couldn’t help doing a double take at the wad of bills stacked there. “Geez, mister, what are you doing carrying that much cash around? You got a mugging fantasy?”
Every eye in the diner turned to the money in his hand. The man looked around, then shook his head and leaned forward. “Great,” he whispered angrily in Ellie’s face. “That’s just great! Why don’t you go out and tell everyone on the sidewalk, too?”
Ellie balked and swallowed. “Sorry.”
“How much?” he asked through clenched teeth.
“Let’s see...” Ellie frowned. “The skirt was brand-new. This is the first time I’ve worn it.”
“How much?” he demanded, counting off bills. “Fifty?”
“Well, then there’s my salad and drink.”
“Sixty?”
“And my panty hose are sticky.”
The man inhaled a mighty breath and expelled it noisily. “Here’s seventy-five, and we’re even, okay?”
“Okay.” She took the money, grinning. “Thanks.”
“Do you think I could possibly have my phone back now?”
“Oh, sure,” she conceded with a generous smile, handing him the unit.
He snatched the phone out of her hand and gave her a final glare, then strode out of the deli without ordering. Immediately, he began punching numbers as he walked by the window and out of sight.
“Yuppie scum,” Ellie murmured, counting the bills. “What a waste of good looks,” she continued to herself, stuffing the bills into her wallet. She mopped up the table and herself as much as possible, ordered another soda, then begrudgingly turned to the want ads.
Jobs were plentiful on the north side of town, in Alpharetta. But Ellie didn’t own a car and public transportation hadn’t yet caught up with the economic explosion in that area. She narrowed her job search to the few-mile radius surrounding her Little Five Points apartment. She could ride her bike if necessary, or take the train. The pickings were slim, and the artistic opportunities were nil. She had resigned herself to the waitressing section, when a blocked ad caught her eye.
Wanted: Single women of any age with no current romantic attachments to take part in a four-week clinical study. Minimal time commitment. Above-average compensation. Must be willing to keep daily journal.
Ellie frowned. No current romantic attachment. She scanned the bottom of the ad to see if she was mentioned specifically by name. No, but it looked, sounded and smelled like her. She wondered briefly if it could be a scam to target unsuspecting women, but she recognized the address as a reputable clinic. Shrugging, she circled the ad with a red felt-tip pen. It was worth a phone call. A glance at her watch told her she’d be better off to make the call from her desk.
The rest of the afternoon passed mercifully fast. Everyone had heard Ellie would be leaving, so in between expressing their heartfelt regret, co-workers piled last-minute remedial tasks on her desk. Somehow between photocopying, filing, and delivering mail, she managed to call the clinic to obtain a few vague details about the study.
The woman who answered prescreened her with several lengthy general questions. Ellie had to interrupt the interviewer twice to answer other calls. After paging Joan over the intercom, Ellie feverishly punched a button to retrieve the woman she’d been talking to.
“Sorry—I’m back. Now, where were we?”
“Are you heterosexual, bisexual or homosexual?”
“Hetero.”
“And are you currently romantically involved with anyone?”
“No.”
“When was the last time you had sexual relations with a man?”
Ellie coughed. “Um. about a year.”
“Can you be more specific?”
Ellie sighed. “Fourteen months, five days, and—” she checked her watch “—two hours.”
“Very good.”
Indignation flashed through her. “If you must know, no, it wasn’t very good.”
“That wasn’t a question, ma’am,” the bored screener replied.
Her cheeks burned. “Oh.”
“There will be an information meeting tomorrow evening.” The woman gave her the time and place, and the compensation rate.
Impressed, Ellie counted the days on her fingers until her rent was due, then asked, “When will the study begin?”
“As soon as enough participants register,” the woman told her. “And you’re the most ideally suited caller we’ve had today,” she added cheerfully.
Ellie’s eyes rolled. “I’m thrilled for us both,” she said, then slammed down the phone just as Joan walked around the corner.
“We’re thrilled for you too, Ellie,” she said, fighting a grin.
“How much of that did you hear?” she asked, embarrassed.
Joan started to respond, but was interrupted by a yell from John, the accountant who sat two cubicles over from Ellie. “No more than anyone else, Miss Fourteen Months, Five Days and Two Hours.” Choruses of hoots and cheers all over the department backed up his belly laugh.
Her eyes darted to Joan. “The intercom?” she whispered.
Joan bit her lower lip and nodded sympathetically.
DESPITE THE frightful DAY, Ellie’s spirits rose on the walk home. Yes, it was incredibly expensive to live in downtown Atlanta. Yes, traffic was a nightmare. And yes, in summer the humidity was unbearable. But it was worth every inconvenience to be part of the supercharged atmosphere. Ellie loved the outdoor cafés, the street musicians, the colorful murals, the unique shops. People-watching was one of her favorite pastimes, and the eclectic mix of residents that made up the artistic and somewhat affluent area of Little Five Points always provided a treat for the eyes. Atlanta was a wonderful place to live. Now if she could just find a decent job.
Ellie pulled her keys from her purse as she walked down the hall to her apartment. When a motion in front of the door caught her eye, she gasped. “Esmerelda, what are you doing outside?”
The tabby meowed an indignant reply, and Ellie scooped her up, hurriedly glancing down the hall. Her landlord would probably evict her if he discovered she was breaking the no-pet rule.
“It’s me,” Ellie yelled as she walked in. She could hear Manny in the kitchen. Dumping the cat on the couch, she said, “Esmerelda must have gotten out when I left this morning.” She headed in the direction of enticing aromas, her pet pouncing off the sofa to follow her.
“Naughty puss,” Manny chided, shaking a long finger at the
