Chapter Nine #2
My suspicion that I would be able to handle being alone at Virtu was a million percent correct, apparently.
Because I am rocking this. I have already sold a three-hundred-dollar set of nineteenth-century bone china to a woman shopping for a wedding present for her grandniece (and prudently kept my opinions on whether said grand-niece would actually appreciate this gift to myself ).
Now I’m helping out a sweet couple around my parents’ age looking to furnish their new bed-and-breakfast in Pennsylvania.
So far Jim and Madge have selected a dining table and two armchairs, and they are still wandering through the store pointing out more pieces to each other and talking about what would work in various guest rooms and common areas.
I’m remaining calm and professional on the outside, but inside I am scream-singing the chorus from “Break My Stride” on repeat.
Imagine Cal’s face when he returns from the bank to find that I’ve made Virtu several thousand dollars in less than two hours!
He’ll have to be grateful that I forced him into trusting me.
Maybe so grateful that he will kneel at my feet and praise my sales prowess and tell me how beautiful and smart I am and how happy he is to have me here.
How he’s glad to let me do what I want even without the threat of blackmail, and then we can dispose with all that and simply work together in harmony and light sexual tension for the rest of the month.
A girl can dream.
“Ah, two inches too wide for that nook,” Jim says over the metallic thwap of his tape measure’s retraction.
“Maybe that one over there?” Madge points to a different sideboard in the back corner of the showroom and she and Jim head toward it. I’m about to follow when the bells on the door sound.
“Excuse me for one moment,” I call to them, and head toward the front of the store.
A tall Black woman in a cream silk blouse and wide-legged pinstripe pants stands at the counter, checking her cell phone.
“Good morning,” I say.
The woman slides her phone into her pants pocket and brushes a strand of long blonde hair behind her ear. “Hello. Is Inés available?”
“She’s actually out for the next few weeks, traveling overseas. But maybe I can help you?”
“My name’s Makayla, and I’m Genevieve Gladhill’s assistant.
I’m here to pick up her latest,” she says, as if I should know who Genevieve Gladhill is and what her latest might be.
I suppose I could go looking around to see if anything is labeled as such, but I can see Jim and Madge across the room, waiting patiently to ask me something.
I’m worried disappearing on them for longer might make them change their minds about spending a small fortune here.
“Sorry,” I tell Makayla. “I just started working here and I have to admit that I’m not sure what that would be. Is it possible for you to come back in about an hour? One of the owners will be here by then. I’m sure he—”
“Usually Inés puts it all in the back storage room and we use the loading area to pick up,” she says with a lilt in her voice turning it into a question.
Oh! Monday night when we were moving the goose out of Cal’s living room, he told me the storage room is where they keep things that need some sort of attention before they’re put out on the floor, or that they purchased special for a customer.
He also mentioned an arrangement Inés initiated with a local real estate agent a few years ago, where they rent out pieces to her so she can use them to stage high-end properties in the area.
Then the agent arranges for buyers to purchase anything they want to keep and returns the rest to Virtu.
This woman must work with that real estate agent, and she’s here to pick up their latest rentals.
“Right, yes, I actually remember Cal telling me about this. He popped out for a minute but should be back soon if you need help carrying things to your vehicle?” My eyes jump back and forth between her and my generous spenders apologetically, hoping she understands why I’m not volunteering to help her myself.
“Oh, don’t worry about that. I brought plenty of muscle. We should be fine if you don’t mind us helping ourselves.” Makayla points her thumb over her shoulder at two men in the cabin of a small box truck parked out front, presumably waiting for her signal to proceed around back to the alley.
“Oh, sure. Just let me know if you need anything.”
“Thanks.” Makayla pulls out her phone again and heads for the front door.
As the bells jingle, signaling her exit, I speed walk to the storage room to unlock the roll-up door, then return to Jim and Madge. “Sorry about that,” I say. “Surprisingly busy today!”
“No problem,” Jim says.
Madge places her hand atop the sideboard they went to check out. “We’ve actually changed our minds,” she says.
My mental record player scratches, ironically breaking my stride as my stomach drops, the feeling of doom suddenly weighing it down.
Ugh. Farewell to the idea of selling enough to make Cal forget every doubt he ever had about my competence; if he ever learns that I blew this massive sale, he’ll consider it proof of his misgivings and never let me speak to a customer ever again.
“Instead of that first dining table, we’re going to go with the eight-person one that’s the same style as this credenza.
And then also the two armchairs, the oak armoire we looked at first thing, the headboard in the corner…
” She pauses, exchanges a speaking glance with her husband, and throws up her hands in playful exasperation.
“And that big painting of the rectangular cow Jim liked. Might as well, right?”
Holy shit. My stomach bounces back up, still feeling a little off-kilter (but in a much less unpleasant way). The music resumes its loop in my brain and I have to stop myself from wiggling my hips to the beat as my responding grin stretches so far it feels like it tests the limits of my face.
“Wonderful!” I say. “I’m so glad you found what you were looking for here. Let me go grab some sold tags and we’ll get everything squared away.”