by Tiana Laveen
“Yes, if you hire me. No sense in discussing all of that if I don’t get the managerial position.” King crossed his arms. “I mean, I can still do some commission artwork for you, regardless, but just like you, I consider my time and expertise valuable, so I’m not just going to give it away.”
“Are you crazy? You’re already hired. Why in the hell do ya think you’re down here and I’ve been talkin’ to you for over an hour?”
King looked around the store, then back at him. Oh… so this is MY store now, too, huh? Something goofy is going on here. This guy is purposefully hard to read. His energy is a little devious. He’s got a sneaky vibe. Like Shane.
“Tell me, Ricky, what happened to the last manager here?”
“He was fired.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t fucking play, King, and he was lazy.” The man’s lips pursed. “I’m meticulous.” In other words, he’s fussy and demanding. “I like my shit tiptop, a certain way, and that’s what I expect.”
“We get what we pay for.”
The man brandished a tight smile.
“Are you implying something?”
“Not at all. Are you?” They stared at one another, then the guy burst out laughing.
“You’re, uh, interesting, King. No worries. I told you the starting salary. It’s $82,000.” That was more than he was making on his last job. “And there’s room to grow. You are running a team of people, King, delivering on-the-spot customer service, dealing with vendors, handling the daily business, and more. That’s a lot of work and I expect a lot from you and the team. I compensate employees who know how to do their job. I’m not here most of the time. I need someone to fill my shoes. Someone I can trust. This is my life.
“Alpha is my baby. I invested everything into this business, and this store has to remain a success, and continue to grow. To me, my demands are clear. You’d earn a good living, but you work hard. Besides me, the manager is the most important person in here. He must look the part, act the part, and know how to carry himself. I’m sixty-one years old.” Damn… I pegged him to be in his early fifties. He looks great. “I’ve been doing this a long ass time. I’m from Columbia, came here when I was five with my parents, brother and two sisters. We had nothing, but we worked hard. I’ve worked at five high end stores, King, managed half of those sometimes totally by myself, and now, it’s finally my turn to shine.
“I’ve dealt with asshole fashion designers, unreliable fabric makers, seedy tailors, racist bank employees, you name it. It was always something. I own a clothing store like no other in Midtown; I venture to even say, all of Manhattan. Since a large chunk of my hard-earned savings have ended up in this place, there’s a lot at stake. I know what works and what doesn’t when it comes to this business.
“You, King, would be the face of Alpha. I like how you look. You’re masculine. Virile. A man’s man. You’re clean. You have on clothes that fit you properly. They’re not my style, but I know some of the younger guys like this look you’ve put together. I get it. You’re attractive, despite the strange holes in your ears that swing around like soggy cheerios and that shit in your nose that makes you look like the Charging Bull of Wallstreet.” King snickered. The Charging Bull doesn’t have a septum piercing, but I’ll let him finish, uninterrupted. “I’m old school, all right? But I’m smart enough to put my own tastes aside and play up to what the generations after me are into. It’s not about me. It’s about making men feel like, well, your name. Kings.”
“So, you believe I embody the image you’re going for?”
“Yes, you do. Many men do, but I’m looking for specific attributes. You’re also articulate and you have an art background, which definitely helps. King, it’s like this. When guys that roll in here think they can live vicariously through you – look like you with the right amount of money spent, that translates into dollars and repeat customers. You become the manager and the mascot, much like with celebrity influencers. I have two good lookin’ women up front working the registers at all times. You’ll meet them soon. People can call me shallow, and I don’t give a shit.” The man threw up his hands. “Tits help sell clothing. That is why I keep chicks in here. We men dress the way we do, drive the cars we drive, and play hot shot for power and for pussy.”
King chortled, running his hand along his neck.
“It’s true and you know it,” Ricky continued, smiling. “This is as real as it gets. I need a cat with good business sense, common fuckin’ sense, a good eye, and the ability to sell and understand men’s clothing. Period. As a bonus, your resume shows a consistent work history, very little down time. That demonstrates reliability. I talked to your former boss, the last reference you gave me, and he said you were one of the few guys who didn’t make up shit or give a bunch of excuses as to why you were running late or couldn’t do something. I appreciate that. You weren’t fired; your company folded. He really bragged about ya and said I’d be lucky to get you. That reminds me, I understand that you went to art school. Pratt, right?”
“Yes.”
“You should finish that degree.” The man shook his finger at him as he began to walk in the opposite direction, turning off lights. “I mean it. Education is important, King, and you’re probably thinkin’, I’m just some old fart, what do I know? I know a hell of a lot, okay? I went to Parsons School of Design.” King nodded, duly impressed. “This was back in the 1970s and ’80s. I saw you went to a high school for gifted students, too. Pratt is no walk in the park. Just keep what I said in mind. Think about finishing what you started.”
King rolled his shoulders, then cracked his knuckles.
“So, what do ya think of this place?” The man opened a drawer and grabbed some keys.
“It’s nice.” King touched along the edge of a display table featuring silk socks. “The clothing is not how I would choose to dress but I appreciate the sophistication and depth of the designs. Am I expected to wear the clothing from here?”
The man stared at him, as if trying to answer that question for himself, too.
“I usually do have the guys who work here wear the clothing. Do you have a problem with that?”
“Yes, I do have a problem with it if you want me to look exactly like these mannequins.” He pointed to one. “That’s not what’s going to sell your clothing. The customers who walk in here are, like you said, are buying an idea and an image. So, if you—”
“Right. So I want them to look at you, point, and say, ‘I want what that bastard has on!’”
“No, I’m tellin’ you, Ricky, it’s deeper than that. They don’t want what I have on. They want how I carry myself. What they think I possess, can extract and do from that image alone. Men who are buying clothes outta here already have an idea of what they’re interested in, what they’re comfortable wearing, but I promise you, they can’t recall what the sales guy had on. They aren’t fashion gurus like you. You’re assigning your mainframe to the average Joe, and it’s not accurate. Look, they can remember the sales guy or manager’s voice, right? His haircut maybe… His confidence and ability to do his job, definitely. They recall his sense of humor and if he made them feel important. Like they were more than a credit card number. You were half right with what you said earlier; you just have to dig deeper. I guarantee you that I could be standin’ around here with a diaper on and a paper boat hat on my head, and it wouldn’t matter.” They locked eyes, and he could see Ricky was fighting a smile. “You said the customers will want to be me, and that’s true. But not because of the clothes.”
“I think you’re wrong, King, but you know what? Why the fuck not?” He threw up his hands and laughed. “We’ll do it your way for a few weeks, see what happens. If my sales drop, you’re wearing the clothes in here. Do we have a deal?”
“Seems fair to me. I can agree to that.” They shook on it. Ricky began to pick up papers, toss them, and dick around with the registers. They’d already been cleared out, but he was placing new receipt tape in
them and preparing them for the next day.
“Do you know how many people applied for this job?”
“How would I know that?” King threw up his hands, the man chuckled as he approached him, his jacket now over his arm.
“I received four hundred and three resumes, King, after I posted this job online. Since I’m a busy man, I had a friend of mine go through them and narrow ’em down for me. I wanted someone with a four-year degree in either business or fashion and clothing store experience of at least five years. My friend noticed Pratt on your resume, and assumed it was four years without looking more closely. So, it was sheer luck that you weren’t excluded. That left me with about fifty-two. I went through each and every one of them and ended up with the top ten. You made every single cut. That’s when I started doing phone interviews, followed by in-person interviews. By then, I had three of you. I wanted you because of what your former boss said about you, because of how you come across – very confident, and your desire to work and do shit right. Now, I could be wrong.” The man smirked and tossed up his hands. “I have an ex-wife who believes I’m wrong most of the time, actually. I don’t always get it correct.” He chuckled. “But I’m damn good with business and choosing good people.”
“But you had to fire your last manager.”
The man snatched a suitcase off the ground, clutching the handle. “You don’t bite your tongue, do ya? For your information, smartass, he was my nephew.” He sucked his teeth and shrugged, making his way towards the front door. “I would’ve never hired him on personality alone. So, you dress how you wish, King, but always looking amazing. You must be clean, like you are now, hair combed, beard maintained, nails cut. You must smell good at all times, too. If you ate garlic at lunch, brush your damn teeth afterwards. Again, these sons of bitches are living vicariously through you. When they walk through this door,” he pointed at it, “they want to leave feeling like they are someone else. That is what fashion does. It allows our alter egos to perform. Something as simple as a new tie or as elaborate as an entirely new wardrobe turns mice into men.”
Or men into mice…
“Got it.”
“Good. There’s some paperwork I need you to fill out, you know, insurance papers, things like that. You start Monday, King. Be here at seven sharp. The first week, you’ll stay until seven p.m. so I can be sure you understand everything. See you in action. I’ll go over the alarm system and all that jazz with you, too. After that, your work day hours are from eight to six p.m. Saturdays, we’re open from nine to twelve p.m. Closed Sundays. If you smoke weed, that’s your fucking business, but the first time I smell it on ya, King, you’re fired. If you come in here high, you’re fired. If you come in here drunk, you’re fired. If you just finished fucking some broad on your lunchbreak, and you roll in here without your hair combed, wrinkles in your clothes and a wet stain on your crotch like some horny slob, you’re fired. No second chances. Everything else is negotiable. Oh,” he put his finger up, “one more thing. I know you have a driver’s license because you gave it to me so I could use it to turn in for a background check, but do you have a car?”
“No. I usually just take the train or Uber.”
“Uh huh, I see. Are you a shitty driver?”
“Not at all. I drive my stepfather’s car for my mom pretty often, takin’ her around. Sometimes he lets me borrow it for my own needs, too.”
“Fine. You’ll have a loaner. You’ll need a car on occasion. I’ll get that arranged in the next couple of weeks. It’s not only part of the overall image of Alpha, but you’ll need to run some errands on my behalf and do things for me, from time to time, so relying on an Uber and public transportation, especially for … more sensitive matters isn’t always ideal.” Sensitive matters? “We have special luncheons here and that back room I showed you.” He pointed towards an area of the shoebox-shaped store that featured long white curtains and lights around the walls. “We also use that for small gatherings and such.”
Ricky went on talking as he locked up the place, discussing mundane things such as parcels, storage, shipments, and the like. As the man spoke to him, he realized he wasn’t being hired as just a manager.
He was being hired to be this guy’s right hand. Something about Ricky Garcia was disturbing, yet comforting and familiar all at once. He knew how to carry himself. He spoke with authority, but surprisingly enough, he appeared to be a good listener, too. Most influential men seemed to work that way, for if one did not listen well, how could they ever manipulate a situation in their favor? King walked with his new boss toward his black Mercedes Benz. The car shined like licorice dipped in oil. King noted the ivory interior, state of the art dashboard and center channel. When the guy got situated and turned his vehicle on, ready to pull away, he waved him goodbye. Ricky honked his horn and their gazes met. The man rolled the passenger’s side window down.
“Enjoy the rest of your weekend. You’ve got a busy week ahead.”
“Same to you.”
Ricky nodded, rolled the window up, and drove away.
I need to find out more about this guy. I will. I need to know who I’m working for. This is just odd. Honestly, a lot of strange shit has been happening lately. The clash on the subway, for one. I got to see my old friends, all together under one roof. I got picked to paint at the club, which led me to getting some desperately needed money. And the most amazing thing is that I met Suri. She is nothing like I expected her to be. That whole thing was supposed to be a one-night stand. She surprised me. Then, I got into it with my mother. She and I rarely fight anymore, but when we do, it’s explosive. It was just strange. The whole thing left me feeling pretty shitty.
He began to walk towards the subway.
I don’t like to see Mom upset, especially if I’m the cause, but I don’t want to talk to her right now because she’s wrong, and she won’t admit it. So, I am fighting with myself, angry because she doesn’t want to see what Tomas is doing. He’s only going to get worse, and someone is going to get hurt.
If she calls me, I’ll answer, but I am not extending myself. I won’t take back what I said to her, either, because I meant every word of that, too. I guess she’s right. I am hopelessly stubborn. I have lost total faith in mankind, including my brother. Now, I come down here thinking this is just another interview. My brain is working overtime to think up more ways of bringing in some cash to help tide me over. Something to buy me time when actually, this motherfucker already hired me without even telling me. And the crazy part is, it’s not as whack as I thought it would be.
But the bottom line is this. I don’t trust people for as soon as I do, as soon as I relax around them, they try me. They do something stupid, and then I have to fuck someone up or walk away from them altogether. I don’t expect greatness from people. That’s rare. People let you down. They don’t help. Everyone is out for self. They’re fucking miserable and are always trying to get over. Ricky Garcia is slick. I know his type. I need this job though. It’ll keep me comfortable. I could even get a better apartment. I’ve been wanting to move for some time now. I don’t know if I’m going to like or hate this guy. I’ll have to watch him closely. Do some digging, too. He must want something from me, and I know he’s not showing all of his cards. I’ll find out soon enough. Time will tell. It always does.
CHAPTER NINE
A Perfect Pair of Pilfered Panties
The Sun Drop Garden’s, ‘Four Years’ played through the speakers of the Flatiron Room on W 26th Street as a band began to set up to perform for the night. King clutched his glass of whiskey while observing Suri through a veil of wispy cigar smoke. She sat across from him, looking like a lamb at a lion’s banquet table. As soon as he’d picked her up from her apartment in his stepfather’s car, he’d hungered for her touch. She was clad in a graceful blood-red gown with a slit up the right side, exposing a dangerously erotic leg that seemed to go on for days. Her hair fell in long, kinky twists, adorned with a huge red flower with an embedded canary
yellow jewel barrette. Lips glossy, dangling earrings, and those gorgeous big eyes that captured his attention from the first moment they met.
Sliding the tip of his tongue across his lower lip, he swallowed his inclination to say something lewd and lascivious.
“I can’t believe I agreed to coming to a whiskey bar with you, King.” Suri chuckled, her clear nails tapping against her glass of Hibiki Japanese Harmony Whisky. King rested his cigar on the ashtray after taking a drag. His dick throbbed as he envisioned her spreadeagled on his bed. He begrudgingly pushed the thoughts aside.
“I told you, tonight is not only a date, but a celebration. There was a pleasant change of events. When you met me, I was technically unemployed.”
“And when you met me, I was an asshole.” They both burst out laughing. “Thankfully, first impressions are not always accurate and my ability to talk my way out of sticky situations worked in my favor.”
“So, you’re admitting that you manipulated me the night we met, by acting so big and bold?”
“That’s only partially true.”
“Partially true, huh?” He smirked.
“Yes, because my apology and everything I said to you was honest and genuine, but I also wanted to have sex with you, so after observing you on and off for the remainder of the night, I realized I would have to provide a peace offering.”
“The beer.” He pretended to tip a hat in her direction. “Well played.”
“I think it was, too.” She winked. “Let me ask you something. I’ve had issues with some men I’ve dated in the past regarding this, so I’m just going to lay it on the table. Are you put off by me embracing my sexuality?”
“What exactly do you mean by ‘embracing your sexuality’? Are you implying that you enjoy sex, so you pursue it when the opportunity arises, or are you saying that you’re promiscuous, and men sometimes have a double standard of judging women for sleeping around, when we sometimes may have collected twenty bodies in one month on average?” He trailed his thumb across his whiskey glass, tipping it ever so slightly.
