Chapter Twenty-One
Of All the Clothing Stores on the Upper West Side…
Jessica
I come into work a bit late, but I’m just glad I summoned the courage to come in at all.
Last night, the vengeful part of me wanted to fire Linda, but she can’t really be blamed for what happened. Yeah, I told her specifically not to sleep with Eric—of course, back when I said that, it was just because he was going to be working in the store—but still, unless it happened after Eric and I got together and she knew about it, I can’t really be too mad at her.
Still, when I walk through the front door and see her standing at her register, I have to clench my teeth to keep from unloading on her.
“Hey, Jessica,” Linda says as I walk past without looking. “What’s up?”
I just keep going until I get to my office.
The store is busy today, so I can’t very well just make up an excuse and leave. Cheryl’s here, but there’s just too much to do.
If nothing else, maybe work will help me take my mind off of everything.
Cheryl knocks on my door.
“Did you see?” she asks. “We’re bouncing back.”
“Yeah,” I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. (It’s not a large amount.) “It looks like things are really moving out there. You’re doing great work, Cheryl,” I tell her. “Thanks for keeping an eye on the store the last couple of days.”
“Not a problem,” she says. “I am loving this whole manager thing. There are a few things I wanted to go over with you, though.”
I’m so spaced I didn’t even realize she’s been holding a clipboard this whole time.
Cheryl goes over sales numbers by department over the past couple of days that I’ve been gone, and makes some suggestions regarding how we might increase those sales in the departments that are still lagging.
She has some good ideas, I think, but I’m nowhere near paying attention. At the moment, I’m looking through the office doorway at Linda, trying to see if she’s showing yet.
“Jessica?” Cheryl asks.
“Yeah,” I answer, returning my focus on her.
“I was just saying that we’re starting to move enough product in the rest of the store that we might just have some leverage to renegotiate with Burbank and get a better deal so we can lower prices and get some more people in every part of the store,” she says.
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “He seemed pretty full of himself when he left here last time.”
“That’s why I was thinking we might want to consider bringing in a negotiator to help us here, now I know that’s going to cost some money, but if we can talk Burbank out of throwing us the rest of the way off the ledge, I think we can really make a difference here,” she says.
“Did you have anyone in mind?” I ask.
“I was hoping you might know someone,” she says.
“Wish I did,” I answer. “I’ll keep my eyes out, though. If there’s any way we could even get him to sit back down with us before the term of that contract is up, I say it’s worth it.”
“Also,” Cheryl adds, “I think we’re going to need another full-time cashier, maybe two. I’ve been jumping in when I can, but even then we’re getting overloaded.”
“I’ll look into it,” I tell her.
“Great,” Cheryl says. She smiles and walks back out the door.
As she goes, I’m only just starting to realize exactly how busy we are.
I stand up and move to the doorway, my mouth dropping further as more of the store comes into view.
How did I miss that?
The store is full of people milling about, holding up clothes to themselves in mirrors, talking, laughing—what’s more, they’re buying.
The line in front of Linda’s register is six people deep, and by the time Cheryl opens up the next register over, that number just continues to grow.
Women of all shapes and sizes are moving about every department, so many of them with a smile on their face.
I walk out into the store and just listen to what people are saying as I go.
It’s positive. It’s all positive.
People aren’t just talking with each other; they’re talking about the store, about the clothes. I have no clue what Cheryl’s been up to in the few days that I’ve been gone, but whatever it is, it’s working.
The biggest draw, it seems, is the recessed area in plus sizes.
Where they exist, there are plus sizes among all of the other departments of the store, but this section, this little piece of the store where plus-sized women can get items that aren’t available anywhere else for anyone else, is thriving.
“Excuse me?” a woman asks, coming up to me.
“Yes? How can I help you today?” I ask.
“I was wondering if you happened to have this in black?” she asks, holding up a dress. “I know it’s probably a long shot, but I really think this dress in black would just be perfect for me.”
One of the upsides of spending most of my life in this store as a control freak is that I know every single item that’s in it.
“I know that we used to have it, but let’s see if it’s still in stock,” I tell her, and we walk over to the next rack over from where she got the dress she’s holding.
I look through, and sure enough, it’s right there.
“Oh, thank you,” she says as I hand it to her. “You really have a wonderful thing going here. You know, I used to walk by here all the time, but one of my girlfriends showed me these shoes she got here, and well, I just had to come in and see it for myself.”
“Thank you,” I tell her, and I’m actually smiling as she walks away.
I don’t know if this upswing alone is going to be enough to convince Burbank to sit back down with me, but whenever we do talk terms again, so long as this keeps up, I’m going to have a hell of a lot of leverage.
“Jessica!” Linda calls, and I turn around.
Yeah, she’s starting to show. It’s subtle, but when you spend your days running a women’s clothing store, you start to notice things like that.
I walk over, but before I get to the register, I can already tell what Linda needs. Her line has only grown as has Cheryl’s.
This is going to be the first time that we’ve ever opened the third register.
To be honest, I don’t even know if the thing still works.
I’m up front for at least 20 minutes before the rush starts to die down. The flow of customers is still steady, but it finally thins enough that I’m able to close down register three and head back to my office.
If I could, I’d stay out on the floor all day. It’s about the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen, but Cheryl’s right. We’re going to need some more cashiers, and the sooner that happens, the better.
* * *
When the workday finally comes to a close, I’m not even sure I could handle looking at the total receipts, although that doesn’t stop me from going ahead and doing it anyway.
Just today, we’ve managed to make up about half of what I spent on Eric’s crew, and from what Cheryl says, yesterday was almost as big.
We close down, and before Cheryl heads back to her car, I stop her and give her a hug.
“Thank you so much,” I tell her. “Let’s get together tomorrow before we open up. I really want to hear just what it is that you’ve been doing to get such a response from the neighborhood.”
“It’s easy,” Cheryl says. “I started a social media campaign, showing some of the things we’ve got that nobody else does, comparing prices to our competitors and spending all my time recruiting friends to tell their friends to tell their friends and so on and so on and so on,” she beams.
“I don’t know why I never thought of that,” I tell her, “but I’m just glad that you did.”
“Just doin’ my job, boss,” she says, and still grinning, she turns and walks away.
Just like that, though, it all starts coming back to me.
The adrenaline of the day and the wonder at how fast and how dramatic the change has been was enough to keep my mind off of Eric and that whole nightmare, but now with nothing left to occupy my every moment, my elation dissolves into that clusterfuck of emotions that I still don’t know what to do with.
I get to my car and I call my dad’s number.
My mom’s supposed to be home from the hospital today.
Oddly enough, she’s the one that answers.
“What happened with Eric?” my mom asks.
“Well hello to you, too,” I answer. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore, drugged up and otherwise incoherent,” she answers. “So what happened? The two of you seemed like you were doing so well when I saw you yesterday, or was that the medication?”
“It wasn’t the medication,” I start.
I go on to give her the whole, lurid story minus the part about Eric and me knocking boots just before the phone call. By the time I’m done venting, I’ve been sitting in my parked car for almost 20 minutes.
“I don’t understand,” she says when I come to the end of it.
“My boyfriend—or at least the guy I was calling that yesterday—got someone else pregnant,” I tell her. “It’s really that simple.”
“It doesn’t sound simple at all,” my mom laughs. “It sounds like an absolute quagmire.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I tell her. “As always, your advice just makes everything all better.”
“What I don’t understand,” she says, “is why you feel so betrayed? He didn’t cheat on you, unless I missed something there. You said this whole thing happened a couple of months ago?”
“Yeah,” I tell her, “but I don’t really see how that changes anything. I’m sure it would be worse if he had cheated on me, but right now, I can’t even imagine what worse would feel like.”
“Well,” she says, “you know what you’ve got to do, don’t you?”
“Not even a little bit,” I answer.
“You need to go over there and scream at him for a while,” she says. “He’ll try to interrupt, to explain, but just keep on screaming until you can’t scream any more. After that, he’s going to talk to you and you’re going to need to listen to him. Either this is it or it isn’t. Once he’s talked himself out, you’re probably going to want to start yelling at him again, so do. Get it all out and when you’re all done with that, maybe the two of you can come to an understanding of what this actually means for the both of you and for your relationship.”
“I don’t think I’m willing to do that,” I tell her. “I just want this whole thing to be over. I just want to forget that any of it happened.”
“Well,” my mom says, “that’s your choice, but if you think this relationship is something that’s worth fighting for, you’re going to have to do the fighting. If you do stay together, things are going to be complicated and they’re going to stay complicated until the two of you are over. If you think you might be able to love him, whether it’s now or sometime in the future, you’ve got to at least give it a shot. There’s nothing worse than losing someone you love, especially when it’s something that might have been prevented.”
Do I love Eric?
It’s still too new a relationship, but the fact that listening to her talking about fighting for the relationship gave me the first bit of peace that I’ve felt outside of the insanity of the store’s rush tells me that it might turn into that down the road if only we can get past this.
“I don’t know, Mom,” I tell her, but the way this is hurting I know I love him. “Things looked like they were going to be so perfect, but then this happens and everything’s just—”
“Oh, nothing’s ever perfect, dear,” she interrupts. “Just look at your father and me. Why, when I first met him, I thought he was a do-nothing coward—yeah, you heard me, Harold!” she shouts, only giving credence to her point that their relationship isn’t perfect. “But if it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have you or your sister—did you hear they’re going to name the baby Percival?”
“Oh, God,” I gripe. “It’s a boy?”
“Can you believe it?” she asks. “Even when I was growing up, Percival was one of those names that always seemed to carry a thick layer of dust on it.”
I crack a smile.
“You don’t always know when it’s right. That’s the big myth that sells tickets to all those Sex with Everyone in the City movies,” she says. “All you can do is realize when you’ve reached the point where you’re not willing to fight for it anymore, and maybe you’re already there. This relationship is still so young for both of you and maybe this all came too soon, but if there’s a chance, I think you should track him down and scream at him until you decide one way or the other.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I tell her. “This has actually helped quite a bit.”
“You’re welcome dear,” my mom says. “Just one more thing and then I’m going to see if I can sneak another pain pill.”
“Go easy on those, will you?” I ask. “They’re worse than most of the crap you can buy on the streets.”
“Oh, I just take halves,” my mom says. “I just like playing Secret Impossible Mission with your father. He thinks I’m just trying to get stoned and it’s about the best entertainment I’ve had in years.”
I roll my eyes.
This is my mother.
“You said there was one more thing?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says. “When the two of you fornicated, did you use a condom?”
“Oh, for God’s sake…”