The Submissive's Last Word (The Power to Please #4) (24 page)

Chapter 20

“What is it?” The frizzy-haired man held out a package to
me.

 I sighed, looked up from my drawing pad and scanned over
the item he held. “I have no idea.” I returned to my sketch.

“Well, you work here, don’cha? It’s your job to know.”

“It’s my job to take your money and tell you to have a nice
day. Beyond that, you’re on your own.”

“No pride in the workplace anymore. You’d think you didn’t
want to sell nothing.”

I sighed again, louder this time, set my pad aside and took
the cellophane-wrapped package from his outstretched hand. “The writing on it’s
Japanese, I think. From the smell and look of it, it’s probably some kind of
dried seaweed or algae. Though it could be dehydrated squid guts for all I
know.”

“You sell dehydrated squid guts?”

“Anything’s possible.”

He reached over the counter and took the package back from
me, eyeing it warily this time. “What do you think it’s good for?”

“No idea. I’ll take a stab at it, though, and say it’s
probably not for indigestion.”

“You aren’t very good at this,” he said with a frown. “I’d
think they’d hire somebody knowledgeable to work here.”

“You’re right. I’ll take it up with management. You going to
buy that stuff or not?”

He scratched his frizzy head. “I don’t know.”

“Alrighty then.” I picked up my pad and resumed my sketch.
The man didn’t know it, but I was drawing him. I quickly added a hand to
scratch his head, changed his features to comic befuddlement.

I heard the bells above the shop door jingle and did a
mental rolling of my eyes, not bothering to look up. Another customer. Two at
once. What was it? Rush hour?

One of the best things about my job was that the place never
got busy, leaving me loads of time to do whatever I wanted. Another great thing
was that the shop attracted a high proportion of eccentric people, the
interesting sort that were fun to draw.

The owner didn’t care that I knew absolutely nothing about
health food, or any of the other weird, health-related items that were crammed
into every nook and cranny of the place. I was a warm body who held down the
fort, showed up when I was supposed to and didn’t leave until someone arrived
to take the next shift, or until closing time, whichever came first.

In other words, he had minimal staffing standards, making me
an ideal employee. Being someone who just wanted to pay a few bills and do as
little as humanly possible along the way, the job was as perfect for me as I
was for it.

I’d been lucky to find it. After I left Gibson, I quit my
job at Roundtree for obvious reasons. I stayed with the Hoytes for about a week
while I searched for an apartment and a job to pay for it.

I wanted something close to school, so I wandered around the
surrounding blocks. When I ran across a help wanted sign in the window of a
dusty health food store, I stepped inside on a whim.

I learned from the owner that a small studio apartment over
the shop was a perk of the job, available at a discounted rate as long as I
worked in the store. Right away, I knew I’d hit the jackpot. I was moved in and
gainfully employed by the next day. I’d been there ever since.

It was March now. In some ways, it was hard to believe I’d
been there so long. In other ways, it seemed a lifetime.

The fuzzy-haired man cleared his throat. “You sure about
that indigestion thing? I get acid reflux sometimes.”

“I said it’s probably not for indigestion. Not. Meaning ...
well, not. Geez.”

“Oh, I thought you said ‘is’ good for it.”

“Not.”

“Oh.”

Remarkably, that was not the stupidest conversation I’d had
that day. No, that conversation involved a woman seeking an organic laxative
for her pet Madagascar hissing cockroach (which she brought into the store in
her purse) and an elderly gentleman who wouldn’t stop complaining that we had a
leak in our non-existent radiators.

I rapidly drew in the sparse whiskers on the frizzy-haired
man’s chin, made his eyes a little squintier than they actually were.

“I just don’t know,” he said. “It’s pretty expensive.”

“How much is it?” I asked, glancing at him to check the size
of his ears. Big. Yeah, that made sense.

“$12.99.”

“Well, that is pretty pricey if it’s a package of algae. But
if it’s dried squid guts, it might be a great deal. Hard to say.”

“That’s a good point.” He said, turned the bag over, peering
at the other side as if it held the answers to the mystery of bargain hunting.

I was starting to like the guy. “You could come back
tomorrow. The owner’s usually here in the morning.”

“I don’t think so. I have a doctor’s appointment.”

“For the acid reflux?”

He shook his head. “Ingrown toenail. That’s what I actually
came in here for. Thought you’d have something for it.”

“I see. And then you got sucked in by that shiny bag of
whatever it is that you’re holding.”

“Yeah.”

“The evils of marketing.”

His eyes glittered. “They know just what they’re doing.”

“Undoubtedly.” I knew he’d like that. Most of our customers
enjoyed hating on marketers and rampant consumerism.

I went back to sketching, leaving him to ponder whatever he
was moved to ponder. I started a second sketch. This time, I drew him with a
suspicious expression.

“Do you think,” he said after a while, “that this stuff
might fix my ingrown toenail?”

“I have no idea.”

“Yeah, but what’s your opinion?”

“I don’t have an opinion.”

“But do you think it would make it worse?”

I opened my mouth but was cut short by a woman’s voice, a
powerful and commanding voice.

“Oh for crying out loud,” she said. “Give me that thing!”

She stepped in front of the counter. This was a surprise. It
was Paulina Martin, all tall and slim in a classic navy coat, her platinum bob
sleeked back into a shiny bun.

She grabbed the bag from the stunned little man and
scrutinized the contents with a scowl. She crinkled it a few times and poked at
it with a manicured, blood red fingernail.

“It’s dried seaweed,” she proclaimed with her usual air of
confidence. She shoved it back at the frizzy-haired man. “And it’s an excellent
aid in digestion.” She shot a pointed glance at me.

“Okay,” I said, “but if it had been dried squid guts, that
would be different. That’s all I was saying.”

She sniffed loudly. “Why would the store carry dried squid
guts?”

I shrugged. “Why does it carry dried seaweed?”

She waved her hand at me and turned to the small man.
“Ignore her. She’s being amusing. Or thinks she is, anyway. My advice to you,
and you’d be well-served to take it, is to go to the doctor tomorrow like you
planned. You could have an infection, or worse.”

“Then,” she continued, “you’ll need to address the causes of
your condition. Likely it’s ill-fitting shoes or cutting your nails improperly,
or both. There are other causes, but from the looks of your shoes, I’d guess
it’s that.”

The man stared down at his feet. “I thought my shoes were
nice.”

“Niceness is neither here nor there. It’s about the fit.”

“Hmm,” was all he said, still transfixed with his feet.

Great, I thought, between the shoes and the seaweed
quandaries, I was never getting rid of the guy.

“So are you going to buy the seaweed or not?” Paulina asked,
looking down her nose at him.

“Oh. Yeah.” He returned his attention to the package. “I
don’t know. Is it good for acid reflux? I mean, if it’s not good for my toe,
then it needs to be good for something. $12.99 isn’t cheap.”

Paulina arched a shapely eyebrow at him, then turned to me.
“If I were you, I’d have a stun gun back there, and whenever someone like this
... person asked too many stupid questions, I’d zap him then roll him into the
alley just to be shut of him.

The frizzy-haired man looked at Paulina with more than a
little concern.

“It’s a thought,” I said, “but I’d hate to lose a potential
sale.”

She brushed an invisible piece of lint from her immaculate
navy coat. “I wouldn’t care. Trust me. You don’t want to cultivate
relationships with this sort of numbskullery.”

The man puffed out his scrawny chest as far as it would go.
“Hey, are you calling me names?”

“I am,” she said.

“Oh. Well. Dang. I didn’t expect you to be so honest about
it.”

“I’m renowned for my integrity,” she said. “People always
say they can count on me for an honest opinion.”

“Yeah,” I said. “whether they ask for it or not.”

“I think the clerk just scored on you,” the man said to
Paulina.

“That’s all right,” Paulina said. “She’s seriously
underemployed in this capacity, so it’s not as devastating a blow to my ego as
it might be otherwise.”

The man looked at me. “Was that a compliment?”

“You know, I think it was.” I grinned at Paulina.

She ignored me. “Enough of this. Now you, man with the
ill-fitting shoes, what’s it going to take to get you out of this store with
the least amount of further conversation?”

He gave it some thought then held out the bag of seaweed.
“$12.99 plus tax.”

“Done.” She flicked her hand at him, dismissing him.

He nodded at me, struck the seaweed under his arm, then
strutted to the door, resembling a euphoric, but scruffy, Art Garfunkel.

When the bell on the door signaled his departure, Paulina
opened her handbag and tossed a twenty dollar bill on the counter. “Worth every
penny.”

I rang up the purchase and handed her the change. “So what
brings you here? I haven’t seen you in a while. Xavier was here last week,
though.”

Xavier visited me fairly regularly. He’d spend the afternoon
keeping me company in the shop, or if I wasn’t working, we’d hang out in my
apartment or find some quaint cafe in the neighborhood for a bite to eat and a
chat.

“I’d as soon leave that until I have a reasonable chance of
privacy, and it’s doubtful that can be achieved here,” she said.

“My relief should be here within the next hour — if he shows
up. I warn you, he doesn’t always show up.”

“I’m not surprised. The quality of the clientele alone
warrants a certain amount of dereliction of duty. What happens if you’re left
in the lurch?”

“I usually cover his shift.”

She arched her eyebrow at me, the same as she’d done to the
frizzy-haired man. “You seem more nonchalant than I recall.”

“You know what they say. Don’t sweat the small stuff, and
everything is small stuff.”

“I’m not fond of pop psychology.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

The side of her mouth quirked up then she resumed her normal
queenly air. “I’ll be back in an hour.” She turned and sailed out the door, her
floral perfume swirling in her wake.

I grabbed up my sketch book, and quickly set about capturing
the moment of her spin.

In the back of my mind, I wondered what Paulina’s visit was
about. I’d last seen her more than a month before. I’d gone shopping with
Lilly, and we ran into Paulina in a department store. She was in a hurry so we
didn’t get a chance to talk much. She barely had time to tell me the color of
the shirt I was trying on made me look sallow.

I knew from Elaine that she and Ron were still involved with
the Martins, though perhaps not as heavily as they once were. I didn’t think my
split with Gibson caused any problems in their relationship, since there was no
rancor between Gibson and I, no sides to take.

Lilly and Xavier never mentioned Gibson to me, nor did Ron.
Elaine had stopped bringing him up as a subject of conversation when I finally
convinced her that the situation was beyond repair.

I was relieved that my friendship with Lilly and Xavier
persisted after my relationship with Gibson ended. I needed every friend I
could get.

I got a call, in February, from one of my old girlfriends,
Sherry. I hadn’t heard from her since the porno scandal the previous summer,
and hadn’t expected to hear from her ever again after her negative reaction.

She told me she missed me, and that she’d thought a lot
about things and she hoped I’d give her a second chance. Of course, I did. We
weren’t as close as we once were, but we were getting there. I had yet to
resume contact with any of my other, former girlfriends.

I scratched away in my sketchbook and easily passed the time
waiting on my co-worker to relieve me. Miracle of miracles, he arrived at the
store only ten minutes late. I joined Paulina outside, who’d been stationed at
the door for the past fifteen minutes, impatiently tapping her toe and
terrifying customers.

She craned her neck and eyed the upper floors of the
building. “I hear you live around here, someplace.”

“Yep. Right up there. Second floor.”

“We can step up there for a moment.”

Okay, then. We went to the side of the building and the
small door that opened onto the stairs which led to the upper floors. I heard
her sniff several times as we climbed the steps, but other than that, she made
no comment on the dilapidated state of the building.

I unlocked the door to my small home and preceded her
inside. In spite of myself, I frantically scanned the room in worry that I’d
left it filthy that morning, which I knew full well I hadn’t. Darned Paulina.
She brought that sort of thing out in you, even when you were on guard against
it.

Paulina marched inside and scrutinized the room. There
wasn’t much to see. It was a small room, with a minuscule kitchen in one
corner, basic furniture like a bed and table and chairs, and a flea-sized
attached bathroom. At the rent I was paying for it, it was still a bargain.

I’d done my best to give it character. Rich color abounded
in the fabrics I draped over the shabby furniture, and in the throw pillows
scattered around the place. Even the collection of eclectic rugs I picked up at
different thrift stores were vibrant and served to mask the dingy linoleum
floor.