all about it.” Boomer nodded wearily. “I mean all about it. They cut a deal with the companies. I guess the banks figure getting paid back at five percent is better than getting ignored at fifteen percent or something.”
Fifteen percent. That would be like a gift at this point. But 5 percent? Lorna didn’t have to get out a calculator to know that the lower the interest rate, the faster the problem went away.
“Any idea what the company is called?”
“He left his card. I’ve got it here somewhere.” Boomer went to the cash register, opened it up, and pulled a business card out of one of the compartments. He handed it across the bar to Lorna.
PHIL CARSON, SENIOR CONSULTANT, METRO CREDIT COUNSELING SERVICES . Beneath that, it indicated it was A NONPROFIT COMPANY .
“Keep it,” Boomer said, looking at her so earnestly, she couldn’t refuse.
“Okay. Thanks.” She put the card in her purse, along with her meager tip earnings for the night, knowing she’d probably forget about it before she got home. “Why’d he give you his card anyway?”
Boomer chuckled. “He wanted me to pass it along to Marcy. I think he’s got the hots for her.”
Of course. Who didn’t? Marcy was a pillowcase-blond bombshell who routinely took home hundred-dollar tips and, occasionally, very wealthy older gentlemen whose needs apparently included size 38 DD silicone fun pillows and discretion. Marcy offered both, for a price.
And it wasn’t a price Phil Carson, nonprofit credit counselor, was likely to pay.
“You should probably try to give it to her,” Lorna said, reaching for the card again.
Boomer put up a hand to stop her. “I did. She took one look at the thing and said no way.” He gave a crooked smile. “I think it was the nonprofit part that turned her off.”
Lorna laughed. “Well, thanks. Maybe there’s some kismet to this. Marcy’s loss could be my gain.” She thought about that for a moment. “Or my loss, depending how you think of it.” She sighed. “I’m off. Remember to keep me in mind for extra shifts.”
“Will do,” Boomer said with a nod. Then he leveled his blue eyes on her, and she felt a wave of his concern come her way. “And you’ll remember to let me know if you need help, right? It’s a tough world out there, and I hate to see a nice kid like you struggling by yourself.”
Lorna smiled, though she felt tears well in her eyes. Impulsively, she leaned over the bar and pulled Boomer into a hug. “Thanks, Boomer. You’re the best.” When she pulled back, she saw his face had gone red straight down to his collar.
“Go on.” He gestured with the wineglass he was wiping. “Get out of here.”
Lorna got home at 2 A.M. As soon as she turned on the lights—relieved that the electricity was on—she went to her computer and turned it on, despite her exhaustion.
She had to un -order shoes from a few Internet sites.
Swallowing a lump in her throat, she switched her browser to Shoezoo.com, a site she had spent many happy hours browsing in the past. One click on MY ACCOUNT , and the words WELCOME BACK, LORNA showed up on her screen.
That usually made her smile, but tonight it just made her sad. And feeling sad about something she knew was so shallow made her feel even worse.
She clicked through to her most recent order—not an easy task, considering there were about twenty-five orders listed—and looked for the CANCEL ORDER button.
It was there. It was small, too. Like they knew their customers well enough to know they’d be reluctant to hit that button.
Lorna hit the hyperlink that opened her order. Pink Ferragamo slingbacks with a bow. She could already picture herself wearing them to some wonderful outdoor summer party, where the men cooked at the grill wearing KISS THE COOK aprons, and the women sipped wine spritzers and laughed at their macho counterparts while children raced around the perimeters of the party, shrieking with laughter as they ran through the sprinkler or
Fifteen percent. That would be like a gift at this point. But 5 percent? Lorna didn’t have to get out a calculator to know that the lower the interest rate, the faster the problem went away.
“Any idea what the company is called?”
“He left his card. I’ve got it here somewhere.” Boomer went to the cash register, opened it up, and pulled a business card out of one of the compartments. He handed it across the bar to Lorna.
PHIL CARSON, SENIOR CONSULTANT, METRO CREDIT COUNSELING SERVICES . Beneath that, it indicated it was A NONPROFIT COMPANY .
“Keep it,” Boomer said, looking at her so earnestly, she couldn’t refuse.
“Okay. Thanks.” She put the card in her purse, along with her meager tip earnings for the night, knowing she’d probably forget about it before she got home. “Why’d he give you his card anyway?”
Boomer chuckled. “He wanted me to pass it along to Marcy. I think he’s got the hots for her.”
Of course. Who didn’t? Marcy was a pillowcase-blond bombshell who routinely took home hundred-dollar tips and, occasionally, very wealthy older gentlemen whose needs apparently included size 38 DD silicone fun pillows and discretion. Marcy offered both, for a price.
And it wasn’t a price Phil Carson, nonprofit credit counselor, was likely to pay.
“You should probably try to give it to her,” Lorna said, reaching for the card again.
Boomer put up a hand to stop her. “I did. She took one look at the thing and said no way.” He gave a crooked smile. “I think it was the nonprofit part that turned her off.”
Lorna laughed. “Well, thanks. Maybe there’s some kismet to this. Marcy’s loss could be my gain.” She thought about that for a moment. “Or my loss, depending how you think of it.” She sighed. “I’m off. Remember to keep me in mind for extra shifts.”
“Will do,” Boomer said with a nod. Then he leveled his blue eyes on her, and she felt a wave of his concern come her way. “And you’ll remember to let me know if you need help, right? It’s a tough world out there, and I hate to see a nice kid like you struggling by yourself.”
Lorna smiled, though she felt tears well in her eyes. Impulsively, she leaned over the bar and pulled Boomer into a hug. “Thanks, Boomer. You’re the best.” When she pulled back, she saw his face had gone red straight down to his collar.
“Go on.” He gestured with the wineglass he was wiping. “Get out of here.”
Lorna got home at 2 A.M. As soon as she turned on the lights—relieved that the electricity was on—she went to her computer and turned it on, despite her exhaustion.
She had to un -order shoes from a few Internet sites.
Swallowing a lump in her throat, she switched her browser to Shoezoo.com, a site she had spent many happy hours browsing in the past. One click on MY ACCOUNT , and the words WELCOME BACK, LORNA showed up on her screen.
That usually made her smile, but tonight it just made her sad. And feeling sad about something she knew was so shallow made her feel even worse.
She clicked through to her most recent order—not an easy task, considering there were about twenty-five orders listed—and looked for the CANCEL ORDER button.
It was there. It was small, too. Like they knew their customers well enough to know they’d be reluctant to hit that button.
Lorna hit the hyperlink that opened her order. Pink Ferragamo slingbacks with a bow. She could already picture herself wearing them to some wonderful outdoor summer party, where the men cooked at the grill wearing KISS THE COOK aprons, and the women sipped wine spritzers and laughed at their macho counterparts while children raced around the perimeters of the party, shrieking with laughter as they ran through the sprinkler or
Similar Books
