I hated her. “I don’t do the buying, but I have been told the manufacturer ran out as well. Sorry, seems you’re out of luck.”
When I turned to walk away, she mumbled under her breath, “Out of luck…something you’re used to, no doubt.”
Tomás overheard her and stuck out his tongue behind her back. She went back to dialing her phone.
“Celeste! Are you ready for your party? Guess who I just spoke to—Veronica Block! I had no idea she wasn’t invited.” She waited a beat. “Well, you must have forgotten.” She laughed. “She’s easily forgettable!” Another beat. “Oh, no, I’m sure she doesn’t care—she even said she had better plans that night.” And another. “Yes, I think she said better. Maybe it was more exciting—can’t remember exactly. In any case, you know Veronica and her husband are such bores. What makes a party is who you don’t invite, not who you do.” And with that last bit of nastiness she hung up.
She was the worst, this broad. She might take the nastiest-customer-ever cake. But I knew how to get my own quiet revenge on people like her. That sweet, desperate young girl with the long story had returned the overloaned size small Max Hammer this morning as promised. It was even more of a mess than when she left with it, but I didn’t care. I went in the back and got it for the nastiest customer ever, hoping that when she got it home and saw what a wreck it was she would try to return it. I couldn’t wait to accuse her of damaging it and refuse to take it back. “I guess you’re out of luck again,” I would say.
Nasty was back on the phone again, in mid-conversation with poor Veronica. “Well, I mentioned it, darling, but she didn’t bite. She explained that it’s really just an intimate get-together for her nearest and dearest. Maybe next time, you know, when she widens the net.” Poor roadkill Veronica, in way over her head. “No, I had no idea—a kidney, really, well, thank god she didn’t need it. You know you should be more careful whom you offer a kidney to, Veronica, really.”
I didn’t trust myself not to wring her neck with it, so I gave the dress to Tomás and went out for a smoke. Normally I wouldn’t do that to him, but I was still a bit pissed that he and Natalie had left the floor uncovered the other day to go on their little love quest. The last thing I heard was, “I guess she needed your younger eye to find a small.” I hate to admit it, but that stung. After Lillian I was probably the oldest salesgirl here. Salesgirl—even the name made me feel old. Maybe I needed a two-cigarette break.
I was standing on the corner with Lillian, a few puffs into ciggy number two, when I saw the nastiest customer ever leave the store. I had just told Lillian the whole story. “There she is!” I pointed. She was just a stone’s throw away. My kingdom for a stone.
Lillian took her in. “She doesn’t look so bad. Look, she’s helping that old lady get a cab.”
That didn’t sound right. I took a look for myself. It was bizarre. She was actually helping an old lady get a cab. She smiled at her and said something we couldn’t hear. We craned our necks to try. The old woman thanked her as she stepped into the street and raised her hand for a taxi. The old woman seemed touched by her kindness. And then it happened. A cab pulled over, and the nastiest customer ever became the nastiest New Yorker ever. She got in, slammed the door, and rode away.
Lillian yelled, “Oh my god, she stole that woman’s cab!”
We both rushed to the old lady’s aid.
“Did you see what that bitch just did?” she asked as we approached.
I love that about New Yorkers, frail old ladies giving it out like gangsters. As I stepped to the curb to hail her another cab, the ground shook. At first I panicked, thinking it was a bomb. People were screaming as the earth rumbled again. I looked across 59th Street just in time to see the ground open up, like something out of a sci-fi movie, and swallow up the Yellow Cab with everyone and everything in it. I was never one to believe in karma, but on that day I was converted.
*
The next day Tomás and Natalie gathered round while I read them the front page of the New York Post. They were both still kissing up to me, trying to make up for their little disappearing act. I was over it—it was nice to see them both so happy. Neither of them had been very lucky with love since I’d known them. I’ve worked with a lot of younger people over the years, and I can honestly say these two were my favorites. They even invited me to join them on their upcoming double date. I declined, but how sweet are they to have asked?
Natalie thought the headline “Holy Sinkhole!” was a bit tacky, since a woman had actually died, but the New York Post has its own moral compass. From its most infamous headline, “Headless Body in Topless Bar,” to my personal favorite, “Osama bin Wankin’,” which ran when they found porn in bin Laden’s foxhole, they clearly go for the laugh above all else. I get it—I often have a tendency to do the same. This was as close as I had ever been to front-page news.