Applying the Lesson

I playfully punched Mike on the shoulder. "It's not the food, it's the adventure."

His eyes lit up. "Adventure in a small café?"

"Well, it's not so much the café as the people it brings past my beach store, whom I side-track in."

Mike frowned. I had to clarify.

"Sales in itself gets tedious. I'm a jester and performance artist. My customers are my props."

His frown deepened. "What do you mean?"

I laughed as I told him about offering people bathing suits that were clearly inappropriate for them. He didn't seem to appreciate the humor. The waitress brought our food, and he concentrated on his sandwich.

" Sometimes customers don't realize just how sexy the bathing suit is," I explained.

"How can they not see that?"

"We carry a line of bathing suits that look modest but are transparent when wet."

He lifted his eyebrows. "I hope you warn your customers."

"I once had a gorgeous couple passing on the street, business associates it seemed. They were planning for some conference in Florida, so I was able to drag them in. They clearly weren't married, but I pretended they were. She had a wedding ring, he didn't. They behaved with each other like they wanted to keep their distance." I was proud of myself that I had been able to understand their relation.

Mike put the sandwich back on his plate and picked up a long French fry. He dipped it in ketchup and pointed it at my face. "How did you pretend they were married?"

"I put them in a changing room together. He came out while she tried on the outfit I suggested, but when they changed back into their regular clothes, they did it together. That gave me a lot of satisfaction. I was able to make two people feel more comfortable with each other."

"Maybe they shouldn't have been so comfortable."

I shrugged.

"Did they buy anything?"

"The bathing suits that turn transparent when wet. I didn't warn them."

Mike's eyes widened; he stuck the fry in his mouth and picked up another.

I reached over and took one from his plate. I pretended to lick and suck on it before popping the fry into my mouth. "I'm quite proud of what I accomplished. When they came by a couple of weeks later, they went into the changing room together, trying on wide mesh bathing suits that expose everything. I made them more comfortable with their bodies, more comfortable with each other. My role was to unite two people who had been separate while together."

Mike pulled out his phone and started looking for something. He leaned forward and turned the screen towards me. It was a picture of the woman. I was amazed; thrilled that Mike was getting into my performance. "Yes, that's her! Have you got one of her lover?"

"They're married now."

"You've made my day, Mike. No, you've made my week. I am going to fuck your brains out this weekend."

He looked at his watch, then stood up, throwing money on the table. "I'm late for work. I have to go." He left without another word, without a backward glance.

What the hell? Why did he suddenly decide to go back to work? Why did he have a picture of the woman? Maybe he just didn't appreciate art. I recalled his dislike for the Fringe Festival performance. I'd have to remember to stay away from stuff like that when with him. I pocketed the twenty dollars Mike left on the table and pulled out my credit card. Tax deduction and all that... I'd give him the money when he came around to buy another bathing suit. I was sure he would be back soon, considering how I sucked him off the last time he bought one. If not, I'd give him the money when I fucked his brains out on the weekend.

I stayed on the sidewalk in front of the store till closing time, but no Mike. I was pissed; I called his boss, who said everyone was very busy at work. Seldon seemed surprised by my inquiry, but with his usual discretion, didn't say a word.

I decided to go all out the next day in front of the store, wearing a thin bikini bottom, no top, and a beige, gauzy blouse. I got plenty of attention from people passing by and rung up quite a few sales from guys. There was no sign of Mike though. I hoped I hadn't missed him while serving another customer. And no, I didn't go into a changing room with anyone.

Pedestrian traffic had eased off by late afternoon, so I decided to call Mike's office. He wasn't high enough on the totem pole to have his own voicemail, so I left a message with the receptionist: "You're a prick."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Please give Mike the following message: you're a p-r-i-c-k, prick."

I had told Mike that the promotion I was running at the store was keeping me very busy. He probably hadn't called because he didn't want to disturb me. My message should at least get a smile out of him.

The sale ran till closing time on Saturday. Mike knew that I was free. In fact, I had promised to fuck his brains out over the weekend. On Sunday morning while still in bed I called John Seldon.

"Is Mike McNeil sick? I haven't heard from him."

"I'm fine, thank you. How are you, Carrie?"

I hated when Seldon got sarcastic with me. He knew I loathe meaningless pleasantries. No one really cares when they ask, 'how are you?' I played the role for him. "How are you, Mr. Seldon? Is Mike McNeil sick? I haven't heard from him."

There was a long pause before he answered. "Mike McNeil is fine, but your relationship with him is dead."

"What?"

"The photo Mike showed you in the restaurant; the woman whose marriage you destroyed: Mike was close with her husband. Our firm, Mike especially, was involved in the investigation and divorce. You ruined the lives of friends he valued. Even if they had been strangers to him, Mr. McNeil did not like the way you flippantly destroyed people for your own amusement."

"John, that isn't what it was. You have to speak to him, get him to call me. It's art, and good art has a price."

"Carrie, firstly it's not good art, and secondly, if it's your art, you should be the one paying the price, not your victims. They might still come after you in court."

"If I talk to Mike, I can explain my role. He'll understand. He's smart, he knows literature. He appreciates theatre."

"Mike is on his way to Dallas now, with a woman he was interested in before he met you."

"How could you let him...?"

"I'm finished, Carrie. Your father asked me to set you up with men, with smart men, who would be good for you. Mike is third I suggested. You either sent them away or drove them off with your antics. I've told your father 'no more.'"

"No more what?"

"No more anything. No more setting you up with guys, no more taking care of your store's self-inflicted legal problems, no more getting you out of intoxication or dangerous driving charges... Find yourself a lawyer, Carrie. At your usual rate, you'll need one soon."

I wasn't buying it. "You're the family lawyer."

"You can add your father and me to the list of relationships you've ruined. We'll still be friends, but I've suggested your dad find another law firm. I don't want to have any conflicts, and I can't represent his interests without getting entangled in yours. Goodbye, Carrie. Please take care of yourself." He hung up.

I put my phone down on the night-table and looked at the clock. Ten-thirty was early for me to get up on Sunday, but I wasn't going to fallback asleep. I poured my coffee and toasted a couple of waffles. When my father came in he scowled but didn't say a word. Was he pissed that I had lost another boyfriend, or because he now had to change law firms? I didn't really care, to tell the truth. He poured himself a coffee, sat down opposite me, raised his eyes to mine and sipped. I ignored him, but when I was mopping up the syrup with the last bite of waffle, he spoke.

"One hundred thousand."

I stuffed the syrupy piece of waffle in my mouth and lifted my coffee.

"It's coming off your letter of credit."

What does that mean? He had my attention. "What are you talking about?"

"Changing attorneys is going to cost my business about a hundred thousand dollars in direct expenses and lost time. I put up a hundred thousand dollars letter of credit to get your store going. I'm cancelling that."

"You can't! I've always got around fifteen to twenty thousand dollars on the line of credit to support our inventory. The bank won't let you cancel, and if they do, the store will go under."

"It's already arranged and the documents prepared. I found a third party to take over the loan, at the same interest rate as the bank. They're giving you six months to pay it off or they foreclose."

"You can't do all that without talking to me. Sun Beachwear is

my

business."

"Yes, but it's been kept afloat by my business. It's time to make it your own, for real. Your alternative is to go bankrupt and lose everything. Your employees will be out on the street, with no severance pay. I presume some of them are friends. How will they feel when they learn what you've done to them?"

"No one at the store knows that I'm the owner."

'They don't know...?" My father sighed and stood up. He brought his empty coffee cup to the sink and left the kitchen without a word.

I ran after him. "Dad!"

He turned. "What?"

"This is all so fast."

"When your ex-boyfriend got back from the office and reported to Seldon how you destroy lives for entertainment, the decisions kind of made themselves. John simply took care of the paperwork. If you're ready to sign the new loan documents..." my father glanced at his watch "...before two o'clock, he'll send over a notary to witness the documents. If not, well, good luck." He resumed walking towards his study.

"What the fuck, Dad; it isn't fair to drop this on me. I'll sign the damned documents. What choice to I have?"

He continued to walk away.

"Dad, I'll sign. I apologize for swearing."

He stopped but didn't turn around.

"Dad, I'm sorry. Please allow me to sign the documents and keep Sun Beachwear in business."

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, turned enough to glance at me, and pressed a speed-dial button. "John? She's agreed... You'll be here in forty minutes? Thank you."

It didn't take long; I barely read the documents before signing. If they wanted to screw me there was nothing I could do about it anyways, so the simplest thing to do was cooperate. Seldon gave me copies of everything, hugged my father, wiped tears from his eyes and left. What was he crying about- separating from his friend or losing the billable hours?

I didn't cry. I limply shook Seldon's hand and mumbled goodbye.

"Last year Beach Sunwear incurred about twelve thousand dollars in legal fees, mostly from carelessness. You can't afford such expenses anymore."

I looked at my father. "I don't remember any such bills."

"Seldon melded them into my legal fees. My business could afford them more easily."

"Ask your new lawyer to do the same thing."

"No, dear. You must find and pay for your own lawyer. Whoever it is, he'll probably want a retainer to take you on as a client; maybe a few thousand dollars. You better avoid legal problems from now on."

"Dad..."

"I helped you get the business started so you could learn responsibility, not as a platform for your so-called art. Not as a weapon to destroy people with. I'm not supporting that."

"It's not..."

"You've really disappointed me, Carrie."

I turned and walked to my room.

On Monday morning I didn't feel like getting out of bed to open the store. Kyle, the manager also had a key and the alarm code, so I could leave it to him. He reported to the store's accountant, and while he may have suspected that I was more than Promotions Manager he never said anything. I glanced at the clock; six-thirty. I concluded that I was too wound up to fall back asleep. Kyle would have company at opening time.

The first customer walked in around eleven-thirty. She looked middle aged, not fat, but not too thin either. Her wardrobe said upper middle class. As she wandered around the store, I speculated about what I could do with her. I finally walked over and offered assistance.

"I'm going to the Bahamas with my husband for a couple of weeks. I need something that isn't revealing but will still hold his interest. I don't want him spending our beach time looking at other women."

I pointed out the section with one-piece bathing suits that would be in her size. "Each outfit is different. You have to look at each to decide if it shows enough or too much."

"Let me just browse then. I'll show you what I like, and you can give me your opinion."

I went back to the counter and waited. After a few minutes she approached me holding a one-piece white bathing suit with faint turquoise marking. "Is this too risqué, the way the back is exposed?"

It was the same model bathing suit that I had sold to Julia Anderson, except the back on this version went much higher. I smiled to myself.

"I don't want my husband to feel I'm flaunting myself."

I took a deep breath, took her hands, and examined them briefly. I spotted what I was looking for on her left hand, put it flat on the counter, and covered it with the bathing suit. She tried to pull back. "Please, allow me to show you something." I took out a water bottle and poured a little water over her covered hand. She gave a little squeal from the wetness.

"Look at your hand."

She looked, not noticing anything special.

"You have a tiny birthmark at the base of your left index finger. It's hardly noticeable."

"Yes, so..."

"Look at your hand through the bathing suit."

Her right hand flew to her mouth as she realized that the small mark was completely visible.

"This line of bathing suits is perfectly modest when dry. When it's damp, it's virtually transparent. People will see your nipples, they'll know whether you shave your pubic hair. If you're sitting the right way, they'll see the outline of your genitals. If those are things you want to show off, this is perfect for you."

Her face turned a bright red.

"Let me help you pick out something more appropriate."

"Does anybody actually wear bathing suits like this?"

"Intentionally, not often. They've caused problems when people bought them, not knowing..."

"I can imagine. Thanks for warning me."

It took about fifteen minutes for us to find the right swimwear. She could have worn something a lot sexier, a lot more revealing, but I let her make the choice as to how much she wanted to display. As she went through the door, Kyle came up behind me.

"What was that all about?"

"What do you mean?"

"Since when do you care about what the customer wants? Her first choice was five times the price of what you sold her."

"Maybe she'll be a happy customer and send more business our way."

He smiled. "Are you changing the store's business strategy? What happened to 'amuse Ophelia?' I thought that's our corporate mission."

I walked over to a rack where my customer had left a bit of a mess and began straightening. "Our corporate mission is to make money for our capitalist owner."

"Really?"

"Whoever that may be," I added.

"I'm not sure who she is, but she's pretty obnoxious."

"She?"

"Yeah. And she's not a very good capitalist either."

Kyle had my attention.

"Just this morning the store was going to sell a two-hundred-dollar swimsuit. Thanks to her new policy of keeping customers happy, it sold a forty-dollar swimsuit. Last week she refused to serve a customer wearing a MAGA cap. Our owner is a lousy capitalist."

It took me a moment to digest this. "You think I'm the owner?"

"Oh, also... the owner's hot. Even better, she's somewhat of an exhibitionist. She has great nipples."

I stepped closer to Kyle and put all my strength into slapping his face. My fingers stung from the impact. It must have been a good slap. His head was tilted down, but his eyes met mine.

"You're fired," he said.

"You're firing the owner?"

"You denied being the owner, so unless you're lying, you're fired. Since you slapped me in view of the security cameras, I can tell you that you're fired for cause, no severance. Fight it and I use the recording to press assault charges."

I sagged. My father had warned me about getting into more legal trouble, and here I was doing it again. The depth of the problem ripped through the artistic license I had awarded myself. I slowly sucked in air through my teeth, not wanting to lose control, not wanting to lose the store. "Kyle..."

Claire and Jason walked in, our afternoon staff. There were no customers, so I grabbed Kyle's hand. He pulled it quickly back.

"Please Kyle, let me talk to you. Come next door, let's have a coffee or muffin or something."

"Lunch hour's approaching. I'm the Manager. I can't leave the store short-staffed."

"Please Kyle, just for a quick coffee. I know you're the Manager, a terrific manager. I, I..." Kyle grinned as I tried to keep a placid expression. "I'm the owner, a really crappy owner," I whispered.

"Yeah, but you make up for it with your fantastic nipples."

I didn't know whether to hit him again, or cry. He didn't leave me a choice; he took my hand and led me next door, ordering us each a coffee and offering me a napkin to wipe my eyes. My cup was half empty before I could compose myself enough to speak. "How did you know?"

"There had to be some reason for you being bossy towards the rest of the staff, even the store manager. I know you're a spoiled, bitchy narcissist, but your arrogance went beyond that."

"Am I that bad?"

Kyle looked in my eyes. "Yes."

He put his arm on the back of the seat next to his, stretched out his legs and watched me. I put my cup down, picked it up to take another sip, and placed it back down.

"Want another one?"

I shook my head. "We should go back to work."

"You're fired. Remember?"

Did he really think he could fire the owner? Well, could he? "Kyle..."

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For slapping you, for being so self centered, for being such a spoiled bitch."

"Are you really sorry?"

"Yes, and for lying about being the owner. Can you forgive me?"

"I can, but you're still fired. Go home." Kyle stood up to leave.

"Are you really firing me? I'm your boss."

He had another big grin on his face as we went through the door. "I'll let you stay under one condition."

I decided to play along. "What's the condition?"

"You change our corporate mission from 'making money for our capitalist owner.' The new one will be 'making money for our sweet, sexy capitalist owner with fantastic nipples.'"

"Leave my nipples out of this." What was he up to? He gently took my hand and led me back to the store. Another question came to mind. "Are you calling me sweet?"

"Oh, no. You're still a bitch. But if you want to work at Sun Beachwear you have to be sweet, or at least pleasant. Can you manage that?"

"Let's see how it goes." I turned to Jason and Claire, who were standing near the cash register looking confused. "Since it opened, the store's been running on the basis of playing roles. We all used pseudonyms. If you all are okay with it, I'd like to drop that. I'm Carrie, not Ophelia."

"Like in the movie 'Carrie?' Are we in danger from your telekinetic powers?" I was trying, but Kyle was mocking me. " I'm no longer Antonio," he said. "Claire can be Claire, rather than Portia? Why are you making these changes, Ophelia? Did our characters bore you?"

Jason, not Horatio chimed in. "Why are we changing things on your say-so, Ophelia?" What about the owner, or at least the Manager's opinion?" He nodded towards Kyle.

I let out a big sigh. "I owe you all an apology for deceiving you. I own this store. I started it and make all the major decisions, hiding through the accounting firm. Kyle didn't know, or at least no one ever told him. He was smart enough to figure it out himself."