Excerpt from
The Laziest Secretary In The World

by Jennifer Waters aka Jennifer Blowdryer

"Oh, and could you just buy some cigarettes for Mike, and
Claire Ellen too?" asked Lou cozily, clueing the cashier in on
the brands at the same time. A satisfied Lou and Latoya bustled
back to the hideout with armfuls of groceries and beer.
Claire Ellen turned out to be Lou's aunt, rescued from a
welfare hotel, and she was especially glad to meet a Latoya
carrying her favorite brand of smokes, Parliaments.
When Mike, Lou's boyfriend, came home from his job in a
furniture store, he found a chubby girl in big Hawaiian shorts,
trying to cook a spaghetti dinner while splattering herself with
sauce. Whatever Latoya was, she seemed to like beer and hate
dogs with an equal fervor. Latoya was aces with everybody.
Lorrie left for a Healing Group somewhere, and Latoya and Mike
giggled as they locked her puppy in the basement. When "Lou's dog
knocked Mike's crystal champagne bucket off his Italian walnut
cocktail table, Mike wordlessly pulled out a vial of valium, took
one, and passed the bottle to Latoya.
Latoya felt secure, and was even glad to camp out with
Lou, Mike, the Welfare Aunt, and a busy Lorrie for a few days.
Claire Ellen had a kind of cheap hotel version of office dialogue
that Latoya quickly adjusted to, and they sat around chattingwhile Lou and Mike squabbled or Lorrie visualized somewhere.
"Whelp, that rat called again. Jeesh, can you believe the
nerve?" Claire Ellen would begin a typical rap, diving into the
middle of her life situation.
"Oh No! What did you do?" Latoya would answer happily, not
even looking up from her periodical.
During the days, Latoya cancelled her phone listing and
changed to an unlisted number, and billed her cable to a
different name. Remembering Mr. Lee's dingy little office shetried not to overestimate his tracking abilities, but she
called the temporary agencies that never called her and had her
name taken off their directories. She knew that if they did
crack down on his squalid little crime ring her name and number
were in his file system, and for that reason only she hoped he
was as slippery as he seemed. Lorrie had said he was also
buying U.S. currency with won on the black market in order to
smuggle money out of the country, and who knew what that Debbie
was up to.
Hiding out was sort of like vacationing with a tense
family, and Latoya got as much enjoyment as she could out of the
little town. After all, there would come a time when she would
have to work again.
Beer and food were cheap, and the bar/club was fabulous.
Big John, the owner, looked like Bluto from Popeye, and always
watched programs like "Eye On Hollywood" on the TV over the bar.
When Latoya was done with removing the traces of her identity
for the day she would stroll down the street and eat some of the
gigantic sliced hero sandwich he had as bar food, and watch
television with Big John. It was a rock'n'roll redneck bar. Long haired cops went there too, and Latoya liked to watch them clap
a silencing hand over their police radios when the television
got good.
The town also boasted a fat family called the McCeevers.
They would come over to visit Lou and Mike in the evenings, with
their nelly hairdresser in constant attendance. Latoya's favorite
story about them was how they were so transient that last time
they moved Mike had seen a box labeled "Bathroom '85". To have a
box filled with just your bathroom items from 1985 seemed like
such extravagant stockpiling, especially to have a box of
toiletries from 1985 that they were too shiftless to ever unpack.
A neighboring couple, Pat and Justin, had such flamboyant
and violent battles that they always guaranteed something to
talk about. Sometimes the drunk wife would pull off her top and
run into the street bruising herself in order to call the police
on her husband. Sometimes the husband would do something newly
stupid like sign over his home to his wife.
There was never a dull moment. Latoya loved the suburbs,
and the suburbs seemed to not mind her. She had always thought
that she could only fit in cities, and pictured the suburbs as a
tidy dwelling place for the neatest secretaries and executives in
an office. Instead the suburbs turned out to be a woozy free(c)for all where a strangely dressed Latoya (she had to borrow Lou and
Mike's clothes) was small fry.
Latoya climbed aboard the train home 6 days later, promising
everyone that she would come back soon, and almost sorry to
leave. Nevertheless, her now crusty Hawaiian shorts were looking
the worse for wear, and she had no more beer money for anybody.

George, who was buzzing at her door with bag of heroin - a
brand called NASA - was surprised at how good Latoya looked.
She had gotten some color in her face from sitting out on the
porch drinking with Claire Ellen, she'd lost more weight
when Lou and Mike ran out of people food but had to spend the
rest of the money on dogfood and cigarettes, her hair appeared
to be jet black and white, and she had a purposeful stride. If
it weren't for her odd outfit, stained shorts and a Mickey The
Rat T Shirt, Latoya would have looked pretty.
Latoya in turn was glad to see George, even though it was
clear what he was up to. He had on a jaunty old fashioned hat
and looked clear-eyed and distinguished since he hadn't hit up
yet that day.
She dramatically ushered him in the door, explaining as
they went about having to live underground. George shared his
own tales of disappearing. He had been put in the "Drug
Diversion" program and not jail in exchange for squealing. Also,
he said, James Stark was not really James Stark, and Mark
McLoud was actually an Argentinian who...
Latoya started to feel like maybe having to get rid of your
legal identity was just another normal thing she and her friends
all did.

THE LAZIEST FUGITIVE

Latoya was a little disappointed at how easy George made
this change of identity business sound. She found herself hating
him all over again as he rattled off tales of switched and
hidden identities.
"Remember Travis?" George babbled cavalierly. "Travis
Parkin?" Latoya didn't even nod, trying not to give him
encouragement. What had started as reassuring information had
turned into droning one upmanship.
"Well, he got Travis from some mystery book he saw at an
airport, and Parkin from this flight attendant he married. When
the mafia "and two different parole boards wanted him..."
Finally Latoya couldn't take any more.
"Well, George, I am sorry if I am just wanted by the Korean
Mafia, I know that compared to TRAVIS that doesn't sound very
SERIOUS, but if you would shut up for one minute"
There was a pounding on her bent apartment door, and as
Latoya started with fright she took a second to note George's
panic with mean satisfaction. How would the Drug Diversion
program feel if they knew they had merely diverted George to a
supplier at another end of the country? She sneered at him and
gestured broadly for silence at the same time, snarling with one
finger pointed in front of curling lips and another held straight
like a stop guard.
"Eeeets the KOREAN MAFIA!! WE HALF BEEN LOOKIN' ALL OVER
FOR YOU!" Latoya heard in between a spasm of giggles.
"Rashid! I was SO scared!" Latoya simpered meaningfully,
eyeing the $2.50 bouquet he was clutching. He was dressed in her
favorite outfit tonight, his terrorist outfit, a big army
jacket, one pair of normal jeans, and a bandanna tied around his
wrist to hide a weapon.
"Oh, George, I see you are here." Rashid loaded his voice
with hate.
If Latoya wasn't politically aware this Greek junkie really
wasn't. There was no society Rashid could dream up that would
carry George along. Latoya stared off at the wall for a minute,
letting George get the brunt of Rashid's hatred. After all, he
had been trying to belittle her change of identity problem, and
maybe Rashid was right. Maybe George was useless. Nah, she
remembered what a good DJ he had been once, and gently nudged
him out the door.
Rashid didn't say goodbye to the little Greek, but didn't
look that mad either. He was brimming over with some news, and
was wavering between being very serious and giggling helplessly.
She stood there and gave him a minute to work it out.
"Sooo, I thought maybe if you don't marry thees Korean guy,
you might as well marry me. I mean, I can't pay as much but I
can pay a little...you know, to help you go to a school or... get
something nice. I seem to be able to pay some $500," he finished
triumphantly.
It was the first proposal Latoya had ever gotten. The fact
that it came with a small cash advance in return for citizenship
only made it better. She already knew what color sheets Rashid
slept on, she heard they asked that at immigration in a kind of
Newlywed Game interrogation where they separated the prospective
couples and grilled them on subjects like linen.
What better way to fight the Korean mafia than with an
Iranian terrorist, even if he was retired? Besides, he would
just keep staying at his International House dorm and studying,
and she would be $500 richer.
"Of course. I won't screw you over, Rashid, no matter what
happens. Let's have dinner."
Latoya ran off to change from her horribly soiled travel
clothes, and slipped on Rashid's favorite outfit. She normally
could not stand to wear it, but put on the dog for this special
occasion. Latoya went to the bottom of her dresser drawers and
dragged out a pair of Calvin Klein jeans, a striped mens shirt,
a big V neck sweater, and unearthed a normal pair of white
running shoes. Rashid loved it when Latoya looked American,
and everything but the shoes was a gift from him. With her tan
and trimmed body she almost did look wholesome the hair maybe a
freak of birth and when Rashid handed her his army jacket to
slip on over the ensemble they were both melting with pride.
Continuing the celebratory mood, Rashid and Latoya went to
a small Persian restaurant, where they had lemon chicken soup and
shish kebab. Latoya was pleased to see the concerned proprietor
hovering over a fellow Iranian, beaming when Rashid complimented
him on the soup. Maybe Rashid really was from a better class of
Persian. He knew how to handle the owner and never under tipped.
For a husband, Latoya could do worse she decided.
Fucking Rashid after all that would have been too mushy,
and he was starting to look eager to get home and read some
crazy political philosopher he tried to describe to her. He
tenderly walked Latoya home, and at the door she wondered if the
five bills were up front or after the ceremony. Whatever she
could wait, she realized lavishly. There was still the little
unspent bundle, and everything she wanted was already bought and
paid for.
She could even turn him down. She could always type. Or
could she? Latoya's life had been interrupted. She had always
floated from one office job to another out of necessity, like
those strippers that start at 18 and can't turn back. As a
teenager she'd had more of an appetite for tedium, but as she
got older her fuse got shorter, and she got stranger looking.
Even if anyone would hire her, she wouldn't last.
Latoya tried to think over her options as she changed out
of her wholesome outfit. She was so used to having just one.
Whoever would take her, for as long as she could stand it. She
always thought she looked gorgeous, but as she studied herself
in her new black vampira dress with black suede pumps, Latoya
realized that she was slimmer. She looked more commercial. And
she hadn't even had to shave every hair from her body, or diet,
or slip on one of her three wrinkled office suits.
She had a dream, or a hope, anyway, and before the
inspiration could wear off, Latoya made her makeup more
pronounced, adding liquid eyeliner to the top of her lids and
smearing a light pink cake powder on her face. She modeled her
new leather jacket with the ensemble, and somehow looked both
more glamorous and more like Latoya at the same time. She took a
deep breath, grabbed her purse, and flew to her bar.
"Doll, you look FANTASTIC!" said Ted. Jimmy the Waiter
simply said "Welcome home, Latoya."
"Ted, I have a dream," said Latoya, meaning it.
"Yeah, kiddo? The usual?"
"No Ted, I don't feel like drinking right now. I want to
know if I can work here." Latoya's voice wobbled nervously, she
had a hard time looking Ted in the eyes but fiercely willed
him to listen.
"I'll do anything. Bus tables, bar back, wait tables,
bartend. I've never wanted anything so much in my life. And I
live right near here," she added as an afterthought.
Ted had worked in the Garment District when he was "still
just a customer" at the bar. It had changed his whole life,
getting the bartending job. He had raised a daughter on his
tips, was able to deal drugs safely, and even had his own
favorite bar to go to when his shift was over. The way his voice
changed to describe his life before he bartended at Arturos, as
if he had been living in a state of horror, made Latoya know
that he would take this attempt of hers seriously.
She also knew that this was a real job. You didn't work at
Arturos for just a week, or even a year. He hired you, and that
was it. Arturo did not plot and scheme against his own
employees, or ask them to do anything stranger than transport
food and drinks, in whatever manner they saw fit.
"The customer is never right" was Ted's philosophy, and
Jimmy the Waiter had talked about his own one night. The
waitresses were squabbling, and Jimmy had to step in. Later he
said:
"Arturos is like a fish bowl, I realize." You never
hurried Jimmy.
"Because when you have a fish bowl, what do you do? You
sprinkle in a little food every day. You leave it alone. And you
never step in unless the fish are killing each other."
Ted thought about it for a split second, and looked at
Latoya. She could be obnoxious, but that was sometimes good. If
he vouched for her, his name would be on the line because with
Arturo, his word would be enough. She was looking better
lately, and sounding better.
Since Latoya had stopped working in the daytime she had
more energy and was happier at night, she drank less and seemed
to be listening to other people's stories more. She had some
quality you could trust, maybe it was that she didn't care if
you gave her cocaine or not, if the person next to her was a
wealthy executive or a washed up horn player, if her friends
came to meet her or didn't. It was almost class, this not
caring. She looked a little wild, but fuck it. Ted decided to go
the distance.
"Listen, I'll talk to him." Promised Ted and twirled away.
He didn't treat her to the patter like a customer, which was
a good sign. She didn't want a drink, and tried to say goodbye
nonchalantly as she sailed out. She was trembling. Latoya had
never wanted anything so much in her life. No more mornings, no
more typing.
Filing seemed like a terrible thing that had occurred in the
distant past. She forgot about being a fugitive and walked
boldly through the street. It no longer amused her, or seemed
dramatic.
Latoya spent the time before hearing from Ted productively.
She weeded through all her old clothes. It took her two days
just to get rid of some mismatched socks and one shirt. When
these items were satisfactorily thrown out, she realized that
even if Arturo didn't hire her she would never work in an
office again. She threw out her stretchy wool work suit it was
too big for her now anyway(c)and her ugly shiny blouses. She
chucked a big sturdy gray wool skirt she had saved for a day she
was really a sleepless wreck, and had to look shabby and safe
for an office.
She didn't want to rush Ted; this was something she wanted
no element of chance in. If she nagged or pressured him she
might irritate him while he was still undecided. Latoya spent
some of the time calling everyone and telling them her new
unlisted number, which meant updating her few but garrulous phone
companions on the reason why. Korea seemed like just another
story by now; Latoya just didn't have the energy to keep worrying
about it.
With her new cable television and TV Guide subscription,
Latoya put more time into TV viewing, and boned up on a lot
of the movies she'd missed over the years. After all, if she was
working in a bar she would have to share an opinion on a lot of
these things.
She got a scenic postcard in the mail one day, from General
Delivery in Oregon. It said:
"Spent summer in old house - center, front. Every morning
they'red be seals sleeping on rocks out front. I walk to
the beach each night for sunset."

Latoya had put being a fugitive so far in the back of her
mind that it took her a half hour to figure out that the card was
from Lorrie. She noticed that there was nothing about that puppy,
and wondered if Lorrie had found something new. What a dame.
She got the crucial call:
"Latoya, listen, this is Ted, from Arturo's? Listen, you
wanna get down here tonight and start bussing? Tony didn't show
up again, he had an audition."
"What time?" she asked, trying not to run right out the
door. She squealed with excitement after she hung up, and jumped
up and down hugging herself. A good service job! She had been
right about her country all along. America was great. She looked
on all her previous life as preparation for working at Arturos.
A month ago she would not have dared dream of working her way up
to bartender, but now anything seemed possible.
Ted had saved her life with a gamble, and she would do
nothing to disappoint him. It wasn't so much that she hadn't
liked working for other people, or working at all, she just had
never had a job she could stand. Like most Americans Latoya had
never really wanted freedom, she had wanted a benign and fair
ruler. She did not become eager, but she became more awake.
Latoya threw herself into her service job, bussing tables
and helping to get things from the bar. She never quite managed
to look like somebody who should be carrying food: customers
liked her sullen wisecracking, the affectionate way she insulted
them or kicked them out at the end of the night. She hung around
the bar more and more, and even borrowed an old cocktail mixer
book from Ted.
One night she was leaning forward on the inside corner of
the bar, a pretty middle-aged woman on cocaine insisting on
doing her hair: "Really, hon, you could be gorgeous, I know just
the look for you. I'll leave in all that black and white, and
lift the roots"
Spider was next to her, gabbily drunk from a car exhibition
where the Hells Angels displayed their rigged - up cycles: "Listen,
Latoya, you know I "loveï women with BIG BUCK TEETH! That's why you're so SEXY! Where's Ted? I want some free blow! It's not fair, why should Ted have all the money?"
And when the hairdresser said "Hit me again, Latoya" it
seemed just natural to make her a vodka grape.
Gradually Latoya made more and more cocktails, replacing
the bartenders on their break. One fateful day, only seven weeks
after she'd started, a bartender called in sick. Latoya heard
about it first, and replaced him before anybody had time to
question it. Latoya was a great bartender. That night Latoya
brought home $104, and realized that she didn't even have to
marry Rashid if she didn't want to. And she didn't.
And Latoya never got up in the morning again.

THE END