"Mr. Lim, would you like to see my breasts?"
She was staring up at him, her eyes fearful, for what ever reason that he might say no. He couldn't think of what he had done to be so lucky. Before this moment he had considered himself a failure of a man. His wife had left him for a limey bucktooth lawyer, Victor heard a few years later that his son blew his brains all over his Tupac posters because he a poof. At forty-two he was the cuckold father of a dead faggot, yet, things were decidedly looking better.
Standing before him was Talia Reid. She was nineteen years of age, skin like tawny milk chocolate and hair that looked like the sun might have gone black with envy of her beauty and wore now on her head like a crown to gloat. A small girl at only five foot four, yet her proportions were godly. He had long admired her form, it was the reason he hired her a year earlier. She had long dancer limbs, round bum, pleasing thighs and breasts that were nothing short of perfection.
He and his assistant manager, a squat Indian fellow often argued if those jutting mounds were real or not. His colleague believed they were fake because she was such a small girl and they were just too perfectly round , firm and full -- a true D cup - to be real. Victor's argument was that on her pay there was no way she had fifteen grand to waste on tits. His colleague's response was always the same.
"On her pay? Do you think she would pay for them?"
Her breasts were always the subject of hot debate.
It started easily enough, closing the store as usual. He had locked the doors put down the gate, turned off most of the lights, got some soju from behind the counter and poured himself a drink. Of course tonight was unusual because emerging from the weave section was Talia, can of spray paint in hand, completely unaware he was there. She climbed on top of the back counter shook the can and let its contents burst onto the wall. When she was done the words "TRY LOVING YOURSELF" was written across the wall and 'x' s were scrawled on pictures of smiling black women with permed hair and Pakistani extensions.
"What the bloody fuck do you think your doing?" Victor said flatly not angry about the vandalism or its political message.
The shop was already a crap heap as far as he was concerned. Talia, shocked that her seemingly well thought out plan had been foiled, attempted to turn to him but lost her footing and uncharacteristically fell gracelessly to the floor. Victor took a drag on his cigar and frowned.
"You okay?" he called out to her.
He got soft whimpering in return. He sighed and walked over to her wondering if she would try to get him for worker's comp. He looked down on her, which was the norm he stood almost a foot taller. She was biting her lip trying not to cry; on her left leg was a scratch that was barely bleeding. Victor returned to the main counter, took another gulp of soju, and got the first aid kit. He used to have a real kit, but it kept disappearing so all he had now was a zip lock bag with some alcohol pads and dollar store band aids.
He took the baggie and returned to her. Tears were now running down her cheeks despite her best efforts. He knelt down in front of her and nursed her wound then sat down beside her , mostly just to get a less obvious view of her cleavage ; cleavage that she was sporting nicely in her little black hello kitty tank top. She looked at the band aid that he put on her then drew her knees towards her and hugged herself laying her head on her knees. There was a little silence between them.
"So," Victor began, "are you going to tell me why you just vandalized the store?"
She turned her head to him and in a sheepish voice "Well... err... Umm... the... the Revolution?" she was convincing herself more so than telling him.
"Pardon?" he said after a drag on his cigar.
She nervously told him about the exploitation of Black women by individuals such as himself, who tell them that they need straight hair and such to be beautiful. She talked about Eurocentrism and other fresh old ideas that she was just learning about in her African studies classes. When she was done Victor arched his eyebrow.
"So, Marcus Garvey has what to do with weaves?" He admired the idealism of her age, youth's one true luxury.
His response struck her as funny and she laughed, he had never heard her laugh before. She smiled at customers her whole shift, but never laughed, it was the most attractive laugh he ever heard, not overly girly not too squeaky, just adorable.
"Laugh all you want, tomorrow morning you're the one that gonna be cleaning that shit. "
She turned his head to him and smiled he knew she had assumed that she would be in jail by tomorrow. She grew up in suburbia and this was the most illegal and rule breaking venture of her life. A college student who wanted to take a chance in the big city. She was no Angela Davis and very far from Assata Shakur, but her act of civil disobedience was as close as she would ever come. It had taken a lot of resolve and he imagined she was proud of it.
"Thank you" she said.
Victor began to feel awkward about the way she smelled exciting him so much; the mixture of her strawberry shampoo and vanilla body sprits was at that moment the most erotic scent to hit his nostrils. He took one last drag on his cigar and stood up to toss it in the rubbish near them. Talia was wearing a little jean skirt that showed off what an hour of dancing every afternoon will do for youthful legs. She was trying to stand up as well, without flipping it up.
Victor recognizing her plight offered his hand and she took it. She hopped up with his help and smiled at him. Victor smiled back, breaking a dead pan that he'd been wearing far too long. He noticed that the strap of her tank top was sagging off her shoulder. He thoughtlessly readjusted it, his rough old hands brushed against her brown skin momentarily and her skin was soft as a prayer.
His eyes must have lingered to long, or his un-tucked collared shirt wasn't doing as good a job as he thought hiding the beginnings of an erection because out of the air Talia opened her mouth and her tongue formed the question-
"Mr. Lim, would you like to see my breasts?"
Did I need air to breath? Was the sky blue? Is my ex-wife an uppity whore? Girls these days, feminism God bless you, Victor thought but out of his mouth he could only manage.
"Pardon?"
