The Store

by Bentley Little

  Excited and newly energized, she bounded out of bed and hurried down the hall to her dad's office. The door was closed, but she opened it without knocking. "Daddy?"

  He looked up from his computer. "What is it, daughter dearest?"

  "Stop being a buffoon."

  "That's why you invaded my privacy? To insult me?"

  "No. I want to get a job."

  The expression on his face shifted, hardened. "Where?"

  "I was thinking of applying at The Store."

  "I don't want you working there," he said grimly.

  "Why? Everyone else does. Sam does."

  "Sam's older." He paused. "Besides, I don't like her working there, either."

  "Fine. I'll apply somewhere else, then. Although, just in case you haven't noticed, business is not exactly booming in Juniper."

  "Why do you want to get a job anyway? It's summer. Enjoy it. You'll be working for the rest of your life. You might as well enjoy your summers while you're still a kid."

  "Earth to Dad. I'm seventeen. I'm not a kid anymore."

  He smiled sweetly. "You'll always be my little girl."

  "Buffoon alert."

  "You still haven't answered my question. Why do you want to get a job?"

  "I'm bored. All my friends are either working or gone. There's nothing to do." "There's always something to do --"

  "I don't want an inspirational speech. I just want to find a job."

  "Go ahead," he said. "With my blessing." He met her eyes. "Anywhere but The Store."

  She nodded, started to close the door and turn away, then swiveled back to face him. "Can I take the car?"

  "Your mom has the Jeep and Sam took the Toyota. But if you can find a third car in the garage, you're welcome to it."

  "I forgot," she said sheepishly.

  "Have a nice walk, and don't forget to close the door behind you."

  She closed his office door, heading down the hallway to the kitchen, where she pulled a Dr Pepper out of the refrigerator. She considered scrapping the whole idea. Or at least waiting for another day. It was hot as blazes out there, and she'd be drenched with sweat by the time she walked all the way into town.

  The chance of anyone hiring a sweaty, smelly seventeen-year-old for any position was pretty slim.

  But an endless afternoon stretched before her, and she'd already had enough of those the past few weeks to last her a lifetime. She needed to get out of the house, find something to do. Besides, no one was going to want to interview her today. She'd just pick up applications this afternoon, bring them home and fill them out, then return them tomorrow.

  And she already knew where she really planned to apply.

  The Store.

  Any other place in town probably would give her an instant interview, a quick yes or no. The Store was the only employer big enough to be impersonal, and despite the promise she'd given her dad, it was the only place she wanted to work.

  She knew her parents didn't like The Store for some reason, but she wasn't exactly sure why. Some of the rules for employees seemed to be weird -- like that dating prohibition (wasn't it usually the other way around?) -- and it still made her feel uncomfortable when she thought of the Store guards at the Grad Night party overseeing the rest of them as though they were cattle -- and Mindy -- but there didn't really seem to be anything about the place that would generate the sort of bizarre hatred her parents, and especially her dad, seemed to feel.

  It was probably a political thing.

  Her parents were big on that stuff.

  She went into her bedroom and grabbed her purse, just in case she needed ID. "I'm going!" she called out.

  "Good luck!" her dad yelled.

  She let the screen door slam behind her and walked down the long drive to the road, where two of Mr. Sutton's horses were watching her forlornly from behind their fenced barricade. She ran across the dirt road, jumped the ditch, and gave them each a quick hug, murmuring reassuringly. If she'd seen them from the porch, she would've gotten some sugar cubes from the kitchen for them, but she didn't want to turn back now, and she patted each of the horses, promising to bring them a treat next time. The animals were hot, too, miserable in this windless weather and trying to stay in the shade. It was edging into the warmest part of the day, and though the horses obviously wanted company, she had to get going, and she gave them each a quick good-bye hug and jumped back over the ditch onto the road, heading toward town.

  By the time she reached The Store, it looked like she'd been running a marathon. Her blouse and shorts were sticking to her skin, her hair hung in wet clumps about her face. She couldn't ask for an application looking like this, so she bought a can of cold Coke from the newly installed machine next to the door and sat outside on the bench next to the building, staring out at the parking lot while she tried to cool off.

  She looked around. This was the spot where Mindy had crashed into the wall, and though she hadn't thought of it in several weeks, she suddenly saw in her mind the stem of the car's steering wheel bloodily embedded in Mindy's face.

  _It's built with blood_.

  She took a deep breath, feeling a slight chill pass through her. Maybe her parents' feelings weren't quite so unfounded.

  But then she looked out into the parking lot and saw a mother happily pushing a shopping cart toward the front entrance, a little boy singing loudly from his cart seat.

  There was nothing weird here. This was a normal discount retail store.

  There'd been some bad luck, maybe, some negative coincidences, but that sort of thing happened everywhere, all the time.

  The woman passed by her bench, and the little boy waved at Shannon. "Hi!" he said.

  She smiled at him. "Hi."

  A few minutes later, she was sufficiently cooled off, no longer sweating, and she walked into The Store, feeling a welcome burst of air-conditioning as she stepped through the doors into the building. A smiling director asked if she needed some assistance, she told him she wanted to get a job application, and he directed her to the Customer Service desk. The woman behind the counter, who Shannon remembered from Buy-and-Save, gave her an application and a pen and told her to move down to the end of the counter and fill in the requested information.

  "We don't have many openings left," she said, "but you're in luck. There's a clerk position available in the Garden department."

  "I'll take it," Shannon said.

  The woman smiled. "Fill out the application, and we'll see."

  Shannon did so, turned it in, then walked through The Store looking for Sam. She found her sister behind the register in the Housewares department, conspicuously yawning while an elderly woman lectured her for not being helpful.

  Shannon pretended to look at dishes and silverware until the woman finally left, disgusted.

  Samantha smiled. "We get all kinds." She looked down the aisle behind Shannon. "Mom and Dad here, too?"

  Shannon shook her head. "Just me."

  "To what do I owe the honor?"

  "I'm applying for job here."

  Sam's expression darkened.

  "I thought you could help me," Shannon said quickly.

  "You don't want to work here," Sam said.

  "Yes, I do."

  "No, you don't."

  "Look, I was just asking you to put in a good word for me. But if that's too difficult for you, forget it. God, I didn't think you were going to turn it into a whole big thing."

  "I'll tell Dad."

  Shannon stared at her sister. "Thanks. Thanks a lot."

  "I don't think you --"

  "I already turned in the application. If you won't help me, fine. But I'm going to get a job here."

  "You already turned it in?"

  "Yeah."

  Sam took a deep breath, and a look of -- what? fear? -- passed over her face. "Okay, I'll take care of it," she said.

  "Take care of what?"

  "There are tests and things you're supposed to go through before you get hired, but I'll see if
I can get you out of it. I . . . think I can."

  Shannon nodded. "Thanks," she said grudgingly.

  Sam looked sick, almost physically ill. "Go home," she said. "They shouldn't see us together."

  "Why?"

  "Just go. I'll . . . talk to some people, and I'll tell you what happens tonight." She smiled, but her smile was forced, closer to a grimace, and once again, Shannon thought of Mindy.

  _It's built with blood_.

  She looked at her sister. "Thanks," she said again.

  Sam nodded.

  Shannon walked back through The Store toward the entrance, feeling uneasy but not knowing why.

  Her mom was already home by the time she arrived back at the house. She was sorting through a pile of papers and mimeograph sheets on the coffee table in the living room, but she looked up as Shannon walked in. "Your father said you were out job-hunting."

  "Yeah."

  "Where did you apply?" her mom asked.

  "Where didn't I apply?" she lied.

  "Any luck?"

  Shannon shrugged. "I don't know. There don't seem to be too many places looking for help right now."

  "Summer school starts on Monday. I could use an aide."

  Shannon snorted derisively.

  "Ten bucks a week. And it'll look good on your resume for college."

  "We'll see. If I don't get a job, maybe I'll do it."

  Samantha arrived home late. She walked directly into her sister's room and shut the door behind her. "You're hired," she said. "Report tomorrow. Ten o'clock. Mr. Lamb."

  "Thanks."

  Sam nodded.

  She looked tired, Shannon thought. And pale. Sick. "Are you all right?" she asked "I'm fine," Samantha snapped.

  "Just asking."

  "What are you going to tell Mom and Dad?"

  "I'll think of something."

  "Just leave me out of it."

  "Okay." Shannon watched her sister turn and walk silently out of the room.

  A few moments later, she heard the shower running in the bathroom. She considered telling her parents that she'd gotten a job -- she had to tell them, since she started work tomorrow -- but she didn't know what to say and needed some time to come up with a plan.

  They'd freak if they knew she'd be working at The Store.

  Shannon lay on her bed, reading a magazine, and after Sam finished with her shower, she waited another ten minutes for the steam to clear out of the bathroom, then went in to take her own bath.

  She pulled up the metal knob that plugged the drain and began running the water, testing it first with her fingers to make sure the temperature was okay.

  She undressed, opened the hamper to toss in her shirt and jeans, and saw Sam's panties lying on top of the other clothes. They were spotted with blood, and though at first Shannon thought nothing of it, she realized seconds later that her sister's period was not due for another few weeks.

  Shannon paused. She thought of how worn out and sickly Sam had seemed tonight, and she considered asking her about it, seeing if anything was the matter, but she simply stared down at the bloody cotton underwear for a few moments, then threw in her own clothes, let the lid of the hamper fall, and stepped into the tub, sinking into the water.

  She told her parents after her bath.

  They were seated on the couch, watching TV, and she walked into the living room and stood before them. She'd considered just coming out and telling them the truth, considered easing them into the truth, but finally decided that the best course of action, the only course of action in this instance, was to lie.

  "I got a job," she said.

  Her mom smiled. "That's great. Where?"

  "When did you find out?" her dad asked. His voice was serious, not supportive, and she detected the beginnings of a frown on his face.

  "Just now."

  "How?"

  "They called," she told him.

  "I didn't hear the phone ring."

  "It rang. I answered it. I got the job."

  "Where?" her mom repeated.

  "Yes," her dad said. "Where?"

  Was that suspicion she saw on his features? She swallowed hard, tried to smile. "George's," she lied. "The hamburger stand."

  Mr. Lamb was waiting for her the next morning by the Customer Service desk. She'd carpooled in with Sam, and she was a half hour early for her appointment, but Mr. Lamb was waiting for her anyway, and he smiled as he shook her hand. His skin was cool to the touch, his smile cold, and she wished Sam had stayed with her as the personnel manager began giving her a brief description of her duties. He paused in his prepared speech, as if reading her mind. "Yes," he said. "You're very lucky to have a sister like Samantha. She's quite a woman."

  His smile broadened. "Quite a woman."

  Shannon felt chilled. She should've listened to Sam and her parents, she thought. She should not have applied for a job here.

  This was a mistake.

  Suddenly, a summer of lying on her bed, reading magazines and listening to the radio, seemed pleasant rather than boring, seemed like what she should be doing with her time, and for a brief second she considered turning down the job, quitting, getting out of here.

  But Mr. Lamb was now leading her out of the Customer Service area, taking her on a tour of The Store, and it was too late. The chance had passed.

  Too late?

  Why was it too late?

  She didn't know, but it was, and she followed him down the aisles, through the departments, as he explained the layout and operation of The Store.

  Her panic passed, her uneasiness disappearing as quickly as it had come.

  Mr. Lamb showed her the break room, the locker room, took her through a stockroom, led her into a room lined with video screens in which Jake and his fellow security men monitored the building.

  Jake, thank God, wasn't there.

  She wondered what she'd do if she ran into Jake in the break room or something. How would she handle it? She tried to tell herself that the fact that Jake worked at The Store was another reason that she shouldn't have applied here, but she knew deep down that he was one of the reasons she had. Despite what she told people, despite what she pretended, somewhere in the back of her mind was the thought that they might get back together again.

  Mr. Lamb was definitely a weirdo, but the initial chill she'd felt in his presence was gone, and the deeper into the building they went -- Mr. Lamb introducing her to other, smiling employees along the way -- the more comfortable she felt about The Store. She could work in this place. She could fit in here.

  They took a small elevator downstairs, to a concrete-lined hallway that looked like a bunker, and he showed her a conference room and a training room and then stopped before an arched doorway with gilt-edged trim.

  "Here," he said, "is the chapel."

  Shannon glanced through the doorway, into the room. For a brief second, the coldness returned. Pews were arranged in rows, scented candles burned in twin alcoves in the side walls, but instead of a pulpit or altar at the front of the chapel there was a huge portrait of Newman King, lined with red velvet.

  "This is where the department managers hold their meetings each morning.

  Before the store opens, they pray to Mr. King that we will have a profitable day." Pray to Mr. King?

  She'd seen The Store's founder on TV, on the news, and while he was obviously a rich and powerful man, he was not a god, and the idea that the man or woman she'd be working under came in here each morning and ritualistically prayed to the painting of a millionaire creeped her out.

  Then they were moving on, back into the elevator, back onto what Mr. Lamb called The Floor, and shoppers and browsers were roaming the aisles, sitting in the sushi and espresso bars, and Shannon was thinking how lucky she was to have been hired by The Store.

  "That's it for now," Mr. Lamb said. "There'll be a week's worth of training classes -- how to work the cash registers, handle customers and the like -- then there'll be a two-week probation period, then you'll be
in." He handed her a photocopied schedule of training classes. "Your first class is tonight, in the downstairs training room. Be there or be square."

  "Uh, thank you," she said.

  He grinned. "Thank your sister." He looked her over, starting at her feet, moving up to her hair, then nodded, satisfied. "I think you'll be a model Store employee."

  "I'll try," she said.

  He started to walk back behind the Customer Service counter, then stopped and turned at the last minute. "A word of advice?" he said. "Lose the baby fat.

  You're a little chubby. We don't like to have fat bitches working for The Store.

  Not a good public image."

  He smiled, waved, then stepped behind the counter and disappeared into an office.

  Fat bitches?

  She was shocked, not sure how to respond, not sure even what she felt. It had been said so offhandedly, so casually, that she was not even sure she'd heard him correctly.

  No. She knew she had.

  It was an unprofessional thing to say. That was her first response. A person in a position of authority shouldn't talk like that, shouldn't use words like that.

  Her second response was to walk over to Women's Clothing and find a mirror.

  Baby fat.

  Chubby.

  Was she really overweight? He'd zeroed in on that, offered it without being asked, practically ordered her to lose weight if she wanted to keep this job, so obviously it wasn't just a matter of her being paranoid, wasn't just a matter of perception. She had a problem.

  She felt more defiant than hurt, more angry than embarrassed, but then she saw herself in the mirror, and all of those self-preservation instincts fled.

  He was right.

  She turned to the left, turned to the right, looked at her backside over her shoulder.

  She'd have to stop eating so much. Her mom would throw a fit, give her that anorexia/bulimia lecture, but she'd stick to her guns this time.

  It had been confirmed by a third party.

  She was fat.

  "May I be of assistance?"

  She turned to see a trim middle-aged woman in a Store uniform smiling helpfully at her.

  "No," she said. "Thanks."

  She turned, walked down the main aisle toward the entrance.

  That was it. She'd skip lunch today.

  Maybe dinner.