he saw that Chance was charging more than twenty dollars a pound for his spread. Each small quarter-pound container was marked between five and six dollars each. He looked at Chance and frowned. " You . What's this? Who'sa gonna pay that money for chicken? Che cazzo ."
Chance smiled. "Those containers will be gone before three o'clock this afternoon," he said. "And they'll want more, too."
Dan pressed his lips together and shook his head. They had been through all this before and Chance had always been right. "Where's the orange spray paint?"
"In the barn out back," Chance said. "Why?" They normally used the orange fluorescent spray paint for large signs out front, like when there was a huge sale on corn-on-the-cob or watermelons.
"For the squirrels," Dan said. He had forgotten to pull up his zipper, and his white shorts were showing through, yellow pee stains and all.
"Squirrels?"
The old man put his hands on his hips and smiled. "That'sa right. If I caught them in the traps last night," he said, pointing at Chance, "this time, I'll paint their tails orange when I let them go. Bastardos. "
Chance crossed back to the deli counter and didn't respond. That summer, Dan was obsessed with a family of squirrels that had taken up residence in the barn behind the market. He kept setting traps and catching the squirrels, and then he'd take them down to the lake and set them free. But a few days later, the barn was always infested with more squirrels. He was now convinced that the same squirrels were returning, that somehow they'd figured out how to navigate back to the barn from the edge of lake. And he was determined to prove it by painting their tails with fluorescent orange spray paint. Chance could have suggested he take the squirrels to the other side of the lake, where it would be virtually impossible for them to find their way back to the barn. But he didn't.
Sarah arrived for work at ten. She wore a black tube top and tight, low-rise jeans. Her frizzy hair was pulled back with a scrunchy and there were long silver earrings in an Indian design swinging from her earlobes. "Where is he ?" she asked, plopping her purse under the counter next to the cash register. Since Dan referred to his employees with pronouns and didn't think it was important to learn their names, she decided not to call him by name.
"Catching squirrels in the barn," Chance said. He opened the cash register to see if she'd have enough ones for the day. "You're a little low. Call me if you need any more singles." He turned to leave and cross back to the deli counter.
"That's it?" she said, "You're not even going to mention last night? I'm dying to hear what happened after I left."
"Ah, well..." he said. Then he smiled and stared at the floor. He wasn't going into any details about his back seat conversation with Brody. "We had a drink and then talked until I had to go home is all."
She leaned forward and looked around to see if anyone was listening. Then she whispered, "Did you get into his pants? Or better yet, did he get into your pants?"
He stepped back and adjusted his apron. "I can't believe you just asked me that question. Let's say it was a very good night and leave it at that."
"I knew it, he did get into your pants," she shouted. She started jumping up and down, clapping her hands together with the bottom of her palms so she wouldn't make too much noise in case the old man was sneaking around in the storage room. "I want details now."
Chance couldn't hold back a smile, but all he said was, "It was a great night, and I'm going back to prepare a batch of potato salad now." Then he turned and walked away.
"Are you getting together again?" she called after him. "At least tell me that much."
He was laughing out loud by then. He turned and said, "I really don't know. Maybe." He didn't like discussing such intimate details with anyone, but he was also secretly getting even for that ride that nearly caused him to puke all over the amusement park.
The market
Chance smiled. "Those containers will be gone before three o'clock this afternoon," he said. "And they'll want more, too."
Dan pressed his lips together and shook his head. They had been through all this before and Chance had always been right. "Where's the orange spray paint?"
"In the barn out back," Chance said. "Why?" They normally used the orange fluorescent spray paint for large signs out front, like when there was a huge sale on corn-on-the-cob or watermelons.
"For the squirrels," Dan said. He had forgotten to pull up his zipper, and his white shorts were showing through, yellow pee stains and all.
"Squirrels?"
The old man put his hands on his hips and smiled. "That'sa right. If I caught them in the traps last night," he said, pointing at Chance, "this time, I'll paint their tails orange when I let them go. Bastardos. "
Chance crossed back to the deli counter and didn't respond. That summer, Dan was obsessed with a family of squirrels that had taken up residence in the barn behind the market. He kept setting traps and catching the squirrels, and then he'd take them down to the lake and set them free. But a few days later, the barn was always infested with more squirrels. He was now convinced that the same squirrels were returning, that somehow they'd figured out how to navigate back to the barn from the edge of lake. And he was determined to prove it by painting their tails with fluorescent orange spray paint. Chance could have suggested he take the squirrels to the other side of the lake, where it would be virtually impossible for them to find their way back to the barn. But he didn't.
Sarah arrived for work at ten. She wore a black tube top and tight, low-rise jeans. Her frizzy hair was pulled back with a scrunchy and there were long silver earrings in an Indian design swinging from her earlobes. "Where is he ?" she asked, plopping her purse under the counter next to the cash register. Since Dan referred to his employees with pronouns and didn't think it was important to learn their names, she decided not to call him by name.
"Catching squirrels in the barn," Chance said. He opened the cash register to see if she'd have enough ones for the day. "You're a little low. Call me if you need any more singles." He turned to leave and cross back to the deli counter.
"That's it?" she said, "You're not even going to mention last night? I'm dying to hear what happened after I left."
"Ah, well..." he said. Then he smiled and stared at the floor. He wasn't going into any details about his back seat conversation with Brody. "We had a drink and then talked until I had to go home is all."
She leaned forward and looked around to see if anyone was listening. Then she whispered, "Did you get into his pants? Or better yet, did he get into your pants?"
He stepped back and adjusted his apron. "I can't believe you just asked me that question. Let's say it was a very good night and leave it at that."
"I knew it, he did get into your pants," she shouted. She started jumping up and down, clapping her hands together with the bottom of her palms so she wouldn't make too much noise in case the old man was sneaking around in the storage room. "I want details now."
Chance couldn't hold back a smile, but all he said was, "It was a great night, and I'm going back to prepare a batch of potato salad now." Then he turned and walked away.
"Are you getting together again?" she called after him. "At least tell me that much."
He was laughing out loud by then. He turned and said, "I really don't know. Maybe." He didn't like discussing such intimate details with anyone, but he was also secretly getting even for that ride that nearly caused him to puke all over the amusement park.
The market
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