by Sean Platt
“I’ll bet he’d give you friction for hours before getting tired.”
Lily would tell her to snip the ends from newly purchased stems.
“But if you don’t want Len to give you any friction, Cameron would be happy to. He keeps asking me if you’re shaved. As if I’d know.”
Lily would turn away and head for the back, but Allison would follow.
“Not that he’s prejudiced against landing strips or anything,” said Allison in a tone of near apology. “I’m sure no matter how hairy your pussy is, Cameron wants to check it out.”
“Allison … ”
“Just don’t have Chewbacca down there or anything too crazy. Oh, and how many vibrators do you own?”
Usually, at this point, customers would start coming in, and Lily would pretend she and Allison had been talking about new nursery horticulture technologies. Allison would stand behind the customers and make gestures involving her hand and mouth, miming fellatio while Lily tried not to look.
But despite Allison’s sledgehammer approach to romance and sex, Lily couldn’t help but feel somewhat titillated as other worries lifted from her shoulders. The new Len-inspired technique — poaching from nouveau house’s customer base, hitting the bully back instead of timidly taking her abuse — was paying off, and the shop was doing better by the day. After a tense half-week of large losses, the first of nouveau house’s customers came back. Apparently a Venn diagram of people who liked expensive home furnishings showed an almost total overlap with people who were willing to pay premium prices for all-white flowers. They showed up to thank Lily for her generous initial offer, and ordered more because their houses were larger than that first order could accommodate. Their houses were always large, and their pockets and appreciation for the beauty of La Fleur’s flowers was always deep.
As business increased, she stopped worrying quite so much about going under. Lily had a little less stress, a dimmed feeling of inadequacy, and a bit more confidence. She looked across the courtyard when Kerry took her taunting missives, wondering if Kerry had noticed that the troublesome flower shop’s traffic had been on the rise. She thought about her new customers’ homes, imagining apothecary tables topped with lush bouquets and nouveau house antique bed frames flanked by tall vases erupting in every shade of white.
Lily looked toward Len’s food cart, seeing that his business was also suddenly booming with a lunch line spilling across the courtyard, unsure whether to feel guilty that she owed her success to deception while Len had apparently just won over enough of the Palms regulars with his outstanding food. Would he be proud or ashamed? Of course he’d be proud because Lily had done exactly what he’d said she must. What he himself would do to protect what was his, whether it seemed fair or not.
Surprising herself, Lily began to hope Len would come over and ask for her secret. She’d thus far only told Allison and Antonia (who’d laughed until whipped cream went up her nose), but Lily wanted Len’s approval most of all. He did come over, but only for small talk. He didn’t ask about business, almost as if he hadn’t noticed. Lily didn’t want to bring it up. It felt like bragging about a misdeed, like boasting about the big take from a bank heist.
“You’re not even stealing her customers,” Allison told her once, when Lily was feeling especially guilty. Her mind had already started making excuses: Kerry’s cart might not be the one that had previously been at La Fleur. Kerry might not be the one who’d been complaining. But it was crap, and she knew it. Allison kept saying she was too nice for her own good.
“You’re just using her for lead generation,” Allison explained. “And don’t go forgetting that she’s a Grade A monster, so if you’re ripping her off, she deserves it.” Then Allison would ask if Lily had made any progress toward getting laid yet, and again offer her brother’s services, as if he were a disembodied penis with nothing better to do.
But by the second week of poaching, Lily felt her attitude changing. There was no reason to feel guilty, every reason to feel righteous, and nobody flogging her other than herself. Allison thought it was a great idea; Antonia thought it was a great idea; Len had more or less given her a blank permission check from the beginning. The only person who thought she was doing something wrong was Lily, and even that was slowly eroding.
The store was surviving. Orders were recurring, becoming weekly. She’d landed the lesbian wedding, and thanks to Allison’s help she’d actually be able to take the time required by the event. Silas had placed a standing order for his art gallery and selected each week’s flowers by hand himself (giving Allison time to drool over him; she called him “chocolate thunder,” which Lily finally decided couldn’t be racist because it was so complimentary), and Bella by the Sea had upped theirs. Allison drooled over Matt Vitale even more than over Silas, primarily because she seemed to think he was either very close to being tipped in her salivating direction or, by contrast, completely unattainable. She unbuttoned more of her blouse each time Matt walked by, sufficient that Lily had to tell her to start wearing bras or knock it off. And on the few times Matt came in, Allison embarrassed herself while Matt held his smoldering, serious, too-good-for-this expression and ignored her advances.
“Do you think he’s gay? Maybe he’s gay. He’s immune to my vagina’s siren song.”
For some reason Lily found this hilarious. It took days afterward to shake the image of a muffled voice issuing from Allison’s crotch.
“Maybe he’s just too awesome for us,” Lily said. “He never smiles. Such a dick.”
“Such a dick,” Allison repeated, emphasizing “such,” in a dreamy, wistful tone.
“Did you know his real name is Amadeo?” said Lily.
This did not dampen Allison’s mood. She actually moaned, now following his ass with her eyes as he crossed the courtyard with his final armload of flowers.
“He’s too good for being Italian,” Lily explained.
“Too bad he’s gay,” said Allison.
But he wasn’t gay. He kept staring at Lily when he thought she didn’t see. Antonia, watching once, had theorized on the presence of a possible erection. “There may have been stirring when you bent to get something,” she told Lily. “I know because I was studying in the name of science.”
Lily couldn’t decide if her shop and Buns (fraternizing enough to almost be two halves of an indulgent business specializing in beauty and fatty carbs) was devolving into a high school girls’ bathroom or if it was just her perception. Allison talked about men she wanted to sleep with and men she’d just slept with. She took her lunch breaks and came back with her underwear stuck in her pocket. Antonia came to place a new recurring order for Buns herself, and always wanted to hear about Allison’s exploits like they were news updates.
Len had come over three days in a row, leading Allison to suppose that he wanted to “go for a walkabout in her pussy” or “put a koala in her pouch.” In the past, Lily had rolled her eyes at all of this. She’d told Len she wasn’t interested in a relationship, and Len had understood. But each time he came over, Lily found herself wishing he’d ask about business so she could tell him the good and daring things she’d been doing. She wanted him to try asking her out again. She’d turn him down, of course; she had fewer dire financial concerns but just as many demands on her time. But it felt good to be asked. And a part of her wanted to say yes, even though it would be stupid.
“You don’t need to date him, you twit,” said Allison. “You just need to let him put a shrimp in your barbie.”
“I hope it’s not a shrimp.” Lily put a hand over her mouth and laughed around it, eliciting disbelieving eyes from both Allison and Antonia as they sat in Buns after La Fleur had closed for the day. Just a joke, but Lily hadn’t joined in on much of the girls’ bathroom chatter so far. The fact that she now had either meant that she’d at long last grown comfortable with her friends … or that the feeling of the idea, within her mind, was slowly shifting.
Len came over the following day, ann
ouncing that he’d finally given in and wanted a few small arrangements to set around his cart. Lily had to suddenly leave without knowing why. When she returned Len was gone, and Allison was staring at her, a tiny smile on the corner of her wide lips.
“How old are you?”
Lily took it as a serious question. “Twenty-two.”
“You’re not fourteen? Because you just ran off like a fourteen-year-old.”
“I had to go to the bathroom.”
“What did you do in there?”
“What do you think I did in there? Do you want to come watch?”
“I’ll bet Len would like to watch.”
“Gross.”
“I don’t think you’re catching my allusion here,” said Allison. “So we’re clear: I’m accusing you of heading into the back to play the fiddle.”
“Is that a Kansas joke?” said Lily. “Because I’m a country bumpkin?”
Allison rolled her eyes, apparently deciding that Lily was an idiot. But Lily knew exactly what she’d meant, and although Lily had simply felt inexplicably embarrassed to be in Len’s presence (like a fourteen-year-old), she did kind of want, right here and right now, to play that particular fiddle. Or to chase Len down and see if he wanted to play a duet.
Lily managed to take two steps toward the front door, wondering what excuse for chasing Len down might keep her from looking obvious or desperate, when a man holding a toolbox barred her way.
She looked up. Allison had moved behind the counter and now looked him over as well, her soft-green eyes curious.
“You called for the disconnect?” The man was wearing coveralls, a potbelly entering the store several inches before the rest of him. He looked like a low-rent plumber, out of place at the Palms.
“I think you have the wrong place,” Lily said.
The man looked up, over the door, where a white 15 was stenciled into the glass. Then he read the sign.
“I don’t think so,” he said, pulling a paper from his pocket and reading it.
“I didn’t call for anyone,” Lily insisted.
A voice behind the man answered for him. As he stepped aside to allow the speaker entry, Lily found herself staring into the icy eyes of Kerry Barrett Kirby. All pretense of kindness had vanished. The mask was off, and Lily knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Kerry knew what she’d been doing. The little blonde girl in number fifteen had dared to survive despite Kerry’s attempts to crush and humiliate her … and worse, she’d done it by siphoning customers nouveau house had worked hard to cultivate, tagging her own stupid flower store to its coattails as if they were partners. And Kerry, as she stood beside the workman, was none too happy.
“I called,” said Kerry.
“You don’t own this shop.” It was essential to stand her ground, but Lily was finding it tricky to summon the courage.
“No, but I do head the Palms Couture Environmental Impact Committee.” Kerry pushed her way into the store, past Lily, as if she weren’t there.
“So fucking what?” said Allison. Lily sent her a silent thanks. Having Allison around was like getting the devil on your shoulder to hop down and start mouthing off on your behalf. Lily, as angry as she’d been over the violation and then the theft of her cart, couldn’t speak quite so plainly, despite her anger now.
“It’s the committee’s job to determine how the Palms affects the environment,” said Kerry, her voice smooth, her face still trying for a farce of friendliness but becoming something like a grimace. “We’re the ones who decided that the restaurants and … ” she glanced toward Len’s stand, again with an impossibly long line, and made a little grunt, “And especially the vendors shouldn’t use lids and straws when they hand out drinks in paper cups. The gulls carry them away, and they wash up on the beach.”
Lily made an annoyed little So fucking what? gesture of her own. She’d noticed how none of the cups had lids or straws, and Len had complained about it because people were always spilling. She’d heard it was an environmental thing, but hadn’t known Kerry was behind it.
“You going to sign off, then?” the workman asked Kerry, seeming very much like he just wanted to get on with his work and leave, environmental debate aside.
“Sign off on what?” Lily said.
Kerry took the man’s paper and pen and scrawled a signature.
“Over there?” said the workman, nodding into the store.
“Sign off on what?” Kerry followed the workman. The bottom had dropped from Lily’s stomach. She knew, all right.
“This unit hasn’t been inspected for years,” said Kerry. “And we’ve been told it’s leaking coolant all over the place.”
She was pointing at La Fleur’s cooler.
“It’s not polluting anything! How could you possibly think that?”
“I assure you … Miss Whistler … ” Kerry gave Lily an insulting little smile. “That’s what the committee’s investigation will find out for sure.”
“But … ”
“Shut it down,” said Kerry.
The workman did.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHIN UP, SWEETIE
“Eat,” said Antonia.
Lily looked down at the plate Antonia had set before her: a raspberry-filled roll that looked like it had been caught in a chocolate explosion. Three fists big.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Chocolate makes you feel better.” Antonia nudged it another inch forward. “Eating it actually creates the same chemical reaction in the brain as sex.” She leaned forward and whispered. “That’s why this one is called ‘chocolate orgasm.’”
“I had one of those once.” Lily looked over. She somehow doubted Allison was talking about the pastry.
“I don’t need chocolate.” Lily pushed the fork with her finger.
“But you do need sex,” said Allison. “Eat it if you won’t take it in the flesh.”
“Or you could combine the two.” Antonia waited for Lily to laugh. Finally she chuckled, but only so she wouldn’t leave Antonia hanging.
“How am I supposed to go on without a cooler?”
“You can’t just plug it back in,” said Antonia.
“It’s a walk-in. Actually built into the walls. It can be turned off, but apparently ‘the committee’ doesn’t trust me to not just disobey because ‘complaints lodged with the leasing office indicate I have a history of ignoring office requests.’ Apparently I’m on probation. So they actually disconnected it. I now have a slowly warming metal closet.”
“What about a replacement?” said Antonia.
“Looking,” Allison chimed in. “So far, anything we’ve found is either far too small to meet the orders we have stacked up or needs to be shipped and installed. It would take weeks. By then, the environmental committee will probably be done with its bullshit inspection anyway.”
“And,” Lily prompted, “I’ll be out of business.”
“I’ll loan you the money to keep you going until then,” said Antonia.
Lily shook her head. “Thank you, but money’s not the problem.”
“I offered already,” Allison said.
“The problem is all the people who have weekly orders. My new customer base, and who now think of La Fleur as their go-to place. I was really embracing what Marcello told me.”
“What did Marcello tell you?”
“That I was selling an experience. Luxury.”
“Which is why we added candles,” said Allison.
“But which still don’t solve the problem. What about all the people who want flowers? I don’t have anywhere to store them. I’d have to run to LA every day, maybe more than once. How is that sustainable?”
Antonia looked to Allison.
“Hey, I’m willing,” said Allison. “But it’s a whole logistical thing.”
“I give up,” said Lily.
“No you don’t.” Allison’s voice raised in pitch. “Because cunts can’t win.”
“Cunt … ” Lily relished the feel
ing of the angry word on her lips, pointing through the window toward nouveau house, “Won,” she finished.
Allison looked furious. “We can’t just roll over.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll do it for both of us.” Lily closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’m just so tired, Al. I’m just trying to run my little shop, and that’s hard enough. But she has to pick a fight for no reason.”
“Not for no reason,” said Allison. “It’s because she’s a cunt.”
Lily snickered, feeling delirious.
“How can she do that, anyway? How can she shut down our cooler?” Lily, listening, felt oddly touched. Allison always spoke about the shop in terms of “we” and “us.” She was determined to hold Lily’s hand, to go down with the sinking ship.
Lily shrugged. “She’s a bitch.”
“I knew she was bad news,” said Allison. Right from the start.”
“I don’t think that’s an unusual thing. I also knew she was bad news right from the start. Because, you know, I’m psychic.”
“No, further back. My dad used to do some work with her. She was his favorite. Oh, God, you should have heard the Kerry propaganda Cameron and I had to hear, like he was showcasing her to us as this great role model. He wanted us to be just like Kerry when we grew up. Because she’s such a scary-good businesswoman.”
“That’s right,” said Antonia. “I forgot about that. Back when she was a little nothing.” She rolled her eyes, as if to demonstrate the world’s iniquity. “A little nothing who never had any problems with that big new store, when it should have been poetic justice for her to struggle like the rest of us.”
“Because she’s a bully,” said Lily.
“And a c—” Allison started.
“And she just pushes everyone around, making them do whatever she wants. Forcing her way in like a … a … ”
“A cu—”
This time, Antonia cut Allison off.
“She has her nose in all the Plaza business, including being on half a dozen committees. You can bet she never pays attention to any of them unless she wants to mouth off and be heard or unless it serves her needs, like this time. Kerry by herself can’t just waltz in and mess with your shop, and the committee probably can’t launch a ‘problem’ investigation just like that on its own. But you put them together — Kerry’s push and the technical committee mission? Well, there you go.”
