by Brent, Cora
I pause at the mirror beside the front door to straighten my long ponytail and ensure that I look presentable. I’m wearing jeans and a thick white cable knit sweater and while I don’t appear ready to take on Wall Street I think I’m worthy enough to qualify for a low paying job in Devil Valley.
The sun is shining and the air is far warmer than it was a few days ago, although this is only temporary. December always carries the bite of winter on its shoulders. But for now it is nice to be outside and I commit to a positive attitude as I make my way to the squat business sector in the middle of Devil Valley.
Two hours later both my positivity and my ego are feeling a little bruised. Neither one of the town’s hair salons are looking for new employees. The grocery store manager told me to try again after the holidays. No one at the auto parts store would even speak to me. Two fast food establishments allow me to fill out an application but don’t seem optimistic that any jobs will be opening up in the near future. The pair of elderly sisters running an insurance office were very nice and regretted that they did not have any need of office help. But they did offer me a soda and a couple of stale ginger snap cookies before sending me on my way.
At this point my feet hurt and I’m running out of places to try. The bench at the bus stop is empty so I take a seat and stare moodily at the sights of Devil Valley. No one would call this a pretty town and for most of my life I’ve been in a hurry to get out of here. Lately I’ve been trying not to dwell on the reality that I won’t be going very far next year.
I notice a pair of guys walking down Cardinal Street in my direction. They are wearing Devil Valley High jackets and they are the McGill brothers, Alex and Damian. They are strong and violent and vulgar and they are definitely heading this way. I’ve known them since grade school and the older they grew the meaner they got. Then puberty hit and magnified their worst qualities. On the first day of eighth grade Damian snapped my bra strap so hard my eyes watered. Then Alex leaned in to chuckle in my ear, ‘Like it or not, we’re gonna bust your sweet cherry one of these days, Galway.’ Ever since transferring to Black Mountain I’ve managed to stay out of their orbit. I’d rather not change that habit today.
Running away would only attract their attention so I frantically search for an alternative. There’s a gas station across the street. When I was little it was a big treat to be allowed to walk down to Dee’s Gas and Goods and buy some candy with my allowance money but that was years ago and I can’t remember the last time I was inside. Dee Cushing is a friend of my dad’s. They went to high school together because Devil Valley is filled with people who were born here and never found a way to leave. Right now Dee’s store is looking like a fine place to hide from the McGill brothers for a little while.
I keep my head down as I hurry across the street, hoping the McGills are too occupied with trying to shove each other off the curb to notice my presence. The bell above the glass door emits a rusty jingle when I walk in and I glance back to see if the McGills are following.
They have come to a dead stop twenty yards away. They are staring right at me and oozing malevolent energy. They resemble oversized testosterone versions of the creepy little girls in The Shining. However, I do believe I’d take my chances with the weird ghost girls over the McGill brothers.
“You lost?”
I yelp and spin around. My brain recognizes the voice even before my eyes take in the sight of Ben Beltran behind the counter, leaning on his elbows and looking all devil-may-care as you please. His hair is tousled, he hasn’t shaved and somehow he has the ability to make the ugly red work smock look good.
Finding him here is a shock and so I ask a stupid question. “You work here?”
“No. I stole this trendy vest and for shits and giggles I hang out behind the counter.”
“Whatever.” I glance outside. The McGills are now crossing the street and moving rapidly in this direction. “Look, is there a different door that I could leave from?”
“Why? Did you break that one?”
“The McGill brothers are coming.”
“You owe them money or something?”
“Ben.” With a sigh and a silent curse I decide to level with him. “You know what they’re like. And I’m just not in the mood to be grabbed or propositioned or otherwise sexually harassed right now.”
I have no confidence the plea will make any difference to Ben but apparently he’s not made of stone after all. Something shifts in his expression and he nods.
“Wait in the stockroom. I’ll let you know when they’re gone.”
“Thanks.”
The stockroom is behind a gray door in the back of the store. There’s no window and immediately a sense of claustrophobia smacks me as the messy, disorganized shelves seem to close in. I look around in search of a back door but no such luck. A few seconds later the clink of the entrance bell and a flurry of ‘fuck’ words heralds the arrival of the McGill brothers. The door is thick and I don’t dare crack it open. The only thing worse than straight up running into the McGills would be if they caught me cowering back here. I hear the low murmur of Ben’s voice followed by an outburst of bawdy laughter. It occurs to me that I have no idea if Ben is actually a friend of theirs. I really don’t know Ben Beltran very well at all. He comes across as an arrogant, smirking jerk and crude rumors follow in his wake but Ben offers few clues about what goes on inside that absurdly good looking head of his. He might be pointing out my hidden location to the McGill brothers right now.
Just in case, I search for an object that might be used as a weapon. A wire rack filled with cheap wine bottles sits to my right. I seize one and grip the neck like a baseball bat, making a plan to knock it against the head of the first McGill brother that opens the door.
Footsteps approach. A knuckle raps on the door three times. My fingers tighten around the neck of the wine bottle.
The door is flung open and Ben Beltran scowls at me.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Defending myself.” I crane my neck in an attempt to peer around his shoulder. “Are they behind you?”
He backs up and crosses his arms. “No, they’re not fucking behind me. They left.”
I relax slightly and dare to take a step out of the stockroom. “I didn’t hear the bell.”
“I guess I should have told them to exit more forcefully.” His head tilts and he appraises me. “Was it seriously your plan to destroy the McGill brothers with a five dollar wine bottle?”
“I don’t know,” I grumble and set the wine on a nearby shelf. Either the shelf isn’t level or else I’m clumsier than I thought. The bottle wobbles for a hair raising second and then crashes to the floor. Glass shatters in a dark red puddle.
Ben stares at the puddle. “Good going.”
This could probably be more mortifying, although I don’t see how. “I’ll clean it up.”
Ben does not argue. “Mop and dust pan are in the corner back there. You might have seen them while you were hiding.”
He walks back to the front to reclaim his place behind the counter. I find the cleanup tools and wish the store was bigger so that I would be out of his line of sight. I can feel him watching me as I sweep up the largest shards of glass.
“I’m surprised the McGills left so easily.”
Ben takes his time about responding. I’ve noticed that about him, even in class. He often seems to weigh his words before allowing them to leave his mouth.
“I gave them some snacks to hasten their departure.”
“Are you allowed to do that?”
He sighs with obvious annoyance. “I paid the register back out of my own pocket.”
“Oh.” I bite my lower lip. I can’t even offer to pay him back right now. I have exactly two dollars in my pocket.
There is a small sink in the stockroom and luckily a faucet hose is attached so I’m able to fill the bucket after adding a capful of soap.
When I return to deal with the spill there is a customer at the coun
ter. Her light brown hair is cut in an unkempt bob and she looks familiar. She’s probably around forty years old and while her buttery yellow leather coat looks expensive, her faded jeans and dirty white sneakers do not. Ben listens to whatever she is saying with a strange expression on his face. He glances outside and scowls at the sight of a man standing by the door and spitting on the ground. The woman says something in a low voice and Ben nods. She reaches out a hand with long pink fingernails and moves a piece of hair from his forehead but there’s nothing inappropriate about it. It’s more like the way a parent would touch her child.
I swish the wet mop across the floor and wait until the woman leaves before stating the obvious.
“So that’s your mom.”
Ben shoots me a look and then frowns. “Yeah.”
I wait for him to add to the comment but he doesn’t. He cleans the counter with a spray bottle.
“But that wasn’t your dad standing outside, was it?”
The scowl returns. “No, that’s her latest dipshit boyfriend.”
I squeeze the wine-soaked mop into the bucket. “So it’s just you and your mom? No brothers or sisters?”
He sets the bottle down with a thud and uses a blue cloth on the counter. “None.”
“I know you moved here the year I transferred to Black Mountain but I can’t remember where you’re from.”
“That’s because you never asked and I never told you.”
Ben sure does have this cranky hot guy act down pat. I make an effort not to roll my eyes.
“Where are you from, Ben?”
He turns around to straighten out the rows of cigarettes and chewing tobacco.
“Chicago area.”
“No kidding?” In spite of his grumpiness I’d really like to hear more. “I’ve always had a thing about Chicago. The University of Chicago used to be my dream school.”
He looks at me over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow. “And now it’s not?”
“No. I – well, I can’t move so far away. But is that where you were born? In Chicago?”
His expression shutters. Almost like a switch has been flipped inside his head. His head swivels once more to regard the wall of tobacco and he answers without looking at me.
“Yeah. I was born there.”
He’s lying.
The thought pops into my head and it’s an odd one. Ben would have no reason to lie to me about where he was born. We’re not even friends. He doesn’t care what I think. Yet something about his tone seems off. My dad always teases me about having intuition, which makes it sound like I possess a supernatural talent. I don’t. But ever since I was little I have planned to be a serious journalist someday and so I make an effort to detect clues in the world around me. I think of my future career as something similar to detective work. The objective is the truth. And based on Ben’s quick answer and the way he broke eye contact, I don’t believe he’s telling the truth.
I take the bucket in the back to dump the dirty water into the sink. The floor is as clean as it’s going to get so I rinse off the mop and put everything back where I found it.
By the time I emerge from the stockroom Ben is no longer behind the counter. He’s got his shirt rolled up above his elbows and he’s messing with one of the self-serve coffee machines. I don’t want to notice his forearm muscles or the broadness of his shoulders but I do. In fact I come to a full stop and spend a few seconds looking him over. No matter his attitude, Ben Beltran looks damn good in jeans and common work boots.
I’m staring.
I’m know I’m staring and I can’t stop.
And when Ben turns around he sees that I am staring.
I clear my throat and shake the moment away. “So what did you really tell the McGills to get rid of them? I doubt they were really influenced by a few bags of potato chips.”
He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. They’re gone.”
“But they did come in here looking for me?”
“Yeah, your name came up.”
My heart sinks a little bit. No one who knows the McGills would enjoy the idea of being on their radar.
Ben notices my distress. “Look, they won’t be bothering you.”
I’m curious. Ben’s a big, strong guy. But the McGill brothers are criminally evil. I doubt they’d back off just because he tells them to.
There’s no time for additional questions because the bell above the door jingles and Dee Cushing appears with a clipboard in his meaty hands. I’ve seen pictures of him in my father’s old yearbook, back when they were on the football team together at Devil Valley High. He’s gained over a hundred pounds since those long ago days but his face remains perpetually cheerful. He brightens even more when he notices me.
“Camden! Good to see you. Tell your old man we miss him at our Friday night poker games.”
I smile because Dee is a nice man. “I know he misses the games too. He’s just been working too much and doesn’t have time.”
Dee’s cheerful look fades slightly. “And how is Adela?”
“She’s happy to be finished with her latest round of treatments.”
Dee nods but now his eyes are troubled and the smile he flashes is unconvincing. “That’s good news.”
“I hope so.” I’ve lowered my head and I’m extremely aware that Ben is listening to every word being said.
Dee tries to lift the mood by referencing old times. “When you were little you used to come by almost every Saturday. You’d plunk down your quarters and demand two cinnamon candy sticks. And whenever me or Diane tried to slip in some extra candy you’d shake your head and refuse. You never wanted something for nothing. Diane would always carry on about how you were the smartest little girl she ever saw.”
Diane Cushing is another lifelong citizen of Devil Valley. She and Dee have no children of their own and she often used to babysit for me in those long ago sad days after my mother died and before my dad met Adela.
“Hey!” A light bulb goes off in Dee’s head as he looks to me and then to Ben. “I forgot you and Ben go to school together at Black Mountain. You must be friends.”
Ben speaks up before I have a chance. “Not at all.”
“Oh.” Dee is surprised but quickly recovers and smiles at me once more. “So what are you doing out and about today, Camden?”
I don’t want to say this in front of Ben but I swallow my pride. Quite literally. I feel it slide down my throat in a jagged lump.
“I’ve actually been out job hunting but I haven’t had any luck. Do you know anyone who’s hiring?”
Dee doesn’t respond right away. In fact he scratches his nearly bald head and gazes down at his clipboard as if he’s deep in thought. Finally he nods and looks up.
“You know what? I’m going in for knee replacement surgery next week. Diane’s nephew will be helping her manage the place while I’m on the mend and Ben over here picks up the rest of the shifts but we could use some additional help for a while. Paperwork, inventory, that kind of thing. If you’re interested I can promise twenty hours a week for the next couple of months.”
Dee’s offer is extremely generous. While it might be true that the store could use a little extra help if he’s having surgery next week, I know that he’s doing me a favor in honor of his lifelong friendship with my father. And I’m in no position to turn down a favor.
“I would love the position. Thank you.”
Dee is pleased. “Wonderful. What do you think, Ben?”
Ben has grown bored with this conversation and returns to his place behind the counter. “You’re the boss.”
Dee wants me to start immediately since he’s here and can pull off a quick training session. The clipboard holds lists of the stockroom inventory and he jokes about how he’s the old school pen and paper type and will need to be dragged into the technology age kicking and screaming.
“Let’s go visit the stockroom real quick,” he says. “I’ll show you how to tell when the merchandise needs to be reordered.”
I’m already more familiar with the stockroom than I’d like to be but I’d rather forget about the near miss with the McGill brothers and the grudging gratitude I feel for Ben Beltran. Ben is now not just a schoolmate and fellow bus traveler but he’s also my coworker. The knowledge that I’ll be spending a ton of time in his company fills me with dread. And something else. Inside all those layers of feelings lurks a definite thrill. I don’t know what to make of Ben. Most of the time he goes out of his way to come off like an ill mannered jerk. And yet my gut tells me that he’s far more complicated than he seems.
Dee limps toward the back of the store and I follow him. He’s all business as he explains the long lists attached to his clipboard. I am paying attention but still a piece of my mind wanders. When Dee leaves me with the inventory list in order to go check the levels in the gas pumps, I quickly dive into my handbag in search of a small notebook that goes everywhere with me. It’s full of notes and thoughts and article ideas. I’ve just had a good one.
After I jot down a few short sentences I peer down the main aisle where Ben is talking to a couple of customers, a pair of girls wearing Devil Valley High jackets. They are young, probably Frankie’s age, but they giggle and flirt and I wonder how much additional business Dee’s store receives thanks to Ben’s extensive fan club.
