Becca
Authors: Dean Krystek
Becca
Dean Krystek
©2012 Dean Krystek
All Rights Reserved
I
Becca passed the service
station many times before and she had never given it a glance. Yet this evening
the young attendant, tall with unkempt long hair, caught her attention as he
cleaned a car’s windshield. Her eyes could not leave him. Unwelcome emotions
rose within her.
“Hey, watch the damn
road,” Greg said.
Becca flushed. “Sorry.”
“What the hell were you
looking at?”
“Nothing…sorry.”
“Are you okay? You seem a little
frazzled.”
II
Becca was distracted again
two nights later on her way to the dance.
“What
are
you
looking at?” Gail asked her. “You should watch where you’re going.”
“She’s looking at him,”
Barb said, pointing at the gas station and the lanky young man standing next to
a car as he filled the tank.
“Him? Really? Uh-oh…”
Gail said and caught herself.
“What’s that mean,
‘uh-oh’, what’s that mean?” Becca asked.
“He…reminds me of—”
Becca held up her hand.
“Stop right there. He does not.” She glanced in her inside rearview mirror,
caught a glimpse of the young man, and felt a touch of melancholy so she took
her eyes from him.
“Geeze oh man, why don’t
you just turn around and get some gas?” Barb kidded.
“I don’t need gas,” Becca
said.
“You need
something
.”
“Don’t we all,” Gail
mumbled, and giggled with her friends. “But don’t let Greg catch you looking.”
“I wasn’t
look
ing,”
Becca said.
“No, you’re right. You were
staring
.
Next time,” Barb said, tapping her friend on the shoulder, “bring a camera so
you can take a picture.”
III
Bert noticed the girl
when he walked into the A & P. Her ponytail bobbed and swirled as she
loaded groceries into the bag for an elderly gentleman. When she finished, she
favored the man with a smile that wrinkled her nose and spread her pouting
lips. Ringing up the next customer’s order, she glanced at Bert and for a
second they held each other’s eyes. As she brushed a few wayward strands of
hair away from her forehead, a slight smile tugged at the corners of her mouth,
and then she turned her attention to the customer.
When Bert returned to the front of the
store minutes later, the girl glanced at him, and then quickly looked away. He
took his items to a different line and watched her, but she made to effort to
look at him again.
IV
Three days later, Bert entered
her checkout lane.
The girl smiled politely.
“Good afternoon, find everything?” She said pleasantly and then took her eyes
from him as she rang up his few items. Her face held traces of fading summer’s
freckles. Her green eyes gleamed under long lashes.
Bert said, “Yes.”
Her head snapped up; her
eyes met his. “What?”
“Yes…I mean, yes, I found
everything,” he stammered.
“I’m so glad you did. I
hate unsatisfied customers…or is it dissatisfied customers?”
He shrugged. “Both mean
the same thing, right?”
She flashed a smile.
“Yes, I suppose they do. Anyway, that will be one eighty-four.”
He handed her two dollars and her long,
manicured fingers plunked the change into his palm. “Thank you for shopping the
A and P.” Her smile widened and Bert felt a smile tug at the corners of his
mouth.
V
The Mustang pulled into
the station and stopped at the pumps. Bert set down his book and walked out to
the car.
The driver flipped down
the visor and began adjusting her makeup in the visor mirror. It was the girl
from the A & P. Her perfume wafted out at him and he enjoyed the aroma.
“Hi,” she said not
looking at him. With her seat pushed all the way back her miniskirt provided a
good view of her thighs. “Fill it up, please.”
Bert inserted the nozzle into
the Mustang’s filler tube, grabbed some paper towels and the spray bottle, and
started working on the windshield, doing the passenger side first and then the
back window. Next, he set to work on a large insect carcass on driver’s side
windshield.
The girl flipped up the
visor and watched him. Their eyes locked for a few seconds before both looked
away. Bert redoubled his efforts on the windshield and the girl concentrated on
the radio. A cacophony of sounds came from the speakers as she turned up the
volume and ran through the stations at the same time. She settled on KQV,
lowered the volume, and sat back in her seat.
The windshield finished,
Bert waited for the pump to click off.
The girl said, “Hey, my boyfriend
says I should have my oil checked every now and then. Can you do that?”
“Sure,” Bert said. Checking
the oil, he found the level was good, but the oil was black. “It’s okay,” he
said, “but you need an oil change. It’s dirty.”
“Oil gets dirty? Imagine
that. I mean…who would think it was ever clean? Do you have a bathroom for
customers?” She nodded at the small building.
Her change of subject
caught him off guard. “It’s around the other side.”
“Suitable for a girl? Does
it have a mirror? I’d like to check my make-up. Can’t see a lot in this
rearview. How’s my make-up look? Does it need a touch-up?”
Her questions came
rapid-fire and Bert just said, “Yes.”
She frowned. “What? My
make up
does
need a touch-up?”
“No. No I was answering
your question about the cleanliness and the mirror.”
“Oh, good. Because you
never
tell a girl, her make-up’s all screwed up, even if it is. Do I need a key?”
“No. It’s open.”
The pump clicked off and
Bert reseated the hose as the girl got out of the car. He watched her walk
toward the building. Though slim, she had great legs and enough of a jiggle to
her rear end that he could not look away. Her hair cascaded down her back and
shimmered under the lights. When she reached the building, she paused and
glanced over her shoulder, giving him a quizzical look before disappearing
around the corner of the building. He felt the heat of embarrassment rise in
his cheeks. He waited by the car, and the girl reappeared in five minutes.
As she approached, she
avoided his eyes, instead looking down at the pavement until she was a few feet
away from him. Then she favored him with a sweet smile. “You were right, it was
very clean. But the light wasn’t that good. However, I believe I look fine.”
“Sorry about that.”
“You’re sorry I look
fine?”
“No, about the light.”
She flicked her hair back
and pointed her index finger at him. “I know you, don’t I? You look familiar.”
“You checked me out.”
“What? Why
would I
check you out?” She sounded indignant, and put a hand on her hip.
“You checked me out—my
groceries.”
She nodded slowly. “Oh,
yeah. That’s where I know you from. You sized me up while you were in line.” She
smiled slyly. “Don’t deny it.”
In talking to her, Bert
found his words coming without effort—something that surprised him. He seldom
talked to girls because he had met few who had wanted to talk to him. He had
made a connection with her…and he didn’t want to break it, so he decided to
play along. “I don’t recall doing that.”
“Well you did—and just
now, too. Like what you saw?” She favored him with an exaggerated look of
indignation on her face.
He could not deny he’d
stared, yet he didn’t feel she was angry. Her beauty attracted attention so she
was used to stares. Bert was also the object of stares, only people regarded
him with a look that was somewhere between disdain and pity.
“I may have glanced in
your direction,” he said nonchalantly, sensing she wanted him to say something
witty.
She shook her head. “You
were ogling me.”
“Ogling you? I don’t
believe I’ve ever done that before.”
“Okay…ogling is a harsh
word. You were staring. Are you telling me you’ve never stared at a beautiful
girl before?”
He paused before he
spoke, gathering his thoughts. She had a whimsical-like smile on her face and
he knew that she enjoying this. “Yes, I have.”
“Of course you have. All
guys do that.”
“But I wasn’t staring at
you,” he said quickly.
She let her mouth shape
into a pout. “So I’m not pretty? You’re the first guy who would not find me
attractive.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t
attractive, I said I wasn’t staring at you.”
“I don’t believe it…so,
did you
like
what you saw?”
“I didn’t see much.”
“You’re saying you
were
looking and there wasn’t much to
see
? My God, do you know what that
makes a girl feel like? That’s a terrible thing to say.”
“Then I take it back.”
“Can’t. For your
information, and so you don’t make the same mistake again, girls like flattery
and compliments, not criticism.”
“I stand corrected.”
She opened the driver’s
door and gave him an exaggerated pained look. “You’re a real smart aleck aren’t
you?”
“I haven’t been called
one of those since I was a kid.”
“Well, you are one.”
“A kid?”
She sighed and a veil of
frustration passed over her face followed by a look of bemusement. “No—a
smart
aleck.
” She sat down on the driver’s seat and he closed her door. “Why
thank you. How polite you can be when you want to.”
“You are very welcome.” He
tried to avoid her eyes that had not left him. Normally he felt nervous when people
stared at him. She was different—she wasn’t appraising him. He said, “I don’t
mean to be.”
“You don’t mean to be
polite? What you’re rude and obnoxious all the time?”
“No I don’t mean to be a
smart aleck.”
“What’s your name?”
“What do you want to know
my name for?”
“I’m writing a book about
smart alecks. Why won’t you tell me your name? You don’t like it?”
He would make light of
the truth she had unwittingly revealed. “No, I don’t like it.”
“So, what is this name
you don’t like?”
He countered with, “I
have three brothers.”
“I asked you what your
name was, not about your family.”
“I know. I’m getting
around to that.”
“I’m in a hurry.” Her eyes
dropped to the car’s clock and then gave him her undivided attention.
“See, my brothers’ names
are Matthew, Mark, and Luke.”
She smiled. “Oh, so that
means you’re—”
“Bertram.”
“Matthew, Mark, Luke, and
Bertram?
Oh, I didn’t mean to laugh.”
He shrugged. “It’s funny
when you say it that way.”
“Yes, but I shouldn’t
have laughed. Can I ask why you’re not a John?”
“You’d have to ask my
mother that.”
“So, Bertram—”
He shook his head. “No.”
“No?”
“Not Bertram.”
“Bert? Do I call you
Bert, then?”
He shook his head. “Call
me Josh.”
“Why would I call you
Josh? Is that your middle name?”
“Leslie is my middle
name.”
“So why don’t I call you
Leslie? Let me guess, you don’t like that name either. But why Josh?”
“I like that name.”
“Why?”
“It has a nice ring to
it. I like the sound of it.”
“I suppose it has a good
sound,” she said. “You don’t look like a Josh.”
“No? What do I look like?
Don’t tell me you think I look like a Bertram?”
“You’re definitely not a
Bertram. You look more like a Leslie.”
“Get out.”
“I’m serious,” she said
and crossed her heart. “I can’t help what you look like—I mean that you look
like a Leslie.” A slight flush colored her face. “So, how about…how did you
arrive at Josh for your…um…nickname?”
“I told you it has a nice
ring—I like the sound of it. You weren’t listening.”
“No.” She shook her head.
“No, I guess I wasn’t.” Her smile set her eyes ablaze and wrinkled her freckled
nose, “I don’t know any Joshes, so I’m not sure I know what they look like.”
She glanced at the car clock again. A frown creased her forehead for a moment,
and then she was smiling. “I do know a Leslie, and come to think of it, you
don’t look a bit like him, so I may have misspoken.” She shrugged. “You look
like whomever you want to be, Bert—er…
Josh.
Anyway what I was going to
say like a million minutes ago is that I don’t appreciate you staring at my
legs.”