triumphant. “He used to be one of the best receivers in the league. Right, Lewis?”
“That’s right.”
“Gentlemen, we are now open,” Guy announced. Several customers had appeared on the floor, like guerrilla insurgents previously hidden but now emboldened to come out into the open. They wandered as though dazed, stunned and disoriented by the array of goods as well as the tall mirrors strategically placed to prevent shoppers from achieving a cohesive picture of the space.
Lewis wandered over to a big wooden cabinet filled with expensive folded dress shirts—he was wearing one of them, a cotton-blend Calvin Klein with a flat back and double stitching. He’d bought it full-price about eighteen months ago, back when he was at his old job and could afford such things.
He tried to breathe regularly as he allowed himself a moment’s contemplation of the depths of his financial pit. Many of his monthly bills were paid automatically on his credit cards, which kept the dogs at bay but also created a rising balance to which astronomical interest rates were regularly and sadistically applied. There were still medical bills left unpaid—thousands of dollars’ worth, in fact. It was not going well.
The house was his, and it was beautiful and replete with equity. He could sell it, but what then? An apartment, neighbors upstairs and down? A life diminishing by degree, until there was nothing left of him?
Pain stabbed his chest, right behind the sternum. Lewis rubbed the bone, trying to will it away. It hurt all the time. He could die at any moment.
“Excuse me,” said a woman his age. “Do you work here?”
Lewis turned and tried to stay calm. He had to be strong. He had to survive. Jay and Ramona would be bereft without him.
“Yes, of course,” Lewis said, pleased by the note of incredulity in her voice (could someone like
him
really be
working
there?). “What can I help you with?”
“I’m buying shirts for my husband,” the woman said. She wore sunglasses perched atop her blond head, and she had a pert, athletic figure. She was one of those well-preserved housewives who had haunted the ill-lit corners of his fantasies. “Your shirt is very nice. Did you buy it here?”
“Yes!” Lewis said, brightening and leading her to the display. “You have a good eye. This line of shirts is comfortable, elegant, and they wear well. And we have a very extensive selection of colors. Shall I select a dozen for you? Or two?”
The woman laughed. “So you work on a commission, I take it.”
Lewis clasped his hands. “Customer happiness is my greatest satisfaction, far more than any financial consideration.”
She laughed again, more genuinely this time. She looked Lewis in the eye for the first time and tucked her hair behind one ear. In fact, she was extremely pretty.
“What size does your husband wear?” Lewis asked.
“Oh, I’m not sure these days,” she said. “He’s not as tall as you, but he weighs a lot more.” She reached out and touched one of the shirts folded in its slot, her fingers lingering on the fabric.
“A bigger man,” Lewis said.
“Oh, well, he’s gotten fat, if that’s what you mean,” she said with a louder laugh.
“Happens to some of us,” Lewis said, and the woman looked up into Lewis’s eyes with a lingering flush of recognition.
“But not you,” she said.
“Nor you,” Lewis told her.
Lewis glanced over at the nearest cash register. Guy was watching, seemingly with a mix of uncertainty and approval. Lewis, it turned out, had a bit of a gift for the sale. After he’d rung up four shirts for the housewife she lingered at the sales counter for a moment, as though about to say something to Lewis. Then she seemed to remember who she was, and who Lewis was—a
salesman,
for God’s sake—and then she left with an uncomfortable half-wave. It was a slightly odd and discordant end to their interaction. It had all been in good fun, hadn’t it?
Lewis had lunch with Guy
“That’s right.”
“Gentlemen, we are now open,” Guy announced. Several customers had appeared on the floor, like guerrilla insurgents previously hidden but now emboldened to come out into the open. They wandered as though dazed, stunned and disoriented by the array of goods as well as the tall mirrors strategically placed to prevent shoppers from achieving a cohesive picture of the space.
Lewis wandered over to a big wooden cabinet filled with expensive folded dress shirts—he was wearing one of them, a cotton-blend Calvin Klein with a flat back and double stitching. He’d bought it full-price about eighteen months ago, back when he was at his old job and could afford such things.
He tried to breathe regularly as he allowed himself a moment’s contemplation of the depths of his financial pit. Many of his monthly bills were paid automatically on his credit cards, which kept the dogs at bay but also created a rising balance to which astronomical interest rates were regularly and sadistically applied. There were still medical bills left unpaid—thousands of dollars’ worth, in fact. It was not going well.
The house was his, and it was beautiful and replete with equity. He could sell it, but what then? An apartment, neighbors upstairs and down? A life diminishing by degree, until there was nothing left of him?
Pain stabbed his chest, right behind the sternum. Lewis rubbed the bone, trying to will it away. It hurt all the time. He could die at any moment.
“Excuse me,” said a woman his age. “Do you work here?”
Lewis turned and tried to stay calm. He had to be strong. He had to survive. Jay and Ramona would be bereft without him.
“Yes, of course,” Lewis said, pleased by the note of incredulity in her voice (could someone like
him
really be
working
there?). “What can I help you with?”
“I’m buying shirts for my husband,” the woman said. She wore sunglasses perched atop her blond head, and she had a pert, athletic figure. She was one of those well-preserved housewives who had haunted the ill-lit corners of his fantasies. “Your shirt is very nice. Did you buy it here?”
“Yes!” Lewis said, brightening and leading her to the display. “You have a good eye. This line of shirts is comfortable, elegant, and they wear well. And we have a very extensive selection of colors. Shall I select a dozen for you? Or two?”
The woman laughed. “So you work on a commission, I take it.”
Lewis clasped his hands. “Customer happiness is my greatest satisfaction, far more than any financial consideration.”
She laughed again, more genuinely this time. She looked Lewis in the eye for the first time and tucked her hair behind one ear. In fact, she was extremely pretty.
“What size does your husband wear?” Lewis asked.
“Oh, I’m not sure these days,” she said. “He’s not as tall as you, but he weighs a lot more.” She reached out and touched one of the shirts folded in its slot, her fingers lingering on the fabric.
“A bigger man,” Lewis said.
“Oh, well, he’s gotten fat, if that’s what you mean,” she said with a louder laugh.
“Happens to some of us,” Lewis said, and the woman looked up into Lewis’s eyes with a lingering flush of recognition.
“But not you,” she said.
“Nor you,” Lewis told her.
Lewis glanced over at the nearest cash register. Guy was watching, seemingly with a mix of uncertainty and approval. Lewis, it turned out, had a bit of a gift for the sale. After he’d rung up four shirts for the housewife she lingered at the sales counter for a moment, as though about to say something to Lewis. Then she seemed to remember who she was, and who Lewis was—a
salesman,
for God’s sake—and then she left with an uncomfortable half-wave. It was a slightly odd and discordant end to their interaction. It had all been in good fun, hadn’t it?
Lewis had lunch with Guy
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