The Beautiful Things Shoppe

by Philip William Stover

  He walks over and grabs each of them. “I’ve told you before. They’re called Smurfs.”

  “I don’t care what they’re called. I don’t want them over here,” I say, trying not to look at him.

  He walks back to his side and then stops. “I thought you said you ordered more wood for the potbelly.” He looks at the small stack of remaining logs to the side of the stove.

  I forgot to order wood but I’m not going to let him get the better of me. “We have enough to get through the end of the week. I’ll order it later.”

  “It’s supposed to snow more. You know the truck they use to deliver the firewood won’t be able to get through the alley if it’s covered in snow,” he says taking one of the smaller logs and adding it to the fire I started when I walked in earlier.

  “So what? We have a boiler and the tank has enough oil to get us through until summer if we need it.”

  “That’s not the point. Why burn oil when we can use wood? It’s less expensive to use wood and you shouldn’t rely on fossil fuels. You should be thinking about that.”

  “Should I? Do you think I’m not aware of my carbon footprint? I know exactly what I’m doing so thank you very much,” I snap at him. Just like that we are back to our old dynamic, whether we like it or not. It’s like last night was deleted from the timeline. I watch him take off his coat and as he pulls off his sweater the front edge rises up over his furry midsection and I know that last night happened because I’m feeling the same feeling I felt then. Still, I have to shut it off. In my head I pick up my sabre and shout, “En garde!”

  “You always think you know better, don’t you,” Danny says his voice already louder than it should be.

  I match his volume. “When I’m right, then yes. I do know better. Of course, you make it easy when you spout such nonsense.”

  “Nonsense?” he shouts.

  “You heard me,” I shout back and then we just start screaming at each other until the bells on the door chime.

  Arthur walks in.

  “I’d like to think the two of you would be celebrating last night’s success, but from the sound of things it seems like that’s not the case.”

  Last night. A huge success followed by a devastating humiliation. I’m not sure if I can think of one without the other.

  “What’s going on here?” Arthur asks.

  “Oh, no big deal,” I say not wanting to let Arthur know that we have turned his sweet shop into a boxing ring.

  “Actually,” Danny says before I can add anything else, “we were having a disagreement about ordering supplies for the shop. It seems someone forgot to place an order for firewood.”

  I laugh through clenched teeth. “Oh, Danny. We’ve already gone over this. We don’t need firewood until next week.” My pleasant tone is as fake as the wax flowers he sells in old Coke bottles. “You need to keep your merchandise...”

  “Stop it. The two of you can’t even agree on what you’re disagreeing about.”

  Danny and I both lower our heads like schoolboys caught fighting in front of the headmaster. “I thought last night was a tremendous success. I had breakfast with Serilda and they are already operating with all pistons. Serilda has a phone call in to the mayor’s office.” Arthur smiles each time he says the name Serilda.

  “You’ve already had breakfast with them this morning?” Danny says with a sly tone revealing that he might have the same suspicions I’ve been having about them being a couple.

  “With Serilda?” I ask with a sly smile. “Who was looking absolutely lovely last night I might add.”

  “Yes, they were in that cute little red parka with the trim.” Danny picks up my lead and goes with it. Why is it that when we are on the same path we sort of have this unspoken way of working together? We start asking Arthur a series of questions that make the skin behind his translucent gray beard just pink enough to let us know we are hitting the target.

  Arthur can’t help but release a tight smile. “I did not come in here to be interrogated by the two of you. I came here to update you on the delivery van. There was a small problem with the suspension but the mechanic promises me that it’s as good as new now. I have it parked in the spot around the corner in case you need it.”

  “That’s perfect,” I say. “I need it this weekend.”

  Danny walks over to me and says, “Ah, not so perfect and not so fast. I need the van this weekend too.”

  Far in the distance I swear I can hear the echoey whistles and reverberating brass of the theme song from some classic cowboy Western. I’m ready for a shootout.

  Danny

  “I’ve had this weekend on my calendar for months,” I say. “I need the van. The St. Stanislaw Church Rummage Sale only comes once a year. I always get some major pieces and the elders make me a special order of pierogi, not to mention the pastries. I’m not missing it.”

  “A rummage sale? Are you kidding me?” Prescott asks. I’m growing to love watching his pupils flicker when he gets angry with me. I swear I get him going sometimes just to see the way it makes his eyes dance but I know making him angry is also a way of distancing us from any tender moment we may or may not have had last night. “This weekend is the McKinley estate sale at Brown Brothers. They’re auctioning off some of the finest items to be found this season on the entire Eastern Seaboard. I need to be there. They have a piece of Cunningham pewter that will complete my set. It raises the importance of my collection considerably.”

  “Well, la di da,” I say putting my finger to my nose to raise the tip. “God forbid you don’t have a matched set.” I knew it. This guy is so obsessed with aesthetic uniformity. There’s no way we could ever make it as a couple. I don’t know what I was thinking.

  “Do you see the vulgarity I have to endure, Arthur?” Prescott sighs dramatically.

  “Do you see the snobbishness I put up with?”

  “If only the two of you could see what I see,” Arthur mumbles as he rubs his face with his hands. “Wait, Danny, your rummage sale is in the morning, at St. Stanislaw?”

  “Right,” I say nodding, but wondering what he has up his sleeve.

  “And Prescott, Brown Brothers is doing the auction. They don’t usually start the smalls until after lunch if I recall,” Arthur says, clearly cooking up something in his head.

  “Smalls?” Danny asks.

  “Smalls refers to anything smaller than a biscuit box in the antiques trade,” Arthur explains.

  “Oh, so my Smurfs would be smalls,” I say.

  “The thought that those pieces of plastic would be part of any serious auction house’s collection is beyond ridiculous.”

  “Prescott, please, I’m trying to find a solution,” Arthur says, stroking his beard.

  “What scheme do you have in mind?” I ask.

  “Well since the rummage sale is in the morning and the auction is in the afternoon you could simply share the van,” Arthur says matter-of-factly.

  “But our events are in opposite directions. If I had to drive all the way back to New Hope just to hand off the van...” I start to say.

  “...then I would never make it to the auction in time,” Prescott says completing my thought. The synchronism of the moment does not go unnoticed and it makes me melt a little inside. We are so often on the same path until one of us drives into a ditch.

  Arthur takes off his gloves to warm his hands in front of the potbelly stove. He sighs, turns around to look at us both and says, “Precisely.”

  “Arthur, if this is some reenactment of the judgment of Solomon and you plan to cut the van in half, don’t bother,” Prescott says.

  Arthur laughs. “No nothing quite so dramatic. Prescott, you join Danny in the morning and then Danny, you join Prescott for the second half of the day. That way you don’t have to drive all the way back here. And as a bonus I will donate my time to watch the
shop while you two are out picking.”

  The whole day with Prescott? Avoiding the way his sapphire eyes narrow as he examines an antique? Ignoring how cute he looks when his bangs fall in front of his face and he gathers them with one hand before pushing them back? Making sure that no matter what we don’t have even an inch of physical contact? It’s not a day out with the van. It’s a game of Operation with little chance of the patient’s red-bulb nose not turning on.

  “Absolutely not,” Prescott says.

  I join the protest. “No way.”

  Arthurs frowns and looks at us both. He puts his gloves back on and walks toward the door. “I guess you aren’t interested in bidding on the pewter from the Cunningham Studio that I know would complete your set. And Danny, I’m sure you can wait another year to get your special order of pierogi.”

  I gasp. “Uncle Arthur, you’re not playing fair. You know I look forward to those pierogi more than my birthday.”

  “I have wanted to get that piece of pewter in my collection for years.” Prescott’s voice goes up at the end and he looks at me and wriggles his nose.

  “Then it’s settled. You will share the van,” Arthur declares although neither of us has exactly agreed to it.

  Prescott shrugs and says, “Fine.”

  “Fine,” I say knowing it’s impossible to argue with a man as sweet as Uncle Arthur.

  “See what happens when the two of you work together?” Arthurs says. His face beams like a child who has just been told she can have cake for breakfast. “I’m leaving the keys here.” He puts them down on the table by the side of the door. “I hope you both find exactly what you need.” He walks out the door and waves his hand backward at us as he goes.

  I look at Prescott. He looks at me. I pretend I have no idea what Arthur is talking about.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Prescott

  It’s so cold Saturday morning I think parts of my body might freeze and break off as I walk across the bridge toward New Hope in the dark. Danny insisted I meet him at the shop at the obscene hour of 6:30 a.m. Considering what a jerk he has been to me this week he’s lucky I got out of bed early to be on time. I swear he is the most confusing, annoying, sexiest guy I’ve ever met. I stop in my tracks. Why does sexiest stay on that list? I resume my stride and ignore my last thought. I do not understand how you can go from kissing someone on a bench one night to fighting with them nonstop the next week. I suppose I could have approached the subject and found an adult way to talk to him but it was too humiliating. What am I supposed to do, ask, “Hey, Danny, why did you stop kissing me the other night? Do you find me grotesque or did my breath smell or both?” What’s he supposed to say? It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you stop kissing someone because you do not want to be kissing them. At least he’s being honest in his feelings.

  When I arrive I see that Danny has already gotten the van warmed up and is in the driver’s seat. “Good morning,” I grumble as I open the passenger side door and pop on my sunglasses despite the complete lack of sun.

  “Hello, hello, hello,” he says as if he is about to burst into song. He’s wearing a Fair Isle knit sweater in deep greens and blue. The semicircular pattern makes his already-broad shoulders look even more impressive. His body is so different than mine. I’m toned but thin. He’s thick and strong. I’m in the van all of eight seconds and I’m already focused on his body. Today should be a breeze.

  He hands me a travel mug. “This is a coconut latte to say thanks for getting up so early. I hope that’s what you like. I thought I smelled coconut from your side of the shop the other day, and I remembered you had one when we met with Serilda.” I take the lid off and the comforting scent of coconut warms my nose. Danny really does pay attention to detail. It’s impressive.

  “Thank you,” I say taking a sip of the delicious drink, hoping it will wake me up. Why does he have to go and do something sweet when I’m still stinging from what he did the other night. Could he possible regret the way things turned out? I push the thought out of my mind as he drives out of the parking spot and we start up the road with the river on our right. The sun begins to peek through the gathering clouds and I’m reminded of the ungodly hour. “Did we have to leave so early?” I ask.

  “The sale doesn’t officially start until 8:00, but I like to get there at 7:00.”

  “Are you telling me I could have had an hour more of sleep?” I ask over my sunglasses.

  “I’m telling you the ladies at this church make the best paczki you’ve ever tasted.”

  “I got up this early for a donut?”

  “Oh, so I see you are no stranger to the fried deliciousness of the Polish people. So you know we have to get there early to get them fresh. There is a woman at the church named Kasia who makes them exactly like my mom made them growing up.”

  The sun begins to poke through streaks of gray and the barren trees look almost black in silhouette. It feels like we are the only car on the road.

  “Is your mom Polish?” I ask. It’s not like me to just blurt out a question like that. The thought sort of bubbled out on its own. I realize I know very little about his background except his father is a chef of some sort. I think.

  “My mother’s whole family is actually from Poznan in Poland but most of my Dad’s is from Mexico. I actually grew up eating a combination of paczki and the conchas my aunt made sometimes. I suppose you’re familiar with conchas as well,” he says raising one eyebrow.

  “As a matter of fact I am and I prefer the pink variety,” I say letting him know that I’ve eaten my share of the sweet soft dough.

  “I’ll make a note,” he says and his eyebrow lowers.

  “Did your mom work?” I hope it isn’t too personal a question. Am I supposed to ask this differently? I never know.

  “Oh, my mom did this and that,” he says not really giving me an answer. I told him my dad was a blackjack dealer so I can’t imagine his mom did something I would look down upon, but I guess I still give off a snobby impression sometimes.

  Small clusters of ice move down the river in the opposite direction we are headed. The roads are clear but frozen mounds of icy plowed snow line the edges. I take a sip of the latte to abate the chill that threatens from the outside.

  “This is delicious. Mona really outdid herself. I didn’t know the Honeysuckle was open so early on a Saturday.”

  Danny grins and checks something in the rearview mirror but I think he might be catching a look at me so I turn my head just a bit making sure I’m showing off my best side.

  “I made the latte myself,” Danny says raising his eyebrows just a bit.

  “You made this?” I ask, my voice rising at least half an octave.

  “I’m not just a handsome burly shopkeep. I’m also an excellent at-home barista.”

  I take a sip and say, “Thank you. It’s delicious.” I don’t tell him my surprise isn’t in his ability, it’s in his generosity. Although when I think about it, I shouldn’t be surprised at all. I constantly watch Danny opening the door for people, taking extra care to wrap a package or giving a discount when someone is in a bind. Danny got up extra early to make something he knew I would enjoy. I take another sip of my latte and let the sweetness linger on my tongue. It makes me think of the sweetness of feeling his tongue against mine. Why can’t I stop thinking about that kiss or the devastating way he ended it? If only I knew why? Of course I could come right out and ask him but that’s way beyond my psychosocial abilities. I’m still treading the water with small talk. Still, I wish I had some insight about what’s going on in that handsome head of his.

  After driving for almost an hour past snow-covered forests and frozen ponds we start down a road that climbs to one of the highest hills in the area. The trees begin to thin and the land becomes open and unending with snowy whiteness creating soft blankets across the empty fields. An impressive brown and
gray stone church with a bright red arched door sits at the top of the hill. As we get closer I notice a string of icicles have formed just above the front entrance. Danny parks in the back near the church hall entrance, and once he does I tell him I’ll wait for him in the van. The less interaction I have with him, the better. I don’t want my heart getting any more ahead of my brain.

  “It’s freezing, Prescott. They have a great little cafeteria. Just come inside,” Danny says. Waiting in the van might cause hypothermia. Still, it’s a tough call.

  “Fine,” I say and get out, but before I close the door I see Danny running over to a woman standing in front of the open tailgate of an ancient station wagon.

  “Kasia, do not even think of lifting those heavy boxes. I was hoping I would beat you here. Remember how you hurt your back last year?” He grabs a box out of her station wagon. “You just go inside. If you see Andrej you tell him he is not to try moving that speaker again. That’s why I’m here. I can’t have my favorite church elders in the ER.”

  I thought Danny would be making a beeline for donuts and ugly knick-knacks, but that isn’t what’s happening at all. We didn’t get to the rummage sale early this morning so Danny could leap on the bargains or taste fresh donuts like he said. We got here so he could help a bunch of seniors who seem to adore him and rely on him.

  I’m on to you, Mr. Danny Roman.

  Danny

  Prescott walks toward the church hall as I carry the sewing machine Kasia has brought for the rummage sale across sporadic spots of gravel and ice. She might as well be selling a Buick because it would weigh as much.

  “Thank you Danielek. That one’s a little heavy. You have certainly earned your pierogi this year. You still like extra cheese?”

  I nod. Prescott calls to me, “Danny, do you want help with that?”