Chloe worked at the drug store on the corner, selling painkillers to the happy geriatrics that lived in the home nearby. She wasn't perfect, at least by her own standards. Her hips were a little too round, her tummy pooched out like Buddhas', and her thick, stocky legs were designed for running across vast Scottish moors, hurdling sheep and the like. She always wore her hair down and preferred jeans to any other bodily cover. She also drank coffee, smoked Camels and read lots of books.
Loren knew these things. He made it his hobby to know things about her. Talk about a serious crush. He worked as a pizza delivery driver, and on some days off he'd stop by the drug store to buy a Coke and just stare at the vision behind the counter, twirling her hair and reading her dirty indie novels.
He'd engaged her in casual conversation from time to time, but her manager kept her busy at work, and he didn't have the balls to ask her out. He'd just sit and watch her round behind as she stooped to dust the low shelves of cheap drugstore knick-knacks, absorbing every imperfect detail of her soft body.
Today he'd bought a pack of cigarettes and asked her what she was reading.
"It's
The Lottery
, by Shirley Jackson." She held up the black and white cover for him to see. "It's all these little vignettes that are connected by this one character-I think they made a TV movie out of it or something, but I've never seen it." She smiled at him, revealing a dimple in the upper right hand side of her chin, just below and to the right of her lower lip. He filed this into his memory.
"That sounds interesting. I haven't read an entire novel in a long time." She nodded.
"Yeah, I hadn't either before I got this job. Now I have enough time to, at least when Joe isn't here." She motioned to the managers' office.
"That's cool." He didn't know what else to say. He'd been staring into her gold-green eyes transfixed, amazed that she hadn't looked away once the whole time they were talking. He finally broke the gaze after an awkward moment. He was about to ask her what time she was off work, even though he knew she got off at seven, when she spoke.
"You know, you come in here almost every day, and I don't even know your name." She grinned. He felt heat rising in his face and knew he was turning a bright shade of pink.
"Uh, my names' Loren. Yeah, I work down the street." He was too embarrassed to tell her he was a twenty-year-old pizza boy. He still wanted to impress her.
"That's a nice name. L-O-R-E-N, right? Not like the girls' name."
"Yeah, but I still got teased about it when I was younger."
"I think it's a great name. I got teased too. Some kids used to call me Chloe the Cow." She laughed, then stopped and looked a little embarrassed herself.
"I like your name too." Loren felt immediately protective of her. He actually felt a little anger toward the kids who teased this beautiful flower of a girl. He couldn't imagine anyone who'd want to hurt her. She was so warm. She had such a cool face with really animated, well-proportioned features. He wanted to see her smile again.
Just then, Joe the manager walked in. Chloe turned and immediately began straightening the display behind the counter. Joe's eyes narrowed as he looked at Loren. Loren half smiled and turned to leave.
"See you later, Chloe. Thanks for your help." He tried to cover for her, hoping Joe wouldn't get too pissed. Joe looked like a yuppie jerk who probably didn't even need a job, but whose daddy paid someone for him to be a manager at a quiet little drugstore, out of sight, out of mind. Loren knew guys like that, and did everything he could not to be one, even though his parents were pretty well off.
Chloe smiled and waved at him as he walked out of the store, and he could swear she looked just a little sad at his departure.
The next day, the pizza place made Loren close late. He left the restaurant in a bad mood, tired and mad that he didn't get to see Chloe. He drove home in a rush, eager to get to his little apartment so he could take a shower and masturbate. He was so tense, he'd even been smoking pot to relax. He missed Chloe when he couldn't see her, and since he didn't have many other friends, he was pretty much left to his own wicked devices. He imagined lying naked in his big bed with Chloe, sharing a joint and talking. He wanted to hear everything about her, and bury his face in her silky blond hair. He'd watched her so long he could almost taste her and feel her softness next to him.
Completely absorbed in his thoughts, he drove past two smoking cars in a ditch almost unaware. "Damn." He muttered to himself. There were no cops around yet. He thought about stopping to help when he noticed that one of the cars looked familiar. It was Chloes' Fiat Spyder; he'd know that tiny, impractical car anywhere, mostly because it was the only one in the world still running. At least, until today.
