I’m on my last store when I hear Jordan’s voice coming from behind the door of a fitting room.
“You have to let me off the hook,” he says to someone.
After a few moments, he continues, “I don’t care if you don’t pay me. I can’t do this anymore.”
It’s obviously a one-sided conversation, which means he’s incurring huge international roaming costs to call someone while we’re at sea.
I should walk away, but my feet remain glued to the spot as I flip through men’s belts and ties, look through wallets, tie clips, and belt buckles.
“No, she hasn’t met anyone,” Jordan replies to a question I can’t hear.
Grrr. This pisses me off. He’s giving Jade an update on me because he wants to weasel out of the deal.
“May I help you with anything?” a solicitous salesperson asks.
I shake my head, not wanting my voice to give me away from eavesdropping.
“Okay, do let me know,” the salesperson says. “Say, aren’t you the woman who danced all night with the Loki character?”
I wave my hand harder and shake my head, then zip my lips, signaling her to shut up.
“I get it.” The salesperson glances at my blank ring finger. “Discretion is key.”
I nod like a bobbing seal, minus the clapping flippers.
“Let me show you something,” the salesperson persists, while I keep one ear perked for Jordan’s voice.
He’s now explaining how he has no doubt I’m going to come out smelling like a baker’s dozen of roses, and that he wants assurances that nothing he does will be held against him.
Really? He’s that afraid of Jade?
I shake my head, and the salesperson mistakes my disinterest in the Thor’s hammer pewter belt buckle she’s showing me.
“How about this one?” she asks. “Twin snakes wrapped around each other like an infinity symbol. It’s the symbol of Loki, the anti-hero. He’s always up to some trickery, but I believe he means well, in his own way.”
I put my finger to my lips and pull out my credit card, signaling I’ll take it. While she wraps it, I wander around the belt section, looking for a black leather piece which will match the buckle.
“It’s never about the pay,” Jordan says, still arguing with Jade. “I don’t agree with your methods. She’s a free spirit. I think you need to let it go.”
Let what go? Why doesn’t he agree with Jade wanting to cheer me up?
I strain my ear to hear more, but Jordan’s lowered his voice. He ends the call. The latch on the changing room door clicks, and I barely have enough time to grab the package from the salesperson and skitter behind the scarf collection, before Jordan emerges.
“How did those fit?” the salesperson asks sweetly.
“They’re tight,” Jordan replies.
“Would you like to try on another pair?”
“No, but if you can help me find the perfect gift for a special woman, I’d be entirely in your debt.”
“Let me show you our colorful scarves,” the salesperson says.
I drop the blue, multi-colored silk scarf whose swirly patterns capture the brushstrokes and colors of Vincent Van Gogh’s famous Starry Night painting and dash out of the boutique.
I hope he didn’t see me. How deflating to know my best friend thinks I’m so pathetic that she has to pay a man to make me happy.
How foolish of me to throw myself at Jordan and kiss him so desperately when all he’s doing is a job he doesn’t want.
