Chapter 10
TEN
WIL
And today’s the day we’re going to promote Abbey.
Aurora claims she doesn’t need another assistant team captain, but the truth is, she’s stressed and floundering, and even with Cesar picking up her slack, she needs someone else. Abbey is that person.
After he dismisses the morning meeting, Jeremy motions for me to follow him into the Dugout.
“You’re sure about this, right?” he asks. “You don’t think she’s looking for a newspaper job, and she’ll bail on us as soon as something better comes along?”
I shake my head. I think she loves her job and would welcome more responsibility. And I need her in this role.
“I’m sure,” I say. “Didn’t she tell you that herself in her interview? She said she wouldn’t look for a job in journalism.”
He nods. “More or less, yes.”
“This is the right move,” I say. It has to be.
“You know there’s a lot on the line with this decision, for both of us. I want to keep my job, and you need to fix this department if you want to move up to AGM.”
“I’m aware.” Fix the department—get my act together—and finally impress my dad.
“And you know it took a lot of work to get the district office to change our org chart, right,” Jeremy continues, “to add this position?”
Now he’s messing with me. His wife works in the organizational development department at the corporate office and helped move the request through so quickly, it made my head spin. “Did it, though?”
He laughs. “Yeah, not really. You still owe me one. I’ll call her up, then.” He picks up the phone and pages Abbey to the Dugout.
While we wait, Jeremy sits down at one of the computers.
He henpecks at the keyboard with his index finger, writing an email that’s sure to be riddled with typos and missing punctuation and signed off with his trademark Akme it happen!
Jeermey. How he got to be the GM of Woodlake with those typing skills is beyond me.
I like Jeremy. He’s shorter than me and pale with ruddy cheeks, fuzzy brown hair, friendly, chocolatey eyes, and lots of laugh lines.
He’s an ’80s metal guy with a lot of tattoos.
The comedy and tragedy masks from Motley Crüe’s Theatre of Pain album spread across the inside of one forearm with lyrics from “Home Sweet Home.” On the other arm is a portrait of Slash from Guns N’ Roses.
Jeremy’s worked for Hometown since he was a freshman in college, and everyone he’s ever met loves him, including Dad.
I don’t know how he does it, and I wish I had a fraction of whatever it is that makes him so damn likeable.
Whenever Dad shows up here, the entire place goes on high alert except for Jeremy.
Nothing seems to rattle him. He’s a great GM.
I almost feel bad about someday taking the job from him, but then again, he’ll be moving up, too.
Abbey opens the door and sticks her head in. “Um, hi, Jeremy? You wanted to see me?”
He stops henpecking and spins his chair around. “Abs! Terrific! Yes! Have a seat! I’ll be one sec!”
I cross my arms and nod at her, and she gives me her trademark sunshine smile, broad and effortless. She seems to have gotten over that awkward moment at La Cuchara, and I’m relieved. I can’t screw this up. I need her on my team.
I move a stack of reports from the only other chair in the room, set them on the desk, and motion for her to sit down. When the chair squeaks, she huffs out a nervous laugh.
“Abbey. Abbey Rhodes,” Jeremy says, grabbing a pen from the desk and clicking it repeatedly. “I’ll get right to it. We’re impressed with how you’ve jumped in feet first and learned this retail gig. You’re a natural. We all think so.”
“We?” she echoes.
He waves a hand. “Me, Wil, Aurora, the district media people. Everyone’s impressed.”
“Thank you,” she says with only the slightest hesitation. Her eyes flicker in my direction and then back to Jeremy.
“I know you’ve only been with the Hometown Team for a few short months—”
“Weeks,” she interjects. “A few short weeks. I started in September.”
“Right, right. You’ve been here a few short weeks. But I’m sure you’ve seen how things can change overnight. People quit, they get promoted, they transfer to a new store, they go to corporate.”
He pauses and looks at me like he needs backup. “Yes, this is true,” I say.
“My point is,” Jeremy continues, “we’ve decided to add a second assistant team captain for the media department, and considering how well you fit with the team, how well you work with Cesar and Aurora—no small feat with that one, ha ha—we’d like to promote you.”
“Oh!” she says in surprise and then turns to look at me directly. “So, is this an interview?”
Jeremy wrinkles his nose. “An interview for what?”
She turns back to him. “For the ATC position.”
Jeremy sighs and looks at the clock on the wall. “No interview needed. We all agree that you’re the best candidate for the position. Do you have questions?”
She frowns and almost sags a little. I thought she’d be excited about this.
“Can you tell me more about the position and the kinds of things I’ll be doing that are different from what I’m already doing?” she asks.
Jeremy laughs awkwardly. “You’ll do, you know, what Cesar does, and back up Aurora, that kind of thing.”
Jeremy has no idea, and I know that he has no idea, and I’m sure that Abbey knows, too.
“That kind of thing?”
“Wil and Aurora can answer any questions you might have about the role,” Jeremy says and looks to me once again for confirmation.
“Yes, right,” I say.
“One more thing.” Jeremy clicks his pen again.
“Here at Hometown Electronics, we pride ourselves on recognizing and nurturing teammates with natural abilities and talent. We’ve identified you as someone with a bright future with the company, someone who can most likely move up through the ranks quickly.
Say, for example, on a retail management track.
You may have heard it called fast-tracked.
Is that something you’re interested in?”
Jeremy could give his famous fast-track speech in his sleep.
“Yes, I’d be interested in that,” she says, still frowning. Shouldn’t she be happy about this?
“Excellent. This is the first step, Abs. Congratulations.” Jeremy stops clicking the pen, drops it onto the desk, and stands up. He holds out his hand.
She looks at it in surprise and stands, too. “Thank you.” She shakes his hand. “I have one more question. Does the promotion come with a raise?”
He chuckles again and leans over the desk to write something on a yellow Post-it. “It does.” He hands Abbey the note.
I know what it says, and it’s not pretty. Thirteen cents more an hour than what she’s currently making.
She’s quiet for a moment, then swallows hard and says, “This is great. Thank you. Thanks for your confidence in me.”
Jeremy exhales audibly. “Great,” he echoes. “Congratulations again, Abbey.”
“I’ll walk you back to the department,” I say, and Jeremy turns to the computer.
She looks from him to the number on the Post-it note, back and forth a couple of times, her mouth hanging open slightly, but she doesn’t move.
“Come on.” I place my hand on her back, like it’s the most natural thing, like we’re a couple and this is what we do.
Wait. I shouldn’t do this. I drop my hand before she can say anything. Did she notice? Of course she noticed. Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe she’s still only aware of the dismal number on the Post-it note.
“You okay?” I ask once we’re safely out of earshot of the Dugout and customer service.
“Define okay,” she spits out. She shakes the note in her hand. “I’m not great at math, but even I can figure out that this will be only slightly more than five dollars a week. Thirteen fucking cents an hour.”
She doesn’t wait for me to respond before she moves off the diamond and cuts back to the warehouse, most likely to talk to Sam. I don’t blame her. That’s where I’d find refuge, too. They’ve become fast friends since she started here.
I don’t intentionally follow her back to the warehouse, but as I walk past the computer department, I notice an empty peg on an endcap—a cable that’s in the ad—so I head back there to bring out product to refill it.
I hear them through the warehouse doors.
“News travels fast,” Abbey’s saying.
“I knew before you did, actually,” Sam says. “Jeremy let it slip this morning.”
I release a puff of air. Of course he did.
“We got a drop of 2Pac,” Sam says. “You need those, right?”
Seriously, that’s it? Now they’re talking about drop shipments?
“Oh, good,” Abbey says. “It’s in the ad next week. Are they scanned in? I’ll price them.”
I’m close enough that I can hear Sam slide the box over to her, then the click of the pricing gun as she changes the numbers to the correct amount.
The gun snaps as she stickers the first one, then sets the CD on the desk.
Snap, click. Snap, click. For a while, she doesn’t say anything, and I think maybe this mission is pointless and I won’t find out why she’s so upset.
“Sam,” she finally says, “how long have you worked for Hometown?”
A-ha. Let’s see where this leads.
“Eight? Nine years? I started as a part-timer when I was in high school, unloading trucks, doing carry-outs, stuff like that. That’s when I met Wil.”
“Did you go to college?”
“Yep. I got a degree in hospitality management. Figured I’d work at a hotel or a casino or something. But I like it here.”
“Are you on the fast track?”
He barks out a laugh. “I don’t want to be a manager.”
“Why not?”
“I like inventory. I’m good at what I do. It’s a numbers game, and I like to win. None of this people business for me, dealing with feelings and shit.”
“Jeremy said they want to fast-track me,” she says. Something hesitant in her tone concerns me.
“I’m not surprised.”
“What if I don’t want to be fast-tracked?”
“What are you thinking? Do you want to go back to what you were doing before?”
Thank you, Sam.
“No. I mean maybe. Probably.”
Damn it.
“I just got promoted,” she continues, “and they gave me a measly five dollars more a week. I’d definitely make more money if I went back to a paper or magazine, and it’s what I went to school for. It’s kind of insulting, you know? Five dollars.”
“Believe me, I know. But hang in there. It gets better. The pay, I mean.”
There’s a long pause before Abbey continues. “What if… what if I think it’s… shady?”
“What do you mean? You think the fast track is shady?”
“I guess…” She pauses again and I can almost guarantee that Sam’s looking at her, patiently waiting for her to collect her thoughts. Finally, she continues. “Uh, recent events have made it hard for me… to trust… that this isn’t some… power move. Does that make sense?”
She must mean what happened with Tyrell the night of Cesar’s birthday party. I wonder if someone else here has harassed her. A flare of rage burns through me, hot and insistent. And something else, something unfamiliar. An urgent need to protect her.
But then another thought hits me—hard, like a gut punch. What if it’s me? What if Abbey thinks she needs protection… from me? What if I’ve upset her, said or done something to make her feel like she can’t trust me?
Oh, shit, like trying to buy her a margarita and queso. Maybe she thinks that was a power move, or a payoff for something. God, the same night that Tyrell spoke to her so disrespectfully, too.
“Hmm,” Sam says. “I can see where you might think that. Sometimes it seems like there’s a lot of favoritism around here,” he goes on, but she interrupts him.
“Seems like?”
“Okay, point taken. Yes, some of the managers play favorites.”
“What about Wil?”
I suck in a breath.
“Look, Wil’s my best friend. I’m probably not the best person to ask.”
Sam is such a good person.
“You can trust him, Abbey,” he says softly.
She makes a hmpf noise, and for a moment, there’s only the snap and click of the pricing gun. Then she says, “You could be an inventory manager and still be back here, right?”
Sam laughs. “Dex would never give it up. Plus, it’s better for my family if I work fewer hours and keep a more routine schedule. I figure I can stay here a couple more years and then find a place at corporate.”
That’s always been his plan, but I can’t imagine what it will be like to be in the store—Woodlake or any store, honestly—without him. It’s been me and Sam since the beginning.
“Why isn’t Dex on rotation?” Abbey asks.
“True inventory professionals are like trolls who live underground. We don’t like to come out of our warehouse and see the sunlight. People like Dex and me are better off back here with the other trolls.”
“I’m not a troll.” It’s Eric. I wonder how long he’s been sitting there, listening to their conversation.
“You’re the worst of the trolls,” Sam says.
I hear a crunch and then Eric says, around a mouthful of what I can easily assume is Skittles, “No, Wil is the worst of the trolls.”
I almost snort. Instead, I figure it’s time to stop eavesdropping and get those cables out to the empty endcap. I make a point to slam one of the swinging doors into the shelving behind it with a whump.
Abbey startles.
“Hey,” I say with as much nonchalance as possible, “did I see we were getting a drop of 2Pac today? The endcap’s empty.” Since his death a few weeks ago, they’ve been flying off the shelves.
“Speak of the troll,” Abbey mutters and I have to bite back my laugh.
“What did you say?” I ask, my voice low. I step close to her, and she smells… delicious. Something fruity and floral and bright, like sunshine in a bottle. I noticed it in the Dugout, too. New perfume, maybe. But I know better than to ask.
She pushes a stack of CDs toward my chest, and I stumble a little as I grab hold of them. “This should hold you over,” she says with a bright smile. “I’ll be out with the rest ASAP.”
“Abbey was asking me about rotation,” Sam says. “I think you’re looking at a future merch manager, Wil.”
“How about we start with ATC?” I ask and she picks up the pricing gun again. Snap, click. Snap, click.
Two things I know for sure: I need Abbey to work her media magic with the next eval—any day now—and I absolutely can’t do anything that will jeopardize that. My father’s voice echoes in my head: Get your act together, Wil, or you’ll find yourself back at the inventory desk. Permanently.
I walk back out to the floor with the stack of 2Pac All Eyez on Me to fill the empty endcap.