Chapter 2

Colleen woke me in the morning, and I observed several disturbing things at the restaurant. One of the cashiers was telling the customers the price was a dollar higher than it really was and pocketed a dollar from most of them. For the few who noticed, she pretended it was a mistake and apologized. Nobody complained to the manager since it was only a dollar. She must have been stealing at least forty bucks a day. ‘Only a dollar’ adds up.

When the second cook started, I noticed that sometimes she would make an extra pizza that hadn’t been ordered. The extras were always for one certain delivery guy, her boyfriend. By the end of lunch, she had given him four extra pizzas, which he probably sold or gave to friends.

When the lunch rush was over and it was time for us to leave, Colleen put two uncooked pizzas in boxes and carried them to her car. She told me, “The company will never miss it. The ingredients only cost two bucks a pizza, and my kids will be hungry after school.”

I was torn emotionally. She was stealing! Stealing FROM ME! But it was only a small amount, and I knew her family really needed it. On the way home she gave the old excuse, “It’s no big deal. Everybody does it.”

It was Thursday night, Colleen’s night off from the diner. Most of her girls were home, but not in a rush to do anything. I was surprised the house was relatively quiet.

I asked, “Colleen, would you like to go for a drink? A glass of wine or something, to relax?”

She walked to the kitchen and took a box of cheap white wine from the fridge. “Let’s have a toast, to celebrate your first day making pizza.”

She poured the wine into two tall plastic cups, nearly filling them. She said, “Let’s go in the bedroom, it’s quieter in there.” The bedroom only held a king-sized mattress on the floor, nine or ten paper bags full of clothes, and an ashtray and alarm clock on the floor. Other than the air mattress I had slept on with Samantha, it was the only ‘bed’ in the house. I realized Colleen and four of her kids had slept on it the previous night.

We talked about the pizza business a long time, then she switched the topic to family. “I work so hard and barely make it. I love my girls, and want them to be happy, but it’s so difficult all the time. My second husband and I were happy until he got into drugs. He was stupid and ... and a cop shot him. I miss him a lot sometimes. Other times, I’m still PISSED OFF.”

We had each drunk three or four glasses worth of wine at that point. Colleen lit a cigarette and I watched her have a few puffs. She chuckled and asked, “So did Samantha get her claws in you yet? Do you want to marry her?” She took another big puff and giggled drunkenly.

“We made each other feel good, and I kind of like her.”

“That’s about what the other girls’ boyfriends think too. Why can’t any of us find somebody decent, who wants to marry us and stay with us? Is there something wrong with me? I give my boyfriends sex or at least a blowjob every day, and even let them in my butt sometimes. All the guys say I’m great at blowjobs, and I have huge tits!” She took her top off to prove her point and I found it difficult to move my gaze away from the massive mammaries held aloft by her overworked bra.

She said, “I need to know what’s wrong with me. Get your pants off and tell me if my blowjobs are great or not.”