by Wright,Lulu
Visual will save you some mannequins in their office on six.
Finish set up by noon.
Mr. Stewart, Men’s Basics Manager
I ball the note up in my fist. “How long does his meeting last?” I ask Mona through clenched teeth.
“Til about noon he told me.” She shrugs, attaching a pricing sticker to a pair of yellow socks.
Of course the meeting will last until about noon. That way he doesn’t have to help me with all the heavy lifting he just assigned me.
I stomp off to the freight elevator and find the flat is there as promised. It looks ancient and, as I test the wheels, I hear an annoying squeak. “Awesome,” I say to no one in particular.
By the time I make it back to the Men’s Department from the sweltering, haphazard mess in the basement, my black clothing is covered with grime and I’m drenched with sticky sweat. But I don’t stop to catch my breath. I prop the towers up, add the glass and trays. Next I wrestle the mannequins I picked up from visual (carefully selected for me by a crazy goth girl working that floor, who introduced at least two of the mannequins as her “boyfriends”) into position. I select a pair of briefs and a pair of trunks. Dressing them is like dressing an unconscious person with joint problems.
I fill the towers with stockroom merchandise in record time. By the time I finish, it’s 11am, an hour before Jack’s stupid deadline. I am a merchandising goddess.
“That looks great,” Mona says. “Everything is so tidy.”
“Thanks.”
I stand back and admire my work. “I think we are going to sell a lot of manties from here, Mona.”
I walk her through what I did so she can pick up tips for when she’ll have to do this, after I’m gone. “You see,” I say, pointing at the mannequins. “I dressed them in our newest line Pump. I picked colors that will get attention.”
Mona giggles. “You think men are going to buy pink underwear?”
“I bet anything you sell at least a dozen pairs today.”
Mona is wide-eyed, but impressed. “Really, that many?”
Suddenly, I am bursting with love for her. My poor little trainee has been through a lot over the last couple of weeks, and I’ve been too distracted with all my Jack-spats to treat her right. “I’ll tell you what,” I say. “If we sell more than $10k tomorrow, Flash Fit will treat you to dinner after we close. Deal?” She doesn’t need to know that the treat will be on me.
Mona hugs me again, because she’s Mona. “I am gonna sell that $10k myself,” she promises.
Before I head off to my section, I stuff Jack’s underwear under a pile of socks in the stockroom. Saving that little gem for later.
6
Jack
“Focus people. We have a lot to go over today.” Mr. Beckman, our store manager, knocks on the table to get our attention. We are his prisoners, trapped in this stuffy meeting room with stale coffee.
The Tuesday morning department manager meeting is normally a waste of time. But today is no normal day.
It’s the day before the Fab Fall sale event, the first big sale of fourth quarter. One of the largest sales events of the year. My clipboard contains a nearly-endless list of to-dos, and only a single drawing of Bart Simpson playing an electric guitar.
“Let’s review the 4th quarter sales plan again. We need to talk about our goals.”
I suppress a groan.
Mr. Beckman doesn’t care if we hate this. Or him. Everyone around the conference table shifts in their seats and steals peeks at their phones. Beckman just steals peeks at the chests of the younger, female department managers.
“Turn to page five for the planned volume by department,” he barks. “We are going to go around the table and each of you will tell me how you will hit that number.”
As everyone groans, I glance at my phone under the table and see Miss Brook has sent me a pointed little manifesto regarding direct communication with her instead of her boss.
Somehow she managed to use the words “Professional” “Courtesy” and “Fuck” all in one sentence. You have to admire that. I shoot back my own rant about professionalism—without the curse words, of course, but agree to communicate with her directly in the future.
Then I forward her the dress code in another email. Again.
The second I hit send, I receive a text from Crystal.
“OMG check this out!” it says with every bouncing, smiling emoticon available on her phone. She has sent a picture too. I hover my thumb over the icon to open it, not sure I want to. Perhaps it’s a kitten. For some reason she sends me a lot of pictures of baby animals. I don’t get it.
But it’s not a kitten. Or a baby sloth. Or a bear cub.
It’s the scariest picture I have ever seen in my 28 years on planet earth.
It’s Crystal in a wedding dress.
“Problem, Mr. Stewart?” Mr. Beckman frowns at me. “Is there something more important going on that needs your attention, Mr. Stewart?”
Hell, yes. “Um, actually, Mr. Beckman, I have an emergency.” I rise from my seat. My coworkers’ stares have shifted from pity to envy in record time. “I’m really sorry about this, sir.” I slap the outerwear manager on the back. “I’m sure Tim here will fill me in.”
Tim smirks, but he’s a good wingman. “No problem,” he says with a wink. “I’ll take copious notes.”
I’m going to have to buy him a couple of drinks later.
I leave the executive office, rush to the elevator and jam my thumb on the button with fury. As I wait, I can’t decide if I am more annoyed at Crystal or mad at myself. I have allowed this to go too far. No more vague denials. No more avoiding the issue. She blackmailed me into a relationship and I’m done.
I pound out a text to her so hard the screen should crack.
“MEET ME AT THE RECEIVING DOCK.”
I pause and send another text.
“NOW.”
As expected, the dock is empty. It’s only busy overnight and early in the morning when the trucks hit with merchandise. It’s almost noon and I’m alone with empty rolling racks and boxes of hangers.
That is, until the double doors swing open. “Hello, handsome.” Crystal struts toward me with a shit eating grin on her face. The scuff of her heels on the dock’s concrete floor make my skin crawl.
She tries to kiss me but I turn my face away.
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot,” she coos. “I know how you hate to be lovey-dovey at work.”
I pull up my phone and show her the picture. “What is this about?” I shake the phone. “Why are you doing this?”
She gives me a coquettish look and taps the toe of her shoe on the floor. “It’s daring, I know, but I love it.”
I shake my head in disgust. “Unbelievable.” I shove my phone in my jacket pocket, a burning sensation growing in my stomach. “Are you serious right now?”
She makes a duck face and bats her eyes. “I know we haven’t set a date yet …”
Every muscle in my body locks in fury. “Set a date?” The words grind through my clenched jaw. “Crystal, I haven’t proposed.”
“So? I know you have your great-grandmother’s ring.”
“How many times do I have to tell you that we aren’t getting married?” My voice echoes off the concrete blocks of the dock. “We aren’t ever getting married.”
Her eyes widen in surprise. “I know we aren’t getting married now, silly. But big weddings take a while to plan.” She throws her arms around my neck, but I peel them off and push her away. I should have pushed her away a long time ago.
“Not later, Crystal. Not ever. We have been broken up for months. Your little game ends today.”
She arches an eyebrow at me as she processes what I have said. I can practically hear the gears turning in her brain. “Don’t be stupid.” She turns her attention to her nails. Maybe she is checking to see if they are sharp enough to scratch my face. “You have to marry me.”
My stomach churns. This is Crystal an
d there is always an angle. “Are you going to try to tell me you are pregnant again? Another lie?” I take a deep breath to steady myself against the painful memory. She drew the fake pregnancy out for months. She was so convincing my little sister Madeline planned a shower. I wanted to do the right thing by marrying her, until her brother took pity on me and told me the truth. There was no baby. She’d just gotten nervous I was losing interest, and wanted to ensnare me again.
I was devastated. My feelings died for her that day. “My parents believed you, you know,” I say. “I will never forgive you for that.”
“I wasn’t lying. I really thought I was …”
“Stop.” I hold up my hand to physically block her words. “Stop lying.”
“Look,” she sighs. “That’s the past. We’re perfect for each other.” She rests her hands on her hips and shrugs. “You just can’t see that right now. You’re so busy with your career. So busy proving your worth to your daddy.”
Mentioning my father is a low blow. She knows that’s a sore spot and she is digging her nails into it, smiling, enjoying my pain.
I say nothing. I won’t give her the satisfaction.
She tries to touch my face, but I retreat, sit down on a stack of palettes and just let out a miserable sigh. “No. This is not happening, Crystal.”
She rubs the back of her neck while glancing up at the ceiling. “Hmm. Interesting. So I guess that red lipstick all over your face a couple of days ago wasn’t some old lady kissing you for giving a discount, was it? Who is she?”
I rub my temple. “There is no one else.”
“Fucking liar!”
She stops pacing in front of me. I brace for something, but I am not sure what because her temper is explosive. A scratch? A punch? She grabs a chunk of my hair and tugs. “Are you forgetting,” she whispers, “that I know all about you? I know everything.”
I look at her as if I am seeing her for the first time. I have been so stupid to let this go on for this long. How long was I planning to let her blackmail me? Until we had grandchildren? Something clicks deep inside me.
The last few months have been packed with anxiety, a constant state of stress because I have lived in such fear she would spill my secrets. Now, looking at her pinched face with my hair clenched in her fist, all of that dread is gone, evaporated. Whatever consequences come my way, they’ll be better than this.
I grab her wrist and she lets go of my hair. “Yes, you do know everything.” I stand up and let her arm drop. “And you are going to do what you are going to do. I can’t stop you. All I can tell you is we are officially, completely finished. Honestly, we have been for a long time.”
She lifts her chin to me and smirks. Her eyes search my face for a flicker of doubt, but she doesn’t find it. “Huge mistake, Jack.” I can see tears forming in her eyes. “You’re going to regret this.”
“I doubt it.”
I leave her, head off the dock and kick the double doors open. Charlie, the dock manager, is leaning against the wall, chuckling and shaking his head. “Good luck, kid,” he says as I walk past him.
“This isn’t over!” I hear Crystal yell behind me.
Despite her threats, though, I feel lighter than I have in months.
At last, I’m free.
I feel as if I’ve lost a hundred pounds. 126 pounds of blonde fury, to be precise. When I reach Basics, I see Miss Brook arranging her mannequins, but she doesn’t see me. I step behind a column and watch her. The towers are up and packed with Flash Fit, the mannequins assembled and dressed. I check my phone. It’s hardly even 11am. I hate to admit it, but I’m impressed she was able to beat that deadline. Set up is hard work.
Hard enough to make her sweat, from the looks of it. I love that. The anger I felt on the dock has faded and now I just feel playful.
I watch her roll a plastic bag into a ball in her hands, squeezing it into some shape. Then she stuffs the bag down a mannequin’s underwear to enhance the crotch.
I smirk. Perfect opportunity to get on her nerves, yet again.
Why do I love infuriating her so much?
I’m not going to waste too much time wondering about it.
I adjust my tie and smooth back my hair. Perhaps I will make her change the mannequins completely. Or ask her to move the whole damn set up to the other side of the department. I can make her sweat all day. I can enjoy the view of her perky tits as she hauls her butt all over the floor. Not to mention that sexy, vicious little scowl she’ll shoot in my direction.
But before I march toward her, my phone lights up with a text from Tim.
Get back to the meeting ASAP. Beckman freaking out about white sale.
I mutter a curse under my breath and pocket my phone. I am disappointed, but duty calls. I can’t let my wingman down.
My anticipated tongue lashing of Miss Brook will have to wait.
7
Lily
The Fab Fall sale only started a few minutes ago, and the store is already packed with customers. Holding a box of donuts above my head, I weave through the crowd of shoppers.
When I reach Basics, Mona is ringing up a young man. She waves me over to her register with a huge grin. The guy is buying at least twenty units of Flash Fit. I do the math in my head. Our average price point is $25, so that’s going to be about a $500 sale.
I flash her a thumbs up. Great way to start the day.
I double down and speak with every customer that walks into the department. Before I know it it’s break time, but I wave Ricky off and eat a quick lunch in the bathroom instead. I still haven’t seen Jack poke his handsome face into my department all day. If I wasn’t so relieved not to have him picking on me, I’d almost be worried. Normally he’s way more hands-on than this.
Mm. Hands-on. That thought takes me to pleasant daydreams, as I finish scarfing my lunch and head back out on the floor.
I finally spot Jack and make sure to frown at him immediately to indicate my displeasure. Even though I’m feeling a lot more excited than angry about catching a glimpse of that sexy body of his.
Ugh, what’s wrong with me? On top of that, we are both too busy to argue, banter or even shoot each other long looks of disgust. I watch him get dragged away to address customer issues as I continue selling Flash Fit like there is a national mantie emergency. I don’t even have time to embarrass him with the rain of manties I have stashed in the stockroom.
During a late afternoon lull, I sneak off with Ricky for a cup of coffee in the gorgeous atrium of the Wanamaker Building. I need a break if I am going to pull a double shift. After we get some snacks at the cafe, Ricky announces he has fresh gossip for me.
“Charlie the dock manager told a stock guy who told Mark who told my coworker who told me that Jack dumped Crystal, again!” He whispers this, but nobody is close enough in the atrium to hear him.
My heart leaps. But I maintain a stranglehold on my poker face. It must work, because Ricky offers no comment beyond the norm. He just thinks he’s bringing me juicy gossip. He doesn’t know how much I care.
Because I don’t care.
Right?
“That’s like fifth hand info,” I say. “You’re losing your touch.”
“You know the retail grapevine don’t tell no lies.”
Rumors spread through a store like wildfires spread through California, and Ricky is right about how precious few prove to be untrue. There are just too many ears to overhear and too many mouths unable to keep shut. Store gossip is more reliable than CNN.
“She really seemed to think he was going to propose.” I think back to her plastic nails scraping across the cover of her bridal magazine. “I mean, she was picking out dresses,” I say. Against my better judgment, I actually start to feel kind of bad for her. “Fugly dresses. But still. Wedding dresses.”
Ricky laughs and stirs his coffee. “Well, I guess Jack Hammer wasn’t feeling it.”
I touch my face and hope I’m not blushing at the mere mention of Jack. Crystal is awfu
l, but he’s a dick. He kissed me while he was still practically engaged to her. Then he went and dumped her while she was out shopping for wedding gowns? “I am not a Crystal fan,” I sigh. “But storewide humiliation seems harsh. Even for her.”
“Yeah, but she is kind of a mega bitch.”
“Still.” I sip my coffee and subtly change the subject.
After coffee I pop into the ladies room on the 3rd floor. It’s the best restroom and it’s always pretty much empty. When I exit the stall I realize I’m not alone. Crying echoes from the lounge room on the other side of the faucets.
I peer in as I dry my hands with a paper towel and spy Crystal sitting on one of the couches bawling her eyes out. My heart strings lurch. No matter how bitchy she is, she is clearly destroyed and that’s an awful thing to see. I know what it feels like to get dumped in a shitty way. Not to mention have your boyfriend make out with someone else …
Which was completely an accident and will never happen again.
Ugh.
I tiptoe into the room and perch next to her before I fish a tissue out of my fanny pack. “You ok?”
She sniffs hard, takes the tissue and dabs her eyes. “Jack and I had a fight.”
A fight? That’s not how Ricky described it. “I’m sorry,” I say and hand her another tissue.
Crystal looks up at me with wide, wet eyes. “Are you?” She sniffs, long and hard. “Are you really sorry?”
I hesitate. It’s a weird question. Does she know what happened in the dressing room? Impossible. I shrug it off and shoot her my best sympathetic smile. “Of course.”
She wipes her face with the tissue.
“Are you feeling a little better?” I ask. “Maybe you should go home?”
She stares at me for an uncomfortable amount of time with a blank expression on her face. Finally, I wince a little. Only then does her expression crack, into a smirk. “You would love that,” she practically hisses. “You would love for me to just go home.”
“No, I just meant … It seems like you’ve had a hard day. You should go relax. That’s all.”
She glares at my mouth with narrowed eyes. “Red lipstick is so last year.”
I’m not exactly sure what that means, but the way she says it, it sounds like a threat. “Uh, what …”