Stressed Spelled Backwards |Lesbian Story|

Chapter 10

Gourmet Week was a resounding success across the street. Suddenly, our seedy little neighborhood was the hottest place in town, just as we'd envisioned in the summer. Cars, even a few limos, were double-parked on all the side streets, and customers lined up around the block to get into, not Celie's Deli, but Monica's, her business rival across the street. It was driving Celie crazy.

"I can't stand it! It's more than a person can bear!" Celie grumbled. "The mere mention of Gourmet Week makes me sick. That woman charges ten dollars for a lousy bowl of pumpkin soup. She charges twenty for two chicken wings and five just to walk in the door and listen to stupid music! She's a criminal! She should be put on the electric chair!"

We ate all our meals in the deli, serving ourselves since Celie was still raving mad. By the weekend, our landlady could take it no more. I was pouring some coffee for Karmen and Elise when I overheard her disguising her voice in a French accent on the kitchen phone.

"I just had supper at that miserable Monica's, and there was a cockroach in my food as big as a Volkswagen. You're the health inspector. Do something about it," then in a normal voice at me, "Go and sit down and mind your own business, Miss. Kononovich. And don't be so generous with my coffee. You think it grows on trees?"

During that week, I had to suspend the job search because of my black eye. Outwardly I complained bitterly, but I was rejoicing on the inside. While Karmen scoured the city for another job and Elise went on fashion shows, I toured around my apartment, went to museums and art galleries, and saw the movies.

"It doesn't seem fair, does it?" Celie snickered. "Your friends are busting their bums, and you're on a vacation."

"It's my eye," I explained. "Who would hire me with a face like that?"

She snorted. "You can hardly see it anymore. You're just making excuses."

"Look," I said defensively, "As soon as I'm back to normal, I'll be right out there with them."

The bruise continued to fade. I actually toyed with the idea of enhancing it a little with mascara and eyeshadow. But then Karmen got hired on as a receptionist at a publishing company. The next morning, I was once again looking for a job.

Almost immediately, my mind started playing the usual tricks on me. A little dust here, a rumpled sheet there, anything to keep me away from that employment goal. Then I started cooking again. During the black eye, I hadn't felt the slightest urge to turn on the stove. I started with dinner, but soon an elaborate luncheon became a habit, too.

I began preparing lunch boxes for Karmen and Elise. I told them it was because I felt bad about not contributing to the expenses. But the real reason was that, by preparing them the previous afternoon, I could use up even more job-hunting time.

Then I diversified into the laundry. It was a godsend. Laundry takes hours!

What was the matter with me? There was a time back in my parent's house when my clothes got piled up like a mountain. Why was the sight of dirty socks or a rumpled sheet suddenly so intolerable?

Cooking, cleaning, washing, ironing - these used to be nothing more than scolding words in my mom's list of Things to Nag About Today. Now not only did I do them - they were my whole life!

Was I goofing off? No way! There wasn't a job on earth that would have me working this hard! I couldn't believe maintaining one little apartment could be so complicated. Could you imagine a whole house? Talk about the chronic disappointment. You wash clothes, somebody wears them, you make beds, somebody sleeps in them, the more you cook, the more dishes you have to scrub. All your accomplishments reset to zero. How could every housewife in the world live like this?