Walking on Broken Glass - Christa Allan [25]
Theresa turned to look at me, and, in that moment of surprise, Cathryn swooped in for the kill, pulled the bag toward her, and then shoved it under the counter.
A few seconds of incomprehensible language later, Theresa focused her attention on me.
“Or maybe not.” I told her.
Now that we were face-to-face, Theresa's youth surprised me. And the Egyptian-like application of her black eyeliner mesmerized me. She pointed one of her cherry red fingernail daggers at my nose. Her bracelets provided background music, “Girl, who asked you to jam your way into my business? Huh? Does this concern you? No. It's your fault that lady got hold of my laptop.” She showered the space between us with sprays of spit as she ranted.
As flattered as I may have been that Theresa thought I qualified as a girl, I realized I might need to stay clear of her for a few days. My hunger prevented me from being intimidated, but I knew my alter ego, Patty Peace at any Price, would have to find a way to smooth this over. Later.
I rocked back and forth, my heel-to-toe distress lullaby, and contemplated the next step. Cathryn chimed in and solved the problem for me.
“Leah, meet Theresa, your roommate. Theresa,” Cathryn grinned with perverse delight. “Leah checked in yesterday. I’m sure she won’t mind showing you to your room, right Leah?”
“Why do people here always ask me questions they either already know the answers to or don’t care to know the answers to?”
Cathryn moved from behind the counter and took the file I held from my marathon of tests. Theresa stomped over to her, her hair beads bouncing like small marbles. A few beads almost swatted Cathryn in the face. “I can’t believe I’m supposed to share a room with Miss Goody Two-Shoes here. She already got me ripped off once. What? You want she should spy on me? This some kind of joke?”
I knew Cathryn didn’t have the capacity for this sort of humor. Theresa and I were doomed.
“I will chew chunks of sheetrock off this wall if I don’t get something to eat soon. Can we postpone this fight until after lunch?” I looked at the clock. Lunch for everyone else ended two hours ago. I tried not to stare at Theresa, who struggled with a wedgie in her abundant stonewashed jeans.
“Yeah,” said Theresa, “I didn’t know them people downstairs wanted to talk so much. I never ate. Where's girly-girl here gonna eat? And don’t give me no ice cream. I want real food.”
So, Theresa already knew about the ice cream. Hmmm. But before I had time to contemplate Theresa's familiarity with rehab, the elevator thumped to the floor, and the morning crew streamed out the open doors and made their way to the rec room.
As the foursome passed us, Theresa yelped and plowed her way over to Doug. His back to her, he never saw her propel herself in his direction. She surrounded his scrawny waist with her spongy arms and squeezed. Any more enthusiasm in that maneuver, he could have belched out a whole chicken. Doug emitted a loud primal grunt and yelled, “What the—”
Theresa released him. “Doug, my man! It's the Mexican Mama! Can you believe this? Both of us back here. How many round trips this make for you, Alkie?”
Doug readjusted his pants, which Theresa had swiveled around his body. “You won’t make too many more if you keep that up. How many of the family jewels you pawned this time?”
How touching. A reunion.
Could I dump food in my stomach now?
Cathryn took Theresa and me to the cafeteria while everyone else attended group. Theresa lifted not one but two eyebrows when the server asked if she wanted her sandwich on whole wheat.
“Lady, if I cared about eating stuff good for me, I wouldn’t look like this,” she pointed to her hips. “Do you have fries? Chips just won’t cut it.”
We carried our trays to a table. Cathryn sat with us and drank her iced tea. I ate my turkey avocado wrap. We didn’t have to squirm in awkward silence because Theresa's frantic food fest entertained us. Theresa didn’t eat her food, she assaulted it. She