Panic In Aisle Five

Welcome back, gentle reader.

This is something spawned by a video I saw while researching (ie, wasting time) on social media. I am not taking a position on the actual video and I took events in a different direction than what was recorded... but sometimes, a seed of an idea is all it takes.

I didn't look for an editor for this one, so all mistakes/typos are mine, and I am sure there are a few. As always, all feedback--good, bad, or ugly--is welcome. Thanks for reading!

#

Cherise stretched her arms over her head, yawned, and rolled her head from side to side. The muscles in her neck popped and a sharp

crack

echoed through the tiny room.

Paulette shivered. "That always makes me cringe."

"What?"

"Listening to you grind the bones in your neck." The rotund white woman sipped her drink. "Better be careful or you're going to break your neck, and you're already broken enough."

Indignation flared. "What do you mean?"

"Well, look at that hair."

"Oh," Cherise said, more relieved than she wanted to admit. She touched the hair black curls that she wore swept up in a pineapple style. Cherise thought it was flattering. "There's nothing wrong with my hair."

"You just don't have the good fashion sense I do. Probably has something to do with you being too skinny. Not enough fat to run your brain."

Cherise made a face. Paulette wore her hair cut shorter than most men in the military and probably weighed twice as much as her. Nevertheless, she was a sweetheart and Cherise was glad to have her as a coworker and a friend. "You're not as funny as you think you are."

"Of course I am. Age brings wisdom ... and a superior sense of humor."

"You've got two years on me, Paulette. That's hardly old."

"My body tells me otherwise every day." Her eyes flicked to the clock. "Guess we better get back to it before Mr. Stuck-Up wanders back and throws a fit. Once a shift is enough."

"Yeah, you're right." Cherise had already suffered a tongue-lashing from her manager for not completing the daily inventory quickly enough. Matty always came back from the weekends in a bad mood for some reason and took it out on the employees.

Every freaking Monday

, she thought. She scraped the remains of her microwave dinner into the trash, ran her hands under the sink, and dried them. "Let's get back to it."

The two women exited the employee lounge. They took a few steps through the warehouse, pushed through the swinging double doors, and entered the madness.

Before the doors had even swung shut behind them, a middle-aged woman pushing a full cart skidded to a halt in front of them. "Excuse me, where can I find the pizza sauce?"

Cherise and Paulette exchanged a knowing look. The latter said, "It's actually on Aisle Eleven, with the snack foods, about halfway down on the right."

The customer blinked in confusion. "But ... shouldn't it be with the pasta sauces?"

Paulette laughed. "Believe me, honey, we've been asking ourselves the same thing. Come on, I'll show you." She ambled to their left, toward the described aisle. The customer followed, still wearing a slightly puzzled look.

Cherise shook her head. A lot of the chain's stocking decisions didn't make sense but no one had ever asked her opinion. She tugged the lower edges of her bright red vest toward her belt and limped toward the Customer Service counter. Her leg ached but then, it often did.

She spotted her manager Matty conversing with another employee at the far end of the store and turned up Aisle Five to avoid him.

Conversing? "Chewing out," is more like it.

A customer opened a cooler door as passed and a blast of cold air rolled over her skin. Cherise shivered. She'd only had short-sleeve shirts left in the closet that morning, and faced with the choice of either wearing a lighter garment under her work vest or wearing something dirty, she'd opted for the clean one. Payday was still two days away and until then, there was no money to go toward laundry. Her ratty overcoat served as scant protection against the harsh Milwaukee winter but it was all she had.

Cherise rubbed her still-chilled arms and grumbled to herself that like the villain in the third Indiana Jones movie, when it came to her clothing decision, she might have chosen poorly.

She had almost reached the end of the aisle when a cart rolled around the corner, being pushed by a black woman. At first, Cherise thought nothing about her. The woman was nondescript, being average in appearance and dress. She didn't have a wild hairstyle or attire, and her skin was a mid-chestnut tone that was a shade lighter than Cherise's own. She wasn't screaming into a cell phone or doing anything else to draw attention to herself.

Then Cherise's eyes fell on the half-filled cart and she froze.

A toddler perched in the child seat of the cart--a little boy, she guessed, maybe a year old, with dark curls and bright, expressive eyes. The child wore a diaper, white socks, and nothing else. Cherise scanned the cart for a jacket, a coat, anything. She saw none.

Her mouth fell open.

It's ten degrees outside, and she brought this little baby out naked? What the hell?

As if echoing Cherise's thoughts, the child shivered and whimpered. He stretched his arms toward the woman, who didn't even look his way. Her eyes did, however, flick towards Cherise. "You need something?"

"N-No," Cherise stammered. "I just noticed your little boy. He's adorable."

"Huh? Oh, yeah he's fine." The woman shrugged and made to push past Cherise.

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself. "I'm sorry to ask but do you need help?"

The customer stopped her cart. "Why?"

"Your little boy looks really cold."

"He's fine."

"It's below freezing outside and he doesn't have any clothes on. Can I get you a coat for him or something? A blanket?"

"I said, he's fine."

"That's not safe for an infant. He could be seriously hurt. He's already shivering."

The woman's face wrenched in a snarl. "Hey, bitch. Mind your own fucking business, 'k?"

Cherise recoiled, stunned by the woman's tone. "You don't have to--"

"Shut the fuck up!" The child started to cry and the mother snarled again and took a step toward her. "Now look what you did."

When she looked back later, Cherise supposed she'd been caught in a classic "fight or flight" moment. Her throat constricted and her breathing accelerated. Before she knew it, her own hands had curled into fists, and her lips pulled back from her teeth. "Don't blame me. He's probably crying because he's so cold that he's in pain."

"Shut up before I--"

"No, you shut up. You know what, I'm tired of you already." Cherise pulled her cell and dialed three digits.

The operator answered immediately. "Nine-one-one, what's the nature of your emergency?"

"This is Cherise Wilcox at Valor Foods on West Grange Avenue. We have a case of child abuse happening right now in the store."

The woman yelled and lunged at her. Cherise ducked and retreated, still holding the phone to her ear. A bolt of discomfort shot up her bad leg. "She just tried to attack me. Send help now."

The customer grabbed a can from the shelf and hurled it. Cherise tried to dodge but was too slow. The tin glanced off her forehead. Pain blossomed. Her vision blurred and she stumbled against the shelf. She was vaguely aware of foodstuffs tumbling loose. Cherise clutched at the shelves in vain before slipping to the floor. Her knee popped and she vaguely hoped she hadn't broken something.

New shouts filled the air on the edge of her awareness, followed by a cry of pain. A moment later, hands wormed under her arms. Cherise struggled but a familiar voice said, "Now don't go fighting me too."

"Paulette?"

"Yeah. Let's get you on your feet."

The other woman helped Cherise stand. Sticky wetness covered her forehead. She touched it and stared at the scarlet on her fingertips. Cherise's stomach twisted. She shut her eyes and took several deep breaths. After a few tense seconds, the nausea faded. She realized the shouting hadn't stopped. Cherise blinked, trying to focus her vision.

The customer lay on the floor--or rather, she had been pinned to the floor by Barry and Sal, two of her fellow employees who worked the butcher counter. The woman screamed at the top of her lungs and thrashed but the men held her tight. The infant's cries had risen to screams, matching that of her mother.

Cherise touched her head again and sighed.

Every freaking Monday.

#

"All right, Ms. Wilcox, I think we have everything we need." The officer flipped his notebook closed and produced a card. "Would you please call me if you think of anything else?"

Paulette snatched the card from the man. "She will. Can she go to the hospital now?"

"Paulette, please." Cherise wanted to shake her head at her friend's mother-hen antics but quick movement made her temple throb. "The paramedics said I didn't have a concussion. It's just a scratch. I'll be fine."

Her coworker gave her a look Cherise interpreted as "this conversation isn't over."

The officer took the opportunity to excuse himself and hurry out the store's automatic doors. Cherise resisted the urge to follow him and peek in the backseat of the cop car parked just outside.

It had taken three officers--all fairly large men--to haul Latanya Lacroix to the car. She had screamed and fought like a wildcat, cursing the cops, Cherise, Valor Foods, and the world in general. Being placed in the car hadn't stopped her. She'd started kicking the rear door windows until one shattered. She'd been in the midst of worming out when one of the cops finally lost his patience and tased her.

Cherise pursed her lips. She'd never been a fan of police violence. Her head pulsed again and she thought maybe, in the case of Latanya Lacroiz, just once she'd make an exception.

Paulette exhaled loudly. "Well, that was exciting. Aaron's going to love to hear about this."

"You think?"

"No, he'll be bored but he'll listen or I'll box his ears."

Cherise chuckled. She'd hung out with Paulette and her husband many times. Aaron was a good egg and she knew he and Paulette loved each other a lot.

The other woman's next words wiped the grin from her face. "The little boy. CPS took him, right?"

"Yeah."

"Foster care?"

"I don't know," Cherise said with a shrug.

She

didn't

know. The worker from DMCPS--the Division of Milwaukee Child Protective Services--had taken custody of the boy, whose name turned out to be Jaylen, and assured Cherise that he would be given a medical exam and be treated for any problems before they looked for a place for him. If a father was in the picture, he'd be contacted. Otherwise, the boy probably

would

be placed in foster care.

I hope that's not what happens. I wonder if I should ...

She made herself stop.

No. I did my part ... my "good deed of the day." I can't control what happens for Jaylen now.

She glanced up and down Aisle Five. The fallen products had been picked up, the objects in Jaylen's mother's cart replaced.

Guess there's nothing to it but to get back to work.

"Miss Wilcox!"

Cherise stifled a groan and turned to face her approaching boss.

She'd always thought Matty Darwin was a little twerp but not really a coward. Now, as the obsequious man marched toward her with a frown on her face, she couldn't help but wonder where he'd been during the confrontation. He hadn't even appeared until the police had secured the thrashing woman, at which point he materialized out of nowhere and pompously informed everyone that he was in charge of the store. She'd watched Matty fume as her fellow employees all ignored him. The cops asked him if he had been present for the incident and when he admitted he hadn't, the police also ignored him. After a few moments, he'd stomped away.

Now, he was back, bearing down on her. Cherise stood up straight. "Yes, Mr. Darwin?" She hated that this skinny young man ten years younger than her--and who only had his job since his father was a high mucky-muck in the Valor Foods chain of command--demanded all employees address him as, "Mister" but since she needed her job, she'd done it.

Matty came to a halt in front of her and crossed his arms. "Well, you made a mess of things, didn't you?"

Cherise blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Do you recall what is stated in paragraph fourteen of your employee agreement?"

She resisted the urge to sneer at him. She had no idea what was in the paragraph and was sure he knew that. "No, I don't."

Matty gave a smug nod. "It says that Valor Foods employees will never confront a customer, regardless of reason--that a manager or the authorities need to be called."

A sinking feeling filled her stomach. "Mr. Darwin--"

"You opened this store to liability and lawsuits. What if that woman had hurt someone?"

"She did hurt someone!" Cherise pointed at the small bandage on her hairline. "Aside from me, she was freezing that little boy. He could have died! Did you expect me to stand there and do nothing?"

"I

expected

you to do your job. I've already spoken to the regional manager." A savage grin crossed his face. "You're fired. Clean out your locker and get out."

Sudden faintness assailed her. "B-But ... I ..."

"No 'buts,' Miss Wilcox. We'll deposit your last check, as normal. But you're done here." Matty gave her one more smirk, then turned on his heel and walked away.

Cherise plodded to the employee break room, her thoughts growing darker with each step. She didn't feel her bad leg. She didn't feel the wound on her head. The only thing on her mind was the minuscule balance in her checking account, and how little she was going to be able to eat if she wanted to make rent.

Fighting back tears, she gathered the handful of things from her locker and left the store, for the last time.

#

Cherise sighed. "Oh, well. Thanks for the call back."

"You're welcome, and sorry we didn't have anything for you" replied the perfunctory voice.

She curled her lip as she disconnected. They didn't really sound all that sorry.

Twenty-five inquiries. Sixteen applications. Eight phone calls and four interviews. No jobs.

She'd spent the past week pounding pavement, looking for anyone that would take her on board. It had been a fruitless campaign. Despite her experience and qualifications in retail and warehousing, nobody was hiring. Nobody was interested. She knew jobs were tight all around but even places with significant turnover didn't seem to have anything.

Cherise glanced at her leg.

Stop dwelling on it. That's not going to pay the rent.

Almost on cue, her stomach growled. Her eyes flicked to the studio's kitchen nook, where a box of cheap spaghetti waited on the counter. Her last box.

Panic clawed its way into her thoughts. Cherise closed her eyes and steadied her breathing until she fought it back.

So what if I am out of food? Rent's due in three days and if I so much as breathe on my account, I won't have enough to cover it. Never mind that I am going to get hit with a service charge for maintaining such a low balance, never mind ...

Her vision blurred and she lowered her head to her hands for several sob-filled moments.

After a minute, Cherise wiped her eyes. She picked up her phone and stared at it.

Call them?

Her parents would welcome her with open arms. They'd asked her intermittently for the past five years to move home, or at least closer to home. With her world collapsing around her, the temptation to run into her mom and dad's arms was stronger than ever.

She placed the phone on her battered coffee table. She didn't have to make a decision right that second.

THOOM! THOOM!

The heavy bang on the door startled Cherise to the point of nearly leaping from her couch. She wasn't expecting anyone and no one had knocked on her door since the last time she'd ordered take-out, many months earlier.

She slowly pushed her way off her seat and hobbled to the front door. She kept a crowbar just off the side, leaning against the door frame. In her state, the idea that she could fight off an intruder was ludicrous but having it there made her feel a little better. She peered through the eyehole but the flickering light in the hallway meant all she could see was a vague outline. Cherise pressed her mouth toward the door. "Who is it?"

"Ms. Wilcox?" a man's voice asked.

"Yes?"

"Ma'am, could I speak to you for a moment?"

Cherise weighed her options for a moment ... then shrugged, worked the deadbolt, and opened the door. The light from her interior fell on the man. She blinked and froze.

Her visitor was a black man with the same skin tone as her, though he was a good foot taller than her own sixty-four-inch height, and broad through the shoulders. His jacket was draped over his forearm. He wore his long dreadlocks swept back from an open, honest face--

and not a bad-looking one

, she thought. Her eyes moved up and down his body, taking in the toned arms exposed by his polo shirt, narrow waist, and long legs clad in trousers that looked awfully good on him. Her gaze reached his polished Oxford shoes, then traveled back to his face.

Not bad at all.

On seeing Cherise, the man smiled. ""Hi. I'm Jordan Malone."

She raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"Jaylen Lacroix is my son."

Cherise blinked. "Oh my gosh. Is he all right? They didn't tell me anything after, uhm, what happened in the store."

"He's fine now. CPS found me the same day and gave him back to me with temporary custody."

"Good." A terrible thought occurred. Cherise's hand drifted toward the crowbar and she wondered if he had come to her because he was upset about Latanya's arrest. "I'm sorry about his mother."

A scowl marred his face. "Don't be. We've been divorced for six months. The attitude she had in the store is the main reason for it. Unfortunately, she got primary custody of Jaylen."

"Sorry to hear that. What can I do for you, Mr. Malone?"

The snarl disappeared and he smiled again, his teeth pearly white against his skin. "Please, call me Jordan."

"Only if you call me Cherise."

"Fair enough, Cherise. As to what you can do for me ... I need your help."

"With?"

"I'm going back to court next week to try and get permanent custody. I'd like you to testify at the hearing about what happened--not just about the fight but about Latanya endangering our son. She's saying that everything was blown out of proportion, and that Jaylen had a coat. The CPS caseworker told me he wasn't even dressed."

"I ..." Cherise took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Jordan. I'd love to help. I would. But I am neck-deep in my own problems right now. I don't think I can spare the time."

"But--"

"Look, Valor Foods let me go after that incident. I don't have a job now and I have no idea how I'm going to make ends meet. I'm glad Jaylen's okay and I wish you the best for getting your son back but ..." She bit her lip. "I have to worry about myself right now."

"Do you want a job? I'm hiring."

"Huh?"

Jordan spread his hands. "I have my own business and we're always looking for hard workers. I can give you an advance, too, if you need something to get by."

Cherise stared at him, wondering if the universe was playing tricks on her.

At any other time in my life, if a tall good-looking man with a killer smile showed at my front door, offering me a job, I'd swear I'd hit the lottery. I don't even care if it's wiping a stadium toilet with my own shirt, I'd take anything right now. But how can I do that, if he wants me to testify? If his ex finds out, she'll make it out that he paid me for my testimony. It could wreck his whole case.

Jordan apparently took her silence as reluctance of another kind. "Cherise, I promise this doesn't come with any strings attached. Even if you don't want to testify, the offer for the job is there. It's the least I can do for someone who helped Jaylen."