Seeing Colour

by Amber Faucher

  “This frame is…stunning.” Evie complimented.

  “I like this one.” Donna tittered with a generous grin that made her eyes crinkle. “Let’s see what else there is.”

  The two of them spent another hour going through the frames, finding nearly fifteen worthy candidates for the lot. After narrowing them down, the women had two frames left: the white and candy-striped frame Donna had tried on first, and another version of Rockstar Roy’s horned rimmed frame with a pretty pomegranate and lemon sprinkled quartz pattern. Donna had the later frame on and was busy snapping selfies of herself.

  After each shot, the woman grimaced. Finally, she showed Evie the phone, complaining, “I am just dreadful at this.”

  It was taken from an unflattering angle, that saw more of the woman’s chins and nose than glasses.

  “Here, why don’t I take them for you?” she offered with a warm smile.

  Donna agreed eagerly, and Evie snapped three views of the frame; front, side, and a three-quarter view. They did the same with the first frame, and then Donna sat, flipping back and forth through the pictures. Evie took the time to create a new work order on the computer, entering all the details for the progressive lenses they discussed while trying on the frames.

  “Oh, but it’s hard!” Donna whined as she switched the frames on her face.

  “Well, you can always get a second pair,”

  “A second pair?” Donna mused, somewhat incredulous about the idea to start with. In a more receptive manner, she questioned, “What would I do with two?”

  Evie smiled and shrugged, explaining, “It’s nice to have a choice in the morning. Think about it. You get to choose what purse matches your outfits, why not have the option to wear a different pair of glasses? Especially when you have these two gorgeous frames to choose from.”

  “Hmm,” Donna hummed, trying on the other frame again. It took a long time for her to make up her mind, but finally, she said, “I’m gonna ta take this one, lass.”

  “For now,” she amended with a mischievous smirk. The woman took the semi-rimless off and handed it to Evie, as she picked up the other one. She admired it fondly. “But put this one on my file. I might just come back for it after I see how these progressive lenses work.”

  They took measurements and finished up. As the girl sent the work order information to the sales form for payment, she suddenly became aware that she had no price for the frame. These frames were not individually marked with a price, as the other in the dispensary were. Evie glanced at the clear slipcover and then over at the box. She excused herself, checking through the half-empty box for a sales slip or price list—she found neither.

  Evie gave Donna another warm smile and entered a mid-range price for the frame of $400.00. The frames on the boards ranged anywhere from $250-$700. Evie crossed her fingers and hoped that Mara would agree with the cost. She looked up at Donna pleasantly and went over the total, which she accepted.

  As Evie took the woman’s payment at the reception desk, Donna praised her help and apologized for keeping her so late. When the redhead glanced at the clock, it was forty-five minutes past the closing time. Evie shrugged it off, as she stapled the till tape to the receipt.

  “I canna wait until they come in!” Donna giggled, shouldering her purse, “Two weeks, ya said?”

  “Yes,” Evie affirmed, with a nod of her head, as she came out from around the reception desk to hand the woman her receipt, “I will call you as soon as they are ready for you to pick up.”

  Evie just smiled and nodded politely as the woman waved and left the store. As she locked the door behind the woman, Evie thanked her lucky stars. If it hadn’t been for Donna, the day would have been another bust.

  The redhead made her way back over to the mess of frames spread across the dispensing table and the workstation. The frames were the most attractive designs she had ever come across. They were simple, classic even, but the colour raised them to that next evolutionary bar. The girl took some time to try on a few of the frames that caught her eye, finding several that she would have to inquire about getting for herself. There was no way she could feel comfortable in her black plastic frame now. Not after seeing how the lemon yellow semi-rimless frame made her blue eyes so crisp and clear, or how the lime green colour shifted her blue colouring more towards teal, while the pink bubblegum temple made her lips seem fuller and brighter.

  As she packed the frames back up, she wondered where the fabulous frames had come from and why on Earth they were in a box collecting dust instead of out on the boards. This is what people were looking for these days. They were tired of plain drab frames. They wanted individuality and frames like these could give people that. If the store had the market on this kind of design, they would undoubtedly increase their sales—maybe even combat Mara’s disreputable god-complex and turn things around for the store. She needed to know more about these frames.

  She needed to pay Rockstar a visit.

  ◆◆◆

  The evening air was warm and humid, as she walked to The One Horned Mare. The sky was free of clouds as the sun moved slowly towards the horizon. She enjoyed its last rays shining on her face as she inhaled deeply, the scents of city life and the ocean mixing into an aroma she was slowly growing more accustomed to. Evie’s thoughts were still focused on the frame, as she sought out the only other person she knew that had any information on them, other than her quarrelling employers. It was easier to just bypass the pair. Especially when she knew that Rockstar had one of the mystery frames probably on his face right that very moment.

  When Evie opened the door of the pub, she was greeted by a quieter crowd than she had come to expect. Rockstar Roy looked bored until his eyes lighted upon her. His leathery face wrinkled as his mouth stretched into a generous grin, cheered to see her settle into one of his stools.

  “Bin to long, pussycat,” he scolded her in that smoky voice, wagging a gnarled finger at her as he winked.

  “Sorry. Connie’s been working me hard.”

  Oh, good, Lord! Really, Evie?! Don’t you think before you speak anymore, she chided to herself, You’re such a lame-o. Go ahead and spell it out for him, if he hasn’t already guessed that you are way too into a married man.

  “Mm-hmm,” was the only response she caught, as the man tossed a drink in a tumbler like he was an ancient and wrinkled Tom Cruise from the movie Cocktail. He probably knew everything. She pushed that thought out of her mind, refocusing on her task, as he poured the clear concoction over mulled mint and sliced cucumbers in a Collins glass.

  Rockstar Roy was dressed in his usual flamboyant style, still wearing his signature fedora and a looped cotton infinity scarf. She had expected to see the bright lime green horn-rims perched on his hooked nose, but they had been replaced. These were similar in style, but she did not recognize them from the collection that she had discovered at the store. It was made up of straight, rigid lines that oozed masculinity, showcasing a man’s squared jawline. The temple posts were thick on this model like they had been on Donna’s pair, with a deep yellow that cast a golden glint to the man’s tanned skin.

  The sound of the drink being pushed across to her on the bar top broke her concentration. She accepted the glass from the man and brought the straw to her mouth for a sip. She adored his mojito’s. Evie saw her chance to ask him about the frames and promptly missed it, as the bartender turned away to address one of the regulars.

  It took longer than she had wanted, as the pub regulars began to be overlapped by a slow trickle of after supper drinkers. If she didn’t find an opening soon, she’d be too drunk to hear the answer. When Rockstar Roy slid a second drink across to her, a delightfully tangy blueberry martini, she blurted her pent up inquiry, “Where did you get your glasses?”

  “Oy, these?” he asked, as he reached a finger up and lightly tapped the temple post of the frame. He gave her a boasting smirk, as though the frames were a prided acquirement to his unique wardrobe. “I got these from Connie.”


  “What brand are they?”

  “Don’t think they have a name yet,” he replied coyly, waggling his dark caterpillar brows at her.

  Evie could feel her brows cross, as her mind repeated the words that had left her addled. Seeing her confusion only made the bartender’s smirk turn into a dastardly grin. She suddenly felt like she was a spy in a 1920’s speakeasy, trying to pry the bootlegger’s name from the man who served the illegal goods. His eyes were on hers, dark and intense. His voice lowered, even more, stretching a whisper’s boundaries, as he confided, “I’ve been pestering him for years.”

  Evie leaned in closer, unable to help herself from mimicking his secretive manner. “Who hasn’t?”

  Rockstar’s grin moved, as he unnecessarily drew out the suspense. Evie felt she needed to lean in closer, her heart thudding in her chest as her need to know the answer sent her nerves thrumming with an insatiable curiosity.

  Then the bell above the door sounded, and the bartender’s back straightened. A familiar clamour broke out from the patrons nearest, pints being raised into the air, as Evie turned to see the pub’s local hero striding through the door.

  Just great, the girl groused.

  9

  Connie swaggered into the pub, acknowledging all the clamoured salutations with a wave or a nod of his head. He greeted all of them, the pub favourite, their proverbial golden boy, representing everything that they all wished they could be or remembered they once had been.

  Evie turned away, just as his head swivelled in her direction. This was the last thing that she needed. Sourly, she grabbed her glass and took a big draw on the straw. She was fuming to find herself in the same predicament with this dangerously sexy Scot again. Evie cursed her intrepid curiosity.

  Rockstar shared a greeting with Connie before his sizeable hand graced her low back. Not her shoulder. Not a pat of ‘hey, how are ya,’ but a tender slip of fingers, caressing down the length of her spine to settle tenderly in place. Evie stiffened, adrenalin and reckless hormones shooting her up like a junkie’s hit. He leaned down, his curls slipping out of the tie at the base of his skull. They brushed teasingly against her ear and cheek, as he acknowledged her with a gentle, affectionate, “Hello, there.”

  “Hey,” Evie chirped, hoping her tone would mask the lust growing in the pit of her stomach like a wiggling pit of vipers.

  Connie’s touch lingered way too long to be considered by anyone who may be watching, as casual. Thoughts of racy gossip regarding her promiscuity with the pub’s golden boy danced up and down her nerves, as the Scotsmen slipped into the stool beside her. His hand remained, as he turned his whole body towards her. “Fancy meetin’ you here.”

  Evie could feel her blood pressure rising. She felt dizzy and slightly sick to her stomach. This is so not a good idea. I should leave, she tried to reason with herself. I’m actually meeting with my boss’s husband! After hours, at a pub! I’m going to get fired. Or deported…

  Yet she couldn’t move. Not a muscle. Not even a breath. Not when Connie looked at her with that warmth in his smile and eyes that matched the heat of his hands.

  Rockstar Roy was her saving grace. He drew Connie’s attention away as he passed the man his usual jack. Connie’s hand left her, resting on his own knee, which pressed firmly against her backside on the stool. He reached across with his other arm to take the drink, leaning on the bar top with his elbow. He tossed it back in his usual fashion. He didn’t even make that sucking hiss that most others did after the alcohol went down. Connie sent the glass shooting back into Rockstar Roy’s waiting fingers, like it was a curling rock on a sheet of ice, tipping his head to signify another.

  The tension was thicker than the ice on the North Saskatchewan River in the middle of Edmonton’s deep-freeze winter. Evie had to be rid of it, sick of choking on the sexually-frustrated-miasma that always overshadowed them. In a teasing tone, she turned to Connie and informed him, “I won’t be paying this time.”

  The man’s chest lifted with his huffed snicker, as the quirked corner of his mouth made one of his dimples crease his sculpted cheek. Her eyes impishly dawdled, noting the dark dusting of bristles that she had tried to ignore earlier that day. She would never admit it, but she was growing way too fond of the way the shadow of facial hair made the roguish man even more roguishly attractive. A shard of memory returned, blazingly real, as her body recalled the rasp of bristles against her collar bones and breasts, just as palpable now as it had been that night in his bed. There was another poignant pang in her gut as she enviously whined internally about Mara’s undeserving good fortune.

  The hand on his knee reached out a teasing finger, tickling just above the waistband of her dark jeans through the Kelly-green fabric of her cap-sleeved blouse.

  Rockstar pushed another Rusty Nail into Connie’s open hand, as the man inclined his head closer to her shoulder. Evie instinctively drew her shoulders upwards, fear finally winning over her body’s desire to fall into him. In a whisper, he answered her, “I didnae expect it of ya, lass,”

  The brogue was intentionally thicker than what he usually spoke, having it's master’s intended effect on her nervous system. Chills raced up and down her spine, thrillingly making the ache deep inside her grow more persistent.

  To distract from the way he made her feel, she replied, “I just wanted to make sure that we were clear before you pounded back anymore.”

  This made him straighten, a chuckle rumbling out of him. “I had to catch up,” he joked, gesturing at Evie’s half-empty cocktail.

  “Oh, trust me,” she sallied back, “there’s not much to make up for.”

  His mouth quirked at her again as he tossed down the second drink effortlessly. When the glass was passed back across the bar, he called for a third. Evie added to her previous comment, “Congratulations. You just surpassed me.”

  Connie certainly took this as a challenge and not a barb. She wasn’t sure this comforted her any, though, as the man’s gaze moved between her own ignored drink and her mouth, his teeth visibly dragging over his bottom lip. Seeing that only made Evie want to kiss him even more than all the previous non-casual so-not-employee-appropriate-touching had been prior, and she had to steel herself from lunging at him like a receptive female animal.

  The redhead turned to her drink, taking a few swallows, as she tried to recompose herself. How had this information-seeking peace mission been turned into an all-out nail-biting crunch on the battlefield of flirtation? She was most definitely losing. She had to turn things back in her favour, the keeping-her-job variety, and fast.

  Evie watched the glass taken by his fingers, following the thick forearm up to the man’s broad shoulders and then the sharp turn of his jawline. Thankfully, Connie spoke, saving her from falling into another unintelligent stupor. “You better catch up,” he issued his command, taking a sip from the glass instead of throwing it back again, goading her to compete.

  Evie shook her head before she had even formulated a response. That was undoubtedly one challenge she could not allow herself to take, even though her insides were cloyingly tempted by the offer. She followed the gesture up with a firm shake of her head, “I’ve gotta open tomorrow.”

  “Ack!” Connie griped, waving a hand at her dismissively. She could see his jaw tense as his gaze stared fixedly at her backside. He brought the glass up and took another small sip.

  Evie turned back to her own nearly empty glass, finishing it off. She considered how the two of them had gone from insufferably handsy to off-limits, not even talking and then somehow pulling a 180° again, sending them into a tail-spin that left them both with suffocating need to be in each other’s arms. His knee knocked into her backside, bringing her gaze back to his face, as he tried to make lighter conversation. “How did you end off the day at the store?”

  “I made a sale,” she chirped, happy to supply him with shop-talk.

  “Someone came in to keep ya from falling asleep, did they?” he teased, taking another draw f
rom his glass.

  Insulted, Evie moved quickly to defend herself, “I would never fall asleep!” she snapped, pushing away her empty glass. “That sale was a Hail Mary Saving Play and kept the books from showing another zero-day. I was kept after closing to make that sale.”

  “Won’t Mara be pleased,” the words hissed through his teeth, and although the comment was scathing, the redhead knew that his sarcasm was not aimed at her.

  Evie bit her lip, as her gaze averted from his fierce-looking eyes down to the fingernail she picked at nervously. She had to know about the mystery frames, and better from him than a third party. “Where did Rockstar Roy get his frames?”

  “Hmm?” Connie hummed distractedly.

  Evie pointed it out to him, gesturing at the bartender serving a few feet down from them. “I found frames like that in a box tucked away in the store today. They have no markings. I wondered where they come from and…?”

  Her sentence dropped off as the man brusquely stood up, retrieving his wallet from his back pocket. She watched in confusion as he threw down enough cash to pay for their drinks, gesturing at Rockstar that he indeed was. Then he glanced back at her and growled, “I gotta go. I got your drink.”

  Like a glacier, Connie pushed past her, forcing his way out of the pub.

  That had tanked! Was Connie ditching her over shop-talk? Evie felt a fire well up inside her. She wasn’t letting him get away without answering her question.

  The optician jumped off the stool, dashing after him. Rushing to the street, she caught sight of him already halfway across. Evie ran and placed herself at a dead stop in front of him.

  Connie growled a frustrated complaint, his eyes averted, as he pulled his hands from the pockets of his jeans as though he wanted to grab and toss her aside. When he finally looked down at her, Evie glared right back, unamused with his immature attempt to flee her question.