One Good Hustle

TWENTY




JILL ASKED PERMISSION for us to sleep outside in the old camper Lou and Ruby keep beside the house. Mostly it’s just sleeping space, but there’s also a tiny sink and a bathroom. Except that the water isn’t hooked up. Drag. Still have to head into the house if we need to pee.

Jill said that sometimes they tow the camper to Vancouver Island or out to the Okanagan Valley. It’s a bit musty but it smells like being away. Not that Sam and Marlene ever had a camper. That wasn’t Sam’s style. He’d rather stay in a hotel and skip out on the bill any day. As far as he was concerned that was the best way to keep the nut down. I wonder how he does it now. Everyone uses a credit card these days.

I wish I would quit thinking about that stuff. What’s the likelihood that Sam and Marlene and I will ever be on the road together again? Zip.

I do like it out here in the camper. Especially now, when it’s late. You can actually hear crickets.

“I bet it’ll be great when it rains,” I say to Jill as we’re lying in the dark. “The sound of raindrops pelting the roof. Our own little house.”

Jill is lying on the skinny bed on the left-hand side and I’m in the skinny bed on the right-hand side. I just said that thing about the rain to lighten the mood. A few minutes ago I’d asked Jill if she ever missed having a boyfriend, if she missed Roman, and it started to get weird.

“No way,” Jill said. “It’s summer. Having a boyfriend in summer is like bringing sand to the beach.”

“Yeah!” I said and laughed.

It was quiet for a bit. I was thinking about how lame it is that I’m this old and I’ve never even kissed a guy.

“I don’t think guys like me that way,” I said.

No comment from Jill. It was embarrassing. Seemed like she didn’t want to lie and didn’t want to hurt my feelings either.

Then she said, “A couple days ago, my mom sat me down and told me that I should try not to be jealous of you.” There was a long pause. Just as I was about to speak, she continued. “I was like, jealous? Of her? I mean, no offence, Sammie, but I never thought you were anything to write home about.” Jill’s voice had become mocking. Sort of like Crystal Norris’s.

I stared up at the ceiling, let my eyes follow the cuts of streetlight through the little camper curtains, the way it sliced the room into grey and black chunks.

Just as I was forming the question, Jill horned in with the answer.

“The reason she said it is that I told her how Crystal phoned me the other night. She said that Roman saw you and me out on the street somewhere and Roman wanted to know who you were and if you had a boyfriend. Obviously he’s trying to make me jealous by saying that to Crystal, but when I told my mom I guess she was concerned that it could come between us.”

“I’m not interested in Roman,” I said.

Roman is this big Italian guy. He’s got a soup-strainer of a moustache and a beak that hangs down over top of it. Jill used to joke that Roman’s nose was roamin’ all over his face. After school, I’d see her get into his ugly black Firebird with the huge flaming decal on the hood. They’d start necking and the tongue action was hard to stomach, but at the same time it was hard to look away. Sort of like when you see a dog throw up on the street.

“He’s not your speed anyway,” Jill said. Her voice was hard. “Roman is a total boob-man, so you’d have, like, nada to offer in that department.”

“Totally!” I forced a laugh, looked through the space in the curtains and watched the moths flutter under the street lamp. That’s when I said the thing about the rain, how cool it would be to hear the sound of raindrops pelting the roof.

“My mom thinks you and I should get a summer job,” Jill suddenly says. “I think it’s a good idea. You in?”

Probably the best part about being out here in the camper is the absence-of-Ruby aspect. But there’s no real escape from her.

“I’m not sure,” I say, nonchalant as I can be. “My dad’s going to be coming out here soon. What if I have to go out of town? Because, you know, he was talking about me coming back to Toronto. With him. For a while.”

“He was? When?”

“We’re playing it by ear.”

“What does he do again?”

“Huh?”

“For a living.”

He’s a rounder. I don’t actually say that. God, I want to, though. I want to slam her right between the eyes with that one. “Do you know what a rounder is, Jill? Didn’t think so. Not your speed really.”

What I actually say is: “He’s a salesman.”

“What does he sell?”

“Oh, you name it. Cars, insurance, real estate …”

She’s silent a few seconds, then says, “I don’t want to be tied down either, you know. But I think we should accept responsibility for our finances and know what it means to earn our own money.”

Clearly parroting Ruby with that last bit.

“Crystal’s cousin works for Pacific Inn Catering,” Jill continues. “They have the hotel restaurant but they also run a catering company for weddings and stuff. It’s casual. You don’t have to be somewhere every day—you just call in for work when you want it and they give you your hours.”

“Maybe.”

“It’s good money. And it’s almost August. Do you want the whole summer to go by and have nothing to show for it?”

God, I hate it when she sounds like her mother.

“Minimum wage isn’t good money,” I say.

“Minimum wage is $5.50. This pays $6. Plus tips. And you only work when you want to. Weekends mostly.”

I’m no sucker, I can hear Sam say. I don’t carry a baloney bucket to work.

What if he calls and asks me what I’m up to. I suppose I don’t have to tell him that I’m waiting tables.

“Would I have to wear a hairnet?”

“No.” Jill laughs. “We’d be working in banquet halls. Weddings and stuff. They wear a white nurse’s uniform—those dress-things. It’ll be cute. Mom says they have loads in second-hand stores so we could pick a couple up for next to nothing. Have you got a social insurance number?”

Is she kidding?