Page 9 of All Out of Flux
The young man on the other side of the writing desk coughed quietly into his fist, flustering when he spoke. “No, no. It’s my fault. I’m so sorry. I’m really new to this job and I’m still really bad about dealing with customers. It’s like, am I supposed to hover while you browse? What do I do with my hands?”
I chuckled. “I get what you mean. And it’s totally understandable, don’t worry about it.”
Two women’s voices chattered at each other from somewhere among all the furniture. Spanish, for sure. Mine was rusty, but I definitely picked up the word “estúpido.”
“You’re the one who hired him,” one sister hissed, somehow unaware of how well her voice was carrying.
“And you said we should because he had a pretty face, but that pretty face still hasn’t sold a damn thing.”
The man who had startled me deflated the more the argument continued, his shoulders rounding, his fingers twiddling. He wore a waistcoat over his white collared shirt, looking very much the part of a librarian. I kept imagining him in glasses, which he did not wear. Some people just looked like they were meant to wear something on their face.
His gaze darted away from mine, his eyes downcast, his lashes long and thick. I appreciated the softness in the swoop of his longish hair, falling down nearly to his ears, a curious contrast for the strength of his jawline. He did have a pretty face, and burning red ears. Cute guy, in all. Poor guy. Poor cute guy.
Hey, I was allowed to look, okay? And anyway, it was that one sister who started it, going on about his pretty face.
“Please don’t tell them I was bothering you,” he mumbled. “I really need this job.”
“You weren’t,” I said, shaking my hands in his face. “You so weren’t. I didn’t mean to yelp. Oh, God. Here they come.”
A pair of antiques came trotting out from behind a pair of antiques, the Mendez sisters appearing on either side of a two-piece changing screen. It was uncanny how they seemed like mirror images of each other. Both wore stylish black smocks, like curators in a ramshackle gallery.
Each sister wore a rose in her hair, placed on opposite sides. I saw the sister with the yellow rose earlier. The one with the red rose could have been her reflection. They’d even painted moles on opposite sides of their faces. Smoke and mirrors. Maintain the illusion of mystique. Look magical. Be magical. Nail the sale. It was all marketing.
From matching painted lips, the sisters broke into the same toothy grin. Even their body language was eerily similar, hands clasped together, as ingratiating as their smiles.
“We’re so very sorry,” one sister said. “He’s very new here. Why, it’s only his first week.”
“Yes, yes. Only his first week. Just is just adjusting.”
I did a double take. Was I having a stroke? Wasshe? “Sorry? Just is what, now?”
“My name is Just,” the man answered meekly. “And I was just helping him, Ms. Mendez and Ms. Mendez.”
Short for Justin, maybe? I picked up the stained inkwell and placed it on the flat of my hand. “That’s right. Just over here has just convinced me to buy this — thing, in fact.”
He shot me a relieved smile, then turned his eyes away again.
“Ah, yes.” The sister with the yellow rose stepped forward, waggling her fingers. “This belonged to an unnamed Spanish conquistador, the ink providing the blood for his quill. He recorded his grand travels in a beautifully handwritten journal, meaning to bestow it upon his sweetheart on his triumphant return.” She held a hand to her forehead, clenched the other onearound thin air. “All of it lost when his ship was dashed against the rocks in a thunderstorm. The inkwell, all that remains.”
Funny. It looked like a regular old inkwell with the wet stuff dumped out, purchased from a cheap stationer at best. But I didn’t want Just getting into trouble in his first week of work. Just was just adjusting, right?
“Incredible story,” I said, another white lie, except this one didn’t quite hurt to tell. “Could you keep this at the counter for me, ladies? I’d love to keep looking around.”
The sisters collected the empty inkwell, then tittered as they slunk off again, muttering to each other. I thought I heard the words “muy guapo” being breathlessly uttered. Amazing. Now I had two great stories I couldn’t tell Leon.
First was that I’d successfully disguised myself from the Mendez sisters with nothing but a pair of aviator sunglasses. To be fair, it’d been years since they’d last seen me. They probably wouldn’t have recognized me even if I took them off.
And second? That I’d saved poor Justerella here from his evil stepmothers. I’d potentially help someone keep his job for the low, low price of a mostly worthless paperweight.
“Thank you so much,” he breathed, reaching out, but not quite touching my arm. “That’s honestly the first thing I’ve ever sold. You didn’t have to do that, you know?”
I shrugged. “It seemed like you deserved a break. I don’t envy you, you know.” I leaned in, dropping my voice to a whisper. “The sisters are notoriously difficult to deal with.”
He nodded. “I kind of picked up on that. Real quick, like.”
And now that I’d done him a kindness, maybe he could help me in turn. I wondered what to question him about first. Should I ask to see where they kept the statuettes and figurines, or should I ask if he’d seen the disarmingly jovial Gustavo Brillante around the shop recently?
But before anything else, I needed to turn the charm up to eleven. Every finder had their favorite tools, and more the fool the finder who didn’t put them to full use. I took off my sunglasses and blasted the poor boy with my brightest, handsomest smile. Maximo Brillante to the maximum.
