Amanda's Young Men (14 page)

She walked into chaos. The shop that had once been immaculate was now cluttered with stands and folding tables, all piled high with shoes, boots and slippers. There had to be a dozen customers poking through the displays and six more seated on the benches, being helped by Meg, who was wearing a rather smart tailored cream pant-suit but whose hair was dishevelled and flopped over her forehead. As Amanda watched, the young woman rose from the feet of one customer, exchanged a word with a second, dashed into the stacks, reappeared with a box and squatted next to a third woman’s feet. A second later, she was back in the stacks, out, delivered a shoebox with a smile and a comment, and marched up to the front counter to ring up the purchases of a woman who seemed to have served herself.

As she made change, Meg threw Amanda a smile and a ‘Hello, Ms Garland.’

‘You’re very busy.’

‘I guess.’

‘Why are you all on your own?’

‘No payroll budget for help. Excuse me.’ She tore to the back of the store, took a box from a customer and brought it back to the cash register.

‘Can I help?’ Amanda offered.

‘Do you know the system for finding styles?’

‘Not well enough.’

‘Can you work a cash register?’

‘I can try.’

‘It’s all yours, then.’ She rushed off again.

Credit and debit cards were easy. Amanda fumbled with cash, at first, but thank goodness there wasn’t much of that
for
her to deal with. Meg served four, five, six or sometimes eight customers at a time. Amanda was hard put to keep up with her, even just taking payments and bagging. Six o’clock came and went. As Meg hurried past her, Amanda asked, ‘When’s closing time?’

‘Today’s Friday. Nine o’clock.’

The next time Meg came near, Amanda asked, ‘When do you get to take a break?’

‘Good question.’ She turned to a customer. ‘It only comes in black, I’m afraid, madam, but black goes with everything, doesn’t it, and, at that price, you can’t go wrong, can you?’

A gaunt woman with a ragged unibrow brought a shoebox to the counter. As Amanda was ringing the sale in, Meg quick-stepped up through the maze of customers and rested her hand on the woman’s box.

‘Sorry,’ Meg said, ‘but I think I made a mistake.’ She opened the box, took the shoes out and inspected them. ‘Silly me! I’ve accidentally given you a size eight right and a size seven left. Which size was it that you wanted, madam?’

The woman muttered, ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ and headed for the door.

‘What was that all about?’ Amanda asked.

‘Poor woman – her right foot is a size larger than her left. She asked to try both sizes on and deliberately mismatched them. We’d have been left with an unsaleable pair if she’d got away with it.’

‘How did you know?’

‘She asked me to bring her a pair in size seven and a pair in size eight. She didn’t ask to try a seven and a half.’

‘I see! That’s very clever of you, Meg. Tell me, is it common for people to have bigger right feet than left?’

‘Odd-sized feet aren’t that rare. Nobody has two feet exactly the same size but, with most people, the difference is tiny. With
some
people it’s the right that’s bigger than the left and with others it’s the left that’s bigger than the right – then with some poor people it’s both.’

‘Both bigger?’ Amanda blinked, then chuckled. ‘Ah – shoe-shop humour?’

‘Keeps us sane.’ Meg hurried away to pluck the shoe a woman’s sticky little boy was gnawing the heel of from his grubby little paws and wipe it clean with a wet-wipe.

As busy as she was, Amanda had plenty of opportunities to watch Meg as she swiftly but stylishly ran the busy shoe store. She had the grace of a ballerina and her svelte body suggested the same but her stance, in those rare moments she wasn’t on the run, was not that of a dancer. Her shoulder-length chopped hairdo and long bangs framed a heart-shaped face, with those grey wide-set eyes and her lips, thin on a wide mouth, contributing to a gamine look that Amanda found irresistible. To think she might have let Meg go without even seeing her again made Amanda’s tummy ache. This girl was a prize.

Half an hour later, Meg paused by the counter again. ‘Want to hear a good one?’ she asked Amanda. She leant on the counter, adopting the pose of storytellers the world over.

‘I could do with a good one about now.’ Amanda tried not to stare hungrily at Meg, but she felt as if she’d been starving for the company of this woman all her life.

‘See that girl standing in front of the full-length mirror? The one in the very short skirt?’

‘Redhead? Nice legs?’

‘You noticed, huh? Well, she’s trying on the highest heels we’ve got. Can you guess why?’

‘Tell me.’

‘She just bought that skirt from the shop next door. Now she’s worried that it might be too short for her uptight boyfriend’s approval.’

‘So?’

‘So she wants a pair of the highest heels we’ve got, to lift her legs up inside the skirt!’ Meg burst into loud laughter, then covered her wide mouth with her hand in a vain effort to contain her mirth.

Amanda almost snorted. ‘You’re joking!’

‘No I’m not.’ Meg laughed again, even louder.

Amanda was amazed at what a big guffaw the skinny girl could make.

‘And they say that us blondes are dumb!’ Meg said, as she rushed away.

It was all Amanda could do not to call after her, ‘Come back! Tell me another one! Let me hear you laugh again.’

Somehow, Amanda managed to make it to the end of the night. Though her feet hurt and even her back was starting to complain, it wasn’t the physical discomfort that had her worried. It was her mental state that made her wonder if she’d actually lost her mind.

This was like nothing she’d ever felt before. She supposed some would call it a ‘pash’, a schoolgirl crush, but she knew it was much more. If ‘pash’ was short for passion, then, yes, there was that, but just for starters …

At ten after nine, three more bargain-hunting women came in. Meg signalled to Amanda to lock the door behind them. Amanda was frazzled enough to run to the door to comply. By her count, they now had eleven customers still inside the shop. They seemed more like adversaries than customers to her. She wanted to scream, ‘Take them, take the shoes and get out!’ But that would never do. By some miracle, they ushered the last pair of shoppers out at nine fifty-five.

Amanda sank on to a bench seat with a sigh. ‘How on earth do you keep this up?’ She slid her shoes off her stockinged feet and rubbed her tingling toes.

Meg was counting cash at lightning speed. ‘I won’t have to for much longer. You can see why I’m quitting.’

‘Yes, well, that’s the reason I’m here.’

‘I thought so.’

‘Why don’t you hire more help?’

‘Ask Head Office.’ As she totalled the receipts, Meg explained that each shop’s payroll budget was based on the takings of the same month the previous year. At Christmas, that worked just fine. The shop could easily support two full-time people and four part-time. In February, the budget didn’t even cover the manager’s salary so Rupert had had to put in sixty-hour weeks and cut Meg’s hours to the bone, and he’d still been in trouble for overspending on wages.

‘That’s not fair,’ Amanda said.

‘It’s your company.’

‘If I fixed that, would you stay?’

‘Maybe as an assistant, not as a manager.’

‘Why not?’

‘Managers get salaries. Assistants get paid by the hour. Right now, I’m making less than I did before I got “promoted”.’

‘That’s ridiculous! What if managers got bonuses or a percentage, or something?’

‘Perhaps. I’m too tired to even think about it right now.’ Meg handed Amanda a grey canvas bag full of cheques and money. ‘Hang on to this for a moment, OK?’ She disappeared into the stacks, before reappearing a moment later wheeling out a vacuum.

‘You’re going to vacuum, now?’

‘And clean up. I hope to get out by midnight, if I’m lucky, then go to the bank with the deposit, then catch a late bus home, and then I’ll be back here at ten to nine tomorrow morning, to open up. Thank God tomorrow’s Saturday and we close at six, or as soon after it as the customers allow.’

Amanda said, ‘That’s preposterous!’

Meg shrugged. She flipped the switch on the vacuum, which burst into a roar.

Amanda rose, waving her arms to Meg. ‘No, I mean it. It’s slave labour. Meg, turn it off, turn it off.’ When Meg had done so, Amanda continued her rant: ‘No one should have to work like this. This is an outrage.’

Meg rested an elbow on the vacuum’s handle, again adopting a timeless pose, this one of the cowpoke leaning on the rail of a fence. ‘Like I said, ma’am, it’s your company,’ she drawled.

‘I have to make this up to you. Forget the vacuuming, Meg, and get your coat.’

Amanda took her cell out and speed-dialled. ‘Rupert? It’s Amanda. You still have a key for your old shop?’ She paused. ‘Good. I want you to call Paul. Tomorrow, at eight, I want both of you here to tidy up and cover for Meg for the day. I’m giving her tomorrow off. Be prompt because you’ll be clearing up and vacuuming before you open, and the place is a real mess.’ Her head cocked. ‘Well, if Paul doesn’t know how to sell shoes as well as you do, you’ll just have to teach him.’ She grinned at Meg. ‘I’m relying on you, Rupert. Don’t let me down. Bye.’ She hung up with a flourish. ‘There,’ she said, ‘it’s all fixed. No more slave labour for you!’

Meg commented, ‘I bet Rupert wishes he could say that.’ She handed Amanda her coat before she could reply. ‘Come on. I can still make the ten-thirty bus if we hurry.’

Amanda followed Meg out the door. She couldn’t let Meg leave her, not yet. ‘When did you eat last?’

‘I brought a couple of doughnuts in with me this morning. I had one for breakfast and the other –’ Meg locked up as she spoke ‘– the other one was lunch, I guess, or else a series of snacks – I snatched a bite each time I passed it.’

‘So you’re hungry?’

‘Ravenous.’

‘You don’t look like you eat anything.’ Amanda was shocked to hear the words she’d just spoken. She didn’t want to mother the girl but that wasn’t how it sounded.

‘I’m just naturally thin,’ said Meg. She took the canvas bag from Amanda. ‘I have to deposit this. But I promise I’ll pick something up from my local Indian takeaway if I can get there before it closes.’ She smiled politely.

Amanda realised Meg was poised for flight. She felt fluttery inside, as if this was an all-or-nothing moment, as if there were no tomorrows and Meg might disappear forever if she let her go now.

‘I’m taking you out to dinner,’ she blurted. Again her words resounded, loud and entirely inappropriate, in her ears.

‘You’ve already been more than generous, Ms Garland. Um, do you mind if we walk?’

Amanda shook her head and Meg started walking, long strides that made Amanda hurry to keep up.

‘I appreciate the offer but what I really need is a nice relaxing bath and to get to bed.’

‘That sounds great! Where’s the nearest four-star hotel?’

Meg laughed, that boisterous, full-throated laugh of hers. Amanda imagined she’d die happy if she could just die listening to Meg’s laugh, and it was a good thing too, because she was embarrassed to death. Now she’d gone from motherly busy-body to sexual predator, and neither was the image she wished to present.

‘Listen, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful but …’ Meg stopped at the brick wall of a bank where there was a night deposit. She dumped the grey canvas bag, which disappeared with a resounding thud; the sound was not much louder than the noise of Amanda’s heart beat pounding in her ears.

She was struck, again, with the feeling that Meg might
disappear
forever, like an apparition, the product of a schoolgirl’s horny dreams. But dammit she wasn’t a school girl! ‘Forsythe Footwear is undergoing massive restructuring,’ she began. Much better. ‘I have very little time at my disposal and there’s a lot I want to talk to you about. And, frankly, I’m beat. My legs aren’t what they used to be …’ Damn, she’d made reference to her age. But Meg was listening, her thin brows knotted in concentration. Amanda blundered on. ‘Why not get a couple of rooms, or maybe a suite, and order in a good meal? We can relax, take our time, and I won’t have to schedule another meeting with you. It makes perfect sense.’

‘Well, now that you put it that way I suppose …’

‘We need a good hotel, no, a great one, with room service.’

‘There’s a real beauty just a few streets from here.’

‘Perfect. But we’re taking a taxi.’ Amanda stepped to the kerb and raised her hand. ‘What do you like to eat, Meg? When we get there I’ll take care of room service while you take a nice long bath. Would you like a Jacuzzi tub?’

‘I guess. Are you sure …?’

A taxi pulled up. Amanda opened the door. ‘Very sure,’ she said, ushering Meg inside.

As they rode, Amanda asked, ‘What was Rupert like to work for?’

‘He was pretty good to work for and great on the floor.’

‘On the floor?’ Amanda asked with a grin.

‘You know what I mean – sales. I’ve seen him cover a dozen customers at once at Christmastime.’

‘And personally?’ Amanda underlined her question with a raised eyebrow.

‘Him and me? No, nothing there. He fancied me, I think, but he’s not my type.’

‘No? A good-looking young man like Rupert?’

‘Not my type,’ Meg repeated, leaving Amanda to interpret it any way she liked.

The hotel’s lobby had parchment-coloured moiré silk on the walls. The Muzak was by Mozart. The carpet dragged at their heels. Amanda booked them a luxury suite with two double beds and whisked Meg off to a boutique on the concourse level for toiletries before heading up to the twentieth floor.

Amanda collapsed on the bed nearest the door. ‘That was a hard day’s work.’

The tall blonde made straight for the bathroom.

‘Put your clothes out and I’ll have the valet service get them clean for the morning,’ Amanda said.

Meg called out from inside the bathroom, ‘So what’ll I wear till then?’

‘There should be two robes in there, one each. See them?’

‘I do now. Nice!’ Meg appeared in the doorway. ‘Thank you for this, Ms Garland.’