by Grace, Pella
“Both. And you’re still not forgiven for abandoning your shift.”
My eyes stay on her. “I had a good reason.”
“You always do, Warren.”
When I was a kid, I used to make paper airplanes in my dad’s office. I’d fold each one differently, compiling a small fleet of aircraft. When the store was busy, I would stay up here and dart them at people, through the window overlooking the sales floor.
The same way that sentence left Claude’s mouth just now, is the same way I was told not to do the previously described.
“You’ll be staying late today for coming in late as well.”
“Will I be getting overtime pay?”
He makes a face, knowing damn well that question is a reminder of the fact that I am here of my own free will.
***
“You press the department key first.”
Mary jumps as I approach from behind, reaching around her to do it myself. The register beeps, ready for the numbers. She remains still.
“The numbers,” I remind.
“There’s no bar thingy.”
“Yes,” I grab the pepper, flipping it around, “but there are numbers.”
“Oh!” She enters the number incorrectly three times before finally getting it right.
I do my best to keep my attention on Mary. Avoid the eyes that I know are staring at me. Lilla is too obvious. I pray Adam is too blind. A part of me wishes I’d taken a third or even fourth shower this morning. It’s been five days since I was with her.
The intelligent part of my brain knows there is no way she still lingers on my skin—but fuck—that’s a lie if ever one was told. Maybe I don’t smell like marshmallows, vanilla and Honey-girl, but … lingering effects … ?
Traitor eyes—the world slowing for thirty seconds as I glance at her. Cotton candy painted cheeks with matching lips. Soft waves of sleepless sandalwood. My marks faded. I wonder if he asked. I wonder how she lied. I wonder if he believed it.
Adam has his phone pressed to his ear, prattling off about nonsense and nothing matters to this guy. I don’t need to know him. I see the brown staring back at me with the same desire I’m pushing down into the depths of my starving soul.
He doesn’t even realize—my hands have been all over his wife. I’ve been inside of his wife. My name has left her lips as I fulfilled her in ways he could only wish.
“Oh …” Mary giggles, glancing to me over her shoulder.
Shit.
“Just scan the rest. Call Heath if you need help, I’m on fucking break.” I tug my apron strings and use it as a shield, bunched in my hands, headed for the automatic doors.
DAY TEN
“Who are we spying on? Heath whispers, sitting in a large empty box beside mine. I have one small hole poked through the cardboard, squinting an eye, as I hold in my laughter.
“Lilla.”
We should be unloading the truck. My father is probably having a minor breakdown in the stockroom.
“What’s up with you and this chick?” I hear him shuffling around and I imagine he is making his own peeping hole.
“Lilla is so fucking delicious today. Goddamn, I’d eat her.” Hair is perfectly straight with this tiny black bow pinned to the side. Her skin shimmering and bronzed. Honey-girl is honey. Shiny and glossed. Damn, just looks like she’d smell of coconut and salt water.
“Are you looking where I’m looking, Heath?”
Heath chuckles. “Yeah, she’s some good meat-beating material, that’s for sure. I knocked out a load to her in the short-shorts a few nights back.”
Lilla is turned around. I pop my body half way out of the box, looking over to his. My hand punches the cardboard.
“I don’t need to know shit like that, Heath.”
“Shh, we’re gonna get caught.” He waves me down.
I sit back inside of the large empty carton and watch as Lilla picks out produce. I bite the shit out of my lip as she drops a lime and bends over—at the waist—not the knees—to retrieve it.
Two heads emerge from the box. Mouths gaping … as …
“Dude,” he says, “she’s not wearing underwear.”
I go to punch Heath, but I lose my footing and the box twists, sending me crashing into his box, domino effect, knocking him over.
Suddenly, the world feels very quiet.
Two brown eyes stare down to us.
“Hi Lilla,” I chuckle. “Help you find something?”
Heath laughs at my side.
“I think you’re the one who needs help,” she teases, holding out a hand I’m not deserving of. At the moment.
“Thanks,” I climb to my feet, keeping hold of her.
Hold of her. I want to hold her. Surround her and bath myself in the warm vanilla permeating from her golden skin. Marshmallows and roses.
“What about me?” Heath pops up, brushing off his clothing. “I don’t get a hand?”
Lilla looks at him. “I think you and your hand have done enough.”
Speaking of hands, my own is pressing a fist to my mouth.
Heath’s bushy eyebrows furrow. “What—do you have damn super hearing?”
Lilla takes a step back, her hand slipping from mine. I think she’s going to run, leave. A deflation in my chest. A blue walkie-talkie is plucked from the pile of citrus, screeching in protests when she gets too close to Heath.
“I think you had your button down.” She hands me back the walkie-talkie I accidentally left sitting there. Damn.
Heath points at her, nothing coming out of his mouth.
“Don’t worry,” she speaks up, “I’m going to spend the rest of the night burning it from my memory. As well as the shorts.”
He knocks his fist to her shoulder. Her body instantly going rigid as he makes contact.
“Probably best if you don’t touch her with your hands, Heath.”
Two fingers point at me before he retreats to the stockroom.
I’m grateful when I turn around, seeing her eyes playful as a slight smile paints her face.
“Spying on me, Cash?”
My natural reaction is to reach for her, but I don’t know what the rules are now. I don’t know what she wants. I don’t know what my role is. She’s had her affair. She’s gotten her kicks. She’s cried in my bathroom. She’s evaded me for six, seven, eight, nine, ten days.
“Ogling—if I’m being honest. That color is good on you.”
“What color?” Her eyes are playing our secret game.
“The velvet honey on your skin.”
She looks at her arm. “I was working in my garden this week. Well, I was trying to make one, anyhow. A garden.”
“Trying to get rid of me completely?”
Lilla looks to her basket. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
“I’ve been here all week and this is the first time you’ve showed up alone.”
Her eyes find mine. “It’s also the first time Adam has been gone all week.”
“Is a grown woman not allowed to leave the cage by herself?”
“He came home from his trip all clingy,” her shoulders shrug. “I don’t know which way is up or down, Cash.”
“I beg to differ.”
My insides love that she has to close her eyes. That she has to think for a moment before she speaks. Caught off guard. Shy. I adore her shy.
“Caaaaash!” Mary breaks the magic spell. “I have this for you. Your dad said to make sure they go on the display in front and make it fast!” A snorting laughter comes from her. “Want some help?”
I simply shake my head, unable to form words around her snorts and shoulder bobs and disgusting display of just … everything about her.
Lilla shifts her basket in her hand.
“Are you ready to check out?”
She nods and I take the basket from her, shifting the box into my arm, walking to the front of the store. I feel her eyes watch me as I scan her items, slowly burning tiny holes. My fingers dance on the keys, not
wanting to be done with her and tell her the total. But … there’s nothing left.
“Cash or credit?”
“Cash,” she replies, innocent to the stupid joke behind that shit.
I take her money and press a few more keys, grateful that I needed to open a roll of pennies. It buys me ten more seconds. I tap the roll on the till and empty the change into the right slot.
“Why are you working so late, Cash? Your car has been in the lot since this morning.”
I smile, glancing up at her. “Spying on me?”
“I had to run an errand earlier today. Same street. There weren’t many cars in the lot.”
“Work on those fibs,” I tease.
“I swear it.” The smile she offers is going to be swirled on white canvas as soon I get the hell out of here.
“I’m being punished for my bad behavior.”
“So then, this is a punishment that will never cease?”
“Pretty much.”
“The truth?”
“My dad is still pissed I took off those two days—you know—when you twisted my arm and made me take you on a road trip. He’s making me work a few doubles to make a point or whatever. He even made me wear a name tag.”
“You’re in trouble because of me?”
My shoulders shrug. “I would do it again, the exact same way.” Two fingers tap my chest. “I don’t let regret live here.”
A woman with a cart full of food and three screaming children get in line. I grab the phone and press the button. “Mary, lane one. Now.”
Lilla’s mouth twists into a smile that isn’t sure condoning my behavior is good idea. I count out her change and try to savor my last few seconds.
“What are you cooking tonight, Lilla?” She takes her change as I hand it over.
“Stuffed peppers. It’s my number three comfort food.”
I can’t help but to smile. “What’s number one?”
“None of your business.”
In my mind, I’m half way across the counter, picking her skinny ass up into my arms and planning on not letting go. I have her out the door and in my car. I have her in my lap in the driver’s seat and that velvet honey skin all over my tired eyes and rough hands.
“I said—SIT! DOWN!”
In reality, there is a woman yelling at her three kids to do what the fuck she says and not cry about it. A display of candy that has been destroyed. The new display that Mary handed me to build. Mary rubbing her ass against me as she slides in front of me, thinking that I was sporting wood because of her the other day.
She tears off Lilla’s receipt and hands it over.
“Thank you for shopping at Valentine’s Grocery, miss. Please come again.”
And again and again and again …
Her eyes look at my name tag. “Warren.” She looks up to me. “Warren Valentine.”
And maybe if Mary was not here, or the customer with screaming children, I could explain my white lie of a name. But, this is our reality, so, Lilla grabs her bag, turning for the doors.
She walks across five white tiles before I catch up to her, silently pressing my fingertips to her waist in an attempt to turn her around. I retrieve the receipt from her palm, smoothing it out on my leg, wrinkles gone.
My fingers work quickly, folding the center, corners. I don’t know if she’ll understand. I’m not even sure I do. All I want is to go with her. To walk through those doors with her. Sure, I could. I could follow behind her and never look back. Sure.
But …
I wasn’t invited.
So …
I hand the small paper airplane to her. Two Honey-girl fingers pinch it carefully. Eyes eyeing. Eyes lingering. Lingering … a warmth fanned over my heart.
***
“Paging Mr. Herman. Paging Mr. Herman. You have a telephone call at the front desk.”
I laugh, counting out the till as Heath uses the intercom at the next register.
“I don’t think that’s how it went.”
“Dude, I don’t know much, but I know Pee-wee’s Big Adventure. They paged Mr. Herman.”
“If you say so,” I slide the cash into a grey bag and zip the top. “I mean, you of all people should know a pedophile when you see one.”
“He was …” Heath looks back and forth, mouth open. “Dude! Pee-wee was not a pedo.”
“He was fucking arrested for it,” I argue.
A big hand to an even bigger forehead. “You’re thinking of Michael Jackson. Pee-wee was just singing the salami song in an adult movie theater. Full of adults.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course! I told you, I know Pee-wee.”
Mary slides onto the counter, like her presence is wanted or some shit.
“Wazzup guys?”
I glance to her. “Wazzup?”
“Yeah, wazzup?”
“Something wrong with your mouth, Mary?”
“Just hanging with my homeboys.”
I collect the grey bags, shoving them under my arm. “I’m no one’s homeboy.”
Heath presses his hand over his heart. “You’re my homeboy, Cash.”
As quickly as my feet can carry me, I head up the stairs, dropping off the bags to Claude.
“Can I get the hell out of here, now? Please?”
He keeps his head down, filling out the paperwork for the deposit.
“Help with the trash.”
“Dad? Seriously. I’m tired as shit. It’s been like twelve hours.”
“I’ve seen you stay up for three days before, painting your little pictures. Another thirty minutes won’t kill you.”
A flick of his fingers shoos me from his office.
Heath shoves cardboard boxes into the compactor as I take the old tomatoes from today and fling them at the back of the building, splattering red juice along the grey concrete.
“Pictures,” I fling two in one hand. “I’ll give you fucking pictures.”
“I’m gonna grab the trash out front, Picasso. Care to help?” I ignore him, flinging fruit and old vegetables angrily at the wall. “Kids these days don’t know nothing about hard work.”
I give him the finger as he walks around the building headed for the front. I’m only ten tomatoes in when he reappears.
“Do you really need me to fucking babysit you, Heath?”
He shakes his head, a thumb jerking in the other direction.
“You gotta see this.”
I groan, tugging at the front of my hair. “If Mary’s ass is around the corner, I’m going to broadcast on YouTube the security tape of you drunk, fucking a tub of Rocky Road in the walk-in cooler from last summer. Understand?”
He nods encouragingly, walking at my side as we round the corner. I’m too used to him pulling a prank, distrust deep within the roots of our relationship when it comes to things like this. A small peek around the corner and my eyes have a hard time believing I had anything called a bad day, today.
His hand pats my back. “Not Mary, man.”
Honey-girl’s velvet golden legs dangle as she sits on the hood of my car. My car. Palms flat against the black paint. Head dipped down, bored as shit as she waits. Waits. Her bag of groceries she bought is by the car’s tire. Waits. The cool nighttime breeze ruffles her hair, gently.
Waits.
“I’m not helping you with trash, Heath.”
His laughter fades in the distance as I walk quickly—too quickly—towards her. Too quickly to be cool about it. Too quickly to be nonchalant and a dick, acting like it doesn’t/wouldn’t/shouldn’t matter that she’s here.
That she waited.
Waited.
Just to fucking be sure, “Are you having car trouble?”
The golden warmth from her skin mimics her smile.
“No,” she whispers, plucking something from her pocket. A white piece of well-folded paper. “I am having airplane trouble.”
PART THREE
LILLA KING
Chapter Twelve
I’m running from death.
The giggles cover over the burning sensations in my ribs. My side. A sharp pinch that would normally have me stopping, but Cash is chasing me through the park, threatening my life.
“Lilla, this is not funny. Put down the Mariah doll, and no one gets hurt.”
I hold her perfect-plastic-self high in the air, pushing myself to the brink as I surge forth, using every ounce of strength I have to make it to the lake.
“What was that?” I place Mariah to my ear. “You want to go swimming?”
“Lilla!” He places his fist to his mouth, groaning in frustration.
I dangle her stupid plastic body over the edge, but I’m not going to toss her. She did nothing to deserve death. The little doll is flung at him, landing at his feet. He swipes her from the grass and shoves her into his back pocket head first.
“You’re suffocating her.”
“The safest place for all beautiful women is in my pants. I assure you.”
“Her boobs aren’t even real, Cash. Or her nose.”
“Now I’m confused. Are you talking about the doll or the real Mariah?”
“Could go either way, honestly.”
“I really don’t mind fake tits, even though, I’d rather have a set of small perky tits over a set of enormous fake tits, any day.” He plops down into the grass, sighing.
“I think you just crushed her.”
He lays back, eyes on me. “I was only chasing you because you’re adorable when you run. Your arms flailing. That high pitched squeal when I almost caught you. Most amusing thing I’ve seen since … well … you know.”
“Shut up.”
I sit beside him and he curls around, lifting me to straddle his hips. My hands lay flat on his firm chest. His hands massage patterns on my thighs. Eyes watching my face as he slips his thumbs under the fabric of my shorts. It’s innocent, but not. He stays in a safe place, but it’s not. My ring tells me so.
“I can’t believe you snooped through my shit while I was making you food.”
“I can’t believe you have a Mariah Carey Barbie doll.”
“I won’t apologize for it. Only an insecure man would feel like a pussy for having a doll. No shame here.”
I grin, leaning towards him a little. “Does Heath know you have a Mariah Carey doll?”