by J. J. Murray
Hope reprinted the flyers, changing the sale dates.
Kiki did not give this man a discount.
“He was bay-it,” she said.
Hope felt her stomach grumble precisely at noon. Now that I’m eating again, my stomach has become a clock. “Kiki,” she said, “I’m hungry. It’s your turn to feed us.” She handed Kiki a ten.
Kiki threw on her coat. “I will do anything to leave this place and get some fresh air. Where should I go?”
“I want . . .” She tried to remember some of Dylan’s menus. “Yummy Taco.”
Kiki grabbed her throat. “You want to eat burritos made by Chinese people? Why not get the jerk chicken combo from Golden Krust?”
Hope sighed. She knew from a visit to Yummy Taco years ago that Chinese people did run the Tex-Mex restaurant down the street. “Americans make all kinds of ethnic food, Kiki. The man who started Taco Bell was a white man. So what if the Chinese in Brooklyn are moving in on the Mexicans? Food has no nationality when you’re hungry.” That sounds like a slogan. I may get that one trademarked.
“I have never eaten at Yummy Taco or even thought of eating there.” Kiki said. “But I will try it since I am hungry. What is good there?”
Hope told her.
Kiki brought back two chorizo burritos, two orders of guacamole nachos, and two sodas, and they dug in.
“Not bad,” Kiki said. “But if Mexicans start making Chinese food, On-Gee and I are moving to Jamaica.” She smiled. “If Mexicans made Chinese food, would the fortune cookies be written in Spanish?”
When Hope finally had a chance to check her e-mail, she found an untitled message from Dylan, opened the attachment, and stared at “the kiss.” Too much glare from the left lens of my glasses, and the driver cut off the tops of both of our heads. Look at his eyes staring longingly at my thick glasses. It’s not very romantic. Still, it’s—
“What is that picture?” Kiki asked, having left her stool to stand behind Hope.
“Our third kiss,” Hope said.
“You took a picture of your third kiss?” Kiki asked. “Who does such a thing?”
It does sound odd. “The first two were practice.”
“Did you practice all weekend?” Kiki asked.
Hope smiled, exposing all her teeth. “Yes. My tongue is tired, and my teeth are crooked.”
“Is that all that is crooked?” Kiki asked. “Does his . . .”
That is a bit too personal. “Why are you so interested in my sex life, Kiki?”
“I am curious,” Kiki said. “I had wonderful times with white boys when I was young, and sometimes they were curved to the right, sometimes to the left, sometimes over the top like a finger.” She sighed. “They came at me from all directions.”
Hope laughed. “You’re nasty!”
“I am not nasty,” Kiki said. “I am an open book. I say what I think. Life is too short not to say what you really think.”
I wish I could speak with such abandon. “So you won’t mind if I ask why you are now with a woman.”
“I was wondering when you would get to that question,” Kiki said, “and I have an answer. I am beautiful, no?”
“Oui.” Very. She has more curves per square centimeter than ten women have and lets many of her curves spill out of her clothes.
“I am attracted to beauty in all forms,” Kiki said. “On-Gee is the most beautiful person I have ever known. Therefore, I must be with her.”
That was logically illogical. “You two are really cute together,” Hope said. “I can tell she loves you very much.”
“And I love her very much.” Kiki’s eyes narrowed. “Go ahead and ask the question you really want to ask.”
I don’t have a question I really want to ask. “What if a more beautiful man should come your way?”
“I like how you phrased that.”
What did I say? Oh. “What if a beautiful man appeared in your life?”
“That phrasing was not as fun,” Kiki said. “On-Gee and I have discussed this often. Men instantly fall in love with her every day. She is a tall dream for any man, and she has a body . . .” Kiki sighed. “She is a goddess, agreed?”
“I agree.” It is the truth. Angie should be a model.
“Men only sometimes fall in love with me,” Kiki said. “What can I say? I am an acquired taste.”
I wish I had half of Kiki’s curves. “You know you’re gorgeous, Kiki.”
Kiki smiled. “So you have noticed? I flirted briefly with you when I first started working here.”
She did? “You . . . did?”
“I have a thing for tall women,” Kiki said. “But when you would not speak to me, I stopped flirting.” She smiled. “With you. I did flirt with Dylan, and now that I know he is truly abundant . . .”
Hope frowned and stared.
“I am kidding,” Kiki said. “But I must admit that for a moment, I considered Dylan very seriously.”
Excuse me?
“Do not stare so hard, Hope, or you will hurt your eyes.” Kiki smiled. “He was so persistent in asking me out, and he is very handsome and abundant.”
“He was only asking you out to eat, Kiki,” Hope said.
“Ah, but was he only asking me out for food?” she asked. “Food always leads to sex.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Hope said.
“It does with me,” Kiki said.
It sort of does with me, too. Hmm.
“And I even told On-Gee about Dylan,” Kiki said. “I said, ‘Perhaps he can join us some evening, On-Gee. We will have so much fun together.’ ”
Hope blinked. Kiki is a predator!
“And when On-Gee told me she knew Dylan and had this crush on him years ago, I thought maybe he was the one for us,” Kiki said. “But On-Gee said it would be strange to be with him. She has the greatest respect for Dylan. Her own father died when she was young, and Dylan became in many ways her father. Did you know that Dylan helped her with her English?”
“She barely has an accent at all,” Hope said.
“Dylan is a good teacher,” Kiki said. “He also wrote her recommendations to help her get into college. So we decided not to pursue Dylan. In the meantime, we wait.”
“For what?” Hope asked.
“For whom,” Kiki said. “One day we will find a man on whom we can both agree, and then the three of us will be beautiful together.”
This is beyond my experience. I have enough trouble caring about myself, much less one or two other people.
“And when we find this man, he will be paid very well so neither On-Gee nor I has to work ever again.” Kiki laughed. “I do not know if such a man exists, but until then, we wait and we search.”
“So you’re not strictly, um . . .”
“I am open and I am loving,” Kiki said. “Homosexuality, bisexuality, heterosexuality, they are only labels. I do not like labels.”
“Wouldn’t you be worried, um . . .” Suddenly I feel curious. “I’m trying to understand this possible situation, Kiki.”
“It is an interesting possibility, is it not?” Kiki asked.
Hope shrugged.
“I did not expect you to understand,” Kiki said. “Yes, I would be worried, perhaps even jealous, of a man taking On-Gee’s attention from me, but as long as he loves me, too, I will be content. I would also never let the two of them out of my sight.” She leaned close to Hope’s ear. “You have not had such a fantasy?”
Hope shook her head. “No.” One person at a time exclusively for me.
Kiki spun Hope’s chair around. “Ask Dylan if he has this fantasy.”
“I can’t do that,” Hope said. “That’s his business.”
Kiki shook her head. “It is your business to know your lover’s fantasies. Otherwise, how will you help your lover fulfill them?”
Well, we’re not exactly lovers yet . . .“I hope his only fantasy is me,” Hope said.
Kiki spun Hope’s chair back to the mainframe. “Deep in your heart you kno
w this is not true about any man, but I hope you are right about Dylan. If it is true, Dylan is a rare man, indeed.” She returned to her stool. “If I were you, though, I would ask, just to be sure.”
Right. She wants me to ask him, “So, Dylan, did you ever want to be with two women at the same time?” What kind of question is that for any woman to ask any man? That’s like telling him that I don’t think I’m enough for him, that I know he needs more than I can give him. I am more than enough for him, thank you very much, and as soon as I gain some weight, I’ll be twice the woman he’ll ever need.
I hope.
Hope checked the clock. It’s two, and I have to be at Kinderstuff at three. Now is the time to share my ideas. She stood, stretching her legs. “Kiki, I need to speak to you and Justin about my future plans.”
“You are not quitting this job, are you?” Kiki asked.
“No,” Hope said. “Please go rouse Justin.”
Kiki went over and pounded on the office door. “Hope wants to speak to us!” She returned to her stool muttering “bay-it” repeatedly.
Justin came out, his face red and sweaty. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Yet. Hope hopped up onto the counter. “Kiki, Justin, I will be leaving at three o’clock until further notice. My new hours will be nine to three, Monday through Friday and—”
“You can’t!” Justin interrupted. “We can’t run the store—”
“I’m not finished, Justin,” Hope interrupted. “I will also not be working on Saturdays at least through Christmas.”
“That’s . . .” Justin nearly doubled over. “That’s not possible.”
“Sure it is,” Hope said. “I have worked here ten years, and until this past Saturday, I hadn’t taken a single vacation or sick day. I have over one hundred days saved up, Justin. According to the employee handbook, I am entitled to take them whenever and however I please.”
“Not at the expense of this store,” Justin said, shaking his head. “This store works most efficiently when you’re here.”
And when you’re not here. “We’ll discuss all that in a minute. I know I don’t need to give you a reason for these absences, but because I care, here’s the reason. I will be down the street at Kinderstuff doing and maybe even teaching art to the children there with my boyfriend, Dylan.”
“That is wonderful, Hope,” Kiki said. “I know you will be good at it.”
Justin started to speak.
Hope glared at him.
Justin kept his mouth shut.
“As for Saturdays, I want to sleep in,” Hope said. “I have given up over five hundred Saturdays for this store. I intend to find out what I’ve been missing. I live in Brooklyn, but I don’t really know Brooklyn. So much happens in Brooklyn on Saturdays, and I want to be a part of it.”
“But what will we do?” Justin whined. “Neither one of us knows the machines like you do.”
“You have all the manuals in your office, Justin,” Hope said.
“I know I do,” Justin said, scratching at his hair, “but it’s not the same as actually running them.”
It does help if you actually read those manuals. “For the rest of this week and probably some of next, I will train each of you on every machine in the store. Is that okay, Kiki?”
“Yes,” Kiki said. “I have wanted to learn how to run them.”
“You can’t do this, um . . .” Justin sighed. “You can’t do this!”
For the last time! “Justin, my name is Hope. Why can’t you remember that? Hope. My name is Hope. Rhymes with ‘dope.’ ”
“I know your name, um, Hope,” Justin said, “and you just can’t do this.”
“I am doing this, Justin,” Hope said, sliding off the counter, “and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“I haven’t done your year-end evaluation yet, Hope,” Justin said.
Now he’s threatening me? Bay-it! Hope took several deep breaths to keep from wasting any angry calories. “It’s October, Justin. You do those evaluations in December.”
“Then I’ll start taking notes now,” he said, crossing his arms. “I’ll write, ‘Refuses to work during normal store hours.’ ”
Hope decided to expend a few calories. She stepped within a foot of Justin’s rank, sweaty, red-faced space. “I could say the same thing about you, Justin. Don’t be threatening me about my job. I have so much to tell Mr. Yarmouth about your management style and how often you leave for parts unknown and disappear during normal business hours and hand me your store keys and the deposit only you are ever supposed to make.”
Justin leaned away from her waving hands. “You can’t prove—”
“Can’t prove I didn’t make deposits?” Hope interrupted. “Yes, I signed your name, but I have great handwriting. Your handwriting is la merde, l’excrément, et le pus.”
Justin turned away. “But it’s still my signature.”
“I can also prove you didn’t open the store on Saturday,” Hope said, moving closer to Justin’s odor before stepping back. Ew.
“No, you can’t,” Justin said. “I was here.”
“Friday night’s Internet orders are still in the mainframe,” Hope said. “Did you check those? No. They’re supposed to be our first priority when we open. Saturday pickups are still under the counter. Were you here to sell those? No. The numbers for the copy key counters are the same as they were on Friday. That’s not normal for any copy shop, even on a slow day. Three customers, including a longtime customer from a church, told us they came to the store Saturday to find the door locked between eleven and two. You couldn’t have taken a three-hour lunch. What’d you do, come in, get our messages, flip the sign, and lock yourself in your office?”
Justin backed away from Hope’s shadow. “I was here the entire time.”
“I’m sure you were on the computer in your office the entire time,” Hope said, “and you were locked in with your girls.”
Justin blinked and blushed, his lower lip trembling.
You are busted, bay-it. “You should always close your browser, Justin. You never know who might see where you’ve been and what you like to look at.”
Justin seemed to be looking for a place to hide, ducking and bobbing his head. “You, you can’t prove any of it.”
“Don’t bay-it me, Justin,” Hope said.
Kiki laughed.
“Who will Mr. Yarmouth believe?” Hope asked. “I have been here ten years and you’ve been here a few months. I’m sure he’ll listen to everything I have to say.” It is time to go. “Do you have any questions, Kiki?”
Kiki shook her head.
“Good,” Hope said. “I am leaving now. Tomorrow, you two will learn everything there is to know about the Xerox DocuTech high speed printer. Bye.”
Hope put on her coat, winked at Kiki, and headed for the door.
Kiki caught up to Hope as she stepped outside. “Justin has had girls in his office?”
“No,” Hope said, buttoning up and shivering at the thought. “He looks at porn.”
“Oh,” Kiki said. “No wonder he is so sweaty all the time.”
Hope shivered again.
“And who would have him?” Kiki asked. “What has he been looking at?”
“Interracial threesomes.”
Kiki’s eyes grew wide. “Him?”
Hope nodded.
“Kinky. Two women and one man, huh?”
Hope shook her head. “Two white men and one black woman.”
Kiki’s jaw dropped. “What did this girl look like?”
Hope exhaled sharply. “What?”
Kiki rolled her eyes. “I am kidding. I would not do such a thing.” She shrugged. “Unless the men were abundant.” She laughed. “Go. Do your art.”
She said she was kidding, but I wouldn’t put it past her. Sometimes I wish I could be that free with my body. Of course, you have to have a body before you can be free with it.
Hope slowed her walk almost to a shuffle as she moved down Flat
bush. I need to go slow, calm down, and bring a smile to my first day of school.
Hope opened the door at Kinderstuff and approached an older Asian woman, who wore a gray sweater and black slacks.
“Hello,” Hope said. “I’m here to help with art today.”
“You must be Hope,” the woman said. “I’m Mrs. Sun, but please call me Mei.”
Mei Sun. What a beautiful name.
“They are in the back preparing the room to make papier-mâché masks while I straighten up,” Mei said. “Do you have a smock?”
Oops. “I left mine where I work,” Hope said.
“And we don’t have one your size.” She shrugged. “Dylan never wears one, and whatever he gets on his clothes washes out. Eventually. Give me your coat. I will put it in my office.”
Hope handed her coat to Mei.
“Go on back,” Mei said, “and thank you for coming, Hope.”
Hope moved through a primary-color heaven of posters, shelves, tiny desks, and tinier chairs to a back room where cribs lined one wall and eight little rainbow children wearing rainbow smocks jumped up and down on a plastic tarp covering most of the floor. Dylan stood over a small table nearby mixing goopy white papier-mâché paste in a large bucket.
“There she is,” Aniya said. “Hi, Hope.”
“Hi, Aniya.” I love how this child always smiles! Aniya is light itself.
“Aniya,” Dylan said, “why don’t you introduce our guest artist today?”
“Okay.” Aniya took Hope’s hand. “This is Hope. She is my friend.”
For life, Aniya. “I’m very happy to be here.” She raised her eyebrows to Dylan. “What do you need me to do?”
“Shred paper,” Dylan said. He nodded at a stack of newspapers under the table. “Don’t worry if my young artists don’t make long strips. Their masks won’t be that wide.” He pointed at a dozen small red helium balloons bobbing on the ceiling, their short strings dangling down. “We’ll be covering those today and painting them tomorrow.”
She looked at the balloons. “Why the balloons?”
“Oh,” Dylan said. “I have found that if I blow up regular balloons, my young artists would rather play with them than do art.”
“He’s right,” Aniya said. “We play football and soccer with them.”