The Hungry House Read Online Free PDF Page A

that matter. It could lead to some sort of trouble.
    I had several telephone messages on my cell from my friends who wanted to take me out to dinner to discuss my good fortune. I called Betts, who was the unofficial ringleader of the group.
    “We want to know everything about your dinner . Spill the beans, girl.”
    “Well, in all honesty, I’m too tired to spill the beans right now . I just got home, and I still need to study.”
    “Just got home! Who was there?”
    “Several other people, for your information. I’ll tell you all about it, Saturday at noon. Rimsky's okay?"
    " Saturday! That's two days from now." She sounded desperately devastated by the prospect of waiting. "Okay. Sure. I'll pick you up at 11:30?"
    "Fine."
    When Saturday morning came, I felt grateful to put on a pair of jeans and any old shirt. I had slept until 10:45 and found Mom sitting in the living room with a book in her lap.
    "Why didn't you wake me?"
    "You need your rest. If they had to wait for you once, it wouldn't kill them."
    I hated tardiness in anyone, including myself. I jumped into the shower. I was ready to go and making my bed at 11:10.
    "How are you feeling this morning, Mom?"
    "Well, actually, I feel pretty good. I went for a slow walk yesterday and took a nap in the afternoon. Walking is good for me."
    "Just don't overdo it."
    "I'm not exactly running, dear."
    I noticed that her face was already starting to look less haggard, less worried. There was some sparkle in her blue eyes. I vowed that I would keep the new job. It was my Mom's ticket out of poverty and drudgery. It simply had to work.
    The familiar sound of Bett's car horn interrupted my thoughts.
    "'Bye Mom. " I gave her a quick peck on the cheek.
    Upon arrival at Rimsky's, we ordered our coffee drinks and sandwiches and sat down at a table. The coffee shop was a large older home, whose interior decoration was somewhere in between funky and delightfully decadent. It teamed with the usual suspects--a rag tag assortment of well-dressed couples, old hippies, young hipsters, wannabe hipsters, old school punk rockers, and unremarkable high school and college students. Ordinarily, we all loved Rimsky's for its people-watching opportunities as much as its delicious drinks and pastries. Today, all three of my friends sat sipping their drinks and smirking at me.
    Bett s started the inquisition. "So--we heard you got the job and that you're moving and that he took you to Genoa's." She raised her eyebrows up and down a couple of times in her best Groucho Marx imitation. Betts and my mom were very close and often spoke on the phone.
    "Yes, that's what we want to hear about, Frank and his Mercedes, etc., etc. Give it up." Eileen chimed in.
    I could feel myself blushing. "There's nothing really to tell. I have a job helping Mrs. Black run the house and we're moving into the guest cottage.
    "Actually," Betts said , "Vicky, we're a little worried about you. You know how we used to tease that you should never be allowed out, because you're such a stunner? Well now, you are really out, with a capital "O," and we're a little worried about you. Can you trust this Frank guy?"
    To my everlasting dismay, unexpected tears fell down my cheeks. Oh, and I had planned to be so cool, calm, and collected about all of this and keep it to myself. Cool, my ass!  Who am I kidding?  I used a paper napkin to dab my face.
    "Oh , what's wrong?" Jennifer had put down her snack, and sympathetic tears began to form in her own eyes.
    "Oh --all right. I might as well tell you. But you can't tell anyone ." I knew I could trust them.
    I looked around the coffee shop. No one was paying attention. I lowered my voice. "I hope that he's just trying to do something kind. Supposedly, I'm working for Mrs. Black, but I'm not so sure, because there's something about him I suddenly don't trust. For one thing, he seems to have a mercurial temper. I have to make this work for my mother's sake. It just has to. She can't work