Water

                                                             WATER 


   Julianne went over her plans for her afternoon off as she walked through the door of Scheherazade’s Closet on the morning of Christmas Eve. The owners stared at her. Annabelle was a small, shrewish woman with foggy glasses and perpetually smeared lipstick. She was wearing a shapeless one piece Alpaca dress that looked like a hair shirt. Estelle was large. Her breasts had a life of their own each independent of the other. Her arms were stick like and tended to wave around suddenly for no reason. She was wearing a faux leopard low cut dress. A matching beret jumped and wiggled on her head as if it were hiding a terrified mouse running around in her thinning hair. She exposed a row of yellow teeth and informed Julianne that, contrary to what she had been told, the shop would not close at noon but seven in the evening. Julianne offered Estelle and Annabelle a winning smile and cursed them under her breath. The salary wasn’t much above minimum wage but it was a job. If she lost it, there wouldn’t be another. Brick and mortar retail in the city was on it’s last gasp. The only gigs left were small businesses staffed by relatives and long time employees. She wasn’t a long time employee although five years seemed like an eternity. Her studio was under rent control and because she had lived there since the last recession, no make that the recession before last, the rent was manageable. Thanks to food stamps, she stayed afloat in spite of the bank garnishing her wages for the interest on her college loans, a mountain of debt that got her a master’s degree and a job as a shop girl. What the hell, at least she wasn’t being tormented by the collection agencies anymore and the job wasn’t bad when the bags left her alone. The old biddies could be intolerable but they always managed to fork over a couple of hundred bucks at Christmas. Her cell phone was failing and she desperately needed that bonus.
   She made busy work arranging and rearranging rows of women’s apparel hand made of the finest fabrics. At noon she swallowed a bag of nuts in the tiny back room. Panic rose in her and she hammered it down with desperation. Six women came in the store and Julianne made four sales or rather she almost made four sales. Estelle managed to swoop in the last minute and take over.
   After the last sale, Estelle tapped Julianne on the shoulder. “You must have noticed me stepping in on your sales. It’s for your benefit or rather the benefit of the store. Annabelle and I have noticed of late your somewhat dismissive demeanor to our customers. We feel it best you refrain from interacting with them for the immediate future.”
   Julianne was thunderstruck. Where did this come from? If she had been rude or distant to a customer, why hadn’t she been told when it happened? How could she be punished without even being warned? Was this an excuse for skipping her bonus this year? Was this the first blow in an assault to force her to quit so they wouldn’t have to pay unemployment? The thought of being homeless terrified her. Her lips moved silently as she struggled for a response.
   Annabelle threw her a steely glance. “And that goes for the phone as well.”
   Julianne polished gleaming mirrors so furiously they rocked on the walls, dusted spotless shelves down to the grain and straightened piles of expensive couture as high as she could reach. She had to keep her temper. She had to keep her job. She had to get her bonus.   
   Annabelle glared at Estelle and Estelle glared at Julianne. At one minute to seven, Estelle rummaged in her faux leopard purse and pulled out a small gift wrapped box. She shoved it in Julianne’s hand as she ushered her through the door. “I’m sure you understand that weak sales preclude any bonus this year but Annabelle and I thought you should have something despite your questionable performance recently. We’ll see you bright and early the day after tomorrow.”
   “But my cell phone is failing!”, gasped Julianne.
   Estelle rolled her eyes. “Well, fix it.” She closed the door in Julianne’s face and mouthed Merry Christmas through the glass.
    As Julianne watched the shade drop, Estelle’s words bounced around in her head. Questionable performance? No bonus?  Weak sales? But sales had been great this Fall. The women had been on a shopping binge and clucked proudly about the new restaurants they had tried. How the hell was she supposed to survive without a phone? She had no savings. Her credit was maxed out. The veins on her temples throbbed. She thought of the gift in her hand. She recognized the wrapping paper from the store. She tore it off and examined a brightly printed cardboard box. But there was no plastic seal. It looked like it had been opened. There was a slight tear on the lid. She lifted it and pulled out an atomizer full of clear liquid. There was no pamphlet or description of any sort, not even a label on the bottle. She recognized Estelle’s hand writing on a piece of paper. “A wonderful H2O moisturizing dispenser for your face. Merry Christmas.”
   A bottle of water? Julianne trembled with rage. I work my ass off all year long and the God damned hags humiliate me then give me a God damned bottle of water?
   Her world spinning around her suddenly snapped still. She pounded on the door. The shade slowly rolled up. Julianne motioned turning the latch. Estelle opened the door a crack. Julianne threw all her weight against it almost knocking Estelle off her feet as she lurched into the store. The two hags stared at her in astonishment. Julianne closed the door behind her and locked it. She slowly pulled the shade.
  

copyright 2018
Richard Talbot Hill