Camille

 

The store was quiet. In fact, it had been quiet for the past two hours. Camille had been watching the clock tick, following every movement of the minute hand with her steely blue eyes. It was only several minutes later after she had been standing behind the desk, staring at the clock on the wall, that she realized she had been drumming her fingertips on the glass-top counter.

 

She couldn’t believe how bored she was. Bored was one of her emotions; the other was anxiety. Camille had taken a huge leap of faith by opening up a comic bookstore. She was only twenty-five, which meant that her other friends were out there in the real world, climbing corporate ladders, and making more money than they could spend. Basically, they were living a normal adult life; a life that she had been brought up to lead.

 

She had the education for it, with a Business degree, and even had the work experience too. After college, Camille had slogged away at a financial firm for a year, until one fine day she realized that this was not the life she wanted. And quit her job. At the time, she had been twenty-three and thankfully had some money in the bank, which she hadn’t spent on “nights out” and an unprecedented amount of alcohol, like so many other of her colleagues had.

 

So she had found herself with enough money to chase her crazy dream of opening a comic book store.

 

Now, here she was, apparently living the dream. The only problem was that not everybody shared her dream. Camille’s clientele was small and scattered, and her store was more often empty than busy. For the longest time, she kept her hopes up. It would work out. Business would pick up. But eventually, after two years of waiting behind her desk, praying to make a sale… Camille realized that it was too much to ask for. She had accepted the fact that she wouldn’t make more than ten sales a day, on a good day.

 

Camille sighed as she stopped drumming her fingers. She tore her face away from the wall clock and decided to re-analyze her life, as she had done on thousands of other occasions.

 

The question was: am I happy? Camille caught the reflection of herself in the store window across from her. Her tight blonde curls lay in a high halo around her face, and even in the dim reflection of herself, she could make out the tired look in her blue eyes. She didn’t bother with makeup anymore, so her lips were a natural pale pink, and her face looked dry and a little washed out. She was happy in her simple denim cut-offs and the sweatshirt she was wearing, but she then noticed a dried pasta sauce stain on her shirt. She eventually shrugged it off; it’s not like she had any customers to make an impression on.

 

Camille sighed again. This self-contemplation was getting her nowhere. She needed to occupy her brain with something else. She rummaged around on the desk until she found a blank scrap of paper, and she started doodling.

 

She was sketching subconsciously, mindlessly… and as always, she doodled Cammy.

 

Cammy was the heroine of her own comics. A plain-Jane small town country girl by day, who fought corruption and male chauvinism by night. Well, not quite in those simple terms, but Camille wanted Cammy to be the symbol of female empowerment, not like the usual comic book stereotype. Cammy didn’t have any super powers, and she didn’t fight the usual kind of comic book villain either. The villains in Camille’s comics were misogynists, men who abused their wives and girlfriends and mistreated women in general.

 

It was no surprise, therefore, that Country Crowns had sold only twenty copies in the past eight months since she started publishing them. The comics didn’t exactly fit into any tapped market of readers.

 

But in any case, Camille was happy in knowing that there were at least twenty people out there in the world who had read her work, probably even appreciated her artwork, and whose lives she may have touched through her characters.

 

Camille smiled as she drew, thinking about the thrill of someone actually picking out one of her comics and purchasing it. Actually paying money to read something she had written, and see something she had drawn. Hopefully, it would happen again.

 

She finished sketching a figure of Cammy on the sheet of paper. Cammy looked nothing like Camille, and purposely so. Cammy was tall, wore her shiny red hair in a loose fishtail plait, had thick, glossy red lips, and wore a black velvet jumpsuit and a mask at night when she fought evil. By day, Cammy helped her father on their family’s farm and donned plaid shirts with rolled up sleeves, and loose jeans with the kneecaps cut off. By day, Cammy was just another ordinary country girl… just like Camille used to be, and too long ago.

 

She stared at her drawing of Cammy, smiled again, and then in a sudden fit, balled it up and threw it in the bin. Who was she kidding? Publishing her own comic books was a hilarious fantasy; something she needed to stop if she wanted to save the very little money she had made from the store.

 

Camille walked around the desk and over to the stand where the more popular comic books were housed. She found the latest issue of Punisher and pursed her lips. She ran her finger over the sketched abs, the ripping torso of The Punisher. She grinned at the thought that somewhere out there, in some parallel universe, someone like him might actually exist. A man who was a daredevil, brave, rugged, and willing to avenge his family’s death through any means necessary.

 

Camille shrugged her shoulders and rolled her eyes. As if. She was kidding herself again.

 

***

 

The bell above the store door tinkled just as Camille turned the third page of Punisher. When she looked up, she saw a guy walk in, and she immediately felt her cheeks blush. It couldn’t be real, it couldn’t actually be happening! Just when she was daydreaming about a comic book hero, a guy straight out of her fantasies had walked in.

 

This guy was ripped. She could see that, even through the tight jeans and black leather biker jacket he was wearing. He had magnificent black hair that was brushed away from his face like an old photograph of Marlon Brando. His eyes were small, the color of chocolate, and he was clean-shaven with straight angular jaws.

 

He hadn’t quite caught sight of her when he walked in. In fact, he hadn’t seen her at all because the first thing he did was close the door and twist the key in the lock. Then, without turning to look at her, he turned the sign on the door so that it read, ‘Closed.’

 

Camille cleared her throat, while the comic book lay open in her hands.

 

He whipped around as if he was surprised to find anybody in the store at all.

 

“Thanks,” he said immediately, and his lips broke out into a wide smile.

 

Camille noticed the shape of his face, it was long and angular, and there were deep long dimples on both his cheeks as he smiled. She felt the back of her neck burning up, but she raised her chin, not quite sure what was going on.

 

“I’ll open the door in about five minutes, yeah?” he stated rather than asked and splayed open his palm to indicate the number five.

 

A strong whiff of his scent had filled the small space of the store, and now Camille felt overwhelmed by it. How could a man look so great and smell so good at the same time? Was she dreaming him up?

 

He smelt like polished oak furniture, with a hint of brandy and some old masculine aftershave. He took a few steps in her direction and Camille was struck by the scent of him again.

 

“Excuse me?” she managed to ask, as he smoothly walked past her and obstructed himself from her view with the help of one of the shelves.

 

“Like I said, you can open the store up in a few minutes,” he repeated, but it didn’t clarify her confusion.

 

A sudden rage combined with panic overtook Camille, and she crossed her brows as she watched him browsing the shelves for comic books. Who did he think he was? What made him think that he could simply waltz into her store, lock the door and shut shop whenever he felt like it, with no explanation? No matter how drop dead gorgeous he was, she wasn’t going to allow it.

 

Without exchanging another word with him, Camille walked over to the door and twisted the key in the lock, ready to open it again. But before she did, she bit down on her lip and turned back to the guy.

 

He was looking at her too; appearing to study her. Despite the fact that she was defying him, his gaze was calm. He was lazily looking her up and down, examining her hair, her breasts, her bare legs… Camille could feel her cheeks burning red again.

 

Slowly, as she watched him, he dragged his gaze away from her and pulled a book off the shelf. Camille had caught a look at the cover before he opened it. It was the first issue of Country Crowns, and Camille’s heart started beating fast. He had picked her comic book, even if it was by chance; he had her artwork, her story… in his hands!

 

Her hand froze on the key in the lock as she watched him turn the first page of the comic. His eyes were scanning the pages quickly, and he appeared to be engrossed in the story.

 

Before she could say anything, she watched him drop to his knees and then sit down cross-legged on the floor. The whole thing flabbergasted her. What was going on? He was sitting on the floor, in the middle of thousands of comic books, hidden by aisles, and quietly reading one of her books. He had still not given her any explanation as to why he had locked the door or turned the sign.

 

Camille hadn’t realized that her mouth was hung slightly open. It didn’t matter though; he wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was more interested in the book. Her book!

 

Camille shook her head to try and clear her mind and start thinking straight again. It wasn’t a good idea to be so carried away by the presence of a handsome man in her store. She turned on her heels and yanked the door back open, just for show, just to give him an indication that the shop was open again.

 

Then she turned the sign so that other people (if there were going to be any) wouldn’t be dissuaded from coming into the shop by a ‘Closed’ sign. Then slowly, taking a deep breath in, she turned back around again. It was time to think straight, to gather her wits about her. It was time to behave like the responsible adult store owner that she was, instead of a giggling blushing teenager.

 

It was true that not many, in fact, not any, customers who looked like this guy ever walked into her shop. But he should be treated like every other customer, even though he had somehow picked one of her books out of all the other choices.

 

But when Camille turned to look at him again, she wasn’t prepared for what she found. He was still sitting on the floor but had reached up with his long muscular arms for the rack of novelty masks on the shelf above him. In that split-second, when she had turned to open the door and turn the sign back around, this Greek-God of a man had picked out a unicorn party mask and was now fitting it over his face.

 

Camille’s brows crossed and she felt her lips stretch to a straight line. This was too unreal, what was going on?

 

“Excuse me, but what are you doing?” she asked, taking a few steps towards him.

 

“Just checking out your merchandise,” she heard him say, but his voice was muffled slightly by the unicorn mask. Camille tried to stifle a laugh. It was hilarious to watch this grown, seriously athletic looking biker dude in a pink glittery unicorn mask. But Camille took it in her stride and walked over to him.

 

She hooked her hands on her hips as she stood before him, with her legs spread apart.

 

“You have to take that mask off,” she told him, trying to sound as adamant and serious as she could.

 

“Why?” he asked and looked up at her. She could see him blinking through the eyeholes of the mask, and this time she couldn’t stop herself from smiling.

 

“Are you seriously thinking of buying a unicorn party mask?” She tilted her head to one side and raised her brows.

 

“Why not?” He shrugged his shoulders, with her comic book still on his lap. He had already finished reading the first few pages and a nervous jolt shot up Camille’s spine. Just the fact that somebody who had decided to read her book hadn’t violently thrown it across the room after the first few pages was a welcome feeling. Was he actually enjoying the story?

 

“I know you’re just fooling around,” she said, trying to compose herself again.

 

“Do you always treat your customers like this? Or just the ones who are trying to buy something?” he asked in an innocent voice. Camille licked her lips as she stared at him. Soon, she realized that she couldn’t have a proper conversation with him while he was still wearing that ridiculous mask.

 

“Look. You have to take this off now.” She walked closer to him, hovering over him as he sat crouched beneath her. He didn’t say anything or protest, and before she knew what she was doing, Camille reached down to him with both her hands and started to pull the mask off his face.

 

“You can have it back if you like,” he said casually as the mask came peeling off. Camille dangled it from an upright forefinger, still looking down at him with suspicion.

 

From this close, she could see every angle and every freckle on his skin. He looked flawless like a male underwear model. Camille bit down on her lip again as they stared at each other, and she couldn’t help but imagine him naked.

 

What was she thinking?! As he had reminded her, he was a customer at her store. Why was she picturing him naked?

 

“Did you open the door again?” he asked, looking past her and interrupting her inappropriate thoughts. Camille felt nervous in his presence now. He was too good looking for words, even though he was acting strangely enough to make her uncomfortable.

 

“Yes, I did.” She took a few steps away from him. What did this guy want? Was he trying to rob her? Alarm bells started to ring in her head, and she stepped further away from him.

 

“Well,” he simply replied, with a shrug of his shoulders. He was looking around him now, and his gaze fell on the rack of novelty props, his eyes seemingly focused on the cloth sacks with dollar signs - the ones that bank robbers in cartoons carry. She watched him smile… those damn dimples again.

 

“If you’re going to kick me out, I’ll need some kind of disguise,” he added, and slowly turned his head to look back at her. Camille’s brows crossed again. Kick him out? Disguise?

 

“I’m not kicking you out. You are free to browse for as long as you like. We close at eight,” Camille said, trying to hold his gaze, even though she could feel her heart dancing. His chocolate brown eyes were focused on her now, and she felt like he could look into her soul.

 

“I need that door locked if I’m going to stay here though.” He tipped his head towards the door.

 

Camille could feel her heart thumping loudly in her ears, but something made her turn around and walk to the door again. She turned the key in the lock. What was she doing? Why was she taking orders from this guy?

 

“And turn the sign too,” she heard him say, and she again did as she was told. She could feel her hands shaking, ever so slightly. Was he going to rob her? Was he a threat to her life? What did he want to steal from this store? Camille turned around to look back at him again.

 

He remained sitting on the floor, his back against one of the shelves. Her comic book remained open and splayed on his lap. He was peering back at her, and she thought she saw a look of gratefulness in his eyes. Was he actually thanking her for locking the door?

 

Camille licked her lips and wished she had used some lip-gloss earlier. But this was not how she had imagined her day to go. In an effort to calm her throbbing heart, and relax her soul, she decided to say something.

 

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” she asked, and he smiled at her. That terribly wonderful, dimpling smile that had an obnoxious way of warming her heart.