Page 26 of By A Thread

“You said ‘fuck you’ to Dominic Russo?” Gola said slowly.

“Well, I spelled it with pepperonis. But yeah.”

“What did he do?”

“Blew a gasket. Yelled.”

Ruth and Gola exchanged an incredulous look. “Heyelled?”

“Oh, yeah. He yelled. We called each other names. He demanded to see the manager.”

“I knew there was a volcano under that iceberg,” Gola said, slapping the mound of sopping wet napkins. “Didn’t I tell you?”

Ruth nodded. “You did. You called it.”

Gola leaned in. “Dominic Russo has been Frosty the Fine Snowman to everyone since he got here over a year ago,” she explained quietly. The palms probably had ears.

Interesting. My limited experience with Charming had been the exact opposite. I hadn’t seen frigid. I’d seen hellfire.

“Who knew it would be a pepperoni pizza that pushed him over the line?” Ruth mused.

“Okay, so back to the story. FU, demands to see the manager,” Gola recited, waving her hand dangerously close to Ruth’s hot tea.

“So George waddles out of the kitchen, takes a look at Dalessandra’s red leather skirt and Dom’s fancy coat, and fires me on the spot.”

“No!” they gasped.

I liked these two as an audience.

“Yes. I grabbed my coat and bag and went back out into the dining room, made a speech about how we’re human and people like him shouldn’t treat us like we’re not. And then I left.”

Gola and Ruth were hinged forward, hanging on my every word.

“So I’m at the bus stop trying to figure out what to do before my bartending shift—”

“Ally is poor,” Gola explained to Ruth.

“Got it.” Ruth nodded.

“And Dalessandra comes up and apologizes for Dominic and offers me a job on the spot. I didn’t know who she was or what the job was. And here I am.” I decided to leave out the whole vague “Hey, why don’t you tell me what’s wrong with morale” part.

“And here you are,” Ruth repeated in wonder. “This is the most exciting Monday I’ve had in a long time.”

“She has the desk behind Malina,” Gola told Ruth.

“Oh, that sounds fun.” Ruth winced.

“What’s her story anyway?” I asked.

There was another one of those long, pointed looks.

“She was Dominic’s dad’s girlfriend,” Gola whispered the word “girlfriend” and looked over her shoulder.

“You mean side piece,” Ruth hissed.

“Ruth!”

“What? It’s true.” Ruth scooted her chair closer. “So, Paul Russo, Dalessandra’s husband and Dominic’s father, used to be the creative director here. But rumor has it he tended to use his position to go fishing in the company pond if you catch my drift.”