The F List - Alessandra Torre Page 0,5

cashier not find black trash bags, a giant knife set, and latex gloves suspicious?

It was the cheapness of Christina Union that saved the San Diego wife’s life. When Christina tried to stab the second wife, she missed, and the knife hit the fridge door, the handle immediately popping loose of the blade. Wife #2 thought fast, picked up the toaster from the counter and whacked Christina over the head.

I guess grief does strange things to people. I chewed and clicked on a video link, watching as a newscaster spoke to Rick, my manager. I turned up the volume.

“Oh, my gawdddd.” Amy staggered into the kitchen with a pronounced limp. “Leg day yesterday was brutal. Please kill me if I ever mention box jumps ever again.”

I shushed her as she asked him a question. Would Rick stutter? He had a pronounced impediment that flared when he got worked up. I silently rooted for him as he cleared his throat and began to speak.

“Hey—isn’t that your hotel?” Amy paused, mid-stretch of her rock hard thighs and peered over my shoulder.

I nodded, my mouth full. Rick made it through a halting but smooth introduction to the hotel and last night’s events without a single stumble. I mentally high-fived him as he wiped at his brow and stepped out of the shot. I could anticipate what would happen next. Tall black coffee chugged like water in his office. Then, a donut delivery. By the time I started my shift at three, there would be a few half-eaten pieces left in the box, sitting in the middle of the break room table.

“Whoa.” Amy crossed her arms. “This happened last night? When you were there?”

I ran her through a quick recap as I finished off my cereal, then carried the bowl into the sink and rinsed it out. She gave the appropriate responses, and it was funny how easily I preened under her attention. That was all I had needed, three years ago. A spandex-wearing physical trainer who clung to my every word while I told my small and insignificant part of someone else’s story. Just one person, for one moment in time, to listen to me.

“But, both wives are okay.” I dried the bowl with a paper towel and stuck it back in the cabinet. Our dish inventory was limited. One bowl. Three plates. An odds and ends assortment of silverware. Stack of disposable plastic cups. “They arrested the crazy wife.”

“That is insane.” Amy tightened her ponytail. “I can’t believe that happened to you! You’re like, famous.”

“Right?” I grinned at the thought. “Not that they’re going to interview me.”

“They might. You’re working tonight, right?”

I nodded and tried not to think about how big my teeth would look on camera. Maybe I’d get lucky, and a journalist would show up, notepad in hand, no camera in sight. I could get a quote in, my name in an article, something to send to my parents and prove that aha! I had done something with my life, even if that something was just to swipe a credit card and give someone a room key.

“I’ve got to run.” Amy groaned theatrically, as if she didn’t enjoy the act. “Literally. Half-marathon in Malibu next weekend.”

She headed for the door, and I shifted through my purse to find the business card that the cop had given me last night. I still had five hours before work, which was plenty of time to swing by the station and drop off this phone.

The business card was stuck to a cheap scratch-off ticket, and I pulled them both out and set them on the table. Rummaging through the bottom of my purse, I found a slightly sticky penny and brushed it off, then scratched off the top row of numbers. In the neighboring apartment, someone started a shower, and the pipes gurgled to life.

There was a five, which was a good thing. Fives always seemed to match the big prizes. I started down the first row of possibilities and wondered if I should take a shower before work. There was a chance that the news crews would still be there. And not that my hair was greasy, but it was borderline. Should I put on makeup? And if I did, would it be too obvious why I was doing it? I hadn’t worn makeup to work since my first day, five months ago. Chris would call me out on it. Definitely. I scratched the second row, checking the top line with each revealed number.

So,