“They sure know how to take the fun out of everything,” I said, waving a pack of gum and smiling at her.
“Sure, if cavities is your definition of fun,” she loud-whispered and snatched the pack from me, putting it back on the neatly arranged little rack on the counter. She then peeked sideways to see if Adam was in the area.
“What happened this morning, June? Was it really about the toilet seat? Is everything okay?”
“Everythingwasokay until you showed up here. I can’t explain your presence.”
I half-pivoted toward the now-empty shop. “Who do you have to explain anything to? I’m just here to buy … this.” I pointed at one of the energy bars.
She breathed out. “Angelo, I can’t do—”
Just then, a loud smashing sound came from the far end of the shop.
“June, it’s the new shipment,” Adam called. “I’m sorry.”
“Wait here,” she ordered in another loud whisper then hurried away.
I resumed browsing the aisles closest to me. In one corner, there was a rattan basket with what looked like handmade rustic wooden signs, artistically decorated with slogans, such as, “Live, Laugh, Love.”
Two women in stylish workout outfits entered. They walked around a little, saw me, and stopped at a shelf opposite me on the same aisle, picking up items, whispering at the labels, and throwing side glances at me. They looked about June’s age but giggled like high school girls.
“What do you think?” one of them asked aloud, holding out a green tube.
I lifted my head from sniffing a scented candle. “About what?”
“This cream for my neck,” the woman said, sizing me up, probably fully aware that I wasn’t an employee. “Is it any good?” She slid her fingers down her neck and stopped just inside the cleavage of her fuchsia spandex top.
For some reason, the first thing that came to my mind wasn’t her luscious breasts that she was obviously trying to point me at, but that June wouldn’t be caught dead in synthetic fabric or that color. The fabrics in her closet were so organic they could probably sprout.
“All the products here are great. Carefully selected,” I replied with a smile.
“Italian, right?” The woman’s eyes lit up.
“Vietnamese. We’re naming favorite cuisines, right?”
They giggled again.
“So, what do you think?” Cream Lady repeated, placing the tube in my hand.
“It’s a great cream, but you need good genes, too.” I couldn’t help myself.
They chuckled.
Cream Lady patted my forearm in an obvious flirtation, with her wedding ring hand.
Given my situation, who was I to judge? She was easy to read: married, bored, would reward the poor guy who would go for it with tediously imaginative sex, and hound him when he wanted out. I knew the type.
I gave her back the product and looked around to see if June or Adam were there to relieve me from these two, but they were nowhere.
“What would you recommend for stress relief?” the other asked. The way she mouthedstress reliefwasn’t subtle, but at least her dark purple outfit didn’t blind me.
“Everything—creams, candles, powders, soaps.” I pointed at the shelves, knowing Fuchsia and Dark Purple didn’t really believe I worked there.
“You people do speak with your hands a lot,” Fuchsia commented. “Say something in Italian.”
“E voi gente del cazzo dovete andare a farvi fottere,” I said with a smile, wondering how fast that enchanted look they gave me would evaporate if they knew that what I had just said was, “And you people do need to go fuck yourselves.”
“I wonder what else Italians do with their hands,” Dark Purple chimed in with a smirk.
