Chapter 2: American Princess Meets Homeboy
Transition To Mainstream
by
jRosser
Back
from lunch spent in Keno Parlor at El Cortez casino my third day at Mr. Vegas, after sorting dress shirts,
I move on past merchandise along the wall checking arrangement on my way to
cashier counter where Boss Daughter is standing out front in observation post.
She still hasn’t spoken to me or in any way acknowledged my presence in the
store.
“So
do you think I’ll commission my first week?” I ask without introduction.
“Some
have,” she answers--unflinching straight ahead focus on boutique and customer
activity.
“Depends,”
she tells me.
“On
what?”
“Just
depends.
“Summer
or winter--makes a difference--tourist town.”
Nodding
head as reaction to her store related comment, I say to Boss Daughter, “So what
do you do away from work?”
She
pauses before responding--making eye contact.
“Ex-cuse me--I’m never away from work.
“Thanks for the concern though.”
“No
problem,” I’m laughing inside at her dismissing my playful probing.
“Don’t
just stand around waiting to take orders
from customers,” she continues, “Look busy--arranging
merchandise keeps you close to customer. Notice what they’re looking at--show
something similar or totally different--you’re taking control without them
realizing it.”
“You’re
good.”
“It’s
the job,” she tells me.
“So
are you--aren’t you?”
Boss
Daughter blinks without answer.
“You
have two days off. Take two--or work six--that extra day makes a big difference
in weekly count.”
“Do
you work six days?”
“I
do what job requires. That’s a good starting point for you,” she answers
question with less business more femininity in tone.
“So
do you pamper your toes with pedicure--the way you do your hands--sexy
hands--can’t help noticing.”
She
looks at me with raised brow--without comment
“You
do realize this conversation is about the job--and not me--right?”
“I
do.”
Boss
Daughter reflective gaze follows my 2-word response--without reply.
“Just
curious. When being ignored by you--is there a safe distance to keep between
us?”
“Maybe.
Maybe not at all,” she says, guarding grin.
“Cool.
I take orders from you--right?”
“……..lets
just say--you do. Do you have a problem with that?” she answers question with
question.
“No.
Not unless you plan on being mean and impossible to impress.”
She
looks directly at me--marble eyes blinking green without verbal response.
“My
problem is anyone other than you.
“Telling
me what to do.”
Captive
eyes have been on me for last five minutes of conversation--same eyes ignoring
me since interview encounter two days ago. “You work for yourself here.” I’m
told. “And by the way, I don’t plan on being one or the other, David,”
she says on verge of smiling.
“Well
Hope. I’m looking forward to us working together.”
“Same
here. And yes--I’ll be working six
days,” she tells me. The day ends with us talking back and forth between customers.
There
are six full-time people on the floor at Mr.
Vegas. One of them is salesman from Los
Angeles named Mike who plays in local 20-something rock
band. As good looking longhair guys go, his is top of shoulder in length--kind
of conservative. Cali Mike is my connection to rock music--so we talk bands a
lot. We were never introduced either. First time the two of us met in store
there was mutual head nod without words as acknowledgement of each other. The
next day Mike introduced himself. Troy
informed me he is one of the top producers as salesman at Mr. Vegas. Troy
is not friendly with Mike. Military service conditioned me to notice
commonality more than difference in people. Troy’s us
against them mentality as defensive pride is lost on me.
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