Tom was getting ready to flee, but Lola wasn't about to let him go. This little spitfire chased after him like she was the one trying to collect a debt, shouting and cursing as she went, once again showing off her unparalleled gift for verbal abuse.
First, she reinvented herself with her words, then verbally screwed every woman in Mrs. Harris's apartment for free. Then, she turned herself into a spirit medium, summoning the souls of all of Mrs. Harris's deceased female relatives for a free session of spiritual and physical communion. After describing those grand scenes, she was left parched but still persisted, shouting, "Want money? Sure! Let that old witch come ask for it herself, and I'll shove the money right up her vagin! I'm so furious!" To seem more subtle and cultured, she deliberately used the French word "vagin" instead of "vagina."
By this point, Tom and his girlfriend had disappeared without a trace. A neighbor, hearing Lola's shouting, raised the blinds and stuck their head out to take a look. Frustrated and looking for someone to vent her anger on, Lola picked up a pebble and hurled it at them, yelling, "What are you staring at? Get back to bed!"
The neighbor, taking this as heartfelt advice, quickly pulled their head back inside and shut the window.
After her wild tirade, Lola gradually calmed down. She might act like a madwoman, but she wasn't truly crazy—she knew that yelling wouldn't solve anything. But sitting down calmly to discuss things with Mrs. Harris wasn't realistic either. That old witch was clearly out to squeeze her for money; would she even consider talking sense?
Now, only one urgent question remained: should she pay back the $1,800 or not?
Not pay? Mrs. Harris would never let her off the hook. That old hag had obviously made her way to the top in the madam business through some serious connections. Once she set her sights on extorting Lola, she wouldn't let her slip away so easily.
Pay? Lola was unwilling, and besides, she didn't have that kind of money to pay back the old witch. Sure, she could sell her house, but selling her home to pay off a debt she didn't even owe? She'd rather go down fighting with Mrs. Harris.
Lola stood in the yard, thinking calmly for a while, but she couldn't figure anything out. She decided to go back inside and get a good night's sleep.
She was an optimistic girl, carefree to the point of being reckless; even with such a massive debt hanging over her head, she still slept soundly. The next morning, she almost forgot all about Mrs. Harris.
While brushing her teeth, holding minty foam in her mouth, Lola calmly glanced at the book lying open on the table. On the page, a woman in a crinoline dress was delicately pinching the teacup's handle with one hand while supporting its base with the other, smiling at her with elegance. She walked to the bathroom, spat out the foam with a noisy 'gargle,' and thought to herself that she might never become someone like that.
Lola never dwelled on negative thoughts; after brushing her teeth, she happily went off to work.
The morning passed quickly, and soon it was the lunch break shift. Lola was about to grab her meal when she looked up and saw a man lurking outside the floor-to-ceiling window. A long, dried blood scab ran across his face—it was Tom, the man who had been with the woman last night.
Lola pretended not to see Tom's shadow skulking outside. She calmly went to the kitchen and grabbed a chicken wrap—the manager allowed her one free chicken wrap every day. She crouched in the corner, chewing it without appetite, when her coworkers' conversations reached her ears:
"Did you see that guy outside?"
"Yeah, he's been pacing around like a creep all morning."
"Should we ask him what he wants?"
"Who's going to ask? I don't want to talk to that kind of person."
Just then, Lola swallowed the last bite of her chicken wrap. She stood up and wiped her greasy mouth with her apron. "I'll go."
She had a very clear plan: go out, put on a nasty face, and tell the man to get lost. If he didn't want to leave, she'd flash her nails and scratch up his face again. After last night's fight, she'd figured out that, for some reason, this man didn't dare do anything serious to her.
Lola thought it through clearly, even rehearsing a list of curses from different countries in her mind, ready to unleash them like machine-gun fire. But just as she reached the front door, she bumped right into Mr. L.
Today, he was dressed as impeccably as ever, wearing a cool-toned long coat, a white shirt, and a gray vest, with all his buttons fastened up to the very top, and a Windsor knot tie. If an average person dressed like him, they might look stiff and awkward, but he exuded a graceful, noble, and commanding aura. He looked at her, a bit surprised, and smiled, "Who ticked you off? You look furious."
On any other day, hearing such a greeting would have filled Lola's world with pink bubbles, and she'd practically melt into a puddle and cling to him, just to have a chat. But now, with Mrs. Harris's lackey still outside, she didn't want Mrs. Harris to know about her connection to Mr. L—even if they were just familiar strangers. Nor did she want Mr. L to know she had any dealings with someone like Mrs. Harris.
So, she steeled herself, her heart twisting with pain, and put on a nasty expression, coldly saying, "None of your business." Then, brushing past Mr. L, she walked out of the restaurant.
The moment she stepped onto the street, her nose tingled, and hot tears welled up and spilled over. But she couldn't cry—not where Mrs. Harris's lackey could see her lose face. At worst, after she drove the man away, she could go back and apologize to Mr. L, lie, and smooth things over about what had happened today.
But she didn't want to lie to him. Even just saying "None of your business" felt like a deep offense to him. Until now, she had never thought there was anything wrong with swearing or shouting at people. But just now, right at that moment, she suddenly realized how utterly lacking in manners she was.
Mr. L was like a flawless mirror of nobility, reflecting her filth and grime. For the first time, she saw herself as crude, wild, and of lowly birth.
Although nowadays everyone talked about equality, and Lola used to think she was equal to everyone else, she couldn't help but feel unequal in front of Mr. L.
He was so dignified, gentle, and graceful. For him to consider her his equal would be terribly unfair to him—truly unfair.
Lola sniffed, wiped the tear stains from her face with the back of her hand, not noticing that someone behind her had been quietly watching her all along.
——