A Not-So-Simple Life (8 page)

I keep hoping that Vivian’s mood swings will even out, but I’m beginning to think that, like Shannon, she is beyond hope. I’m fairly certain that she is beyond reason. I cannot understand how Em has lasted so long. Two years? I’ve only been here a little over two weeks, and I want to run the other direction every time Vivian opens her mouth.

“How long do you think you’ll work here?” I asked Em earlier today. It was safe to talk since Vivian had just left to meet some friends for lunch. I’m surprised that she actually has friends, or maybe she’s making that part up. Maybe she’s actually sitting by herself at a corner table and reading the paper as she nibbles on a Caesar salad.

“I don’t know…” Even though she was standing behind the counter, I could tell she was slipping off her shoes. Hopefully the video camera wasn’t catching this. Although I was sure Em had figured out how to avoid the cameras. I even had a suspicion that she might occasionally steal things, since I saw her carrying a pair of jeans over to a part of the shop that made no sense…except that it’s kind of a dead spot when it comes to the video camera. She set the jeans, which happened to be her size, at the bottom of a rack of oversize bags, and later that same day I noticed they had disappeared. Naturally, I would never mention this to anyone.

“Do you have any specific career plans?” I asked her as I made myself look busy straightening a rack of dresses (for the
sake of the cameras). “I mean, on down the line.” Em is twenty-two, and although she dropped out of college, I’d think she’d try to figure a way to complete her education.

“I used to think I wanted to go to design school.” She leaned her elbows on the counter—another huge no-no when Vivian is around. “But it’s a pretty competitive field. I’m not so sure now.”

“But if you really loved it…,” I tried, hoping to keep her talking. I can’t explain why, but I am so starved for friendship…it’s like I even imagine myself becoming friends with Em.

“Vic and I used to love doing music,” she said dreamily.

“You’re a musician?”

“Not really. I mean, I can sing okay. And Vic is really brilliant on guitar. We used to have a band.”

“What kind of music?”

“Jazz mostly. Cool jazz. And we were doing pretty well at picking up gigs, just local bars and stuff. But it was fun.”

“Why’d you stop?”

“It wasn’t paying the bills. Vic took a real job…and then life got busy.”

“It’s not easy being a musician.”

She nodded. “I know.”

I was pretty sure Em didn’t know about my dad’s career. Not that I want her to know, but I can usually tell if people know or not, especially if they are into music. Anyway,
I had a feeling Vivian hadn’t mentioned it to her. She probably didn’t want Em to treat me differently or something. I was tempted to bring it up just then, to keep the conversation rolling. But it seemed a little pathetic. Sort of like trying to buy a friendship—like “do you like me now that you know my dad is kind of famous?” So I didn’t say anything. And it was just as well since customers came in about that time.

Today is payday again. And I must say, I have mixed feelings about this day. On one hand, I’m totally stoked When Vivian hands me that white envelope with my check in it. On the other hand, I’m not sure how much of her guilt tripping I can take.

I thank her as I finger the long, thin envelope, suppressing the desire to rip it open.

She frowns slightly. “You know, I’m not used to employees who don’t make purchases in my shop, Maya. It hardly seems right.”

I want to point out that I cannot afford to purchase even a pair of socks from this ridiculously expensive store, but I bite my tongue and just nod in a way I hope looks a tiny bit sympathetic.

Then Vivian hands Em her paycheck, along with a catty smile. “Some employees have been known to take home
only a few dollars on payday…but at least their wardrobes improve.”

I look down at my outfit and realize that it’s not quite as chic as some I’ve worn in the past. I have on an aqua Chloe T-shirt topped with a little black vest from the thrift shop. I’m also wearing a pair of khaki capri pants using an old men’s tie as a belt, and on my feet I have those Prada slides I’ve already worn several times recently. And they are finally starting to feel slightly broken in. I might’ve done better with my clothes except that Shannon has been home for most of the week. A rarity that I should appreciate, but it does put a hitch in my fashion plans when I can’t go closet shopping. Apparently Vivian has noticed. Still, I remain mute. What you don’t say won’t hurt you.

Then on my lunch break, I go to the bank and make an even larger deposit into my savings. It feels so good to see the amount getting bigger. It gives me hope. I walk back to work feeling slightly lighthearted. Well, until I have to stop and put on my less-than-comfortable “work” shoes. Naturally, that brings me back to reality. But as I go into the back room to stow my purse, Vivian is waiting in the shadows, like a tiger about to pounce. I actually hold my breath as I walk past her.

“Someone’s been stealing from me,” she announces as I close the door to my locker. A locker that I’m fairly certain she also has a key to. Not that I care. I don’t have anything to hide.

“Shoplifters?”

She glares at me, then shakes her head. “No, Maya, this is an inside job.”

“An inside job?”

She nods in a sly way. Her eyes look like slits behind today’s red-rimmed glasses, and she stares at me like I’m the one to blame here. And even though I am not the slightest bit guilty, I almost begin to feel I have done something wrong. This is ridiculous.

“Well, don’t look at me,” I say in a tone I mean to sound light but might sound defensive.

“I am looking at you.”

“Why?”

“Why?”She repeats the word slowly as if she’s chewing on it, like a cat with a morsel of raw meat in her mouth.

I wait without speaking.

“Well, I don’t think it’s Em.”

“And?” I return her stare now. I can play this game too.

“And that leaves you, Maya.”

I simply shrug at this accusation. “Well, you can think whatever you like, Vivian. But I haven’t stolen as much as a paper clip from you.”

She makes a noise that sounds like harrumph, then walks into her office, where I’m sure she’ll carefully go over her precious videotapes. Well, fine. Let her. Maybe she’ll find the culprit. And maybe I was right about Em. Maybe she did take those Diesel jeans after all.

I tell myself to just shrug it off. The same way I might shrug off Shannon. Vivian will figure out I’m innocent. But even so, I feel angry and indignant as I return to work. As if it’s not bad enough that I’ve compromised my personal values to work here, now I’m suspected of thievery. I walk through the shop looking for something to do, something to distract me from fuming at Vivian and her stupid accusations. Then I notice Em standing behind the counter. She smiles at me like nothing’s wrong and announces she’s going to lunch.

I try to act natural as I smile back at her, but I feel resentful that Em might be responsible for this. Could she have somehow insinuated that I stole the merchandise? But why would she do it? Perhaps to draw attention from herself? But that’s so wrong. So low. And to think I was trying to be friendly with her. I should’ve known better.

Fortunately some customers come in, a very well-dressed couple who are probably my mom’s age, and I am distracted with trying to help them. And I’m surprised at how friendly they are. But then I’ve seen the woman here before, just a few days ago. Finally the woman says something odd to the man.

“See, what did I tell you about her?”

Now I’m not sure how to respond…or whether to, so I sort of step back, giving them their space. The woman opens her purse, a very expensive Ralph Lauren bag (I can
tell by the initials in the lining), and she removes a card and hands it to me.

“If you’re ever looking for work,” she says quietly, as if she doesn’t wish to be overheard, “you just give me a call.”

I blink and try not to look too shocked. “Thank you.”

She smiles, and the man nods, and then they leave. After they’re gone, I head over to the dead spot and read the card. The woman is the manager of the Ralph Lauren shop—a shop that is much nicer than this one. So I’m standing here, thinking that it’s flattering and in some ways tempting, when Vivian comes out and insists on knowing what I am doing.

I tuck the card into my vest pocket and look evenly at her. “I’m actually just standing here.”

“Why here?”

“Why not?”

“Hold out your hands.”

So I put my hands up, palms forward, as if she’s holding a gun on me.

“Empty your pockets.”

“My pockets?” I frown at her.

“Yes. Your pockets. Step over to the counter and empty them, Maya.”

I go over by the cash register and empty my pockets. This is a little embarrassing because I have, among other things, a used tissue, a dog-eared stick of clove gum, and my worry stone. Finally I set the business card down as well.

She examines the contents of my pockets and even picks up the stone. “What’s this?”

“A worry stone,” I say with a sigh, thinking I could’ve used it right then.

“And this?” She holds up the business card.

“Someone gave it to me.”

She scowls now. “And you have nothing else in your pockets?”

“Do you want to frisk me?”

She goes back to where I was standing in the dead spot and carefully searches through the bags to see if I’ve tucked something back there. Finally she seems to give up. But when she returns, she’s still looking at me in an accusatory way. “Why were you standing over there, Maya?”

I pick up the business card again. “I was slipping this into my pocket.”

“Why?”

“Because those people who were just in here offered me a job at their store.” I stand up straighter now. “And, as a matter of fact, I think I will take them up on it. I quit.”

She actually sputters at this. But ignoring her, I go to the back room, pick up my purse, and walk out. Then I march over to the Ralph Lauren shop, where I show the first employee I see the business card, and the next thing I know, I’m sitting in a very nice office and explaining to that nice woman, who
tells me to call her by her first name, what happened with Viv.

“Oh, I hope we didn’t get you fired,” Diane says.

“No, but my boss confronted me just now. She saw the card and wanted to know how I got it. So I told her the truth. She wasn’t very pleased, but to be honest, she’s not the easiest person to work for either.”

“So we’ve heard.”

And suddenly I am signing a tax form and explaining about my age and the work permit.

“Don’t worry about that,” Diane says. “The reason you caught my eye is because you look exactly like one of Ralph’s favorite models, and I thought we just had to get you in our shop.”

“Oh…”

“You’ll be working in sales, but I hope we can entice you to wear some of the clothing as well. Kind of a walking advertisement.”

I shrug. “Sure, that’d be fine.”

“Naturally, we’ll take the ordinary precautions so that none of the garments are damaged. And if you wish to purchase any, you’ll get a nice discount.”

Okay, I decide to lay my cards on the table this time. “The truth is, I’m working because I really need the money. I probably won’t be spending much, if any, of it on clothing.”

“I understand.” And then she smiles in a way that makes me think perhaps she really does understand. After that, a woman named Betsy puts together a work schedule for me that starts on Monday.

So it was that I began the day employed in one place and ended it employed in another. Go figure.

I
t’s odd how I don’t worry about Shannon so much anymore. I think it’s partially due to the fact that I’m distracted trying to earn a living, or maybe I’m just suppressing my real feelings. Anyway, Shannon took off Friday night, and it’s been three days since I’ve seenher. I figure she’s (1) out on another binge, (2) locked up in jail, or (3) dead. I know that sounds terrible, but after so many nights of fretting over her, I have developed my own survival tactics. I would include “in the hospital” on my list, but I assume someone would call me if that were the case. Okay, I really hope she’s not dead. Or even locked up. But it aggravates me to think she’s out bingeing again or partying. Seriously, someone as old as Shannon should know better. Shouldn’t she?

But I think that’s part of the problem too. It’s like she’s stuck in the mind-set of a twenty-year-old. Like she thinks she’s a Lindsay Lohan or Paris Hilton or even a Britney Spears. I wonder how those girls will act when they’re Shannon’s age. Will they ever grow up? Or are some people just destined to be messed up for their entire lives? And why is that
anyway? Well, enough of psychoanalyzing my mom. Talk about a formula for an instant headache.

Today was my first day working for Ralph. (Okay, Ralph Lauren wasn’t actually there, although I’ve heard he does come in occasionally.) Anyway, I have to say that it was a little bit better than working for Vivian. Well, other than the part about selling overpriced clothes to people who have too much time and money on their hands.

And there is still that thing with some employees…like there’s this hierarchy in the workplace. Or perhaps some consider the new girl to be a threat, which seems perfectly ridiculous.

After the manager of the women’s department, a tall, older woman named Monica, gave me the general tour, she invited me to wear one of Ralph’s latest designs. She held up a dark blue knit dress that didn’t actually seem too spectacular, although I liked it for that very reason. In a way it seemed rather ordinary and down to earth. Sort of like me. Well, other than the staggering price tag.