by Zahra Girard
“I’m happy you were able to help your friend out. And I’m sorry for jumping on you like that.”
He smiles at me in a way that makes his dimples stand out and his eyes shine.
“I’m here to serve, bella.”
I think I could get used to hearing that.
Chapter Eleven
Luca
What did I get myself in to?
Stephanie’s back in her office with her books, Sabrina’s at the front register projecting her megawatt smile, and I’m all alone on the sales floor, surrounded by wrenches, PVC pipes, Phillips heads and flat heads and having practically no fucking clue what I’m doing.
Why are there so many different types of screwdrivers? And screws? What the fuck is that all about?
I wander the aisles looking for entertainment — something, anything — to keep myself occupied. I check out the different types of Loctite sealant in stock — there’s six, if you count the 2 in 1 ComboMax.
This is what a real, actual job feels like.
It sucks.
I’m in way over my head with this thing, but then, I knew that getting involved. A real job and a guy like me mix just about as well as cheese and seafood. And as any real Italian will tell you, those two things do not fucking mix and if you believe they do, you’re wrong and you deserve a painful death.
I think about heading to the back office to see what Stephanie’s up to, but that’d be just a tacit admission that I can’t hack it for more than fifteen minutes on my own, so I suck it up and try and keep myself busy working.
I’m about halfway through counting how many roofing nails we have — two hundred and eighty one — when a bell rings.
A customer.
Thank fucking God.
I hurry up front like the good employee that I am.
Shuffling through the aisles is a woman that makes my nonna look like a giant. She’s wearing a frilly, blue granny-style dress with yellow flowers on it and a giant beige sun hat.
“My oh my, I’ve been coming here for years and I don’t recall seeing you here before,” she says as she looks up at me. “I might be old and losing my marbles, but I’m sure I’d remember a handsome man like yourself.”
I smile back at her.
“I just started today, ma’am.”
She holds out her hand and I take it gently, because this woman looks frail enough that a strong breeze could blow her away. She squeezes my hand and keeps hold of it with a surprisingly-strong grip. “Well, honey, I’m Ethel. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Luca,” I reply. “So, how can I help you today, Ethel?”
Bright blue eyes look up at me, and a smile dances in them.
“I’m just looking around, honey. My home-repair days are over, especially since my husband Morris passed a few years ago. But when you get to my age and you take whatever excuse you can to get out. It keeps you young.”
We shuffle along together at a snails pace.
“Well, I’m happy to show you around,” I say.
“I’d be grateful. Normally I ask Stephanie to help, or that handsome Frank, but you’ll do just fine. You might even be more of a looker than him, but let’s keep that between the two of us, ok?”
Ethel squeezes my hand again.
“Whatever you say, Ethel.”
While we’re walking around, I point out different things on the shelves and try to sound like I know what I’m talking about. Mostly I’m just reading from the tags.
I don’t think she cares either way.
It’s nice to have someone to talk to and keep away the mind-numbing boredom.
“So, what did you do before you started here, honey?”
Ethel’s voice is so quiet, I have to lean in to hear her.
“I run a boxing gym across town. I’m just helping Stephanie out for a while,” I say, while holding up a set of Craftsman tools for her to see.
Ethel nods and we keep shuffling along while she natters at me. It’s like talking to my nonna.
“You have any family around Arroyo Falls? Brothers, sisters?”
“I have my mother and grandmother out east. That’s about it though.”
She squeezes my hand. “No siblings?”
I shrug and squeeze her hand back. “Not anymore, no. I had an older brother, but he passed about a year ago.”
“I’m sorry, honey.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Good people work here — Stephanie, her father, Jim, Frank, even Sabrina — and people like that can be better than family, sometimes. I know I’d take any one of them over my sister, Berenice. There’s not a person who’s met her that doesn’t think she’s a bitch.”
I squeeze her hand again and we continue on.
“I’m sorry you have a bitch of a sister.”
Yeah, I know, I’m not good at this kind of talk.
Ethel shrugs.
“It’s always hard, losing someone. I still think about my Morris every day. And I get out here and do these things because I know it’d make him happy, me moving on and living life. You can’t be a widow forever, you know.”
She stops and points to something on the shelf.
“What’s that, honey?” she says.
I demonstrate the extent of my hardware knowledge and read the sales tag to her. “It’s a dehumidifier.”
She nods. “Could use me one of those. I might be old, but dryness is definitely not a problem I have at home, if you know what I mean. Would you be a sweetheart and get a shopping cart for me?”
I blink and for a second I wonder if she knows what she said, or if she’s just babbling.
I don’t stop to think about it, I just head to the store and grab a metal shopping cart with a squeaky wheel and then heft the dehumidifier into it for her.
We get through our fourth aisle together — winding our way into the lumber section — when Ethel pulls me to a stop.
“You know, Luca, maybe there is something else you can help me with. Do you have any washboards?”
“Washboards? Those old-fashioned laundry things? Let me check for you, alright? Wait here.”
I leave her with the cart and head back to the lumber section, which seems the most likely place to find one of those aside from the nineteenth century.
Not surprisingly, it isn’t in the lumber section.
I check a few more aisles and then knock on Stephanie’s door.
“Come in,” she calls out.
I poke my head in. She’s face-down in a pile of papers and looks miserable.
I can empathize. Even opening the books at Reyes Boxing is enough to make me want to connect my fists with someone’s face. Cleaning up your parent’s accounting must be an even bigger mess.
“Do we have any washboards?”
She looks at me like I’m a lunatic.
“Washboards?”
I make an up-and-down motion like I’m some maid doing laundry. “Yeah, those old things for cleaning clothes. With all the bumps and ridges and shit.”
She turns back to the stack of papers in front of her. “No, we don’t have those. Nobody has those. Why?”
I shrug. “Just some customer is all. I’ll go let her know. She’s already bought a dehumidifier, so I’ve officially made my first sale, boss.”
In the grand scheme of things, one dehumidifier is not going to make any difference to the store, but it still feels good to see her smile, even if it’s faint. There’s just something about the way her face and eyes glow that’s addictive.
“Thank you, Luca” she says, that little smile still on her face.
There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to see that look again.
I leave Stephanie and head back to Ethel. My chest feels a bit puffed out and there’s some spring in my step and the words to that old classic Italian song ‘Volare’ drifting in my head.
Ethel’s waiting for me, resting against the shopping cart.
“I’m sorry, Ethel, but I just che
cked and we don’t have any washboards.”
She nods and smiles and shuffles her way a little closer.
“That’s all right, Luca. Though I think I saw one earlier.”
She’s right in front of me, there’s not a step between us, and she has this sly smile on her face.
“Where was that?”
Ethel reaches out with one frail, pale hand and I watch, confused as all hell, while she grabs the edge of my shirt and lifts it up. With her other hand, she pats my abs.
“There they are. I knew I saw them — they’re just hiding under that apron of yours.”
What the hell?
I take a step back.
Maybe she’s just playing around.
“So, is there anything else I can help you with?” I say, trying to get the conversation back on track.
“I told you I’m single, right? Is there a woman in your life, handsome?” she says, her voice an unnerving mix between old-woman quavering and a young woman’s heat.
Nonna never talked to me like this.
With nonna, it’s closer to: “why isn’t there a lady in your life?” and “when am I going to have a great grandson or granddaughter?”
Every. Damn. Christmas.
Not that there was ever a chance of that. The women I fucked around with at the time weren’t ones I’d introduce to my nonna. Hell, half of them I couldn’t introduce to anyone — I’d need to know their names, first.
“Let’s get you checked out,” I say, taking hold of the shopping cart.
Her hand takes hold of my wrist and squeezes.
“You can check me out anytime, handsome,” she whispers.
Then she slides her hand down my back and squeezes my ass hard enough that I rise up on my toes.
“Look, Ethel, you’re sweet, and I’m flattered, but — “
“— how would you like to sell more than just a dehumidifier today?”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t see many customers here. I never do, and I come here quite a bit to visit to visit Frank.”
Visit Frank?
Is this what it takes to succeed in hardware sales?
“I think that maybe this place could use my business,” she says, then, she lowers her voice so that I have to lean in to hear what the hell this crazy old woman is talking about. “How would you like to go in the stock room and sell me some new bathroom fixtures?”
Is this what I’m worth? Some tile, grout, and a new sink? Maybe some decorative lights?
I clear my throat. “Are you propositioning me?”
I’m a pretty open-minded guy, and more than a couple of my exes rocked a stripper pole at some point in their lives, but I’m blushing.
“All business is a proposition, honey. You learn that when you get to my age. I’ve got needs; you got needs. We negotiate and we come to a mutually satisfactory arrangement.”
I’m creeped out, but I’m considering it, too. It’s plain as all hell that Stephanie’s store could use the money. And if I can be cool with some of the women I’ve dated stripping for cash, I can do it too.
It’s just about the cash. Right?
“Alright, come on,” I say, leading her to the stock room.
This woman’s face is glowing as I take her back to the stock room. She’s already got her purse out and open and there is wad of bills practically popping out of there that’s big enough to make even a former made man like myself take a second look.
Ethel catches me staring and a gives me a knowing wink.
“Morris and I did very well for ourselves, handsome. We were one of the first to develop retirement villas in Florida. We practically ran the area from Pompano beach up to Jupiter for nearly two decades.”
Fuck me, I’m in way over my head.
She’s a shark. And I am her prey.
The door closes behind us and the cash is out.
My brain is working overdrive trying to figure out just what the fuck is going on.
Does she just carry that much money around with her? Or was she bringing that because she was expecting to meet Frank?
And if she was, what in the hell is Frank doing to be worth that much? That’s about what a mid-level hit would cost.
Also, how do I ask him about it without it seeming weird?
“Ok, Ethel, look, I don’t want to get your hopes up,” I say. “There is someone, and I’m a culo for leading you on like this. But whatever you’re thinking is going to happen — it won’t.”
I don’t want to even think about the look on Stephanie’s face if she found out about this.
Ethel’s eyes narrow. Her voice comes out in a hiss.
“I thought we had a deal.”
“I had a change of heart.”
She takes a thick, pearl-white business card out of her purse. It’s embossed with some fancy gold logo and the name “Rosenbloom Real Estate”. She hands it to me.
“If you ever change your mind about a deal, handsome, then you give me a call. I pay extra for in-calls.”
I put the card in my pocket. “I’ll hold onto this, but, honestly, I don’t think you’ll be hearing from me.”
Ethel nods, looking thoughtful. There’s a tick of silence and then she peels a wad several bills off the roll and then holds them out to me.
“What about if you just let me kiss your abs?”
Chapter Twelve
Stephanie
“I need a drink.”
Luca’s voice echoes what I’ve been thinking all day. I’m not an accountant, and spending hours trying to unwind the papers that make up my dad’s shoddy records is enough to make me feel like I’m going to have an aneurysm.
In fact, I’d prefer an aneurysm.
How do I untie my dad and I from this mess? How do I keep us going? Do I even try?
I look at the clock. It’s nearly seven. Close enough to quitting time.
“Good idea. Will you go tell Sabrina to start closing out her register? I have a few things to finish up here.”
“You got it, boss.”
It feels weird hearing Luca call me that — and I know he’s doing it just to tease me over the fact that I’ve hated every other nickname he tried to give me at Reyes Boxing — but there’s a part of me that likes it, too.
Having him here, just knowing he’s been around, has made today one of the better days I’ve had in a long time.
We close the shop in record time and the three of us head down the road to a bar called the Singapore Sam’s. It’s one of the only decent bars in this part of town. Everywhere else has steel bars on the windows and looks like it’s one bad day away from being condemned.
From the outside, Singapore Sam’s looks more like an imitation of a dive. Instead of motorcycles in the parking lot, there’s four-door sedans and even a minivan or two.
Inside, it’s not much different than your average bar. Except for one thing.
“What the fuck is this place?” Luca asks, stepping over a four-inch high pile of peanut shells. “Why is there trash everywhere?”
“Welcome to Singapore Sam’s,” calls out an overworked thirty-something waitress with frizzy blonde hair. “Sit anywhere you like. I’ll be along in a sec.”
We pick a small table back from the bar and don’t have to wait too long for the waitress to come by with three glasses of water and a few menus.
“My name is Alice and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. You all know what you would like to drink?”
“Why is there trash on the floor?” Luca says, as soon as his menu is in hand.
Alice smiles at him. “I take it that it’s your first time here? Singapore Sam’s is a replica of the famous Long Bar at the Raffles Hotel in Singapore. It’s where the Singapore Sling was invented more than a hundred years ago. It’s also where I met my husband, who also happens to be the bartender. Throwing peanuts on the floor is a tradition there.”
Luca looks like he’s about to say something — probably about the sense of throwing your garbage al
l over the floor — but I kick him gently under the table.
“That’s a lovely story,” I say. “I’ll have the Singapore Sling.”
Alice nods, and Sabrina orders the same thing while Luca orders a beer.
“Luca had a great day of sales today, Ms. Turner,” Sabrina says, once our drinks arrive. “I don’t think I’ve seen Ethel Rosenbloom buy as many things as she did today in a long time. Except maybe the last time Frank took her out for a sales lunch.”
I smile at him. This is one of the first days in a while where I’ve left work feeling like there’s something to celebrate.
“I know. I saw the receipts when I was signing out the register. Thank you, Luca,” I say.
Luca nods and puts his face in his pint of beer. “Don’t mention it. I’m just happy to do my part.”
Still, I wonder: why did the old woman need four dehumidifiers?
“So, um, what did you do before you started working at the shop, Luca?” Sabrina says.
I don’t think Sabrina’s even looked in my direction the whole time we’ve been sitting here. Her eyes are glued to Luca.
“I run a boxing gym,” he says.
“So you’re a boxer? Like, a pro boxer?” her eyes are squarely aimed at Luca’s chest and biceps.
Mine drift there, too. He obviously takes care of himself and his shirt doesn’t do a darn thing to actually the eight pack that leads to the muscular ‘v’ just above his hips — nor do his jeans conceal his curved, muscular ass.
But even with all that to distract me, I most often find myself looking at his face. At the dimples that pop out only when he really, truly smiles. At the way his eyes just seem to burn into me with raw intensity.
And the way his cheeks blush a little bit when a young girl like Sabrina starts fawning over him.
“No, no, doll, I’m not a pro boxer. Just a guy who got in a lot of scraps and found a way to turn it into a bit of cash.”
“So, you’ve been in a lot of fights? That's so cool. Do you still fight?” she says, putting her hand on his arm.
“Boxers tend to do that, Sabrina. It’s sort of their job,” I say.
Seeing her get close to him, even though I know it’s harmless, twinges a bit of jealousy inside me.