The Mobster's Girl

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit."

Stella stood in her apartment, a telegram in her hand. It had just been delivered to her, and she still stood in the doorway, her door wide open. Needless to say, her passing neighbors did not appreciate her choice of words.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."

Stella didn't always curse, another outcome of having strict parents, but her current situation at hand called for it.

She slipped on some shoes and her hat, donned a light jacket, then headed down to the lobby, where she was still cursing to herself, thus earning her several glares from her fellow residents.

"Stella, no umbrella? It's pouring out there," Mrs. Carsen spoke as Stella tore past her to the entryway, where a man removed his soaked and dripping coat.

She considered going back upstairs and grabbing her umbrella, but she had no time. She simply tucked the telegram into her coat pocket, double checked to make sure it was secure, then ran outside, ignoring poor Mrs. Carsen's comment.

She had hardly taken a few steps out of the apartment building, and yet, she felt as though she was already soaked.

"Oh, damn it all to Hell," Stella said crossly.

She took off running towards the deli, cursing herself for not bringing an umbrella, with each step she took.

Considering the streets were mostly clear of pedestrians, thanks to the rain, she was able to make it to the deli in record time, but it didn't save her from getting absolutely soaked. By the time she walked into the deli, she was certain she looked like a drowned rat.

She wiped her feet on the rug at the front door, which was already soaked thanks to other customers, then went to remove her coat, but looked down and realized that her dress was soaked as well, and was clinging to her body and showing every possible curve. She quickly tightened the coat around her, then went to her corner booth and sank down into it, a miserable expression on her face. She pulled the telegram out of her pocket, and stared at the message, her body filling with anxiety once again.

She dropped the telegram onto the table, then cradled her head in her hands, closed her eyes, and sighed. She was one hundred percent screwed, and didn't know how to get herself out of the mess she had made.

"Stella?"

She raised her head and saw Pete standing next to the table, a concerned look on his face.

"I thought that was you," he said with a smile. "Couldn't really tell right away on account of you being soaked through."

Stella smiled, although she could tell that it likely looked forced.

"In the flesh," she replied, the stress she was feeling quite evident in her voice.

"Oh no," Pete said with a wave of his hand toward the deli. Another employee would make Stella's favorite and bring it out to her, while Phil sank down in the booth across from Stella and waited for her to speak.

Wordlessly, she slid the telegram over to him, and said nothing while he read it.

"Your parents," Pete began. "are coming here?"

"They're on their way here now. They want to stay with me until the day of the event. My guess was the flier was too good to be true, and my mother saw right through the façade and knew that me, her less-than-average daughter, isn't capable of running such an event. And she was right."

Stella felt her bottom lip quiver, and she immediately covered her face with her hands again, not wishing to cry in front of anyone. She hated it, and felt as though she was weak if she cried, and she didn't want people to think the same.