Chapter 10 Reason Three
“Ah, hell,” a woman wearing far too much blue eyeshadow and an outdated, vintage ginger beehive said.
“You’re a little old for a stocker job, ain’t ya?
” She held a clipboard with my resume fixed under the metal clip.
Lifting her arm, she tapped the end of her pencil against her ruby-red lips.
“I don’t know what the heck any of these job titles even mean, doll.
” She looked to be in her mid-fifties and sounded like she smoked three packs a day.
The stench of stale nicotine swirled in concert with the seven-hundred gallons of Britney Spears' Curious she’d bathed in that morning.
I smiled at her. “Another me from another life.”
“I need someone dependable.”
“There might be a lot of job titles on that resume, but there’s only one company name. I started as a hotel housekeeper and worked my way up. It took me twenty years. I’m nothing if not dependable.” I glanced down at her nametag. “Matthew.”
The woman looked down at her nametag and chuckled. “Must’ve grabbed the wrong one when I clocked in. I already told you my name, though.”
I nibbled on my lip, racking my brain. She looked like a Tanya. Or maybe a Shelly. Perhaps a Patty or Sheila. “You sure did, hon.”
“Then what is it?” She paused, narrowing her eyes. “Hon.”
As a master of flirtation, I knew I had only one hope to save the sinking ship of an interview. I tilted my head to the side and ran my fingers through my hair. “It’s a beautiful name,” I said, winking at her. “One might go as far as saying it’s ravishing.”
“It’s Rhonda,” she deadpanned. “And I don’t know what the hell this is,” she pointed her gnawed pencil at me, lifting it up the length of my body, “but you sure are easy on the eyes.” She set the clipboard beside the cash register and eyed me up and down. “We don’t pay much.”
“I don’t need much.”
“There ain’t a lot of hours.”
“I’ll take whatever hours you can throw at me. I just really, really need this. Work is hard to find in this city.”
“Is it? Last I checked, there were help wanted signs in every window down Main Street.”
“I kind of have a history here.” She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but she closed it just as quickly. “You’re not from West Clark, are you?”
“Moved here from Amarillo, five years back,” she said.
“I don’t fit in here,” I said, shoving my hands into my pockets. “I never really did. Too much sparkle.”
“Wait,” she said, her eyes widening. “Are you Caterina’s boy? The gay one from the picture?”
The picture? I had no idea what the hell she was talking about, and I was too busy marinating in my own shame to ask for clarification.
I closed my eyes and nodded. “Kent Fox.” I almost expected her to rip my resume up in front of me.
“Listen, I appreciate you taking the time to hear me out. Probably should have led with that. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.
” I stepped back, my eyes still drawn to the impossible ginger beehive on her head.
“Love the look, though. Retro-chic. It’s adorable.
” I turned and walked toward the door, only making it three steps before she called out to me.
“Did I say I wasn’t hiring you?”
I turned around. “Well, no. I just thought ...”
“This might not be the most accepting of places, but we’re not all like that. Tell you what, trial run. Tomorrow. Three to eight. What do you say?”
“Wait, seriously? Just like that?”
“Just like that,” she said, snapping her fingers for emphasis. “I don’t know what it is. I just have a feeling about you. Three o’clock. If you’re one minute late, you’re out. Understood?”
“Thank you, Rhoda—”
“My name isn’t Rhoda.”
“Whatever. Thank you. Three o’clock. I’ll be here.”
In the two hours I spent training with Rhonda, we unloaded three oversized carts that she’d called U-boats, each filled to the top with boxes of inventory.
She was more of a talker than a stocker, so she didn’t offer much in the form of help.
Instead, she told me her life story. She’d married a man right out of high school, caught him in bed with another woman, and drove his Chevy truck straight into the side of their trailer house.
When she told me she stole the woman’s car from the driveway and sold it to a chop shop, she was so flushed with pride that I thought she might just break into song and dance.
With the third and final U-boat emptied, she untied her smock and made her way to the employee break room.
I followed her, unsure what I was meant to do next.
She hung her apron on a hook and pulled her purse out of a locker before grabbing two timecards from the slot next to the time clock.
After grabbing the time card she held out for me, I took off my apron, following her lead.
“Going somewhere?” She pulled a bottle of perfume out of her purse and sprayed eight spritzes against her neck and cleavage.
“Oh. I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to stay or … I thought maybe that was your way of saying I was fired.”
She smiled at me, pinching my cheek. “I like you, doll. You’re in.
” She slung her purse strap over her shoulder and slammed the locker closed behind her.
“You get thirty minutes for lunch. That’s what the time card is for.
When you clock back in, the boss should be here.
You want to walk me out?” We turned and left the break room, making our way to the front of the store.
“Bossman is an easy enough guy. Easy on the eyes, too. You’ll appreciate that.
” She peeked over her shoulder and gave me a wink, accidentally banging her head against a coupon dispenser attached to one of the shelves.
“Son of a mother fucker.” She rubbed her forehead and groaned.
“And he’ll be okay with you hiring me without running it by him first?”
“Honey, there’s one thing you need to know about the hierarchy here.
” We made our way past the checkout lines, toward the exit.
“I might only be the operations manager, but I run this place.” She surprised me when she leaned in and pulled me in for a bear hug, slapping my ass when she was done.
“I want to see that cute little butt of yours here tomorrow morning at seven, alright?” She looked down at her watch and sighed.
“Christ, I’m running late. Listen, when you clock back in, the boss should be down the health and beauty aisle.
Tell him I sent you, and that I want him to show you how to close the store tonight.
” She looked me up and down one last time, clicking her tongue against her cheek like an absolute deviant.
Once I clocked back in, I made my way toward the sign that read Aisle 8 — Shampoo, Soap, Automotive. I turned the corner to find a man on his knees, his ass prominently on display. He was hunched over a box, pulling out bars of soap and stocking them on the shelf.
I tried to walk. Tried to speak. Tried to alert him to my presence.
In my lusty little haze, my mouth went rogue, refusing to function.
I stared at the rounded globes pressed flush against his skin-tight khakis, basking in their beauty.
The sound of individually boxed bars of soap crashing against the floor pulled me out of my stupor.
I looked up and realized the man was watching me as I watched him.
“Fuck,” I said, much louder than I’d intended.
Gray Collins was bent over in front of me, and I was staring directly at his ass. I crushed my bottom lip between my teeth and chewed. He stood up and took a step back like I was a diseased bird that he wanted to avoid contact with.
“Rhonda told me to find the boss. I’m guessing that’s you?” I said. His shoulders were squared, and he remained silent. It was as if the very act of speaking to me would bring about the end times. “She said you’re supposed to show me how to close tonight.”
He took another step back. “I ...” Gray looked down at the box on the ground. After an extremely uncomfortable moment of silence, he pointed down at the bars of soap. “I—just—soap.”
“Soap,” I agreed.
“You …” He looked up, his face harder than it had been before. Gray pointed at the box, then at me, flicking his finger back and forth.
“Mom told me you didn’t work here anymore. She said you’d gotten a job over in Cobb. I wouldn’t have applied if I’d known.”
He was still pointing at the scattered soap on the floor.
“It—it didn’t work out. Just—you, just put—on the shelf.
” He closed his eyes and shook his head before turning around and walking away without another word.
When he reached the end of the aisle, he turned, and then his shoes slapped heavily against the tile in the next aisle over.
He’d made a giant rectangle just to avoid standing within three feet of me.
I whirled around in time to see him walking past the cash registers, then into the elevated office above the checkout stands.
There was a divider that almost stretched to the ceiling, and a window in front of his desk.
He sat in a chair behind the desk and picked up his phone.
He peeked up, catching me staring, and swiveled around.
All I could see was the back of his head, the beginnings of a bald spot proudly on display.
I turned around, making my way back toward the boxes of soap, trying to maintain my composure.
Once the box was empty and the shelf was full, I stood up, breaking the box down like Rhonda had shown me earlier.
When I made it to the front of the store, Gray was standing next to a checkout girl, whispering something into her ear.
He pulled away in time to catch my gaze and immediately stared at the register, pointing toward the aisle I was standing in.
Our eyes met, and his cheeks went red. He took her place at the register and sent her my way.