He looked down and let his hand run smoothly over his black tie as he exited the shop. He calmly looked up and squinted as the sun pierced his eyes, giving the slightest hint of a smile as he headed to his car. Opening the door of his sleek but plain Mitsubishi, he gave a final look around the sun drenched parking lot before opening the door and turning the key, letting Chris Isaak fill the interior with his smooth voice and meticulous guitar pickings.
Michael sighed a pleasant little sigh to himself. Baja Sessions was among his favorites, and it was particularly ideal for the somewhat stressful day he'd had. Too many idiots to deal with, all these people thinking they knew more than him about engagement rings and such. He only worked in the fucking store, but what did he know?
He decided he'd make a quick stop at the mall on the way home; he'd heard many good things about the new Beck, and every week or so he got mentally fidgety without a new source of music. He scratched at the back of his neck as he drove, the stress gradually dissipating within him. "One more day until Saturday," he reminded himself. The whole week in general had been more or less unpleasant, and though he took it all in stride as he took just about everything, everybody has their breaking point.
Michael parked in front of the steakhouse entrance to the mall and slowly stepped out. He had a bit of an odd swagger to his walk, as though he'd taken a great deal of dancing lessons in his youth; a bit subtle, but present nevertheless. As though some soft yet catchy staccato bass line was always playing in his head. His head was always cocked slightly to a side, not in an arrogant fashion, just a natural inclination. Today it was the left. Michael approached the door and stepped inside the mall, feeling the air conditioning engulf him. He grinned as moved on to Virgin Records.
Tamara was overloaded. On her payday she had a habit to take a quarter of her check and splurge it the typical way one with very little will power does. She had a Barcadia and an Oliphant bag slung over her right forearm, as well as two fairly large Kint & Bickle bags in her left hand. She was headed for the exit when she heard a familiar voice from behind her.
"Hey, beautiful... want a hand?"
She turned slowly to see Michael Fenster, a former coworker from her current place of employment, as a server at the prestigious but dripping-with-drama Dorsia's. "Michael!" she smiled at him.
Michael grinned back and took two of her bags. She had always liked the sparkle his mahogany eyes gave off when he smiled in any way. She let out a laugh as she observed Michael's ensemble; The black designer suit with the bright dark red shirt and black tie. "No wonder Perry always said you were gay," she smiled with her hand over her little mouth, "you're always better dressed than the rest of us."
Michael chuckled, not really sure if that was sarcastic or not, but that was what he liked about Tamara. She was the only woman he knew that would join in with his dark sort of jokes. That was why he had quit Dorsia's; the last offensive jocose comment he had made was that "wheelchairs are for bitches" and every coworker with Tamara's exception finally tired of him.
"Well, I do try," Michael said in a mock lisp, continuing "which reminds me, I have to renew my Cosmo subscription today."
They laughed for a bit and Tamara turned her attention back to Michael's face. She'd always found him extremely attractive, with his bold brown eyes and well leveled black hair. His cheeks were seemingly sculpted to form a perfect facial shape that was neither too skinny or wide, too long or short. His eyes were always slightly squinted, and she couldn't figure out why exactly she liked that. Maybe it was just him.
"What were you up to," Michael started, "besides the obvious?"
Tamara looked off thoughtfully, her green eyes distant but still full of kaleidoscope-like color proportions. "...not a whole lot, to be honest."
"I'll buy you lunch?"
Michael always had a very cool and collective attitude; she remembered that being one of the first things that attracted her to him. She nodded, sporting a snotty and disgusted look. "I guess."
They both laughed as they walked out together. "What should I do with my bags?"
"We can stop by your car if you want."
"I guess we could."
"Could we?"
"Sure."
They walked over to the blue Honda about ten spaces away from Michael's car and Tamara opened up the trunk. Michael looked her over appreciatively; he'd always had a thing for Tamara, and running into her here and taking her out to lunch was no tragedy by any means. He watched her sway her long brown hair from her face to behind her back in an inadvertant grace as she placed the bags he handed her into the back of her trunk around her spare tire. She was wearing a fairly tight fitting dark blue blouse with a nice looking black knee length skirt. She was very slender and her body seemed to flow. Her legs were shaped almost perfectly up to her tight rear and midsection just below her medium sized chest. Michael realized that he had handed her the last bag and was still staring and she was looking back at him. He forced a little laugh and said, "so there's Harman's, and right next to it is Kardon. Do you prefer one, or..."
Tamara looked at both undecidedly. "Neither of us are very decisive, are we?"
Michael nodded. "Oh, I think I have a solution," he smiled as he reached into his pocket for a coin. He pulled it out as Tamara closed her trunk and said "Harman's can be heads."
He flipped the coin and it landed tails. "I guess it's Kardon, then, huh?"
"I guess."
