#nearly ten dollars ... for a bacon egg and cheese

[gigginox]

i have to stop trying to work at places clearly meant for people who make more money than me i just saw the prices for the place im interviewing at today and got so mad i started pacing around my room

[themadlostgirl]

When It’s Cold (2)

*Horny teens are horny. Mild smut mentions ahead.*

~~~

I laid in bed watching the lightning flash outside my windows as thunder shook the room and rain poured down. As a child a storm like this would have had me hiding under my covers. Tonight though I watched the storm, every inch of my body on alert with every crack of lightning and thunder. The doors to my room burst open with a roll of thunder. A shadowed figured stood in the hallway. My heart hammered fast as I tried to see through the darkness at my intruder. A flash of lightning illuminated the once dark room and I recognized the jagged line down my visitor’s face.

“Felix?” I sat up straighter. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to make sure you weren’t scared.” He prowled closer, a wicked grin on his face as he got to the foot of my bed. “You always were so scared of storms.”

“I was…” I murmured. He was dressed only in a pair of pants. That same chiseled torso I had gawked at earlier on full display.

He crawled onto the bed until he was hovering over me. “Do you want me to stay?” His voice purred in my ear, “I can keep you warm if it gets cold.”

“Yes please,” I let the robe around me fall from my shoulders leaving me exposed. “Keep me warm, Felix.”

“Gladly.” He swooped down upon me.

~~~

I woke with a start. My body was wound up tight and I was tangled in the blankets on my bed. I gazed around me confused before the previous day’s events caught up to me. It felt like a dream that Felix and I had found this mansion last night.

Felix…

The real dream came back to me with stark detail. What had that been all about? I’ve never had a dream like that before. I never have dreams in the first place. Even when I do they’re nothing like that and most certainly do not feature Felix. Yet he had been the epicenter.

Half naked with a devilish grin looking down at my own nude body. I had wanted him to--to--

I buried my face in my pillow. This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t gone to his room last night and saw him coming out of the bathroom. Why did I have to see that? Now I was having borderline erotic dreams about him. Oh screw borderline! I knew exactly what I had been hoping to happen and the aching between my legs only solidified it.

It’s not like I never found Felix ugly or anything. He was pleasant to look at. I dare say at times he was handsome but I never dwelled on it. Maybe a stray intrusive thought or two but they never went so far as my dream had. I couldn’t stop picturing it. Felix and I in bed, his large hands on my body, his lips caressing my skin…

I pressed my legs together as the image took root in my head. Maybe I deserve to indulge a little. For right now there is nothing to worry about. Besides, it’s not like Felix will ever know. My hand dipped between my legs as I let myself fall back into the dream. My body was extra sensitive since I hadn’t been able to indulge in this particular past time since Neverland. Not that I got to do it a whole lot there either. I swear there is absolutely no privacy on that island.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

And none here either it seems.

With a small whine I swung out of bed and pulled my robe in tight. I opened the door and Felix was waiting on the other side already dressed. Could it be considered poetic irony that the boy I had just a moment ago been masturbating to interrupted said masturbation?

“Did you just wake up?” Felix looked me up and down.

“Kinda. I figured I was allowed to sleep in. What do you want?” I stepped back and started collecting my clothes from the floor. 

“Get dressed. I discovered something you’re gonna wanna see.”

“Can’t you just tell me?”

“No. Now hurry up.” He closed the door and left.

With a sigh a pulled my clothes back on and followed Felix up a set of stairs to a hallway that led to a dead end. “This is what you wanted to show me? A wall with a picture on it?”

“Watch this,” He pulled the light fixture next to the painting and suddenly the wall came loose and rotated opening up a passageway into a whole new room.

“This place has secret rooms now. Very cool.” I stepped inside. “A library?” I looked at the books but there were no names on the spines. I pulled one off and flipped through it but all the pages were blank. “I will say I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Oh but it gets better.” Felix went over to the desk at the end of the room and pulled open the drawer. There was a button inside. He pressed it and a section of the floor popped up. I knelt down and opened the hatch and my eyes went wide. It was a safe!

I turned the latch and nearly cried at what I saw. Money. Just stacks and stacks of money! One less thing to worry about. We wouldn’t need to scrape by or get jobs. This safe could keep us comfortable for months! Years even!

“How did you find this?” I asked Felix.

“I like puzzles and I like to snoop.” He grinned pulling out a stack of hundreds. The band around it said ten thousand. Ten thousand dollars and there were easily a hundred or more just like it from what I could tell from the naked eye. We have someplace warm to sleep and we have money for food.

I started sniffling and I could sense Felix watching me befuddled. “Sorry, I just--” I took a deep breath and wiped the tears from my eyes, “We’re going to survive the winter. We don’t have to be hungry or cold again.”

“I know,” Felix pulled a few hundreds from the stack and dropped the rest back in the safe. “Now how about we go do that grocery shopping you were so insistent on?”

“Yes!” I hopped to my feet. We put everything back in place and left the room. I found a pad of paper and started making a list of everything we would need. Unlike Felix who had spent so much time on Neverland that he couldn’t remember who he had been before being a Lost Boy , I did remember who I was. I remembered the responsibilities I had before Neverland. What was needed when I was made to go to market. The grocery store wasn’t like the open air markets I was used to but it was still the same general concept.

Felix and I got weird looks as we entered the store and I took one of the trollies. My first stop was to grab some toiletries. Toilet paper, shampoo, body wash, loofah, deodorant, toothbrushes, toothpaste, floss, and even a set of razors in case Felix wanted to shave. Next we grabbed laundry detergent, dish soap, paper towels, spray cleaner, trash bags, aluminum, and hangers. We would need to go to a different store for clothes. Lastly, food. Now, being the designated responsible person out of the two of us I know we couldn’t just indulge in the sweets and other delicious yet not necessarily healthy food for us.

I sped up and down the aisles with Felix trailing after me as I dumped stuff into the trolley. Chicken, beef, bacon, vegetables, fruits, a ten pound bag of potatoes, bread, milk, two dozen eggs, pasta, rice, butter, flour, sugar, brown sugar, baking powder, baking soda, vanilla, yeast (it’s been forever since I baked anything but I figured I could give it a try), orange juice, apple juice, cheese, canola oil, olive oil, and spices. Then came on the things I knew less about, peanut butter, chocolate chips, gummy candies, dressings, chips, ice cream, instant brownie mix, pizza rolls (they sounded good), cans of soup, yogurt, pancake/waffle mix, whipped cream, cereal, granola bars, pretzels, and tea bags.

Our trolley was overflowing with items as we wheeled our way over to the register. The man bagging our items looked at us strangely as we started unloading our groceries onto the counter. Several minutes and a trolley full of groceries later we were given our grand total. I was scared that we wouldn’t have enough but thankfully we did. We left the store and looked at our haul.

“Hey, Felix,” I paused as we were halfway through the parking lot, “How are we gonna get all this back to the mansion?”

“We steal the cart.” He said it like it was obvious. “Who is gonna stop us?”

“True.” We started out trip back to the mansion and pushed the trolley into the house. We spent the next several minute cramming things into cabinets and the icebox. I pushed the trolley back outside and went to put my toiletries away while Felix took the laundry items down to the basement. I would also need to learn how to use the electronic washers they had here if I wanted clean clothes.

Speaking of clean clothes, “Felix!” I shouted down the steps, “We’re not done yet today. We need to go clothes shopping.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t bring any extra sets of clothes with me when we left Neverland and I’m sick of wearing these dirty rags. Now get a move on!”

Felix came upstairs with a scowl. “Don’t pout. Even if we kept these clothes clean they stand out too much. I think it’s part of the reason everyone glares at us. We’ll arise less suspicion if we blend in. Especially since our mission is to find a way out of here and back to Neverland.”

“Fine.” Felix grumbled. He counted the remaining money in his pocket. “Let me grab a few more bills from the library just to be safe.”

My stomach grumbled and I decided to grab a granola bar to settle my stomach while I waited for Felix. This house was so strange. They didn’t have any dish soap but they had pots and pans. No shampoo but they had combs. Not a lick of food but a cabinet dedicated to what looked like a very fragile table set.

Felix came back a few hundred dollars richer and we made our way back into town for the second time that day. The clothes store was emptier than the grocery store which put me more at ease. Felix and I went our separate ways as I perused around the racks and racks of clothing. I grabbed a few shirts, pajamas, sweatshirts, sweat pants, underwear, socks, gloves, a scarf, hat, a thick jacket, a new pair of boots, and a large messenger bag. When I went to try on some pants though I was thoroughly disappointed. They fit fine but the pockets on them were tiny! I could barely get my hand in them. Was this what pants were like here? Why?!

I went over to the men’s section and found Felix also trying on some new clothes. It was a simple black t-shirt and a pair of dark denim jeans but it looked really good on him. He almost looked less foreboding. Maybe that was just due to the fact that he didn’t have his cloak hood up like usual.

“You look mad,” Felix chuckled upon seeing me stomp up to him.

“I am! Look at this.” I squeezed a few of my fingers into my jeans pocket. “These pants have absolutely no room! Are yours like this as well?”

“Mine?” he stuck his entire hand in his pocket up to the middle of his forearm. “Nope.”

“What the hell?” I stuck my hand in his other pocket. These were so much roomier than mine! “Why are these better than the ones in my section?”

“I don’t know,” Felix pulled my hand out of his pocket, his face was red with anger again and he wouldn’t look me in the eye, “You can stop invading my personal space though.”

“Oops, sorry.” I snatched my hand back to my chest. What had I been thinking? I essentially stuck my hand down his pants and for what? Because I was jealous of the size of his pockets? I grabbed a few pants from his section that looked to be my size and raced back to the dressing rooms in my section. These fit just as well as the ones I was wearing now but the pockets were much roomier so I chucked the others away and got the men’s pants.

Felix met me at the registers when he was done browsing. He still wasn’t looking at me. I think I made things between us really uncomfortable. We paid for the clothes but had no trolley this time so had to carry everything in large bags back to the mansion. After we got back Felix disappeared into his room. I changed into a pair of the comfy new clothes I bought and went downstairs to make myself something to eat.

I heated a can of soup up and sat down to eat. I wasn’t in the mood to be so adventurous as to make a full blown meal. Now that we had all the essentials Felix and I could start our search for a way back to Neverland in earnest.

I didn’t see Felix for the rest of the night. Figures he wouldn’t want to be around me after we spent all day together. I drew myself another hot bath and this time was able to actually wash myself with the soap and shampoo we had bought. I felt truly clean for the first time in a long time as I slid on the pajamas I bought and crawled back into bed.

Rain pattered outside and I was reminded of my dream from this morning. A part of me dreading and hoping that I would have another just like it.

~~~

Fucking hell! You were killing him! You had to be trying to kill him! That’s what Felix concluded as he locked himself in the master bedroom of the mansion.

Ever since Felix had let himself be talked into going to Storybrooke with you he had been forced by your side. You were the only Lost One in Storybrooke still loyal to Pan when all the others had run off to find families for themselves. He told himself he was tagging along instead of staying in Neverland to enact revenge on those that murdered Pan but that was only half of the story.

He should have never followed you though. Revenge aside. It hadn’t worked out anyway. Even after he learned that Pan was still alive, albeit in someone else’s body, it wasn’t enough. Pan died anyway before he got to enact the curse that would have turned this worthless town into a new Neverland. Now everyone was happy and safe and you and Felix were both very much stranded.

Finding this mansion had been a sweet turn of luck. He knew you were right when you mentioned needing a better place to stay over winter. Felix didn’t like the cold either but he could tolerate it better than you. Every night since you two got here you would shiver the night away at your camp. The night before it had been so cold that even Felix was cursing the wind. While he shivered though he glanced across the fire pit at you. You were huddled in so tight to yourself. Teeth chattering and body convulsing.

He was glad that you didn’t make any mention of him giving you his cloak as an extra form of warmth that night. He didn’t want to try explaining why he had done it. Terrible complicated feelings that he refused to acknowledge. He pushed them down hard, stomped them into dust so they could never rear their ugly head again.

Then he had gotten out of the bath. Truly clean for the first time in years he had left the bathroom and all those complicated feelings from before shot to the surface at the scene laid out before him. You knelt on the ground with only a towel barely covering you. Your wet hair leaving drops of water rolling down your shoulders and back.

His jaw clenched and he fumbled to maintain some composure as you explained what you were doing practically naked in his room. He had found the robe in the master bathroom and was planning on wearing it to bed himself but when he caught sight of you he was only too happy to chuck it into your arms. He needed you to cover up. He needed you clothed and out of his room that instant!

He was far from relaxed after you had left that night. The sight of you knelt over, the towel just barely covering your ass was burned into his brain. He ignored the stirring under his towel and dove into the large bed. He tossed and turned most of the night trying to rid the image and the thoughts he was having. His mind betrayed him though as it brought him much more vivid fantasies of you on his bed wearing nothing at all and beckoning him to take you.

He woke soon after breathing hard and his hand around his cock. Felix cursed the fact that he had a lewd dream about you of all people. He tried to ignore the images flashing in his head but when he closed his eyes there you were on all fours again with a teasing smile. He jumped into the bathroom and turned on the shower hoping a cold jolt would snap him back to sense but then he was thinking of you in this shower with him. Water rolling down your body, that same teasing smile and sultry voice begging him to take you against the wall.

For a few minutes he swallowed his embarrassment and let the fantasy play out fucking into his fist and pretending it was you squeezing around him instead. He thought of your moans and whimpers egging him on. Begging him to be harder, faster, rougher. He bit his lip to keep from shouting as he finally spent himself and started coming down from his high.

He felt more relaxed afterwards but the release of tension didn’t make him feel better knowing he had masturbated to you. You were his...friend? You two had never been friends before coming to Storybrooke and he doubted that you two were that now. Whatever you were to him he shouldn’t be thinking about you like that. You both wanted to get back to Neverland and having obscene fantasies of you was not the way to go about that.

It was still fairly early but he was too wound up to go back to bed. So he got dressed and went exploring throughout the mansion. That’s how he had found the secret library full of blank books and that secret vault under the floorboards. He put everything back in place before racing to wake you up and show you. He had almost forgotten about his dream until you opened the door and he was met with your sleepy face and bedhead. Had you always been this attractive or was it just the layers of dirt that had gotten washed away last night that made you much more appealing to him suddenly? He decided not to dwell on why he was having these thoughts and instead took you down to see the stash of money he had found.

You were so giddy at the knowledge that you could actually have a roof over your head and food in your belly that he found himself smiling too. Your smile was so infectious. He let you take the lead when you went shopping. He didn’t recognize half the stuff he saw in that store but trusted your judgement when you dropped something in the cart.

Then there was when you went to go clothes shopping. Felix wouldn’t admit that he was getting a little worn out of his Neverland attire. It was functional but that was all he could say about it. The smell of it after he had gotten out of the bath the night before almost made him gag. Perhaps this was the reason no one wanted you or him around. You both reeked of years of living in a jungle.

You two were on totally opposite ends of the clothing store so Felix thought he was safe until you came charging into his dressing room ranting about the tiny pockets on your pants. The tight fitted pants that hugged your legs and ass perfectly. Then when you unceremoniously stuffed your hand down his pocket to see how deep they were it took all his self control and thoughts of rotting animal carcasses to not pop an erection right there in the store.

You were trying to make him burst a blood vessel and you didn’t even seem to notice! Which is why he was back in his room sitting on his bed hungry and horny. He was waiting until after he was sure you had gone to bed to get some food. He really didn’t want to chance running into you again and risk those impure thoughts bubbling to the surface once more.

Hopefully today had just been a spoof and tomorrow all these strange new thoughts and feelings would be gone. You two had a mission after all. Get back to Neverland. Lust wasn’t going to help that mission.

---

(Previous) (Next)

[artificialqueens]

Mateo's Eight, chapter three (Branjie)--athena2

Summary: Previously: Brooke agreed to work with Vanessa Now: Vanessa goes through the plan of the heist as her team meets for the first time

A/N: Thank you so much for your feedback on this so far! I would really appreciate it if you could comment on this chapter. Your support means so much to me and helps encourage me. A thousand thank you’s to Writ for being the best beta!

Vanessa is up at the crack of dawn her first full day as a free woman, hoping she’ll return to her old ways of sleeping until 10 soon, especially now that she no longer has her job at the makeup store. Going to prison doesn’t help in the job department, and it makes her feel even worse that her mom is working a double shift today. Sometimes she would be so exhausted she’d fall asleep still in her nursing scrubs, and Vanessa wants more than ever to make things easier for her.

Her bed is too soft to leave, like a giant marshmallow beneath her. She’s buried under so many blankets it makes her sweat, but she’s too cozy under their fluffy softness to kick them off.

She eats her cereal with an eye on the clock as her mom rushes to get ready, each minute dragging like time itself is stuck in quicksand.

The second her mom leaves for work, with more kisses heaped on Vanessa’s cheek, she shoots up from the table and gets the place ready. It’s like how she used to wait for her parents to go out for the night so she could have friends over, right down to the soda and chips and pretzels she sets out for Yvie, only this time they’re discussing a million-dollar heist instead of post-prom plans. Hopefully the apartment won’t be trashed after, but you never know with Silky.

A’keria and Silky arrive first, lugging boxes and bags of Vanessa’s stuff that they had taken from her and Brooke’s apartment. Vanessa tears through them, grabbing her fuzzy slippers and running her hands over the smooth jewelry box, like she’s regaining part of herself in the clothes and jewelry and dog mug.

She digs up a gray sweatshirt much too big for her, because of course one of Brooke’s things got mixed in. Vanessa used to steal the sweatshirt from Brooke’s dresser and wear it to bed in the winter, the thing so warm and oversized it was like being wrapped in a giant blanket. She’d tuck her arms inside the sleeves and bury her nose in the soft fabric, breathing in the smell of Brooke’s lavender body wash and another calming, cozy scent that was just Brooke, no way to describe it or how safe it made her feel. Vanessa wonders what it smells like now–

A knock on the door tears her away. Yvie and Scarlet try to hide grins as they stand together, mumbling that getting here at the same time is a coincidence, but Scarlet has purple lipstick in the corner of her lip when no one wears purple lipstick but Yvie.

Nina teeters in with a box of donuts that she passes out to everyone like a white, suburban Oprah, refusing to sit until she makes sure everyone has been fed.

“Is anyone else coming?” Yvie asks. “These are good chips, by the way,” she mumbles, pulling the bowl from Silky’s lap into her own.

Vanessa meets A’keria’s eyes. “Just one more,” Vanessa says, pacing around the living room. Brooke said she was coming. Vanessa’s careful combination of money and threats had gotten her, like she knew they would. If not for the money so Brooke could take care of those bills just as big as Vanessa’s, then to cover her own ass.

“Hi.” Brooke appears out of nowhere, still graceful as ever, her steps silent on the creaky apartment floor.

Vanessa digs her nails into her palms to stamp out the rage. Brooke is here. She’s in Vanessa’s apartment, standing there, and it’s all she can do not to punch her in the face.

“What the hell?” Silky asks.

“Sorry I’m late.” Brooke squeaks.

Vanessa scoffs. It was impossible for Brooke Lynn Hytes to be late. She had probably been born on her exact due date clutching a watch in her little fist, motioning for the doctors to hurry up. It was why, as much as a pain in the ass she was about it, their cons always worked, Brooke timing everything with perfection.

“You weren’t late,” Vanessa shoots back. “You were the first one here, but you went around the block a million times ‘cause you’re a coward and didn’t want to show up first.”

A’keria chokes on her soda and Scarlet whacks her on the back.

“Donut?” Nina offers Brooke.

“I’ll take another,” Yvie says.

Out of the corner of Vanessa’s eye, Silky tries to casually sweep up the chocolate donut crumbs she got all over the couch.

Vanessa just sighs, because this is her team, for better or worse.

“I’m here now,” Brooke says cautiously, cheeks tinged pink.

“Yeah, you are.” Vanessa allows herself one look at the person who betrayed her.

She looks good, as much as Vanessa doesn’t want to admit it. Brooke still manages to make skinny jeans and a black sweater look like they came straight off the runway, making Vanessa’s heart lift as she forces it down. Brooke’s tired, though. Vanessa can see it, knows to look in her eyes, where she couldn’t hide the exhaustion that makeup and her perfect posture concealed. Her long fingers play with her sweater cuff and her lip is chewed-up, both signs of nerves. Good. If Vanessa’s caused Brooke sleepless nights and fidgety fingers and burning lips, it’s only what she deserves.

Brooke sits on the couch and pulls out her notebook. That damn notebook. It’s covered in little cartoon cats, because Brooke loves cats, had wanted to adopt one eventually. Who cares what she loves, Vanessa reminds herself. She certainly didn’t love you. But that doesn’t matter. Brooke is in her debt now, and Vanessa is in control.

“So,” Vanessa begins, feeling like a teacher in front of the class, especially as she turns on the TV connected to her laptop, “I have a plan.

“In three weeks, the Met is hosting a ball for their new historical costume and jewelry exhibit. Place is gonna be crawling with money. And I want to steal. Not the Met, but one necklace.”

“A necklace?” Yvie asks in confusion. “What are we, ten-year-old’s in Claire’s?”

“Hold all questions for the end, please,” Vanessa snaps.

She brandishes her arm for dramatic effect and clicks the next slide on her laptop. “The actress Plastique Tiara will be at the event, in a dress designed by Scarlet–” Scarlet waves to the room like a Disney princess on parade, “–who will convince Plastique to wear this 112 million dollar diamond necklace.”

Everyone blinks in confusion as Vanessa brings up a slide featuring the necklace, but she plows on. “Using our combined skills, we will get in the ball, take the necklace, replace it with a worthless copy, and leave with 16 million dollars each.”

Vanessa grins smugly in the chorus of gasps that ring out and fade into awestruck silence. She can see everyone’s heads spinning, comprehending a number they–and most people–have never seen, taking in the freedom that number will give them, freedom they’ve never had. The freedom to live where they want and do what they want, to never have to worry about medical bills or loans or home repairs or emergencies.

The only sound is the scratching of Brooke’s pen. The glide of her pen used to be like music to Vanessa’s ears, and she could trace the gentle curves of Brooke’s neat handwriting for hours. Now, it just sets her teeth on edge, makes her burn with aggravation.

Nina is the first to speak. “Pardon my French, everyone,” she says, “but holy fuck.”

—

It only takes Vanessa about ten minutes into her date with Brooke to see that beneath her cool, calm exterior, she’s really just an adorable dork.

That easy grace Brooke had moved with in the department store flies out the window as she nearly trips over her own giraffe legs to open the door for Vanessa, and she gasps in excitement when she finds out the diner serves breakfast all day.

“You a breakfast for dinner person?” Vanessa asks.

Brooke nods eagerly. “Why, are you a dinner-foods-for-dinner person?”

“Nah. I’m all for eating whatever I want at any time of day.”

“Exactly!” Brooke’s eyes sparkle and it makes Vanessa’s heart soar. “Like, what makes bacon and eggs only breakfast food?”

“Yeah! If I want pancakes for dinner and pizza for breakfast, who’s gonna stop me?” Vanessa claps eagerly as their plates arrive, French toast and bacon for Brooke and grilled cheese with fries for Vanessa.

Vanessa grabs the ketchup and drenches her fries.

“You put ketchup over the fries?” Brooke asks in horror.

“Yeah, why?”

“You have to dip them! There’s no control over how much ketchup you get per fry when you put it on top!”

“I just want to put it all on at once, Mary!”

Brooke shakes her head. “Unbelievable. Next you’ll be telling me you put the milk in before the cereal.” But she grins around her mouthful of bacon.

“Of course I don’t put the milk first. I’m not an animal.” Vanessa laughs and holds a ketchup-soaked fry out to Brooke, which she pulls from Vanessa’s fingers with her teeth. Vanessa can’t even breathe at having Brooke this close to her, close enough to see tiny flecks of gray in her green eyes, which only popped out in certain lighting.

“So, um, where do you work?” Brooke asks.

“I do makeup at one of the beauty stores,” Vanessa answers. “Most people tip pretty good, but it ain’t enough to pay the bills we got, y’know?”

“Is that why you started conning? If it’s okay for me to ask that?” Brooke says.

“It’s okay. And yeah. My dad, he was…he was sick. Insurance barely covered anything, and the medical bills just kept piling up. He died a few months ago, and we still got the medical bills, and the funeral bills, and…it’s a lot.” Vanessa just shakes her head. She and her mother both work full-time and hardly make a dent in the bills after rent and utilities. She doesn’t understand how her father getting sick, through no fault of his own, could result in almost $100,000 worth of debt. It’s like trying to bring down a mountain one pebble at a time, with the mountain growing each day, too big to see the top.

“I’m really sorry,” Brooke says. Her hand hesitantly slides across the table, and Vanessa doesn’t even think of whether she should, whether they’re at that point yet, before she grabs it. It’s cool and solid and soft, helping her focus on something besides bills and dead fathers.

“It’s okay,” Vanessa says. She and her mother have helped each get through his illness and his passing, and she feels awful for thinking it, but it’s made them closer, united in the memories of the man they both lost.

“It makes me mad, you know?” Brooke’s eyes flicker with intensity. “That we still work and have to do this just to get by. I have medical bills too, and the heat broke in my apartment last week and I had to do a scam just to pay for the repair, even though I teach full-time at a dance studio. Some people don’t have to worry about that. Some people–”

“Some people buy freaking yachts ‘cause they’re outta shit to buy,” Vanessa says.

“Yes!” Brooke exclaims. “You really get it. Get me.” Her eyes shine in surprise, like she can’t believe what she just said, but Vanessa has already thought it.

“Yeah,” Vanessa agrees, reaching over to snatch a piece of Brooke’s bacon. “And if you ever have heating problems again, my place is really warm. Maybe you could even show me some dance moves.” She bats her eyelashes.

It’s a risk to throw something like out there, especially on a first date, but Brooke’s smile is all the reward Vanessa needs.

—

Vanessa stands tall in her living room, everyone on the couches still recovering from her announcement, hisses of 16 million slipping into Vanessa’s ears.

“Can I talk to you?”

Vanessa sighs. Leave it to Brooke to interrupt her moment of blissful triumph for questions. Vanessa leads her down the hall, grumbling about buzzkills under her breath.

She crosses her arms and stands expectantly in front of Brooke, raising an eyebrow to show that she’s not giving an inch in this, that Brooke better stop raking a hand through her hair and speak.

“So, do they know?” Brooke begins.

“Know what?”

“What the real mark is,” Brooke says. “I know you. I can see the bigger target here.”

I know you.

Vanessa can’t help but feel that rush of warmth at Brooke knowing her so well, remembering that connection she and Brooke once had, when they could look at each other and have entire conversations with eyebrow-raises and smirks. Brooke always knew her plans, always got what she was trying to do like no one else. It had been a relief back then, to have someone she could trust, who just knew her, knew her coffee order and favorite movies and how to cheer her up when she was upset. A comfort to know she wasn’t alone, that she had someone.

But now, it’s infuriating. That she had given all those parts of her to Brooke, and now Brooke would always have them even when Vanessa wants to take them back. Like no matter how clever she thinks she is, Brooke can see right through her. Vanessa can never free herself from that connection they had, a connection Brooke severed clean in a police station six months ago.

“They don’t,” Vanessa admits, “And I’m not gonna tell them. It’s safer that way. Less chance of someone giving me up.” She spits the last three words at Brooke with the strongest death glare she’s ever managed. If looks could kill, the whole street would be dead. Brooke at least has the decency to look embarrassed, a wrinkle forming between her eyebrows.

“Vanessa, I never meant–”

Vanessa raises her hand to shush Brooke. “Don’t. Just don’t. Go over your notes, tell me if it’ll work. You do your job, I pay you, and I don’t want to see you ever again.”

“Okay.”

Now it’s Brooke’s turn to stand, still as a statue, notebook outstretched in a gloat. Her face is impassive even though Vanessa knows how much she needs this money, and steam nearly comes out of her ears. Brooke can stand here all day, with those stupid dancer legs of hers, and Vanessa needs to move this along and get back to her group before Silky and A’keria have a repeat of last year’s pillow fight.

“So, tell me. Is this gonna work?” Vanessa finally cracks, ignoring how Brooke���s smile makes her own lips twitch up, a muscle memory.

“It can work, yes. But…”

“But what?”

“This is risky. It’s risky, and intricate, and if I’m sticking my neck out like this, I want to be involved, so I can make sure this is done properly.”

The words slam into Vanessa, filling her with rage. Brooke didn’t trust her to do this, when Vanessa had planned the entire thing herself, foresaw every possible conclusion and solved every possible problem while behind the bars Brooke put her in. Brooke didn’t trust her, when they had once trusted each other with everything.

“Pretty rich of you to not trust me when you’re the one who ratted me out,” Vanessa says.

Brooke sighs. “Vanessa–”

“Whatever. You want to be involved how? You’re gonna be there the night of the ball, what else do you want?” Vanessa demands, certain she doesn’t like where this is going.

“I want to be there when you make most of the moves,” Brooke says.

“Hell no! I’m not lettin’ you breathe down my neck the whole time!”

“You have a lot to do,” Brooke argues. “You need to schedule a meeting with Scarlet and Plastique to make sure Plastique wears the necklace. Vogue has already starting hiring ball assistants and I’m assuming you’re gonna send Nina inside, so you need to get her an interview–”

“I know what I have to do!” Vanessa snaps, reluctantly impressed at how fast Brooke’s mind works, how quickly she put the pieces together. Brooke saw cons as puzzles, each step an interlocking piece to build the picture Vanessa dreamed, her focus more on the goal and how her charm could get them there.

“Then you also know you need me,” Brooke states. No emotion, no hint of desire, just pure, hard fact. “The organization this is gonna take, the scheduling…you need me.”

Vanessa clenches her fists. She had tried to downplay her desperation on the phone, but obviously Brooke picked up on it. Vanessa might be able to do this without Brooke, but can she take that chance on something this big, this important, this life-changing?

“Fine.” Vanessa sighs. “Meet me at the Met Friday at 10. Yvie’s working on a blindspot in their security cameras and I’m gonna test it. Can you get Nina that interview?”

Brooke nods. She looks at her shoes before pulling a piece of paper from her pocket, the familiar motion making Vanessa dizzy. “This is my new number. Just thought you might need it.”

Vanessa shoves the paper in her pocket and heads back into the living room without waiting to see if Brooke is behind her. She used to walk without checking because she knew Brooke would always be there, would always have her back. Now she does it because she just doesn’t care.

Vanessa stands in front of them, forgetting her annoyance of having to work with Brooke in favor of the pride and riches she would earn after this.

“Okay, everyone,” Vanessa says, “welcome to Mateo’s Eight.”

“There’s only seven of us.”

Vanessa huffs in exasperation. “Damn it, Yvie, c’mon, this was my big moment!”

“Well, there is.”

Vanessa bites her lip and makes a quick head count. Math never was her strong suit. But Mateo’s Seven just doesn’t have the same ring, so she scoops up Riley from where he’s latched on to Brooke’s ankle–the traitor; he always jumped on Brooke when she walked in the apartment, even if she had only been gone an hour–and hoists him into the air.

“Riley’s number eight. I don’t want to hear arguing.” She straightens her posture, trying to get back her earlier confidence, wishing there was some heroic music in the background.

“Welcome to Mateo’s Eight.”

[reecesfleeces-blog]

Chaplain of the Lot

Some guy once said religion is the opiate of the masses.

The sun rose on a Tuesday morning in the summer of the year two-thousand and twelve. She rose and floated low in the sky, nudged the people to wake up.

The light came in at an angle through the large showroom windows of Joe Capini Honda and the tables in the middle of the showroom floor cast long shadows. The sales manager, a man with pale blue eyes and a well trimmed white beard, who went by the name Roger, stood in the front office, looked out its floor-to-ceiling window, saw the sun floating in the sky and sipped his coffee.

The first employee to arrive at the dealership was Ryan Delotte. Ryan had just graduated from high school and planned on working through the summer, making a little money and enjoying his foray out into the world. He was somewhat short, at least relative to the salesmen who all seemed to be giants, and he was a bit gaunt. He had a pierced lip and ear, but he only donned the jewelry away from work.

The dealership proper was composed of two buildings: in front, facing a busy road, was the showroom and beyond this was the finance and automotive service building.

Ryan parked in the employee lot, a place in shadow and sandwiched between the showroom and the finance building. He jingled his keys as he locked his door and meandered to the side entrance. The side entrance was locked and so he continued to the front. He saw Roger through the front window and smiled and waved.

He liked Roger, Roger was kind to him. When he gave him the job, it was with utter faith.

Roger had shook his hand, looked him in the eyes, and said “it will be boring sometimes, stressful sometimes, but I think you can handle it.”

The job was small, but he was proud of it. He complained to the salesmen when they smoked cigarettes together, “fuckin’ four sales this morning, that’s four fuckin’ cars I got to detail in like half an hour. Calm the fuck down with the sales, huh?” But he loved it. He loved it as far as he knew that he loved anything. The part of the job detailing cars was even pleasant, these were new cars; mostly it involved removing the window sticker, taking it through the car wash, wiping the dash and hitting the tires with “tire shine”.

He stepped into the building and noticed it was much cooler inside than out. The cool and the smell of new tires enveloped him.

He said, “Mornin’ Rodge.”

Roger said back, “mornin’ Ryan.”

Ryan proceeded to the back of the showroom, poured himself a little styrofoam cup of coffee, walked back to the front office and sat on Roger’s big desk, sipping coffee.

Roger said, “have a good night, last night?”

Roger had this sort of trust with everyone that worked at the store. He knew everything everyone did, and so long as it was irrelevant to the smooth sale of cars, he judged not in the least. As it turned out, Ryan had a party he went to last night.

Ryan smiled, said, “oh hell yeah.”

Roger lifted his eyebrows, “girl?”

Ryan smirked, said, “girls”, and laughed.

Roger smiled, “hope you didn’t get too drunk.”

Ryan was a little more serious, “no sir, not in the least.”

Roger said, “that’s good,” he looked at his watch and said, “hey look, I need you to put up the balloons.”

Ryan nodded, hopped off the desk, and walked back through the showroom to the back office. The back office was a bank of six small desks, each with a phone and dividers so that salesmen could call their customers without polluting the main showroom floor. In one of the corners was an upright-standing large helium tank, and on the nearest desk was a spool of red ribbon-thread and a package of balloons.

It had been a learning experience when this first happened. Before he arrived, the salesmen took turns “doing the balloons.” All of them were better at it then him, and he marvelled at the idea that it could be so well done. They would have 50 balloons done and tied up in ten minutes. They taught him to start the knots of ribbon before filling the balloon. You cut fifty lines of string, start the knots, and lay them out across the desks. Then you fill the balloons, attach the string — finish the knot on it — then let it go. It floats up to the ceiling, and eventually the whole room is filled with balloons.

With great care he gathered the fifty dangling red strings and began the process of moving outside. Moving this assembly through doorways was yet another skill he was still mastering. It was a good thing that it happened in the morning, and that it was before other salesmen got there, because he was sure it would be an enjoyment for the salesmen to watch him struggle through this.

Ryan made it outside holding the great mass of balloons. For the hell of it, just because it was who he was, he found a particularly ugly balloon, dark green that clashed with the red ribbon, pulled the ribbon from the bunch, and let it go. He watched it float away, thirty seconds there, up, up and away. It tickled his stomach.

The sun was up a bit higher now and the road across from the dealership was gathering traffic. Down the road was a McDonalds, and its drive-thru lane was packed with breakfast customers.

As cars whooshed by, Ryan took the time to tie three balloons to the side-view mirrors on the front row of new cars. It was slightly difficult to hold some forty balloons while tying the another handful to the mirror, and even the very gentle wind tangled the balloons considerably, but in a few minutes he had mostly accomplished the task. There was sweat running down his neck when a salesman, Frank, drove up toward him and stopped, rolled down his window.

Frank said, “‘ey Ryan, gotchu somethin man.”

This lit up Ryan’s heart and he beamed, said “nice, nice.”

The salesman said, “you on balloon duty, huh?”

Ryan looked at him, feeling his own sweaty face.

The salesman looked up and down the row, saw he was nearly finished, and said, “ay I guess you started last night huh?” and he burst into laughter.

Ryan blushed.

The salesman continued, “aight man, well come see me when you get done.”

Ryan tied the last wad of balloons to the last car in the front row and knotted it about fifteen times. He looked back on the row of cars, each with its bundle of balloons gently waving in the air, and was thoroughly satisfied with his handiwork.

He found Frank, who he considered he best friend among the sales staff, in the back office, unwrapping a breakfast burrito and sipping a 32oz Coca-Cola. He had, in fact, three burritos.

Frank said, “one’s ham, one’s sausage, one’s… I don’t know what the fuck, oh yeah, bacon.”

Ryan sat down next to him and Frank asked, “you want one? Got it for you.”

Ryan looked at the burritos sitting on the desk and said, “yeah.”

Frank slid the burrito over to Ryan’s desk. Ryan was in the process of opening the burrito when Frank took the first bite of his own, then immediately spit it out.

“Yuck, man.”

“What?”

“Shit sucks.”

Ryan sat there looking at his own burrito, it looked just fine.

As he was contemplating eating it, Frank took the remainder of his own burrito and threw it in a trash can nearby.

Ryan took a bite. It tasted just fine. Pretty good. Eggs, sausage, potato, cheese. It could use salsa. He said, “what’s wrong with it?”

Frank looked at him, almost in disbelief, then said, “you mean to tell me you can’t tell what’s a shitty burrito?”

Ryan shrugged and continued to eat.

Frank took a package of cigarettes out of his slacks, flipped it open, took one out and put it to his mouth, said, “you want one?” and Ryan nodded. Frank handed him a cigarette.

“And that’s not aaaall,” he said.

Ryan was chewing the burrito, trying to finish quickly now that they were preparing to go for a smoke break.

“Check this out my man.”

Frank turned the cigarette package on its side and out fell a tiny ziplock bag, the kind that would normally hold a button. Inside was a single nug of weed.

Ryan’s heart lifted. He’d asked Frank if he could score for him two weeks ago, just a few days after he started working.

Frank waved it under Ryan’s nose and said, “how’s that shit smell, man?”

Ryan nodded and said, “yeah.”

Frank said, “tell you what, I got a piece in my car if you wanna hit it.”

Ryan continued to chomp down the rest of his burrito, swallowing, mouth full with his last bite, he said, “fuck yeah.”

Ryan stood up, balled up the wrapper for the burrito and threw it in the can. Frank said, “hey you want this other burrito?” Ryan shook his head ‘no’.

“Ah, fine, I’ll try to pawn it off on one of these other retards.”

They left out the side door and stood beneath a wide awning. Outside was another salesman already smoking. His name was Carl, and Carl was old and grumpy as hell. He hated working here, and, indeed, had worked here for so long that virtually all of his business was repeat customers. He saw two or three a week, customers he had last seen maybe five years ago, and each time, without fail, sold them. At this point, he simply showed up.

When Frank saw him, he tilted his head back in a gesture of recognition.

“‘ey Carl, you have breakfast yet?”

Carl removed the cigarette from his mouth and as he spoke smoke came out of his mouth, “no. Don’t eat breakfast.”

Frank said, “‘ey well look, I got an extra breakfast burrito. I’ll sell it to you for a dollar.”

Carl glared, “I’m gonna have to pass, Frank.”

Frank shrugged, pulled a lighter out of his pocket, lit his cigarette, then handed the lighter to Ryan.

“ey man, you know breakfast is the most important meal of the day. How can you expect to sell cars on an empty stomach?”

Carl dropped his unfinished cigarette on the ground, twisted it out with his foot and went inside through the side door.

Ryan looked over to Frank and laughed, said, “fucking asshole” and laughed again.

“It’s cause he don’t eat breakfast.”

Frank turned, motioned with his head for Ryan to follow him, and started walking back toward the employee parking lot.

Out from under the awning, the world was a nice gold color. The cement of the lot was tan, and when the morning light fell on it, it gave off a welcoming vibe, said “you are here.”

Cigarette hanging out of Frank’s mouth, sweat glistening on his bald head, he said, “it’s fucked up we got to wear pants and you don’t.”

Ryan shrugged, but since he was behind Frank it was a useless gesture.

They approached Frank’s car, a relatively new Chrysler sedan. Frank clicked the keyfob in his pocket, pulled open the driver’s side door, and sat. Ryan waited at the passenger side, Frank clicked the keyfob again, and Ryan opened the door and sat down.

Frank pulled out an aluminum foil pipe from his driver’s side door. He had fashioned it by rolling up a sheet of ~5” wide aluminum foil into a tube, then bending it at the end to form a bowl. He glanced down at this pipe, then glanced around the parking lot. He turned it over in his hand, emptied the bowl of ashes, rolled down the window and dropped the ashes out.

Then he handed the pipe and cigarette package to Ryan, fastened his seatbelt.

He said, “you get that shit ready,” and with a gentle dinging noise, turned on the car.

They drove out of the lot, down the road a little ways, and turned into a neighborhood. As they did, Ryan unzipped the little package, took out the marijuana flower, broke it into pieces, and put the pieces in the pipe.

After passing a ways through the neighborhood, Ryan tried to hand Frank the pipe, but Frank said, “nah man, you start it,” and handed Ryan his lighter.

Ryan looked around, saw houses and no one else, bent down, lit the lighter, felt the heat from it on his forehead, and inhaled, pulling the flame through the aluminum foil pipe. He sucked through several times before it started burning well.

Holding the smoke in his lungs he passed it to Frank. As he held it out, there was a coil of smoke coming from the bowl, Frank said, “you hit it too hard man,” and still looking toward the road, pulled the pipe to himself and gently sucked on it, stopping the bowl from emitting this smoke into the car. Then he took a hit, light, as though it were a drag of a cigarette, rolled down his window and exhaled, then took another light hit, gentle, so that it soothed the bowl, tempered the cinders, and exhaled through the window again, then passed it back to Ryan.

Ryan already had a feeling of giddiness. He could tell that while right now there was little effect, it was going to blossom into a very nice high. He put the lighter to the bowl, gently inhaled, rolled down the window, and let the smoke out.

He tried to pass it back to Frank, but Frank said, “nah man, I’m good.”

By the time they returned to lot, Ryan felt stoned. His eyes were red, and he knew he was going to have trouble acting normal. As he left the car, he kinda stumbled, and had to stifle a giggle. Frank went to the backseat, pulled out a bottle of Febreeze, sprayed it through his car, then sprayed it into a little mist cloud in front of himself then walked through it.

He had taken out a cigarette and was holding it in his mouth when he said to Ryan, “c’mere man”.

He sprayed Ryan with the Febreeze up and down, then pulled him by the shoulder so he’d turn around, then sprayed his front.

Frank put the Febreeze bottle back in the back seat, went to the front seat, grabbed a couple starlight mints and a bottle of visine. He stood beside the door, and said to Ryan, who was standing looking like an idiot at the front of the car, “ey, keep the rest if you want.”

Ryan thus opened the car door, withdrew the pipe from the passenger seat and stumbled over to his own car. He was having trouble unlocking his car door when he heard Frank say, “ey man, stop fucking around.” He succeeded, opened the door and stowed the pipe beneath his front seat.

Frank was standing along the backside of the building in shadows, holding a bottle of Visine up and squeezing drops into his eyes. Ryan came up alongside him and Frank handed him the bottle of Visine. Ryan tried to do the same thing, but flinched several times and Frank had a look of disbelief, mumbled “jesus christ.”

Ryan finally handed the bottle back to him, and it looked like he had been crying he missed so many drops. Frank told him so and laughed.

Frank then took out two cigarettes, handed one to Ryan and said, “here, smoke this cigarette.”

They stood there, behind the painted cinderblock back wall of the store, and smoked in relative silence.

After they finished, Frank handed him a mint, looked at Ryan and said, “good?”

Ryan half-laughed, unwrapped the mint, mouth hit with peppermint, and said, “yeah.”

When they returned to the showroom, all the salesmen had arrived. Frank made eye contact with one of the salesman, a massive polar bear looking like guy, and shouted, “hey, buddy!”

Ryan was having trouble walking normally, told Frank he had to go wash the cars, and left out through the front door.

Beyond the first row of cars with the balloons was the second row: the second row of cars was composed of the “premier” cars for the day. These were the ones that would be test driven and given walk arounds for new customers. The next part of Ryan’s job was to run these cars through the car wash.

He came up to the first one, a mid-sized SUV, and squinted at the number on the sticker in the top-right corner of the windshield. He said to himself, “five two two two six, five two two two six, five two two two six,” and walked back inside, turned into the main office where the key machine was. Roger was at the computer and without looking over said, “should already be halfway done with those cars, Ryan.”

Ryan muttered under his breath as he punched in the numbers, “five five two two six.”

The digital display said, “no such key.”

He punched it in again, this time getting it right, the machine whirred, and out popped a box with a key inside it. He turned to Roger and said, “sorry, Frank made me get breakfast with him.”

Roger turned in his chair, raised an eyebrow and said, “did he get me anything?”

Ryan said “uhh” and Roger turned in his chair, leaned back and shouted, “Frank! Get in here!”

Frank half-slid into the doorway of the office and had a huge smile on, he seemed to have been in the middle of telling a joke and said, “what is it, boss-man?”

Roger said, “how come you got breakfast but didn’t get me anything?”

Frank’s smile expanded, he looked up to Ryan then back to Roger and laughed, “you think I’m gonna forget you?”

Then he dashed off to the back office.

He returned wielding the burrito with pride, “now, I wasn’t sure which was your favorite, how do you like, uh, bacon?”

Frank placed the burrito on Roger’s desk, Roger opened it, took a bite, chewed, then his chewing slowed. He pulled out a trash can from under his desk and spit it out.

He said, “that’s worst damn burrito I’ve ever tasted.”

Then he turned to Ryan and said, “how come you aren’t washing the cars?”

Ryan left, and as he went out the front door, he heard Frank slap Roger on the back and say, “Rodge, we are going to sell some cars today!”

Ryan drove the SUV, smelling entirely of brand new car, by the finance building, and onto the back service road. This service road was shared by three car dealerships, and along this road was a body shop, a couple reserve lots — where the new shipments were held — and, most importantly, the car wash.

He drove up to the keypad, pressed on the square metal buttons, “3, 1, 2, 4”, and pulled around to the tunnel. The first drive through the car wash was perhaps the holiest experience of the day. The sun was fairly strong by now so that the tunnel felt like a cool enclave.

He pulled up to the tire grooves, set the car to park, and lay back in his seat while the machine did its work: rinse, water streaming down the windows, soap, the spinning cylinders with lapping fingers, wax, green, yellow and red in blurred stripes, sweet smelling, then rinse again. The machine retracted its tools and it was time to pull forward through the air dryer. Slowly, slowly emerging out from this enclave and entering the world anew with a wonderfully clean car.

He pulled up in front of the showroom, saw that it was busy with salesmen on the phones — it was too early for walk-in customers so they could call from their showroom desks — and came to the next car in the row.

He repeated the routine: check the window, repeat the number to himself, get the key, drive to the wash, return. He repeated it again, and again, and on the fourth time through the high was leaving and he was feeling a bit tired, so he stopped, got another little styrofoam cup of coffee, and went to the side of the store to see if anyone was on a smoke break.

…

Sure enough, there congregated were four salesmen: the big polar bear guy was telling a story from the era when he worked at a custom shop in Chicago, he told these tales beautifully, that they worked on Porches and Ferraris and Lamborghinis. Somehow Ryan could only imagine that he worked at a shitty lot in some suburb.

“Anyway, it was a red ferrari, it was Michael Jordan’s. Now, he didn’t come in the store, he had an agent bring it in, but the license plate said MJ 23 and it had dark tinted windows.”

He scratched his head with his cigarette-empty hand as if he were trying to remember exactly how it went, his voice was soft and he meandered on: “I had to take it to another one of our shops, and driving on the highway everyone slowed down around me, trying to look in through the windows, and little did they know, it wasn’t Michael Jordan in the Ferrari, but me.”

He grinned, took a drag from the cigarette, looked around from person to person, seeming disappointed by the tepid reaction, lifted his eyebrows, and said, “he had a Porche too, a sweet setup; a black turbo.”

He continued to talk and Ryan nudged Frank, who was standing in amazement, and Frank responded by throwing his hand out as if he was sweeping away a fly.

Ryan sighed, went back through the building, prepared the fifth car for a car wash. This time, however, he stopped on the way to the car wash in the employee parking lot, sat halfway in his car, legs still facing out, retrieved the pipe from under the seat, a lighter from the cupholder, and took a deep hit.

He let out his breath and the smoke coiled around the footwell, the pedals, of his car. He leaned out, waved his hand to ward off the smoke, returned to the still-running uncleaned burgandy sedan, and proceeded through to the car wash, listening to the radio at very loud volumes.

He was determined now to make it through the rest of the row of cars before his high went away. Boom, wash, boom, wash, boom, wash.

He parked the final car in the row, closed the door, stood away and looked at all the cars facing the steps to the dealership. Beautiful, shining, spotless. A bright point of light was reflected in each of the roofs of the vehicles. Ryan, shielding his eyes from the sun, looking like he was giving a salute, turned and went in the showroom.

At this point, Frank had got himself a customer, Ryan was familiar enough to understand that the man wanted to buy the van, but he was in the delicate act of maximizing his gains by choosing accessories. He could drive away with the van today if it were just the van he wanted, but he was going on a roadtrip Friday and he wanted the luggage rack. He needed to know how long it would take to be installed, and Frank was in a gleeful back and forth with the man.

This sort of information went through Ryan’s head unimpeded. It was the daily rhythm and the song and refrain of the days. People came in, full of anxiety about being sold, and were eased into it. He imagined that, in their younger years, the salesmen must have been pretty good lovers. Been very good at easing her tension: no, no, honey, yes, it’s okay to say no, we can lay here and relax, and then they start rubbing her shoulders, and finally she gives in, just barely, leans back into him, and he kisses her on the neck. It’s smooth sailing from here. The man buying a van was well into the process of love, would be willing to spend a hundred years in the dealership, and the salesman was giving him all the peace of the world.

Ryan sat in the back office, legs propped up on another chair in front of him, and sent text messages on his phone. He wanted to let his girlfriend know that he had some weed and that he was going to save it for them tonight and that they’d have a wonderful time.

It was at this point that there was a knock on the open door.

It was Roger.

“Ryan,” he said, “did you wash the burgundy Accord this morning?”

Ryan turned from his chair and looked at Roger, he said, “yeah?”

Roger smiled, and said, “I thought so.”

He said, “come with me.”

Ryan stood up and walked out of the room. Roger held his hand lightly on the small of Ryan’s back and led him out to the side entrance door.

Ryan said, “where are we going?”

Roger responded, “finance building.”

The walk from the side entrance to the finance building was changed from the morning. It was high noon now, the sun was directly overhead and the tan cement was so bright it seemed white. The sky was so clear Ryan expected a buzzard, or maybe a hawk that fly across and cry out, ba-kaw!

He heard his own footsteps, tennis shoes on pavement: contact, contact, contact.

As they approached the finance building, Roger took the lead and opened the door for Ryan. They walked down a hallway, and Roger stood by an open door, made a motion for Ryan to enter and sit down.

Roger closed the door behind him, looked at Ryan with his soft, gentle, pale blue eyes.

Then he looked down at the floor and said, “let me ask you Ryan,” looked back up, “why do you think we’re here?”

Ryan said, “huh?”

Roger said, “I mean, why do we come to the dealership?”

Ryan felt that he understood the right answer, he trusted Roger to ask questions honestly and in earnest.

“Well… to make money.”

Roger nodded, “Close. To sell cars.”

Ryan was vaguely confused.

Roger put his hand on Ryan’s shoulder, gave him a concerned look, said, “and do you know what makes it hard to sell cars?”

Ryan looked up and shook his head “no”.

Roger smiled, “when they smell like weed.”

Ryan frowned and felt very small.

Roger patted him on the back, looked Ryan in the eye, and said, “you need to be more careful.”

Roger turned to leave the room, but in the doorway he spun on his heel, and then said, “Ryan, do you know the difference between working to make money and working to sell cars?”

Ryan shook his head.

Roger nodded, “The difference is… you work for money if you need something: if you need a house, if you need food — whatever.”

Roger took a moment to compose himself, then said, “But what if you have enough money for food and shelter and security and all that?”

Ryan said, “you buy stuff.”

Roger said, “exactly, you buy stuff, you work for stuff not for money. And why do you buy stuff? Because you want it. What is the opposite, what must it be like to want nothing?”

Ryan thought about this, he assumed that to want nothing must have meant pure bliss, but now he could see that it was much more a kind of depression. Apathy, pointlessness. Even a preacher wants for the salvation of his congregation.

Roger saw the conclusions being reached in his head.

He nodded, “and so, what do we do here? We sell cars. We give people meaning.”

Roger took a second, smoothed out his shirt, and said, “It’s bullshit that people think meaning is a singular thing, like, ‘oh if god just sent me a message then I would know exactly how to live my life’, no. It’s a collection of things, it’s about girls,” and he raised his eyebrows at Ryan, “and it’s about good food, and it’s about many, many things. We give people a small chunk of meaning too, a pursuit of a nice car, the bliss of taking ownership, and the several years thereafter where they have pride for it.”

He smiled at Ryan, turned to leave the room, and in the doorway he stopped and knocked on the frame, looked at Ryan, said, “people are fulfilled, so long as they want.”

Roger left the room, and as he was on his way down the hallway, he stopped at another door, leaned in, looked at the finance guy at his computer and said, “look alive! Frank’s about to sell a van!”

[gloriacumming43-blog]

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