Some people have the ability to steel themselves against the unpleasantness of being alone, untouched, and unattractive, and I admired those people—but I liked to think that two out of three ain't bad. After a few failed relationships and burned bridges, I had learned to tack a little iron into my spine and move forward as one of those "independent" women. I'd never been a Victoria's secret model, or, hell, even a Sears model, but I knew my assets and I could use them with the confidence of a Bengal tiger in tall grass. Where I struggled, unfortunately, was that teensy, weensy, insignificant-seeming little matter of sex.
I did fine, most days. I wasn't an addict. I managed the produce department of a grocery store, as a matter of fact, and six out of seven days I was arguing with truckers, pulling pallets, and yelling at teenagers high on pot to stop eating the sample watermelon and work. It was mundane work, but it was physical work, and it let me sweat it out.
But when Leon from Dairy brushed against the small of my back, and I caught him eyeing my butt, I had a weak moment. I grinned. I winked. And I sweated out the rest of my day until I could go home and throw myself onto the bed imagining him tearing off my manager's red shirt and plowing me on a pallet of avocados. Leon always did have beautiful thighs. And shoulders. And hair. And he smelled like soap and cigarettes.
I never asked Leon out.
It doesn't take a millions years to learn a few life lessons. I was only twenty-six, and I had learned something very important long ago: unless you can see yourself marrying the person, and maybe not even then, never, ever get entangled at work. So I flirted with Leon and managed myself, or went to a bar and hooked up with a stranger. It was fine.
Until the store manager got involved.
Dave was a dick. There was no polite way to say it. Over six feet tall and the right balance between husky and lean, he liked to dress casually at work and smile too much, as if that made him a member of the common masses. No one but the new hires bought it, and by then, it was too late. Had I been younger, and stupider, I may have found him attractive, in an older way. He had salt and pepper hair and fierce eyes, a politician's face. He also had a reputation of mismanagement on top of stirring up department drama for reasons none of us could logically surmise. The department managers had silently decided behind his back that he was a Vicodin addict. I silently called him names that would make my grandmother faint.
"Talulah."
I had just stuck my tongue out at Leon for threating to drop a case of medium brown eggs on my head. Hefting the box of grapefruit I had been carrying and raising my eyebrows, I turned to find Dave, casual as ever, regarding me seriously. I resisted the urge to be overdramatic about being interrupted while carrying something heavy. "Hi, Dave," I said, in what was the closest thing to kissing ass I could manage. "What's up?"
"I need to see you in my office this afternoon, at your earliest convenience."
I swallowed, fearing an audit, and nodded as if I weren't suddenly terrified. "Sure, but I've got some orders to put through, and the floor is devastated—"
"Page me before you come up. If necessary, another team member can handle it."
"Sure. I'll be up in a bit."
He was already walking away before I had finished talking, and I let out a heavy sigh as I rested the crate of grapefruit on a nearby stack of boxes and Leon climbed down the ladder with his case of eggs. God he had beautiful thighs. "What was that about, Lu?" he asked.
"I don't know. My margin was on point last time I checked, and we already had our corporate walk."
"Maybe he's giving you a new hire. You've been asking for help for weeks."
"Maybe."
"Or," Leon's eyes brightened with mischief, "He wants to put the moves on you."
I rolled my eyes. "God. I've had enough of cheesy pornos. Don't go there."
"You know, discuss some things about cucumbers and melons..."
"Yeah, maybe removing the one stuck up his—"
"Lu?" We both turned, red in the face, as Canela, the second in command, glided to us. How anyone could glide in the cluttered chaos on the back room was beyond me, but Canela was tiny and lovely, and she glided everywhere. It was a deceptive cover over the fact that she was always on the war path.
Either way, seeing both store manager and assistant manager in a span of three minutes was not a good sign. I opened my mouth, but Canela continued without waiting for me to speak. "Dave sent me to take over for you. He wants you to go up to his office now."
"He...does?"
"Yes. Where are you on stocking?"
Leon continued on his way as, dismayed, I debriefed Canela on everything we were in the middle of doing and what needed to be ordered. She seemed unbothered and waved me on my way. I watched for a moment as she pushed over a cart and hefted my grapefruit onto it, then pushed it away. So it was happening, now, then. Stupid fucking Dave. God I hoped I still had a job.
Dave's office, like the shared computers, fax machine, and payroll office, was upstairs in a room with windows that looked down onto the floor of the store, though the customers would only see mirrors and lighting. It wasn't a big room—just enough space for his computer desk, a filing cabinet, and two chairs that you could barely scoot back for you to sit in them. It smelled like old coffee and ink. Dave was at his desk, waiting for me, and gestured for me to close the door behind myself. No one knocked when Dave's door was closed. This wasn't good.
"Hey," I said, and, extremely conscious of my ass, squeezed my way into a chair. I needed to spend more time at the gym. "What's going on?"
"That's a very good question, Talulah," Dave answered, swarthy enough to be a Bond villain and the only person I'd met who consistently used my full name. "Everyone wants to know: What's going on?"
"I...left Canela with my list for the order, and inventory isn't for two more weeks-?" I answered.
"That's not what I meant. Listen, I'm sure you know that everyone is whispering about you and Leon."
"Me and...Leon?"
"Yes. Rumors have been flying around, and I wanted to talk to you about that. Now, you know that company policy doesn't allow for relationships between employees in positions where there may be an imbalance of power?"
I blinked, feeling the heat building on my face. "Dave, are you saying that people think that I'm dating Leon?"
"It's obvious you're doing something to Leon, whether or not dating is actually now part of the question."
"But we're not!" I argued. "I don't even see him outside of work!"
"Well, there have been stories about the involvement of pallets of avocados."
"You can't be serious." How did they know about that?
"I am very serious. You understand that this is extremely inappropriate?"
"Dave, listen," I begged, scooting forward so I could plead with puppy dog eyes. "I swear, nothing is going on between me and Leon. I don't date coworkers. I don't...screw coworkers, either."
"Technically, since you're fourth in command in the store—"
"I am?"
"Your position of management is ranked slightly higher than Leon's, which is a problem."
"You're not listening to me." My embarrassment began to turn into a rage, with just the slightest edge of panic. "I haven't broken any rules. I haven't even been late to a shift. This is bullshit."
"Bullshit?"
"Yes." I folded my arms across my chest as Dave's expression blanked, and I steeled myself for whatever was coming. "This is bullshit." I had never spoken that way to Dave before. I needed my paycheck too much.
"What's bullshit, Talulah, is you getting away with fucking on a pallet of tomatoes—"
"Avocados." Shit. Why did I correct him?
"A pallet of avocados on this company's time, and facing no repercussions for that."
I stared at the floor, clearly unheard, rage like thunderheads in my chest. He waited, and finally, I met his eyes, took a deep breath, and asked, "Are you firing me?" For something I haven't done, even though I badly wanted to, I added in my mind. This is what being good got me.
Dave kept me waiting. He looked over at his computer, used his mouse to click on something, shuffled a few papers, selected one, then pulled a pen from his pen caddy. I ground my teeth. "Not necessarily," he answered, finally.
"Can I file for a transfer to another store?"
"No. But you can take off that mango-stained polo shirt."
I stared. I had no air. Then, "Excuse me?"
"Everyone in the store knows how you are," Dave said, leaning back into his chair. "You have multiple one-night-stands and sweat when a cyclist walks in wearing clingy shorts. You tease your male coworkers, and some of the female ones, and take every opportunity to show your body."
I looked down at my oversize company shirt, two sizes too big because that's all they had at the time they had given it to me, and wondered if my choice of fleece leggings under a knee-length skort had been too slutty. I was about to feel ashamed when I realized: this wasn't me. I wore no makeup, was a little bit fat, and wore white socks with black, non-slip shoes. My grandma dressed sexier. "That's ridiculous," I said, simply. "I'm breaking no dress codes." And need to reevaluate my glamour routine, I decided.
"I've seen you use your hips to move carts when men were looking, and adjust your bra in the back room. I know what they're talking about. Now, you have a choice. We can sign this and take it to HR," he lectured, and held up a slip of paper, "Or, you can do exactly what I tell you to do for the next hour."
I reached for the slip of paper.
"This is a termination notice. It prevents you from drawing disability, and it ruins any chance of recommendation for another job."
"Worth it," I growled, still not convinced that I wasn't having a nightmare. "Give me a pen."
"It also contains copies of multiple failed drug tests and will terminate your insurance through our company."
"But I never—"
"And, I should also mention, that it contains a confession of your relationship with Leon. He already has some points in the system for calling in, so it would mean him losing his job, too."
