Read Online Love and Other Perishable Items by Laura Buzo - Free Book Online
Authors: Laura Buzo
Ads: Link
Liza did once.
The other week, late in the evening shift, I’d heard squealing from down toward the service desk. Kathy was in a state of great agitation. It seemed that a mouse had run out from underneath a pyramid display of Vita-Weat. Three checkouts ahead of me, Chris quickly secured his register and started down toward the service desk. He was halfway there when Stuart Green strode out from aisle one, where he must have been stacking shelves. He carried a white polystyrene box, which he deftly brought down over the top of the offending mouse. With the mouse trapped, he put one steel-cap-booted foot on top of the box for good measure. Kathy breathed a sigh of relief. Chris had frozen in his tracks. There was a good few seconds when the three of them cut an interesting tableau. Kathy broke it first.
“Thanks, Chris, you can go back to your register now. We’ll take it from here.”
Chris looked from her green eyes to Stuart’s cruel ones and didn’t move. A couple of late-night customers had started to queue up at my register.
“Go back to your register, Chris,” Kathy said, pulling service supervisor rank. “There are customers waiting.”
Chris turned and walked back up to his register. He looked at me briefly, expressionlessly, as he passed. Stuart took care of the mouse. Somehow.
So right now at the party, Stuart is playing pool and Kathy is smoking on the deck. I’m chatting to Sveta about school when Jeremy comes up to us carrying a bottle of white wine.
“How’s the evening going, ladies?”
He slots himself in between us and expertly pours three glasses of wine.
Sveta doesn’t say anything. It’s up to me.
“Fine. It’s going fine.”
“Cigarette?” he asks, fishing in his pockets.
“No!”
He stops fishing. “Cheers then. To Bianca’s dad’s Christmas bonus.”
Again, Sveta doesn’t say anything.
“Cheers,” I say. We clink glasses and look out over the harbor.
Maybe it’s the wine, which I’m not used to drinking, but I’m beginning to feel something resembling relaxation. If Sveta does kill men with her thighs, she certainly doesn’t talk about it at parties.
It’s turning out that Jeremy is an okay sort. Prior to the party all I knew of him was that he was a junior at St. Pat’s and sold cigarettes to all the underage kids in the area when he worked at the service desk on Thursday nights. A lot of thin private school girls, I’d noticed. He does a roaring trade.
I’m doing pretty well at small talk with him right now. At least, for a social retard like me. He’s a pretty nice guy. Cute in a hoodlumish kind of way. I ask him about his school.
“Yeah. I don’t go a whole lot.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I just go when I have to.”
“But … you have to go every day.”
He laughs and refills my glass for me.
The only interruption is when Chris comes over, takes the glass out of my hand and suggests quite pointedly that Jeremy fetch me a glass of water. He seems to glare in Jeremy’s direction, then leans down and says, “Ease down on the wine, Ripley, or you’ll get a bit messy.” Then he goes inside to talk to Ed.
I notice Stuart and Chris briefly glower at each other across the pool table. Jeremy returns with my water and another bottle of wine.
Around nine o’clock, I look round the deck and notice that Kathy is no longer on it. I peer inside to the pool room. Not there either. Hmm. Stuart, I notice, is also missing. Bianca has taken his place at the pool table. As soon as I fully absorb this information, my eyes seek out Chris. He has just come back out onto the deck carrying two strawberry daiquiris, fresh from the blender in one of the kitchens. He too is casting his eyes about the place, trying to find Kathy, then registering that both she and Stuart are missing. He sets the daiquiris down on a table, leans out over the deck railings and scans the garden and jetty below. Then he turns and walks quickly back into the house. The
The other week, late in the evening shift, I’d heard squealing from down toward the service desk. Kathy was in a state of great agitation. It seemed that a mouse had run out from underneath a pyramid display of Vita-Weat. Three checkouts ahead of me, Chris quickly secured his register and started down toward the service desk. He was halfway there when Stuart Green strode out from aisle one, where he must have been stacking shelves. He carried a white polystyrene box, which he deftly brought down over the top of the offending mouse. With the mouse trapped, he put one steel-cap-booted foot on top of the box for good measure. Kathy breathed a sigh of relief. Chris had frozen in his tracks. There was a good few seconds when the three of them cut an interesting tableau. Kathy broke it first.
“Thanks, Chris, you can go back to your register now. We’ll take it from here.”
Chris looked from her green eyes to Stuart’s cruel ones and didn’t move. A couple of late-night customers had started to queue up at my register.
“Go back to your register, Chris,” Kathy said, pulling service supervisor rank. “There are customers waiting.”
Chris turned and walked back up to his register. He looked at me briefly, expressionlessly, as he passed. Stuart took care of the mouse. Somehow.
So right now at the party, Stuart is playing pool and Kathy is smoking on the deck. I’m chatting to Sveta about school when Jeremy comes up to us carrying a bottle of white wine.
“How’s the evening going, ladies?”
He slots himself in between us and expertly pours three glasses of wine.
Sveta doesn’t say anything. It’s up to me.
“Fine. It’s going fine.”
“Cigarette?” he asks, fishing in his pockets.
“No!”
He stops fishing. “Cheers then. To Bianca’s dad’s Christmas bonus.”
Again, Sveta doesn’t say anything.
“Cheers,” I say. We clink glasses and look out over the harbor.
Maybe it’s the wine, which I’m not used to drinking, but I’m beginning to feel something resembling relaxation. If Sveta does kill men with her thighs, she certainly doesn’t talk about it at parties.
It’s turning out that Jeremy is an okay sort. Prior to the party all I knew of him was that he was a junior at St. Pat’s and sold cigarettes to all the underage kids in the area when he worked at the service desk on Thursday nights. A lot of thin private school girls, I’d noticed. He does a roaring trade.
I’m doing pretty well at small talk with him right now. At least, for a social retard like me. He’s a pretty nice guy. Cute in a hoodlumish kind of way. I ask him about his school.
“Yeah. I don’t go a whole lot.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I just go when I have to.”
“But … you have to go every day.”
He laughs and refills my glass for me.
The only interruption is when Chris comes over, takes the glass out of my hand and suggests quite pointedly that Jeremy fetch me a glass of water. He seems to glare in Jeremy’s direction, then leans down and says, “Ease down on the wine, Ripley, or you’ll get a bit messy.” Then he goes inside to talk to Ed.
I notice Stuart and Chris briefly glower at each other across the pool table. Jeremy returns with my water and another bottle of wine.
Around nine o’clock, I look round the deck and notice that Kathy is no longer on it. I peer inside to the pool room. Not there either. Hmm. Stuart, I notice, is also missing. Bianca has taken his place at the pool table. As soon as I fully absorb this information, my eyes seek out Chris. He has just come back out onto the deck carrying two strawberry daiquiris, fresh from the blender in one of the kitchens. He too is casting his eyes about the place, trying to find Kathy, then registering that both she and Stuart are missing. He sets the daiquiris down on a table, leans out over the deck railings and scans the garden and jetty below. Then he turns and walks quickly back into the house. The
Similar Books
