THE GOLD FISH: Devil's Deals (3.3)

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Barbie dragged herself through the cafeteria line, her ever-present brocade bag heavy on her shoulder and bulging with finished pieces. As usual, she grabbed a package of peanut butter crackers and was about to fill a small cup with Sprite when she hesitated. The truth was she was tuckered out. And running on fumes. She had stayed up late the night before finishing the latest round of jeans, had overslept, and once again, had missed breakfast. So she traded the small cup for a large and gulped down half before she’d even reached the cash register. As that first hit of sugar entered her bloodstream, she promised herself that the minute she had $50, she was going to start eating normally again.

At the usual lunch table -- which Erin had gleefully dubbed their headquarters -- Barbie collapsed onto the bench, pulled jeans from her bag, and started handing them out to the cluster of waiting girls, who in exchange, shoved dollar bills into her waiting palm.

“Complete and total fabulosity,” said Erin. “Look at you! I swear, you’re going to be the next Estée Lauder!”

“Estée who?” mumbled Barbie, tearing open her crackers and shoving one into her mouth.

“You know, the make-up lady!” Erin fluttered her eye lids dramatically. “She’s only one of the most successful business women… ever!”

Barbie nodded in exhausted agreement. Naturally, she’d never heard of such a person -- how or why would she have? -- but was glad to know this Estée existed. And made another promise to herself. Once she had the time, she would look Ms. Lauder up in one of the Encyclopedia Brittanica’s that lived in the basement closet. She had no doubt that if she was a famous business woman, she’d be in there. Just like she had no doubt that Ms. Lauder was a Ms, a new term she’d overheard her mother discussing for hours and hours on the phone with her sister, Betty. Apparently, it was from a magazine Joan had seen in the grocery store line, and as she’d twisted and re-twisted the long yellow telephone cord frantically around her fingers, had alternated between hisses of rage and pure ecstatic giggling to Betty. Which, if nothing else, was reason enough to investigate further.

Anyway, Barbie’s promises to herself were mounting up, but she couldn’t think about that now. Right now, as that perfect combination of crispy cracker and peanut butter hit her tastebuds, all she wanted to do was close her eyes for a minute and get lost in the taste sensation. And not worry about all the stuff she needed to do.

But it was not to be. A rude jab on the shoulder jolted her back to reality, and she turned to find none other than Donna Nichols standing behind her. Pickles!

Barbie choked on cracker crumbs… again. It was definitely time to stop eating crackers, she thought absently, gasping for air. Promise number 3!

“You okay, Bump?” said Erin, slapping her on the back… again.

Barbie took a sip of Sprite, then croaked to Donna, “what do you want?”

Donna held up a pair of jeans. “Can you do these for me?

Barbie blinked, then shook her head. “Um, no…. I don’t think so.”

The very thought of doing something for Bridge’s sworn enemy was, well, unthinkable. Bridge would kill her. And besides, she didn’t want to.

“Oh come on,” pleaded Donna. “You’re doing it for everyone else.”

“For my friends, yeah…”

“I could be a friend.”

Barbie didn’t know how to respond to that. Being friends with Pickles was even more unthinkable than doing embroidery for her.

“I never did nothing to you,” said Donna defensively, before pulling a stack of bills from her pocket. “And look, I know you charge a dollar for the… um, decorations. I’ll pay double. And so will they.” She pointed at a table full of rough looking girls, all of whom eyed Barbie eagerly.

Oh boy, talk about tempting. Barbie thought about her sore fingers, her exhaustion, and her precious gold (pause) fish waiting patiently in the freezer. Whose golden scales could, she thought with horror, be turning dull and gray at this very moment. Like that ancient pair of pork chops she’d found at the back of the freezer when she’d first stashed her fish. Time really was of the essence, and being paid double for the same amount of work would definitely get her to her goal quicker.

And honestly, when she really thought about it, would Bridge really care if she embroidered pants for Pickles? Or would she think it far out that Barbie had charged her twice as much as everyone else? It might even be cause for Bridge to flash her fangs in delight. With this cheerful thought, doing work for Donna suddenly seemed like a great idea.

“Okay,” said Barbie. “I’ll do it.”

A look of smug confidence crossed Donna’s face. “Thought you might. Meet me at the library after school tomorrow. Have them done and I’ll bring you more.” She dropped the pants on the table.

Something about Pickles’ attitude, her demand for her pants to be done by tomorrow (!), and that “thought you might” comment really pissed Barbie off. She wished she could call the whole thing off. But she had made her bed, goddamnit, and there was nothing left to do but lie in it. And get it over with as quickly as possible.

“Fine.”

Donna started to walk away, but whirled back. “I like plants, ok? Like green leaves and stuff.”

Barbie repressed a snort. Green leaves weren’t bad or anything. It was just that she had expected Pickles to want something more fitting to her general personality. Like snakes or spiders or dragons maybe. And that thought gave her an idea. A delicious idea. One that would definitely make Bridge flash her fangs.

“Fine.”

As Donna strutted triumphantly back to her table, Erin leaned in towards Barbie and whispered, “Who was that Bumpski?”

Barbie sighed. “The devil, I think.”

:::

Before the last kids had even shuffled their way to the front of the bus, Barbie had pushed through the doors and was halfway down Morvan Road running for home. Not only did she have a lot of work to complete in one night, but she also had to figure out how to meet Pickles at the library the next afternoon. Getting there would be easy peasy -- it was only a few blocks away from school -- but getting home would be another thing altogether. Even if her parents were in the habit of driving her places -- which they were most definitely not -- it was a lot to ask on a school night.

So it was with this conundrum in mind that Barbie burst into the house, scaring the bejesus out of Karen who sat reading and picking her lips on the living room sofa. “Where’s Ma?!” she shouted.

Karen startled, the book nearly flying out of her hands. “Jesus Christ Almighty,” she cried.

The Belle, happily playing with her Fisher Price Little People Houseboat on the carpet, found the whole thing hilarious. She giggled.

Karen did not. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded.

Barbie was accustomed to this rhetorical question and knew there was no good answer. So she ignored it. “I said, where’s Ma?”

With a glare, Karen silently pointed up towards the second floor. And with that, Barbie noticed the sound of running water. She ran towards it.

:::

Barbie tapped tentatively on the bathroom door. This was dicey business, interrupting her mother during a shower. But with only one bathroom between the first and second floors, it was hardly an uncommon practice. By necessity, the Ward girls were always pee’ing, pooping, and showering side-by-side, with only the pink, pearlized flamingoes printed on the shower curtain standing one-legged between them. But it was still best to ask permission before barging in.

She tapped again. “Ma?”

“What?!” snapped Joan through the closed door, thinking the same can I never have a minute’s peace?! thought she had a million times every day.

“Can I come in?”

“Use the bathroom downstairs!”

“I don’t have to go,” said Barbie. “I just need to ask you something.”

“Fine,” came her mother’s defeated voice. “Make it quick.”

Barbie pushed into the room and was immediately engulfed in steam and cigarette smoke. Next to the super-sized bottle of Jean Naté that sat on the back of the toilet, a half smoked Doral Light burned in a small bean-bag-bottomed ashtray.

Joan pushed aside the shower curtain and poked her head out. “Gimme a drag of that.”

Barbie put the cigarette between her index and middle finger, and lifted it to her mother’s lips.

“Thank you, Jesus.” breathed Joan, after taking a big drag. “Now whaddya want?”

Barbie carefully placed the cigarette back in the ash tray before answering. “I have to go to the library after school tomorrow. For a… um… for a school project. So I’ll miss the bus. Can you pick me up there? Like later?”

“No,” said Joan. “I have to take The Belle to a pediatrician appointment tomorrow afternoon, so dinner will be late as it is. I can’t be running out to all hell and back to get you. On a school night, no less. Ask your father. It’s the least he can do.” And with that, she disappeared again behind the shower curtain. “But it’ll be late,” she added. “He has to work until 9pm.”

“That’s fine,” said Barbie. It was kind of late, but the library wasn’t a bad place to hang out in. “But can you ask him?” she ventured.

Joan reappeared with a huff. “No. You’re perfectly capable. Call him at work.”

Barbie turned to leave, but Joan called her back. “Give me one more drag of that cigarette. Then leave me in peace.”

Barbie did what she was told.

Then went off to make what she hoped wasn’t another deal with the devil.

Next → Waiting (3.4)