The customer – Lucy – rushes to the changeroom; dress swishing. Then she sticks her head out from behind the change room curtain and dazzles me with a smile.
“You’re far too generous, Dirk,” she says. How does she know my name? Oh yeah. Jill mentioned it. Should I worry?
“No need to dry clean it,” Lucy says, her voice musical as an actor’s. “Let me at least pay half. I was going to buy it anyway, and perhaps I can remove the stains myself.”
“No, please,” I say. I want to see her smile again. “Allow me. And coffee. Let me bring you a fresh coffee, too. Jill?”
“Thank you, Dirk,” says Jill, cleaning cloth in hand, down on her knees. “It’s the least you can do.”
“Oh, Dirk, thank you,” says the woman from behind the change room curtain. “Perfect! Skim latte. One sugar. My only vice.”
Vice. The word has connotations. This Lucy has a voice like artisanal honey – with a hint of double meaning. I smile. I need to get it out of there – fast – so I go to get fresh coffees, including the one for her.
Back at the coffee shop, there’s a queue. I survey the cakes, then change my mind. The last thing Jill needs is more sticky food on her merchandise.
Time is ticking. My parking spot is for fifteen minutes only and the parking enforcement officers are merciless here, so close to downtown, but I’ve given my word. Besides, what’s the price of a parking ticket compared to everything else?
But when I return, I can’t believe it. The woman, Lucy, is sitting in Jamison’s car – sure, she matches the thing; racy – but ...
She looks great there – as if she belongs. Audacious. But as I open my mouth to protest – again, that utterly distracting smile.
She’s done something with her hair that shows off her neck; twisted it up and secured it with ... a pencil?
“Dirk!” she says as she springs out and holds out her hand for her coffee. “Don’t be alarmed. I saved you a parking fine.”
She accompanies me back into Jill’s store, as if I’m on a tv show with her and she’s the elegant hostess, all glamor and ease, and I’m the witless interviewee, being wheeled in for a quick exchange. Is that it? Have I seen her on tv? Never watch it, though I was interviewed once, way, way back, before the illegal tackle that cracked my head against the goal post, that moment that changed everything.
Back inside the store, Jill takes her coffee. She’s unusually quiet while Lucy beckons me across to the shirts.
As we sip our drinks, Lucy asks my opinion. I know nothing about fashion, beyond what Jill’s told me over the years, about stock and the changing seasons. Long sleeves. Short sleeves. No sleeves.
“What colors match my eyes, please, Dirk?” Lucy says.
Seriously? Still, makes a nice change from staring at bruises and bandages and scars and everything else under the sun. And now that I’m retired, with too much time on my hands and not enough ways to spend it, why not stay a few minutes?
Chapter 4
