Chapter 7: A Good Deed, Rewarded

As he was leaving, he noticed the young mother cursing the coin-operated detergent dispenser. He walked over and handed her his box, which was three quarters empty.

“Here, please take this. There should be enough powder left inside for your washing today.”

“Thank you. I hate that vending machine.” As she took the box from him, her eyes caught sight of the big bulge in his pants.

“Oh, wow.” To conceal her reaction to him, she shifted her eyes to the container and said, “Lucky! My favorite brand. She favored him with a dazzling smile. My name is Sophie, my kid is Carrie.”

“Sophie, I’m pleased to meet you.” He squatted down to look little Carrie in the eyes. Softly, “And you also, Miss Carrie. You’re pretty, do you have a boyfriend?” Carrie snorted. “No!” But then she laughed. “How old are you?”

“Stop, Carrie. A lady never tells a man her age. It’s a rule.”

Above her daughter’s head, Sophie folded her thumb and displayed the remaining four fingers. Roberto nodded his head, just slightly, so she could see.

Back upright, “My name is Roberto. I live around the corner in the green house on this side of Pardee Avenue. Um. I’m not sure why I mentioned that. That detergent comes from a respectable home, I guess. That means, I’m respectable too. I can provide references. OK, I’ll stop with the babbling.”

“Roberto, I’m from nearby also, not a surprise. Not many good reasons to visit a laundromat across town. Obviously. For references, Carrie’s in a cooperative preschool. So when I work at the school, other parents are trusting me with their small children. And I have the required pediatric first aid certificate from the Red Cross. Now we are both babbling.”

Sophie unloaded another killer smile, right between his eyes. He almost flinched.

“Roberto, I come here a lot of mornings, sadly. I almost never see men here, definitely never single men under thirty. What’s your excuse?”

“In my house (remember, it’s the green one), the washing machine requires three hours to agitate—not clean—a mere half-gallon of laundry. I may be exaggerating a little.”

“A little.”

“So, being so close, coming here makes good sense. I can run multiple machines, saving time. And from what you are saying, I should come in the mornings. So I can tell you and Carrie more about my house. It’s green.”

Now Sophie’s eyes were on the ceiling, as she shook her head.

“Sophie, why do you come here in the mornings where there are no men, and evil machines of non-vending conspire against you?”

“Bad as your washer is, it’s better than mine. Which is completely broken. And the morning schedule is because I work in a restaurant. As a chef, not a waitress, I’ll have you know. But that’s a dumb thing to be sensitive about. The dirty secret about restaurants is that restaurants don’t pay” (glancing down at Carrie) “spit to the kitchen staff. I’d make more money waiting tables, because of tipping. Nobody gets tipped in the kitchen.”