, finding her courage again. It had left her for a few moments there, and without its heat she had gone cold and numb, but now it was back. She slid off the arm of the sofa and went back to her mother's bedroom. In the overstuffed closet, she looked for something she could redo into a dress for the dance. She was holding up a black satin nightgown when the doorbell rang.



She didn't answer it, but her mother yelled out to her: "Miz Mauk's here."



Lauren swore under her breath. If only Mom hadn't opened the door. Forcing a smile, she tossed the tiny negligee on the bed and went back into the living room.



Mrs. Mauk was there, smiling. A big cardboard box was on the floor at her feet. Beside her, Mom was buttoning up a beautiful black pant coat made of the softest wool; it had a tapered waist and a shawl collar.



Lauren frowned.



"It's an old lady's coat," Mom muttered, walking down the hallway toward the bathroom.



"Mrs. Mauk?" Lauren said.



"There's one for you, too." She bent down and pulled a green coat with faux fur trim from the box.



Lauren gasped. "For me?"



It was almost exactly the coat Melissa Stonebridge wore. The richest, most popular girl at Fircrest. Lauren couldn't help reaching for it, touching the soft fur. "You shouldn't have. I mean ... I can't ..." She drew her hand back. Mrs. Mauk couldn't afford this.



"It's not from me," Mrs. Mauk said, her mouth forming into a sad and knowing smile. "A woman from Help-Your-Neighbor brought it by. Her name was Angela. She's one of the DeSarias--you know, from that restaurant on Driftwood. I'd say she could afford it."



Charity. The woman somehow had seen Lauren and pitied her.



"This coat is too old for me," Mom said from the other room. "What does yours look like, Lauren?"



"Take it," Mrs. Mauk said, pushing the coat toward Lauren.



She couldn't help herself. She took it, slipped it on, and suddenly she was warm. She hadn't realized until just then how long she'd been cold. "How do you say thank you for something like this?" she whispered.



Mrs. Mauk's eyes filled with understanding. "It's hard," she said quietly, "being the one who needs help."



"Yeah."



They stared at each other a moment longer. Finally, Lauren tried to smile. "I guess I'll go to the restaurant and see if I can find her ... say thank you."



"That's a good idea."



Lauren glanced down the hallway. "I'll be back in a while, Mom."



"Bring me a better coat," Mom yelled back.



Lauren didn't dare look at Mrs. Mauk. They walked out of the apartment and down the stairs together, neither one speaking.



Outside, Lauren waved good-bye to Mrs. Mauk who, although hidden, was always at her curtains, watching what happened on her street.



In less than thirty minutes Lauren was at DeSaria's Restaurant, opening the door.



The first thing she noticed was the aroma. The place smelled heavenly. She realized how hungry she was.



"I guess you found me."



Lauren hadn't even noticed the woman's arrival, and yet they were standing almost face-to-face. The woman was only an inch or so taller than Lauren, but she was a commanding presence. First of all, she was beautiful-- movie-star beautiful--with her black hair and dark eyes and big smile. And her clothes looked like something out of an expensive catalogue. Black pants with flared legs, high-heeled black boots, and a pale yellow scoop-neck sweater. There was something familiar about her.



"Are you Angela DeSaria?"



"I am. Angie, please." She looked at Lauren, and there was an almost liquid softness in her brown eyes. "And you're Lauren Ribido."



"Thank you for the coat." Her voice snagged on the sentiment, sounded thick. She realized suddenly where she'd seen this woman before. "You're the woman who gave me money."



Angie smiled, but it seemed off somehow, not quite real. "You probably think I'm stalking you. I'm not. It's just ... I'm new in town and kind of at loose ends. I saw you and wanted to help."



"You did." Lauren felt it again, the emotion thickening her voice.



"I'm glad to hear that. Is there anything else I could do?"



"I could use a job," Lauren said quietly.



Angie seemed surprised by that. "Have you ever waitressed before?"



"Two summers at the Hidden Lake Ranch." Lauren fought the urge to squirm. She was sure that this beautiful woman saw every flaw that Lauren tried to hide--the hair that needed a trim, the shoes that leaked in the rain, the backpack worn thin.



"I don't suppose you're Italian?"



"No. At least not that I know of. Does that matter?"



"It shouldn't...." Angie looked back at a closed door. "But we've always done things a certain way."



And you're not it. "I understand."



"You saving up for college?"



Lauren started to say, "Yes," but when she saw the understanding in Angie's dark eyes, she found herself saying, "I need a dress for the homecoming dance." The minute she said it, she blushed. She couldn't believe she'd revealed something so intimate to a stranger.



Angie studied her for a moment longer, neither smiling nor frowning. "I'll tell you what," she finally said. "You sit down at this table, have something to eat, and then we'll talk."



"I'm not hungry," she said, just as her stomach grumbled.



Angie smiled gently. Lauren felt wounded by that smile somehow. "Eat dinner. Then we'll talk."



ANGIE FOUND MIRA STANDING OUTSIDE THE BACK door, sipping cappuccino, both her hands curled around the porcelain mug. Steam mingled with her breath and formed a mist in front of her face. "Winter is going to come early this year," she said as Angie sidled up beside her.



"I used to hide out here as soon as it was time to do dishes," Angie said, smiling at the memory. She could almost hear Papa's booming voice come through the brick walls.



"Like I didn't know that." Mira laughed.



Angie moved a little closer, until they were shoulder to shoulder, both of them leaning against the rough wall that contained so much of their lives. They stared out at the empty parking lot. Beyond it, the street was a silvery ribbon in the darkening night. Far away, seen in slivers between the houses and trees, was the blue-gray ocean. "Remember that list Livvy helped me come up with?"



"The DeSaria destruction list, as Mama called it? How could I forget?"



"I think I'm going to make the first change."



"Which one?"



"I found a new waitress. A high school girl. I think she could work some nights and weekends."



Mira turned to her. "Mama's going to let you hire a high school girl?"



Angie winced. "A problem, huh?"



"Mama will have a cow; you know that. Tell me the girl is Italian at least."



"Don't think so."



Mira grinned. "This is going to be fun."



"Knock it off. Be serious. Is it a good idea to hire a new waitress?"



"Yes. Rosa is too slow to handle any more business. I guess if you're going to make some changes around here, this is a good place to start. How did you find her? Employment office?"



Angie bit her lip and looked down at the gravel.



"Angie?" This time Mira wasn't smiling. There was concern in her voice.