The Store

by Bentley Little

  "Well, a representative of The Store has formally submitted a written request for the new lane, and our own traffic study has confirmed that the restriping is indeed inadequate for the flow of traffic generated by The Store."

  He cleared his throat again. "Which is a fancy way of saying that we are legally obligated to construct an access lane running from milepost 260 to The Store entrance."

  "Where are we going to get the money for that?" Hunter Palmyra asked.

  "Staff has proposed that we cut back on street maintenance, park and recreation programs, and other nonessential services. In addition, we should consider increasing building permit fees and dog licensing fees, charging for fire calls and police calls that don't result in action by safety officers false alarms, basically -- and we should look into contracting out specific services that are currently performed by town employees."

  "I, for one, would like to see a breakdown of each proposed fee increase, and how much we would save from eliminating each program, service, or job position." Palmyra said. "I don't think any of us have enough information at our disposal right now to be able to intelligently address this issue, much less make any decisions."

  "I make a motion that we postpone discussion of the revenue shortfall until our next meeting," Bill Reid offered, "and that staff provide us with the appropriate reports."

  "Seconded," Palmyra said.

  The mayor nodded. "Let's put it to a vote. All in favor?"

  The hands of all five council members went up.

  "All opposed?"

  No hands.

  "The motion has been carried unanimously."

  Ben leaned over. "That means it'll be 'old business' next meeting," he whispered. "The public won't be able to comment. Pretty clever, huh?"

  Bill did not respond. This whole meeting, the way it was being conducted, the subjects that were being discussed, none of it sat well with him. These five men -- two of them real estate agents, one a developer who had only moved to Juniper three years ago, one a retired civil servant from back East, one a retired AT&T supervisor -- were cutting jobs, laying off local workers, changing the entire face of the town in order to accommodate The Store. It wasn't right, it shouldn't be allowed to happen, and he wanted to stand up and make an impassioned speech on behalf of the local citizens and their rights and their concerns, but he didn't know what to say or how to say it, and he remained silently in his seat.

  The mayor looked down at one of the papers in front of him. "Do I have a motion on the turn lane?" he asked.

  Dick Wise nodded. "I make a motion that we accept the drafted resolution as is and encumber the funds to complete the highway construction contractually required of us, the contractor who will perform the work to be determined by the bid process."

  "Seconded," Bill Reid said.

  The motion was passed unanimously.

  The mayor shuffled through the papers before him. "In a somewhat related matter, I have here a petition signed by downtown businesses and shopkeepers.

  All of the merchants on Main and Allen streets." He looked to his left, then right, at the other members of the council flanking him on the dais. "I trust you all have your copies?" Assenting nods. "Very well, then. The petition asks us to either lift our current sign ordinance or allow temporary exemptions to the ordinance. Specifically, we're being asked to allow banners to be placed in front of stores or business, on the building fronts or on light poles."

  Bill looked around the council chambers. "How come none of the merchants are here?" he asked Ben. "Where's Street?"

  "How come it's not on the agenda?" the editor replied. He shook his head.

  "They're trying to pull a fast one here. This'll be my top story. I'm going to nail their asses on this one."

  The mayor glanced over at Ben. "Pursuant to Section Four, Paragraph Five of the Juniper Town Charter, I make a motion that the petition and its request for changes, exemptions, and/or variances to the sign ordinance be added to the agenda."

  "Seconded."

  Passed.

  "We will open this matter for public discussion," the mayor said.

  A quiet, nondescript man who'd been sitting unobtrusively at the back of the audience stood, walked to the podium.

  "Please state your name and address," the mayor said.

  "My name's Ralph Keyes. I'm here as a representative of The Store, located at 111 Highway 180." The man's voice was smooth, confident, with no discernible accent. "I would like to state for the record that we feel allowing exemptions to the existing sign ordinance would give preferential treatment to certain businesses and would constitute unfair competition. If such a course of action is taken by the council, we would be compelled to protest this matter and proceed to litigation. In our opinion, it is not the town's responsibility to promote or champion individual businesses." He spread his arms, smiled insincerely. "This is supposed to be a free country with a free market system.

  By its very nature, this means that some businesses will succeed and other businesses will fail. It is not government's responsibility to intercede on behalf of individual merchants merely because they are floundering in the marketplace." Keyes nodded respectfully. "Thank you, Mr. Mayor."

  He returned to his seat in the back of the council chambers, and the mayor glanced over the sparse audience. "Does anyone else wish to speak on this matter?"

  Bill stood, walked to the podium.

  He didn't think about it, he just did it, and he was not even sure what he intended to say as he faced the council.

  "My name is Bill Davis," he said into the microphone. "I live at 121 Rock Springs Lane. I heard what Mr. Keyes said, and I understand his position and the position of The Store, but I have to tell you that I disagree with him one hundred percent. By your own admission, the council provided incentives to The Store in order to lure it to Juniper. Rules were bent or ignored, exemptions were granted. I think all our local businesses are asking is that they be given the same latitude, that they be allowed to compete on a level playing field. I mean, you're building _roads_ for The Store. The least you can do is let some of our local merchants hang signs in front of their shops so that people will know what they have, what they're offering, what's available. It's not an unreasonable request. And as for this idea of government intervention, you were elected by the people of Juniper to do what's best for the town of Juniper. I think that means you should extend a helping hand to our local businesses the same way you did to this national corporation. _That_ would be in the best interests of your constituents. _That_ was what you were elected to do."

  The mayor nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Davis, I, too, wish to state my unequivocal support for our local merchants and businessmen. They are indeed the backbone of our town. Unfortunately, though, our Master Plan specifically prohibits the exhibition of signs and banners of the sort requested in this petition."

  "The Store didn't have to follow _any_ of the Master Plan!"

  "No, that was a special case. We made an exception to the rule. But we are not going to change that rule simply because we did grant that one exception.

  And, I may add, The Store is now the largest employer in Juniper. I don't think I'm overstating the case when I say that our local economy hinges on how well The Store does. We knew that going in, and that was why we offered the incentives. To bolster the economic strength of our town."

  "But you just said the town has less money, is going to have to cut programs and lay people off. Our local businesses are dying --"

  "Your time is up, Mr. Davis. Thank you for your comments."

  "I'm not through."

  "Yes, you are."

  "I'd like to be granted an extension."

  "Denied. Please sit down, Mr. Davis, and allow others a chance to speak."

  There were no others, and after a quick discussion among themselves, the members of the council voted to deny the request of the petitioning businesses.

  Ben smiled cynically. "Democracy in action."

  Bill shoo
k his head. "Assholes."

  He sat through the rest of the meeting -- routine business that offended no one and affected no one and sped quickly by. Afterward, he quickly got up out of his chair and started toward the back seats. He wanted to talk to Keyes, the Store representative.

  But though he had seen no one leave the chambers, though neither door had opened or closed, Keyes was nowhere to be seen. Bill hurried outside, scanning the small parking lot, but it was empty.

  The man was gone.

  2

  Bill sat in front of his computer, brooding.

  He stared at the page of instructions he'd just completed. The program for which he was writing documentation was going to put several people out of work.

  Hell, it might even eliminate a whole department. From what he could tell, this accounting system could probably be run by two people -- a supervisor and a data entry operator -- instead of however many individuals made up the current accounting staff at The Store's corporate headquarters.

  It was something that had always been in his mind, the knowledge that his work was contributing to the "downsizing," "rightsizing," and "outsourcing" of America, that while he had a good life and a good job, they came at the expense of others. His company's systems were designed to replace people with computer programs, to decrease payroll costs and increase profit margins, to boost returns to stockholders without regard to the individuals who actually worked for a corporation.

  But it was not something he had really focused on until now.

  It was The Store connection that had really brought it home to him, that had made him realize how basically parasitic Automated Interface was. The ironic thing was that although he was indirectly helping to put people out of work, his job was pretty damn close to superfluous. Theoretically, documentation was necessary. Customers needed to be provided with instructions and descriptions of the software they purchased so that they could install it in their computers and use it. But the programs these days were pretty self-explanatory, the people who bought them were usually computer literate, and if users had problems they usually just called up the toll-free customer service number and asked questions of the support staff.

  Most of the documentation he wrote sat in impressive-looking binders, untouched, on customers' shelves.

  It was a depressing situation, and one he felt guilty about, but there was little he could do to change it. This was his job. He had a family to help support -- they certainly couldn't survive on Ginny's salary alone -- and he possessed no other skills, certainly none that could land him gainful employment in Juniper. At the very least, they'd have to move to a bigger city, someplace where he might be able to catch on at a large company. It was highly unlikely that another employer would allow him to telecommute and work out of his home.

  Besides, he liked his job.

  He felt guilty about that, too.

  He wasn't in the mood to continue working on computer instructions, so he saved what he'd written on both the hard disk and a diskette, then toggled over to check his E-mail.

  There was a message from Street, and he called it up:

  You are God, buddy! I heard about the council meeting, and I want you to know that all of us downtown are pretty damn impressed with the way you stood up for us. Especially for a guy who always did his shopping in Phoenix!

  Thanx for stating our case. Every little bit helps.

  Want to join the recall effort?

  How about chess tonight?

  He smiled as he read the message. Maybe he wasn't such a traitor after all. He sent Street a message agreeing to a computer game, then signed off. He stared at the blank screen and found himself wondering what would happen if Street lost his store. Would he be able to find a job here in town, or would he have to move? It wasn't just an idle question anymore. There'd been a seismic shift in the economics of Juniper, and the shift was permanent. The Store wasn't going anywhere, and whatever business couldn't coexist with it would be killed.

  Street might survive, because his shop carried a broad range of seldom needed electronic parts that it probably wouldn't be economically feasible for The Store to stock. But a lot of the local merchants carried a small selection of mainstream goods, and not only did The Store sell those items for a cheaper price, it offered a wider selection. Those businesses wouldn't make it.

  The phone rang, and Bill answered.

  It was Williamson James.

  "Thank you," he said. "Thank you for posting my ad on the computer."

  "What happened?"

  "I found a buyer for the cafй."

  "That's great. Who?"

  "You're not going to believe this."

  "Who?"

  "The Store."

  Bill was silent.

  "Are you still there?" the cafй owner asked. "Bill?"

  "I'm here," he said, and he tried not to let the emotions he was feeling into his voice.

  "They're paying big bucks, too. I'm really lucky. Really _really_ lucky."

  Bill closed his eyes, held the receiver tightly. "Yeah," he said finally.

  "You are."

  3

  Ginny walked in from the bathroom, drying her hair, and glanced over at Bill on the bed. He was sitting up against the headboard, an open book in his lap, but his gaze was distant, far-off, not on the pages in front of him. She tossed the towel on top of the hamper. "Hey," she said, walking over. "What is it?" Bill looked up at her. He shook his head, put his book facedown on the nightstand next to him. "Nothing."

  "Something." She sat down on her side of the bed and picked up a container of moisturizer from the nightstand, opening it. "Tell me."

  "It's not important."

  "Suit yourself."

  He smiled at her in his best adoring housewife manner. "So how was your day, dear?"

  She started spreading the moisturizer on her face. "Except for the students and Meg, it was fine."

  "That's nice."

  She paused. "You know, it's weird. The past week or so, the kids have seemed completely different. Ever since Easter vacation. They were only out for a week, but it's like they were gone for a year. Now they all dress like gang members, with the big pants, the baggy clothes. . . ."

  "Fads change. You know that." He chuckled. "So the MTV influence has finally penetrated our little town."

  "It's not that. It's . . ." She shook her head. "I can't explain it, but something's changed. They don't just look different, they're acting different."

  "Come on --"

  "You don't know these kids. I do."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Their parents all bought them exactly the same clothes. Those clothes."

  "If they shopped here in town, of course they're all going to buy the same clothes. There's not much of a selection."

  "That's just it. These aren't Juniper, Arizona, clothes. These are New York clothes. South Central L.A. clothes. And it's not just a fad. It's more like they're wearing . . . a uniform. It's not like they want to dress this way, it's like they have to dress this way, like their parents and their friends and everything are forcing them into this, requiring it of them. The peer pressure factor's way up all of a sudden." She sighed, started again spreading the moisturizer on her face. "I don't like it."

  Bill was silent for a moment. "We made a mistake," he said finally, and his voice was serious. "We never should've let Sam work at The Store."

  She'd been thinking the same thing, but it felt strange hearing him say it, and she felt obligated to defend her daughter. "It's what she wants to do.

  Besides, she's eighteen. She's an adult. She has to live her own life."

  "She may be eighteen," Bill said, "but she's not an adult. And as long as she lives in our house, under our roof, she's going to follow our rules."

  "So you want her to quit?"

  Bill looked at her. "Don't you?"

  "I don't think it's my decision to make."

  He sighed. "You're right." He leaned back against the headboard, looked up at the ceili
ng. "I don't know what to do."

  Ginny put down the jar of moisturizer and scooted next to him on the bed.

  She put a hand on his leg. "Maybe we should both talk to her."

  "No. She does need to earn money for college. Besides, if we forbid her to work, she'll just resent us for it. She might even do something . . . I don't know, drastic."

  Ginny smiled. "Are you sure you don't have her confused with Shannon?"

  "Sam's more like her every day."

  So he'd noticed, too. Ginny thought of the way Sam had treated that customer at The Store, the almost surly attitude she'd had around the house lately. This behavior wasn't like their daughter, and it worried her. "Maybe she'll figure it out for herself," Ginny suggested. "Maybe she'll quit on her own."

  "Maybe," Bill said doubtfully. "I hope so."

  "I do, too," Ginny said, and a chill passed through her as she thought of the black convoy. She snuggled closer to Bill. "I do, too."

  TWELVE

  1

  Aaron Jefcoat sat in his police cruiser, in the parking lot of Len's Donuts, finishing an apple fritter before beginning his midnight tour of the town. He'd had over a week to think about it, but he still wasn't sure how he felt about his wife working. He glanced over at the photo of Virginia he'd mounted in a clear plastic frame atop the dashboard. The picture had been taken a long time ago, before she'd had the boys, and she looked damn good in it. She still looked damn good, he thought, but the photo captured her in her prime, the way she'd looked when he'd married her, and it was a reminder, in case he ever forgot, of the way she had changed his life.

  She'd had a job when they'd met. She'd been a carhop at Big Daddy's Diner, the old teenage hangout that had been torn down in the seventies to make room for KFC. But she'd quit working when they'd married to become a housewife, and she'd been responsible for taking care of the house, and later the kids, while he brought home the bacon.

  It had been a fair division of labor, and it had worked now for over twenty-five years, but last week, all of a sudden, Virginia had decided that she wanted to go back to work. She wanted to get a job at The Store.