by Finas, A. G.
“And how are you today?” The clerk asks. But Allie has slipped into a steamy daydream about her reunion with Kevin. At the moment, Allie is imagining it rough- a vision inspired by the presence of this cashier who resembles a better version of her former fiancee. She lets herself imagine being taken and pressed against a wall and bent over and fucked into oblivion, and she lets herself feel the disappointment of knowing that it most likely won't happen.
“I don't think she heard you,” the platinum blond ahead of her says to the cashier.
“ It's okay. She's probably just got the same malfunction as my receipt machine,” the cashier says. The woman cackles at this, startling Allie from her daydream.
Allie realizes she has been staring into the space in front of the cashier. “Oh, hi. Sorry,” she says. She starts putting her groceries on the conveyor belt while stealing glances at him.
The receipt machine seems to have given up. The cashier picks it up, holds it to his ear, then whispers and pets it as though he's comforting a baby or a frightened animal. He sets it down. The machine wheezes and clicks back to life.
The woman in front of Allie squeals in approval.
“Praise Jesus!” fruit and diapers man exclaims.
Allie smirks and rolls her eyes.
The cashier bows. While staring at Allie out of the corner of his eye, he tells his new admirers that, just like a beautiful woman, a receipt machine must be stroked and complimented every now and then, or else it will become grouchy and just laze around, pretending to be dead.
This is weird. He even sounds like a total dick bag, just like Nick, she thinks. Allie wishes she had more groceries to put on the conveyor belt. She pretends to be distracted by a tabloid with a headline about a woman who now weighs less than 100 pounds after having had a 500-pound tumor removed.
The receipt has finally arrived. The clerk rips it and hands it to the blonde and wishes her a good day. He's still staring at Allie but directly this time, calm and still. Allie's heart pounds. I already don't like him and yet... He motions for her to lean in. She does and he whispers into her ear in a low tone:
“Look, before we go any further, we need to address the elephant in the room. I noticed you checking me out and I have to ask- are you-” Allie grimaces and interjects.
“Sorry but yes- I'm kind of married,” Allie says. His chauvinism and grandstanding have made rebuffing him easy. Until recently, she would have let him finish but now, flush with renewed hope for salvaging her marriage, she feels she must beat back advances at the earliest opportunity -especially from ones that look like former lovers she still fantasizes about from time to time. The last thing she wants is to place her fragile marriage at risk of being crushed, even if it makes her seem like a puritanical bitch.
The clerk leans back and chuckles darkly. “ Good for you! I was just going to ask if you were the paper or plastic type. Let's use both. Protect the bag from your sweaty stuff with the plastic. It's important that we use protection, eh 'Kind of Married' Woman?"
“Allie, actually. And-” The cashier interrupts.
“Alley? This is a family store. Not the time or the place to try to lure me into an alley in the hope of having your way with me, now is it? I could have security remove you at the touch of a button, you know. ”
“No. Allie's my name. And just because you made these people believe you brought a receipt machine back to life by petting it doesn't give you the right to be an insufferable ass.”
“Ouch, she bites! How did you know I like to be bitten?”
Fruit and diapers man bursts into laughter. He has no teeth with which to bite anyone.
Allie notices the cashier's name tag and frowns. Reporting him to the manager would lead nowhere because he is...inexplicably...impossibly... the regional manager. Maybe she will mention him to Kevin tonight. Or maybe not. After all, it could get him fired. “Just hurry up, will you Brian Reagan, regional manager with three years of service who is working the checkout lane because he's probably short staffed in more ways than one.”
“Quite an accusation. A true lady would of course be ready and willing to let me to prove otherwise. Though you should know that I usually steer clear of Allies in alleys.”
“Good because it's not gonna happen. Not anywhere.”
“Good,” he says.
“Good,” Allie says.
“Good!” fruit and diapers man says.
Brian grins while holding up a plastic bag with a rotund, smiling cartoon pig in a vest and pork pie hat on it. Inside it are crispy, vaguely flesh-toned food products. Pork rinds. “We have a deal on these, you know. Buy one get one free and you've only got one. I'll have someone get you another bag right away.”
Allie shakes her head 'no'.
“No? What are you going to eat tonight in bed? Look, you and I both know that this bag won't even last you the whole car ride home,” he says.
“Oh no.” Allie says. But its too late. Allie has never eaten pork rinds, has no plans to eat them and has no idea how they got in her shopping cart other than she might have absently picked them out thinking they were some kind of potato chip. He's already on the loudspeaker.
“Marcus, please bring a bag of Fat Daddy brand pork rinds to checkout lane five so this lady will have something to eat in bed tonight.” He makes a show of looking Allie up and down, sizing her up. “Make that an extra large bag, please.” It seems the whole store is looking at them, snickering. Allie looks around for Kevin, expecting this to be part of what he had in mind, but Kevin is nowhere to be seen.
I'm definitely telling Kevin about this jackass.
“Them is good eatin! I'll eat 'em if you don't want 'em!” Diapers and fruit man says, his voice as loaded with sincerity as his personal space is with old cigarette odors.
“Give them to the gentleman behind me, please. Both of them.”
“Atta girl,” the man says as a toddler latches onto his belt loops.
It's a big night and she was too preoccupied by what she hopes will happen to make a grocery list or to pay much attention to what she was picking out. She realized as she roved through the aisles that she was just throwing whatever happened to catch her eye into the cart. But she went with it, figuring that as long as the pile was large enough she'd be able to throw together a suitable meal later. She watches as Brian scans her largely unfamiliar collection of groceries. They might as well belong to a stranger.
Brian is about to scan the last of her items, a bottle of Cabernet but stops. “I'll need to see some ID ma'am.”
Allie sighs. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
Brian smiles as he looks at her driver's license. “Happy birthday,” he says.
“Thank you.”
“What time do you want me to come over to help you celebrate?”
Too bad I'm married and you're a tool. Allie thinks as he hands her card back. If he's like this while he's working, Allie shudders to think what he could be like in private. There is a long, awkward silence. Say something, Allie, she thinks. But what could she say? “The only things allowed in my bed beside my husband are my Fat Daddy brand pork rinds?”
“I'll be fine, thank you,” she says finally. “And no, I won't be needing a receipt, so you can save your heroics for the next customer.” She pays and rushes out of the store.
Seven o'clock comes- no Kevin. Allie sends a Where are you? text to him and tries to avoid staring at her phone. But she can't help it. She isn't hungry, yet she eats her portion of the salmon and is soon halfway through a bottle of an old Cabernet. Except for the ticking of the kitchen clock, the house is mausoleum quiet. Alone on her birthday. Allie's sadness grows with the passing seconds but she smiles as she thinks about the card Gina had given her. “HAPPY GIRTHDAY!” it read. When she opened it, a pathetic paper penis that was much wider than it was long popped out of the center of the card as best it could.
Another glass of wine. She pokes Kevin's room temperature fish with her finger. She fights
the urge to cry by sending another text, this time to Gina. She sends one to her old friend Sarah, who she speaks with about once a year. She pours more wine and waits for replies. When none come, she starts a text message binge, sending 'Hi, how are you?' messages to those who didn't already wish her a happy birthday.
She is nearing the end of her contact list and still, no replies. The battery symbol on her phone has turned jaundiced. She decides that if she had to do it over again, she would have taken up the grocery store clerk on his offer. Hell, she'd have even welcomed the company of Gina's mystery man. And this bothers her.
In her previous life, being alone on her birthday wouldn't have fazed her so much. In fact, she would have welcomed it and used the time to be productive in her studio. The pills. If one was enough to resurrect her sex drive, how many more would it take to restore the higher functions that were critical to being a great artist?
After another glass of wine, she decides to pay a visit to Tommy to make a purchase. A birthday gift to herself. Wait. She puts her index and forefingers to her temples. Tommy- if you're reading my mind right now, please deliver some pills to me. I'm too tipsy to drive. I have cash and will tip you well but not with sex, you pervert. I'm sure you know my address.
Twenty minutes pass. Never mind, Tommy. I'm coming to you. Jeeze. Soon, the cab Allie has called to take her to Tommy's house pulls into the driveway.
The first thing Allie notices is that the doorbell has been restored to its mount. She rings, hoping that Tommy still lives here and is still in business. She wouldn't mind if his mother had moved on, however. She breathes into her hand, hoping that she doesn't smell too much like alcohol.
A pretty, olive skinned woman answers. Her stomach is bulging and she is radiant. Allie guesses that she could give birth at any moment. “Can I help you?”
“Is Tommy here?” Allie says meekly.
“I'm sorry; who are you?”
“I'm a... an old friend of Tommy's. Allie is my name.”
“Allie,” She repeats. “Hold on one moment.”
Shit- I the dress. I should have changed. She probably thinks I'm a prostitute, even with this shawl.
Allie doesn't like the woman's vibe and thinks about running back to the cab and telling the driver to get her the hell out of there. She looks back to her driver, hoping to catch a look from him that will say- Hang in there girl or Get out of there! Run! Or any look at all. Instead, he's talking on his phone. And seems to be looking in the opposite direction.
Allie turns her attention back to the door. It is too late to run now because Tommy has arrived. The woman who answered is beside him. A little girl who looks like a miniature version of her peaks at Allie from behind his leg.
“Hi, can I help you?” Tommy asks. Allie searches his eyes for even the slightest bit of recognition but finds none. Shit.
“Hi,” Allie says.
“Hi. Is there something I can do for you?”
Allie's face reddens even more. Either he doesn't recognize me or he's playing dumb. Whatever the case, I sure as hell can't ask him to hook me up with drugs right now.
A familiar voice cries out in the background. “TOMMY!”
Tommy's mother. Allie hopes that she'll come to the door. She'd remember me for sure. Maybe she'll insist that I use her bathroom for old times sake.
“It's me, Allie. Remember?” Tommy and the pregnant woman exchange confused glances.
“I'm sorry, did we go to school together or something?”
“You know what? No, I...I'm sorry. I must have the wrong house and the wrong Tommy. Sorry to have bothered you,” Allie says.
“No, it's okay. Really,” he says.
The woman whispers into Tommy's ear. Tommy pulls out his wallet, thumbs through it and takes out a twenty dollar bill. “Here, take this. For the cab,” he says.
Allie holds her palms out to him. “Oh no, I couldn't. I'm fine, really. Really. But thank you,” she says.
“Well goodnight then. Be careful out there,” he says as the door closes. She thought she saw a hint of recognition in his last glance. Or maybe not.
Allie has the driver stop at a convenience store where she buys a bottle of wine and a corkscrew. When he pulls into her driveway, she points the corkscrew at the cabdriver's ear. “That radio has been quiet. Too quiet. You should park here and drink with me,” Allie says. “Keep the meter running. I don't care. I've got enough money on me to keep you here with me for weeks!”
“I don't drink,” he says. “But thanks. And if it's alright with you, I'd like to get going. It's my wife's birthday and I'd like to get home to her a little early.”
“Mine too!” Allie cries as she slaps him on his shoulder. “She's so lucky to have a husband like you. I hope she knows that. One who 'members her birthday and all.”
“Well, happy birthday. It's going to be twenty four dollars tonight dear,” he says.
“Yes, happy birthday to me,” she says, clutching the bottle to her side and fighting back tears as she searches her purse for the money.
“This him? This your husband?” The cabdriver asks. Allie looks up from her purse as a car pulls alongside them in her driveway.
“I don't..I don't know. Maybe?” Allie says as she hands him a twenty and a ten. “Keep the change,” she says. “Wait can you stay here a little bit? I don't recognize this car.”
“Sure thing.”
Allie gets out of the cab, clutching her purse and wine. The driver's window rolls down. “Happy birthday Allie,” a smiling man says. It takes her a moment before she realizes who it is. It's Brian, the obnoxious clerk from earlier in the day.
“Stalk much, do you?" she asks. He holds up a bag of something.
“Your pork rinds. The man you gave them to left without them and since I remembered your address from when you showed me your driver's license, I figured this would be as good as any of a place to start before shelling out any money for a lost and found ad,” he says. “Oh and I also have this vintage Merlot. Pairs best with pork rinds, or so I'm told,” he says.
Allie laughs and waves away the cab driver. “ I suppose you can come in for a drink,” she says to Brian. “But just one. And I'll have my eye on you,” she warns.
“You weren't kidding about the 'having an eye on me' thing,” Kevin says, looking at Horus Revisited. “I love this.”
“You do? Really?” Allie takes a big swallow of wine and goes to turn on some music.
“Absolutely. The color choices, the brush strokes. Fantastic. Do you have more of this artist's work?”
“Sure. Most of it's still up here though,” she says, pointing to her head.
“Wow.”
“Surprised?”
He grabs her hands and inspects them. “Somewhat. I'd expect at least a little paint on the hands of someone that talented.”
“Well it's been awhile,” Allie says, pulling away. Change of subject.
By the end of Allie's bottle, they have discovered that they have been to most all of the same reefs for scuba diving trips and they are dancing barefoot in the living room. Dancing was something Allie did regularly in the days when she was painting- with a partner or not. Allie can't remember the last time she did this. They are laughing at something Brian said about pooping in the middle of a dance-off in Aruba when Allie makes a move for the wine that Brian had set down on the coffee table.
He grabs her, stopping her short of the table.
“No! more!” She protests. She lunges toward the bottle but he throws an arm around her waist and pulls her close, turning and pressing her into his body. He smells like a fresh spring evening.
“I WANT SOME!”
“You're going to dance with me some more first.”
Allie points a finger in Brian's face. “You-yoouuuare such an asshole. Suuch an asshole. And did you know that you kinda look like my old fiance but fun...funner...funnerer? Erer! Ha! Wait, let me go. I have to go to the bathroom.”
“You just want more wine.”
He lets her go. With lightening speed, she snatches up the grocery bag and scuttles to the other side of the room, laughing. She peeks in it, laughs some more and disappears into the hallway and then into the master bedroom, locking the door.
“Unlock the door,” Brian says.
“Corkscrew!” Allie demands. “Call the cab because that's where I left it,” she says. “His name is Ron. The cabdriver. You'd like him. Get him to bring it back and then I'll open the door and then the three of us can drink here in the bathroom. Forever. And ever. Amen.” Allie begins humming a tune.