Chills, page 3
“’Bout what?” Jared asked, looking at him, mystified.
“About this new Buddy Holly compilation.”
He stopped inches away from Jared, totally ignoring Meg.
“You know how much I like Buddy Holly.”
Jared shot a quick smile at Meg as if they shared a secret even though she had no idea what it might be.
“Umm, Phil. I—ahh, hate to break it to you, but Buddy Holly hasn’t been making any new records for quite a while. There was this plane crash…”
“Yeah, but I don’t have this one.”
Jared shrugged again and shook his head as though deeply saddened.
“You think I keep track of every CD you own?” he finally said.
Phil dropped his hand and then seemed to notice Meg for the first time. He nodded at her sharply and said, “Oh. Hi. Meg, right?”
Meg nodded, surprised that he even knew her name. They had barely spoken to each other before.
“Your aunt said you were coming by to help. Nice to finally meet you.”
Phil held his hand out to her to shake. When they touched, she noticed that his hands were cold and damp, as if he’d washed them recently without drying them carefully.
“You, too,” Meg said, not saying that they had met several times before.
“You’re on semester break, huh?”
Meg nodded, not wanting to talk about it. Her initial impression of Phil didn’t improve much, now that they had actually spoken to each other.
Without a word, Phil continued walking up the aisle to the front desk. Lady Gaga cut off abruptly, and in the sudden void of silence, Ashley shouted, “Hey! I was listening to that.”
“Correct verb tense…was,” Phil said.
“I know how it feels, Ash,” Jared said, loud enough for her to hear.
Phil’s head went out of sight behind the register desk as he bent over the stereo system and fiddled with it for a moment. A few seconds later, Buddy Holly’s song “Maybe Baby” filled the store. The volume was cranked to the same pitch it had been with Lady Gaga, so the speakers rattled and cracked with static.
“Is this how it’s going to be all night,” Meg asked, “people arguing about what music to play?”
Jared looked at her steadily and then rolled his eyes.
“It’s like this all the goddamned time,” he said with perhaps a bit too much vehemence in his voice. “I can’t stand Lady Gaga, but I’m not much of an oldies fan, either. Your aunt will straighten it out once we get working. She’ll probably say it’s a compromise if we listen to Barry Manilow or classical music all night.”
“Ugh,” Meg said. “I’d take Lady Gaga over either one of those any time.”
She couldn’t gauge Jared’s reaction by his expression, so she tried to think of some way to shift the conversation. Thankfully, she didn’t have to because the music suddenly clicked off, and Aunt Bessie’s voice came over the loudspeaker.
“Okay, boys and girls. Let’s all gather in the office so we can get started. The sooner we get to it, the sooner we’ll be out of here.”
Meg glanced at Jared, who had a thin smile on his face. He was looking over her shoulder toward the store window. Suddenly fearful that he, too, might be seeing whatever it was she thought was out there, she wheeled around. All she saw was a blank wall of whiteness. The snow was coming down hard now, blocking out the view of the parking lot.
“We’re not getting out of here until the plows come, anyway,” Jared said. With that, he and Meg with Phil and Ashley tagging along behind them headed for the backroom and Bessie’s office.
~ 5 ~
Aunt Bessie’s office was set off from the large storage room by a thin partition of two-by-fours and unpainted drywall. It was curiously reminiscent of her apartment—small and cozy. It didn’t take much to be out of place for it to look messy. Tonight, it looked like a tornado had blown through. Where the shelves weren’t stacked high with CDs, the walls were festooned with posters, mostly of ’60s and ’70s rock bands and performers. There were cardboard standup displays—one life-sized one of Elvis—and clutter everywhere.
Her desk—a gray and black steel monolith of an old-school desk—was covered with teetering stacks of CDs, various manila files stuffed with bills and invoices, outdated music business magazines, at least a dozen clipboards with lined sheets of paper, and two glass jars filed with an assortment of colored pens and pencils.
Even having one or two extra people in the room was a challenge, but now there were four—Meg, Ashley, Jared, and Phil. Two more—Kimberly and Tyson—were expected any minute now. Even as everyone was shifting stuff around, trying to find a place to stand or lean, the backroom door slammed open. They heard a muttered curse from the stockroom, and a few seconds later, Tyson, a large black man, his arms laden with a large “Box of Joe,” two boxes of donuts, and a paper bag from Dunkin’ Donuts bumped the office door open with his hip.
“A little help here?” he said as he looked around for some place to put down his burden.
Jared stepped up and took the box of coffee and the paper bag from him while Bessie pushed things aside on her desk to make room for the rest of the stuff. A few papers slid out of the top folders and cascaded onto the floor. Meg made a move to bend down and pick them up, but she hesitated when she realized she couldn’t get around Tyson’s bulk.
“What do you say we take this meeting out to the work bench?” Bessie said, and everyone agreed. They followed Tyson and Jared out of the office and over to the large table where they shipped and received product. After arranging the coffee and boxes of donuts, they all gathered around. Tyson opened the bag he was carrying and pulled out a stack of paper cups, napkins, sugar, creamer, and some stirrers.
“So how’s the driving?” Bessie asked, noticed the thick layer of snow on Tyson’s head and shoulders.
“Getting pretty crappy. I saw a couple of cars off the road, especially on Flagstaff Drive.”
As soon as he said that, a chill lanced through Meg. She tensed and looked around the room as though expecting to see…
What?
The backroom was colder than the store, and when she exhaled softly, she expected to see her breath, rising like mist.
“Don’t let me forget to pay you back for all of that,” Bessie said, smiling as she opened the top box of donuts. Her eyes lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning as she studied the array of glazed and sprinkled treats. After flexing her fingers like a concert pianist loosening up to begin his grand opus, she picked a glazed donut and took a bite.
Phil shrugged out of his coat and hung it on a peg on the wall next to the door.
“Any word from Kimberly?” Bessie asked as she chewed. Some sugary glaze was smeared on a corner of her mouth, but she wiped it away with her forefinger and then licked her finger clean.
“Call her cell,” Phil offered, looking around for approval as if that was an original idea.
“She’ll get here when she gets here,” Bessie said, waving her hand dismissively before taking another bite of donut. She chewed for a moment and then said, “We can get started without her.”
“Save the merchandise at the front desk for her, then,” Jared offered. “That’ll piss her off.”
Bessie finished her first donut and then took a paper cup. After fiddling with the “Box of Joe” until she got it working, she started filling cups for everyone. Once everyone had their coffee, she added cream and sugar to hers and then leaned back against the table while taking a slurping sip.
The rest of the crew had been holding back, but when Bessie said, “Com’on. Let’s chow down,” all of the regulars pressed forward to reach for donuts. Ashley and Meg held back, waiting for everyone else to dive in first. Jared noticed her hanging back and signaled for her to help herself before he got his.
“You’d better hurry, though,” he said. “Once Phil gets started, everything’ll be gone.”
Phil overheard the comment and glanced over his shoulder at Jared.
“Fuck you,” he whispered as he chewed some donut. When Jared saw the crumbs on Phil’s chin, he sniffed with laughter and turned away.
The crew chattered and joked, insulting one another for the next ten minutes or so as they ate donuts and swilled coffee. Meg was feeling nervous and out of place, so once she got her coffee and a donut, she backed and watched the interactions in silence.
One thing that was blazingly obvious was how Tyson thought a lot more of himself than the rest of the crew did. He pontificated about a variety of things, mostly his vast knowledge of jazz, but beneath his brusque exterior, Meg sensed a huge insecurity. Phil, on the other hand, was good-humored and kept up a near-steady stream of conversation laced with off-color jokes punctuated by laughter. Most of his jokes were at Tyson’s expense.
Of all the workers, Jared seemed the most serious. He frowned at the goings-on as if he took his job seriously, and all he wanted to do was get the job done as quickly as they could so they could all go home. Ashley, still scowling, stood off to the side by the office door while Aunt Bessie was…well, Aunt Bessie. Meg found it amusing how the crew—even Tyson—hovered around her like she was their Cub Scout den mother.
Jared came over to where Meg was standing and muttered comments under his breath about how lame Tyson and Phil were—especially Phil—but Meg felt so out of place she kept her responses to herself.
“All rightie, then,” Aunt Bessie said, brushing donut crumbs from her chest. “We—” She glanced at Meg. “Most of us, anyway, have done this all before—”
“Too many times, if you ask me,” Jared whispered.
Again, Phil overheard him and turned to glare him.
“You know, Jared,” he said, “you keep threatening to head out for sunnier climes. Why don’t you do us all a favor and leave?”
“Don’t think I don’t want to,” Jared said. And then, adopting an exaggerated Jamaican accent, he added, “Yeh, mon. Me go to Ja-may-ca and be hangin’ wid de’ Rasta mon, don’t’cha’ know.” He raised his coffee cup as if toasting Phil and took a gulp. “Irie ’ights, mon.”
Aunt Bessie was scowling as she listened to this exchange. When she’d had enough, she clapped her hands together once, loud enough to give Meg a start.
“For Meg’s sake and to refresh everyone else’s memories—” She looked long and hard at Jared and Phil. “Let’s go over it once more.”
They spent the next twenty minutes reviewing the inventory procedure. There was a lot more to it than Meg had imagined, and her expression must have revealed what she was thinking because Jared leaned closer and said, “You can work with me. I’ll talk you through it as we go. You’ll get the hang of it in no time. It’s not as bad as it sounds.”
“Umm…thanks,” she said, nodding. When she glanced at him, she thought…no, she was sure that she detected more than friendly helpfulness in his offer. She blushed at the thought that he might find her attractive. She wasn’t ready for it, and she jumped when a sudden gust of wind outside hit the side of the building hard enough to make a loud thump against the steel back door.
“What the hell?” she said.
“Wind’s starting to pick up,” Phil replied, and everyone was quiet as they listened to the high-pitched whistling sound that came from outside. Another, harder thump sounded against the metal door.
“Sounds like someone’s trying to get in,” Jared said with a nervous laugh.
“Maybe it’s Kim,” Phil suggested.
“She’d use the front door like everyone else,” Jared said with a disdainful look.
“Maybe security’s locked the door already…or maybe the storm’s bad enough she didn’t want to walk around to the front.”
While they were arguing, Tyson went to the back door and opened it a crack. Another sudden gust of wind actually pushed him back and forced the door open. He had to struggle against a blast of swirling snow to pull it closed.
“Jesus! It’s really blowing,” he said once he got the door shut and made sure it was locked. He wiped snow from his face and shivered, his teeth chattering.
“It doesn’t matter what it’s like outside,” Aunt Bessie said as she picked up a stack of clipboards. “Ty, grab some pens for everyone.” She started handing clipboards out to the crew. “We’re here for the duration, boys and girls, so let’s get to it. At the rate we’re going, we’ll be here until spring.”
~ 6 ~
As they walked out onto the sales floor, somehow once again a Neil Young song was playing over the speakers. The volume was turned down low enough so no one seemed to mind, but as Meg and Jared walked over to start counting CDs in the ROCK section, Meg noticed that Jared kept a wary eye on the front desk. He was ready to challenge anyone who might try to change the music when his back was turned.
“Don’t most places, like, hire a company to come in and do the inventory with electronic scanners and stuff?” Meg asked.
She hated how she sounded so stupid whenever she spoke to Jared, and she had to admit it might be because she found him kind of interesting. He had graduated from high school two years before she had, and she had been surprised, actually, that he had told Aunt Bessie that he knew her from school. Jared had never hung out with any of her friends.
“I mean, aren’t bar codes so last millennium.”
Jared cracked a smile and said, “Not your aunt. She says it’s good to do things the old-fashioned way. Keeps things real.”
“That sounds like her. But keeping it real might mean not keeping up with the times, which might explain why sales are so bad she’s selling the place.”
Jared laughed and said, “If she had her way, we’d still be selling eight-tracks.”
“Eight-tracks?”
Jared regarded her in silence for a moment and then said, “Yeah. You know. Eight-tracks. The old kind of tape?”
Meg stared at him blankly, looking at him like he was speaking another language. She decided to let it drop and turned back to what she was here for. But just as she started counting the first row of discs, someone or something slammed into the front gate of the store, making the metal grill rattle so loud Meg let out a squeal as she spun around to see what it was.
She had no idea what she was expecting, but the sound had made her think of a car crashing. She couldn’t believe her relief when she saw a young girl, Kimberly, standing outside, her fingers hooked in the metal grill.
“Someone gonna let me in or what?” Kimberly called out. Her hat and shoulders were thick with snow, and she didn’t look at all happy.
Meg had met Kimberly in the store only a couple of times before, but in her few interactions with her, Meg hadn’t gotten all that good an impression of her. While she seemed nice enough, she struck Meg as perhaps a bit over-demanding—high maintenance. She was pretty in a retro-hippie kind of way, with long, blond hair, green eyes, and a killer figure. Meg thought she might be a bit stuck on herself.
Jared ran up to the front desk and pressed the red button. The gate started to rattle up, and when it was only a few feet up, Kimberly ducked under it.
“You better have saved some coffee and donuts for me,” she said as she whisked off her snow-covered hat and gloves, and shook them. Melting snow splattered the wall and some merchandise. Jared stepped back onto the sales floor after hitting the button to lower the gate again. He had a scowl on his face.
“Sorry ’bout that,” Kimberly said, “but what do we care? It’s not our stuff anymore.” Before Jared could respond, she shrugged off her coat and started down the center aisle toward the backroom door.
“Damn, it’s cold,” she said as she went. “Is the heat on?”
With that, she went into the backroom, no doubt to see if there were any coffee and donuts left.
“Well, that’s our Kimmy,” Jared said when he rejoined Meg in the ROCK section.
Meg smiled weakly, but her nerves were still jangled from the crashing sound Kimberly had made on the gate. It wasn’t hard to figure out why the sound had reminded her of a car crash. She couldn’t stop thinking about the car accident that had happened a year ago tonight. Her chest felt like it was constricted by iron bands as she turned to focus on the job at hand, but she was beginning to feel that the sooner they got the job done and were out of here, the better off they’d all be.
~ 7 ~
Phil and Tyson had started in the video section at the back of the store and were working their way to the front. They both stopped what they were doing and watched Kimberly as breezed past them.
“Dream on,” Phil said with a wicked smirk crossing his face.
“Huh?” Tyson said, looking at him, bemused. “Whadda’yah talking about?”
Phil’s smirk stretched into a wider grin that made him look for all the world like the Cheshire Cat. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to as he turned back to his work, but it wasn’t ten seconds before Tyson snarled and said, “Is there any way to turn the speakers off back here? I’m sick and tired of Neil Young.”
Phil laughed, sensing that Tyson’s frustration wasn’t at all about the music. It was his unrequited love—no, maybe “love” was too strong a word—but he felt something for Kimberly. “Infatuation” might be closer to the mark.
“What’s the matter?” Phil said. “Neil Young a little too ‘pop’ for your taste?”
Tyson’s scowl deepened and he lowered his gaze and shook his head, looking like he had to stuff his reaction down deep inside him or else he’d lash out at Phil.
“I don’t see why Jared gets to dominate the choice of music.”
“Yeah, like you don’t when you get the chance?”
“Speaking of ‘pop,’ though, I gotta go pop my cork.”
With that, Tyson put his clipboard and pen down on the DVDs he’d been counting and started toward the backroom.
He swung the restroom door shut behind him and threw the bolt, thinking it’d be just like Phil to pull some childish stunt while his defenses were down. He breathed a sigh of relief, though, because the music wasn’t piped into the bathroom. He’d much rather have some soft jazz on or, if he could get away with it for more than five minutes, maybe a little Miles Davis or some Coltrane.
