Page 45 of The End of Summer

“My grocery situation in a few weeks?”

“That’s fair.”

“I’m sure this can’t be what you dreamed you’d be doing, though, right? Or maybe I’m wrong,” I surmise. “Did you study fashion design in college? Because your getup these past few times I’ve seen you has really been some red-carpet business.”

“Ha,” she says. “Cute, Brady. No, actually my degree is in Elementary Education.”

“Stop lying. You’ve got a teaching degree? What were you doing workingas a waitress?”

“I’m still in grad school. I’ve got one more class and my field work left, and then I’ll be done.”

“So, help me understand something. Is this what teachers do to make ends meet? Good lord. All my childhood fantasies about Miss Johnson are coming true right before my very eyes.”

“Who’s Miss Johnson?”

“She was my sixth grade teacher. I had the biggest crush on her. I used to keep my sixth grade class photo on my nightstand.”

Gretchen coughs, almost spitting out a mouthful of soup. “Gross.” But there’s a light in her eyes when she says it, and it intoxicates me a little bit. I feel a shift in my shorts. “And, no, as Isaid, I’m not a teacher yet. Just a waitress. Well, I used to be. Now I’m just – a glorified shot girl, I guess.”

“In mermaid panties.”

“Not tonight, thank you very much! Besides, who are you to judge, Zorro?”

“No judgement here. On both nights, you looked… convincing,” I say.

“Careful,” she warns me. “If you insult me, I might just have to spill this hot bowl of soup all over your junk. It’s kind of my specialty, you know. Falling down? Spilling things?”

“That’s fair warning, thank you. Let’s just say, last night you had the Ariel look down. I mean, all the way down to the hair.” I restrain myself from touching it again. “I never saw a mermaid in fishnets, but you definitely pulled it off. And then tonight, well.” I pause, intent onnotdelivering a commentary about her sex appeal. “Let’s just say that any man who gets to be with you is incrediblylucky.”

Her lips purse together. “Thank you,” she says, looking down at her soup bowl. “That’s very sweet. If we’re doling out compliments, I suppose I can share that I think you’re a great dancer.”

“Thanks. I’ll add it to my resumé. All the marketing firms will be so impressed.”

“Is that what you studied? Marketing?”

“Economics,” I clarify. “I think money is interesting.”

“Interesting? That’s an odd way to describe it.”

“Think about it,” I say. “How whole economies thrive based on particular industries. Like here on the Cape. We’re a tourist economy. That’s why I can’t find a job. Supply and demand, you know? The jobs are in high demand but the J-1s come in from all over the world to fill those jobs. So, high demand is met by an even higher supply.”

“I’m glad you didn’t lead with this lecture in your baseball uniform. The ladies might not have been quite so worked up."

I laugh. “Sorry to bore you.”

“I’m teasing you, Brady. I understand completely. I tried so hard to find a job that was more along the straight and narrow, but everything was gone by the time you – um, yourdad– fired me. I mean, well, noteverything.But I wasn’t going to match my Diamond Excelsior tips over at the bowling alley.”

“Exactly.”

“You may just be the smartest male stripper I’ve ever met.” Gretchen smiles at me.

“You know a lot of malestrippers?” I ask.

She shakes her head, but she’s got that smug look on her face again. The sight of those lips smirking like that takes me back to our dance last night in the darkness of the pole studio. But I’m an awkward mess – just a jumble of adrenaline, exhaustion, and cheap ramen. The few drinks I had at the studio wore off a long time ago and I’ve got no social lubrication to replace them with. Nervous that the conversation might hit a lull, I suddenly remember I wanted to ask Gretchen something else. “Hey, I was wondering – how come that girl – Arrow?”

“My boss?”

“Yeah, her. What did she think was unacceptable about your name?”

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