18
Lola
Mondays at the shop are generally about as exciting as waiting in line at the DMV, but this one is not. I can't seem to figure out the why of it. Within the first twenty minutes of opening, there are a mad dash of customers. Well-caffeinated from the shop down the street, they roam the shelves with shrewd eyes, seeking out their next read before someone else can snatch it from them.
I am not mentally prepared for this and Britt’s eyes seem to have glazed over at some point during the day. But somehow, we get through it. And when I crunch the sales numbers at lunch, I’m tickled to learn that we've had more in one morning then I usually have in an entire week.
"What the heck is going on today?" Britt slumps into the chair behind the register and stares longingly at her abandoned phone.
I glance out the window to check for an explanation. On rare occasions, there have been spurts of activity that stemmed from other events happening on the street, but that doesn’t seem to be the case today. "I have no idea.”
Something feels fishy. If I connect the dots, it would lead me back to ThatGuy. I sent him the numbers, but not the business name. Still, it’s a bizarre coincidence. I haven't heard from him in a couple days, so I decide to play it cool.
LolaB:
Hey.
ThatGuy:
You don't even want to know what Mr. Ellis is doing in the meeting right now.
LolaB:
No, I really don't think I want to. I'll leave that special treat just for you.
ThatGuy:
He's digging for gold.
LolaB:
Ugggggh I said I didn't want to know.
ThatGuy:
I know. What can I say, I'm misery, and I love company.
LolaB:
Well, mission accomplished.
ThatGuy:
I’ll need to burn this conference room table when we're done here.
LolaB:
Probably. But better burn down the whole building, just to be on the safe side.
ThatGuy:
Dammit. You're right. I always think too small.
LolaB:
I doubt that very much. Which brings me to my next question...
ThatGuy:
Yes.
LolaB:
Yes....?
ThatGuy:
Oh, did I not tell you? I'm also a mind reader. You know, as a part-time hobby. You were wondering if I had a chance to look over the numbers yet, right?
LolaB:
Wow, you should probably just go ahead and take that full time, being how talented you are and all.
ThatGuy:
It's a gift. But gifts should be used sparingly.
LolaB:
Well, I wouldn't know. Since the only gift I have is being able to eat an entire bag of chocolates by myself.
ThatGuy:
I am confident you have plenty. In fact, I know you do. I could tell you, but I don't want to give away all my secrets.
LolaB:
Right, wouldn't want that.
ThatGuy:
So...
LolaB:
So....
ThatGuy:
The numbers.
LolaB:
What about them?
ThatGuy:
They aren't good.
LolaB:
You don't have to be a mind reader to figure that out.
ThatGuy:
No, not really. Just general math will do. But I think I have a few ideas. Let me shoot you an email.
LolaB:
Okay, no rush.
ThatGuy:
Are you kidding? If I don't do it now, then I have to watch the horror show that is this meeting.
LolaB:
Ahhh, I see. So really, I'm doing YOU a favor.
ThatGuy:
Precisely.
The phone falls silent for a few minutes before my email pings, and he comes through as promised. His email address is the same as his handle on Tap Left. And as much fun as I have talking to him, I do have to wonder what’s up with the cloak and dagger routine.
The reality is, I know very little about this man. Which is okay, for pen pals. But if we are going to meet in person, I feel like I should know these things. So, I eat a few Twizzlers and try to work up some courage before sending him a text.
LolaB:
I like your photo, by the way. Very artsy.
ThatGuy:
Oh yeah, I hand painted that myself. With the click of a button.
LolaB:
Kinda figured. Do you have any others?
Silence. For a full five minutes. And now I've eaten ten Twizzlers, and this anxiety is not good for my waistline.
All I can think about is Daire. There's supposed to be a deadline on whatever it is we have. But after last night, things are more muddled than ever. And I can’t help but wonder if I'm looking for any excuse to remain stuck in my ways. The old me would call things off with the seemingly emotionally stable ThatGuy in favor of throwing my heart into the blender that is Daire.
I'm trapped between them, and it’s maddening. ThatGuy is funny and charming and helpful, and Daire is emotionally disengaged and dysfunctional. Together, we are toxic. But I fear that Daire will always own me in some way. He has a piece of my heart I can’t reclaim. Together, we’ve been through something horrific, and it’s created an unshakeable bond.
But then again, how could I not like ThatGuy? He's smart and kind and probably normal. Or at least, I'd like to believe so from the conversations we've had. I want to meet him. But then I don't. I'm so confused.
My phone pings again.
ThatGuy:
I guess it's probably time to tell you I have a giant horn growing out the side of my head, huh?
LolaB:
That would explain the artsy photo filter.
ThatGuy:
I knew it. You're one of those chicks. Can't even dig a guy who has a little freak of nature deformity.
LolaB:
Possibly. Would still need to see it though.
He goes silent on me again. And I start eating Twizzlers again. I text Julian back since he’s messaged me three times already asking about dinner. I tell him yes. And then my phone pings.
It's ThatGuy. And there's a media attachment. My heart fires rapidly when I click on it. But the joke’s on me when I’m greeted by a photo of a rhinoceros.
LolaB:
Ha. Ha. Very funny.
ThatGuy:
I knew this would happen. Blew it, didn't I?
LolaB:
Possibly. Was just thinking that for safety reasons, I should probably know more about you. Like your actual name.
ThatGuy:
Well, I can't blame you for that. We did establish this app is full of lunatics.
LolaB:
We did. And you could be another in sheep's clothing for all I know.
ThatGuy:
But I could also just send you a pic of some random dude and say it's me. I could photoshop my face onto Brad Pitt's body, and you wouldn't know the difference.
LolaB:
That's not true. I know his body like the back of my hand. You know, from that one time we hooked up. Don't tell Angelina.
ThatGuy:
Damn, that's a tough act to follow. My lips are sealed though.
LolaB:
Phew. But seriously...
ThatGuy:
Seriously. I get where you're coming from. The thing is, I kind of like this little game we're playing right now. The anonymous aspect. However, with that being said... I have another proposition for you.
LolaB:
Hmmm.... listening.
ThatGuy:
Here's the deal. I'm somewhat of a public figure in this city. I don't want you to get cold feet once you realize who I am.
LolaB:
Oh god, you're Brad Pitt aren't you. I told you to give up already!
ThatGuy:
Tears, Lola. I'm in tears.
LolaB:
Sorry, pal.
ThatGuy:
Sure, that's what they all say.
LolaB:
Back to your proposition.
ThatGuy:
Yes. So, here's what I'm thinking. How about the day before we are supposed to meet, I send you every one of my mug shots. I'll even throw in my background check, full name, and the kitchen sink. Then you can decide.
LolaB:
Okay. I hope you look good in prison orange. That's the only way I'm going to be persuaded.
ThatGuy:
Prison orange is my color. You'll see.
I don't know what I was so worried about. It seems like a fair deal, as long as I know who he is before I meet him.
LolaB:
Alright, sold.
ThatGuy:
I knew I could twist your arm. Didn't even need any chocolate. Now go check your email.
LolaB:
On it, boss.
ThatGuy:
Good girl.
Even though my stomach is churning with dread, his notes aren’t as bad as I thought they might be. He doesn’t even mention the projections or losses or anything negative at all. His thoughts consist of marketing strategies for the shop, some of which I may even be able to afford.
There's a cost scale of effectively proven strategies, promotional gimmicks, advertising ideas, and even some examples of successful campaigns used by other stores. He's also included several different websites to use as a baseline for my research into taking the business online. The cherry on top is a list of other items he suggests I stock to increase sales. Things like bookmarks, journals, mugs and even book scented candles. They are all great ideas.
And as if that wasn’t enough, he tells me he’s hooked me up with a 'friend of a friend' who can help me with the website for free because he owes ThatGuy a favor, apparently. It's too much. But I'm really not in the position to refuse help at this point.
It's time to sink or swim.
And when I look around my shop and everything I've built, I know that I want to swim.