by Sean Platt
“So,” Allison said. “You need to get laid.”
“Geez, Allison. Really?”
“Yes, really. Now that we’re BFFs.”
“We’re BFFs?”
“Now that we’re BFFs,” Allison repeated, “it’s my job to tell you that working this much, you’ll inevitably neglect certain needs. Do I need to be more graphic?”
“You? Graphic? Never.”
“It’s a physical need, Lil. You think it’s a luxury. I’ll bet you even want to date.” She said it like a swear.
“I don’t have time for dating.”
“Exactly. That’s why you just need to get off.”
“I can get myself off.” Lily found her hand shooting up to cover her mouth, followed by a surprised laugh that was almost a giggle.
“That’s plan B, but there’s no beating the real thing,” said Allison, one lecturing finger high like a schoolteacher. “You need some guy on top of you, pushing his—”
“Seriously?”
“He’ll be all sweaty, and you’ll be scratching his back—”
Lily turned away. “Allison!”
“Don’t act like you’re not getting wet thinking about it. You sure you don’t want Cameron? He’s obviously pretty good.”
Against her more sensible judgment, Lily was antsy. Allison’s help was like a sledgehammer, and Lily didn’t feel terribly inclined to accept it, but perhaps she was right. Maybe there was really an untended physical need there after all.
“Why do you keep telling me about your brother having sex?”
“Hey,” said Allison, holding her palms high, “we live together in a big house, but that doesn’t stop me from hearing what’s going on. I can practically hear the you know what landing on their backs.”
“Ew.”
“Okay, how about Superman over there?” She gestured toward Bella by the Sea.
“Marcello?”
“Ew. Matt.”
“Matt seems like an asshole.”
“Oh, he is.” Allison waited, not realizing Lily’s statement meant no. “Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “Len.”
“I don’t even know Len.”
“Get to know him.”
Lily looked through the front window. Len was standing near one of the ornate stone picnic tables next to his cart, his sous chef battling a line of customers. Len had been kind and sweet on Lily’s first day. And at least his business was booming.
“Then ask him to put his Crocodile Dundee in your outback,” Allison added.
“Oh my God, Al—” Lily stopped short as she saw La Fleur’s new arrival: Evelyn Pierce, from the Palms Couture leasing office, holding the same clipboard she’d had during Lily’s tour, her hair still pulled back into its tight and somehow endearingly dorky ponytail, her face nervous. Evelyn had the look of someone sent on a mission by a superior. Her manner screamed, Please don’t shoot the messenger!
“Evelyn,” Lily said.
“Hi, Lily,” said Evelyn, her feet restless. “I need a word with you. Now, if you can.”
CHAPTER TEN
AN ANONYMOUS COMPLAINT
Evelyn looked acutely uncomfortable as Allison excused herself, displaying an odd ability to be perfectly normal when pressed, then left the store. She’d mentioned a few times that her lunch break was likely dragging a little too long and needed to get back to Fancy That!. When Lily suggested that her lunch break had already stretched absurdly long and that she might get fired, Allison’s response had been, “Awesome.”
With Allison gone and Evelyn shifting uneasily from foot to foot, the shop seemed too quiet. Lily had purchased several light musical soundtracks to play in the background but had forgotten to restart the latest after returning from Buns.
“It’s your cart,” said Evelyn. “You can’t have an outside display like that.”
Lily almost laughed. She exhaled, freeing breath she hadn’t realized was trapped. “Oh, that.”
“Yes, that.” Evelyn looked at the cart, through the window, as if it might come inside and get her. Then she looked back at a relieved Lily and added, “What?”
“I just thought you were going to have bad news.”
“I do have bad news. That cart violates your lease.”
Lily looked again at the cart. It was a decent-sized thing, but while Evelyn and even her bosses at the leasing office might have thought it was a fixed display, it had proven easy enough to roll out the door. With the middle of the store open, the place felt three times bigger — airy, even. In its new outside position, the cart made the front of the store look beautiful, and Lily had arranged it beside the door to create something like a funnel. She could almost imagine the white spray of blossoms vacuuming those who might otherwise pass by the door, like gravity around a black hole. It was win-win, moving the cart outside. Until Evelyn entered with her sour expression, Lily had been planning to make the outside cart a permanent thing. She could roll it in at night, and rework the inside flow to capitalize on her new space.
Apparently that couldn’t happen now, and that was a shame. But Evelyn looked like she was delivering a death summons.
“I can bring it back inside, I suppose.” Lily sighed. “But it’s a cart. That’s what it’s for.”
“Actually … ” Evelyn shuffled through the papers clasped to her chest. She pulled out an official looking form. “It ‘looks like it’s for selling balloons on the pier’ according to the complaint.”
“Complaint?”
“Oh. Yes. That’s why I’m here. Didn’t I mention that?”
“No. You were mysterious.” Lily didn’t want to bring the cart inside (it had already increased her afternoon’s foot traffic by a factor of two or three, with most people mentioning the display as what had caught their eye), but it’s not like she’d defaulted on rent or burned the place down.
“Well,” Evelyn said. “There’s been a complaint.”
“Who complained?”
“I can’t say.”
“A customer? Or another tenant?”
“I can’t say.”
Lily’s eyes strayed past the fountain, toward nouveau house. Over to what, since her exchange with Antonia, Lily had come to see as Kerry’s devious little honey trap.
“Was it Kerry Kirby?”
Evelyn shuffled the complaint form to the bottom of the pile. “I can’t say.”
“How about this. If someone has a complaint and it’s not a customer — and we both know it’s not, because what possible problem could a customer have with anything in the plaza’s layout or displays — then how about they come over here and explain their problem to me themselves?”
“Well … ”
“Because really, doesn’t it strike you as … well, just plain silly … that they’d fill out a formal complaint before coming over and talking to me? Doesn’t seem very adult, does it? Whoever it is—” she said the words sarcastically, “—didn’t say a thing to me. They just went and yelled as if I were being a real stick in the mud about it all. And hey, I’m a good listener. What do you think of that chair right there, Evelyn?”
“I don’t have an opinion on your chair.” Evelyn seemed confused by the sudden shift in direction, and looked as if she knew full well that she’d lost control of her task and had no idea how it might be recovered.
“Really give me your thoughts.” Lily went over and patted the chair.
“It’s puffy.”
“Do you like that stain there, where someone spilled coffee?” Lily pointed.
“Um … ”
“Any thoughts at all on this big, ugly stain … ” Lily raised her eyebrows. The stain actually wasn’t that big and could be mistaken for part of the chair’s pattern, but she was trying to make a point. She’d also stopped caring about the unworthiness of her furniture around 10:30 this morning, when she’d reopened the doors after her little talk with Antonia. If the chairs were crappy, so be it. Lily loved them anyway.
“I guess it could use cleaning,” said Ev
elyn, eyeing the stain.
Lily put her hands theatrically on her hips and felt her soft accent assert itself as down-home hospitality. “Well, that’s some good feedback, Evelyn! You’re right; I should get it cleaned. I think I’ll rent a Stanley Steamer this weekend and bring it in.” For some reason, this struck her as hilarious (plenty of Palms snobs would lose it at the thought of one of their own working a Stanley Steamer on a Sunday like a common maid), and she felt a strong desire to tell Evelyn she was considering putting a still in the back room to make double-X hooch on the sly.
Evelyn watched her.
“Problem solved,” said Lily. “You had a concern, and we discussed it. Good chat, Evelyn.”
“It’s not … ”
“Please tell whoever filed that complaint that I would loooooove to discuss it with them,” Lily barged on. “But in the meantime I can’t know what specifically they don’t like, and so … ”
“She doesn’t like the cart in front of your store.” Evelyn’s hand flicked toward her mouth, realizing her pronoun had said too much, then she stowed it back under the clipboard, where it belonged.
“But I can’t know why. How can I fix the problem if I don’t know why it’s a problem?”
“You could just wheel the cart back inside.” Evelyn said it helpfully, not like a taunt. She seemed genuinely perplexed that the flower shop’s tenant was failing to understand.
“But why is the cart a problem? It beautifies the plaza. Look out there, Evie—”
“Evelyn.”
“To where that ornate lamp post that looks like it came from nouveau house stands beside that carved bench that looks like it came from nouveau house. Over there, inside the clay planter that looks like it came from nouveau house? What’s in that planter?”
“Flowers?”
Lily reasserted her hands’ position on her hips. “Well then. The Palms put flowers in the planter out in the courtyard. So it can’t be the presence of flowers that bothers this complainer.”
“It violates your lease. And by the terms of your lease, that means the leasing office can, at its discretion—”
“Well now, that’s just silly. Why could another tenant possibly care about how my shop complies with or doesn’t comply with my lease, if it doesn’t affect them?”
“Well … ” Evelyn stammered, “It does affect them, because you put—”
“Flowers out in the courtyard,” Lily finished. “That’s just crazy of me.” Again she pointed at the flowers in the courtyard.
“It’s more than—”
“I can’t make a sensible decision about the best way to beautify the courtyard and draw more business into my store, therefore making the Palms more attractive and popular while allowing my shop to continue paying rent in prosperity, without knowing exactly what the complaint is,” said Lily, her voice final.
Evelyn shuffled papers and read, “‘La Fleur de Blanc has pulled a vendor-type cart into the middle of the courtyard in clear defiance of—’”
“I’d be happy to discuss it,” said Lily, stopping her.
“We are discussing it. This is important, Miss Whistler. If you violate the terms of your lease at the Palms, you—”
“With the person who has the problem,” Lily clarified. “What if we can reach an amicable solution?”
“Rules are still rules.”
“Oh, rules are made to be broken,” said Lily. “Here, Evelyn … would you like a free rose? I never gave you one as a welcome.”
“That’s not really—”
“I insist. In fact, I didn’t thank the office for approving my lease, and for giving me two weeks’ free rent to get going, so here you go.”
Lily pulled an entire prebundled bouquet from the cooler and shoved it into Evelyn’s hands. The arrangement was large and pressed the clipboard flat against Evelyn’s chest as she struggled to get a grip.
“Miss Whistler, this really isn’t necessary.”
“Lily.”
“Lily, I can’t accept this, especially when I’m here to … ”
Lily was already turning Evelyn around, urging her through the propped-open door. “Nonsense. Maybe hospitality is different here, but as long as I’m paying rent, that means you’re on my turf, and my rules of hospitality are the ones that go. Take that back to the office and tell them thanks. And don’t forget to keep that first rose for yourself. On your desk, mind you.”
“I … ” Evelyn was halfway out the door, moving on her own, unsure where to go.
“Trim the end before putting it in a vase.”
Lily had propped the door open, but kicked the stop out of the way with one foot while bustling Evelyn outside so she could close it on her point. With the glass door seated, she turned back to her arrangement and pretended to be busy, her heart thumping.
She watched Evelyn from the corner of her eye. The leasing agent stood for ten solid seconds with her suit-clad back to the door, the huge bouquet bundled in her arms.
Then, clearly confused about what had just happened, Evelyn Pierce walked away.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LEN FARRELL
Lily sat on a bench near the fountain, facing La Fleur de Blanc and its beautiful outdoor cart display, a bowl of what Paul from Hit N’ Run had called pesto Trapanese in her left hand. She’d taken three bites, and then mostly forgot it. She’d never had food from what some might call a food cart before and had to admit, during those three bites, that she’d prejudged cart food just as Len had said many people often do. The only food trailers she’d seen back in Glen were those that set up shop at the county fair and served funnel cakes and fried cheese. The fact that what she’d ordered tasted gourmet to her admittedly untrained palate was a shock. She’d taken a few moments to feel bad for prejudging cart food, but the guilt hadn’t lasted. After those first bites, she’d been seated on the bench in front of her own store, looking at her own prejudged cart, wondering just what she’d managed to get herself into.
Lily found herself thinking of Jason.
They’d met in junior high, dated mostly on and sometimes off throughout high school, then finally broke up when it became obvious that he wouldn’t grow and she wouldn’t stop. Jason was kind in his way, but he’d been older than Lily (he was her sister’s best friend’s older brother) and yet had always felt younger. She had matured, but Jason stayed where he was, wanting only to hang out with friends and play his PS3 or pick-up games of basketball and football.
She’d given much more to Jason than he’d given to her. She’d never resented it; she’d understood who Jason was, who he wasn’t, and who she could fairly expect him to be. But Lily had lost some of herself in that giving. She’d deferred to his wishes; she followed his lead because it made him comfortable; she’d let him be the big man and act macho when it seemed to matter even though she could’ve cared less. They’d lost their virginity together, each being each other’s first. Lily had been sixteen.
For the small town of Glen, Kansas, they were a picture-perfect couple. They got along and didn’t fight; he was moving toward a good but predictable job at his father’s car dealership; they both liked kids, and it was natural to imagine them having their own some day. But while all seemed fine, nothing about Lily’s relationship with Jason had seemed truly great. They had few lows, and around the same number of highs. They rarely argued, but that didn’t equal true love.
But mostly, Lily hadn’t liked how she felt about herself with Jason.
With her friends, Lily was loud and boisterous. She’d been a good but mischievous girl, daring just enough to stay on the safe side of exciting, joking just off-center enough to be thought of as bold and funny. When pushed, she had no problems pushing back. A girl named Elle had once tried to start a nasty rumor about Lily, but Lily had one-upped her. She’d owned the rumor, accepting Elle’s attempted insult as a badge of honor … then flipped it around, embarrassing Elle as the manipulative bitch she was.
But Lily was different with Jason. It was e
asy to imagine being his housewife because she had no ambition to chase her desires. It was easy not to fight because she seldom felt her positions worth argument. They were perfect because Lily, around Jason, adopted an ideal and colored only inside the lines. She did as she was told. And when Jason wanted sex, she offered herself in full. She got him off as many times as he wanted but never requested that he do the same. When he did, it was about him, not her. She squirmed when he wanted her to and moaned at the end, but felt very little. During those years, she’d barely even masturbated, because she hadn’t the drive.
On and off. Lily A and Lily B. Jason had been surprised when she’d broken it off, because he’d thought everything was perfect. But it wasn’t for Lily, because she had to look in the mirror every morning and face Lily B. She didn’t like Lily B at all. Lily B was dead inside — a liquid person who took the shape of whatever man she was poured into. It wasn’t even bad; that was the problem. It was bland.
Ironic, Lily thought as she sat with Len’s gourmet pasta cooling in her hand, that the biggest thing she’d done to escape Lily B and the bland she brought with her was to open a flower shop that carried only the simplest, most vacant of colors.
If she needed proof of slipping back inside her more subservient skin, the encounter with Evelyn was it. Turning the leasing agent away without caving on her outside display felt fantastic, but it had also been foolish — exactly the kind of thing Lily A was known for. When she’d turned the tables on bitchy Elle back in high school (admitting to sleeping with the entire football team even though she hadn’t … then going on about how Elle’s boyfriend, the team’s mascot, had joined in because “Elle has a deformed pussy, and he didn’t know what a normal one felt like”), that could have easily backfired. The same was true with the display complaint. If she’d taken the cart in as Evelyn requested, she’d have felt downtrodden. But feeling downtrodden — especially given her highs and lows over the past few days — was reminiscent of Lily B. She could already feel herself hiking up her panties. And because of it, now, Lily was risking genuine fury.
