Learning Lessons 1 (of 8): Date Night / Chapter 4

“Hey, Mr Mapplethorpe,” Rodrigo said with a big smile, looking up at Pete as he walked behind his push-cart filled with flattened cardboard headed for recycling.

“Morning, Rodrigo,” he said as he passed him. Pete had seen him through the big front windows of the Save-Mart as he’d walked up from the back of the parking lot. Talking to Rosalita, leaning on a clothing rack, giving her some sweet talk while she flirted back. At least she kept pricing, kept working. Now, here Rodrigo was, oh-so-surprised to see Pete (like he hadn’t seen him coming) hard at work with his recycling.

At least he made the effort to look busy. Pete ran a tight ship here. Rodrigo knew enough not to be caught half-assing it when Pete was around. This Save-Mart was first in the region. Square footage wise, it was number one in the state, out-performing some of the other stores in the more populated urban areas when you accounted for size.

Pete got up to the second floor, into admin, said hello to all his staff up there. Closed the door to his office behind him—Pete Mapplethorpe, Manager in white Arial font on a black plastic rectangle stuck on it with two-sided tape. Pete got right to work. Busted out all his reports he’d finished before closing last night, double checked them once again, spent an hour verifying his work, then sent that off to Corporate. Quiet digital swoosh letting him know his mail was on its way.

He had a lot to prepare for next quarter, goals he wanted to set and notes he wanted to make for his weekly staff meeting tomorrow morning. It was a quarter after eleven, so he went out and grabbed a coffee from the lounge—take a break, cleanse the palate before he started new work. He sat back in the vinyl office chair, swiveling around with his heels planted in the durable carpet. His hand worked the mouse, getting him to eBay.

Shit, there it was. One hour left and this beauty would be his. A 1980 Lionel Loco 726 Steamer. The Berkshire. Not the best condition, listed as C–6. Probably a C-7. Peter couldn’t afford a mint one. Wouldn’t pay that price.

His $95 bid was intact. He wanted this train. Came in the original box, from the year he was born. He remembered that old packaging, seeing it in the shops when his dad would take him around the hobby stores when he was a kid. Sunday mornings when his brother was in chemo, his dad would take him through the mall out by the hospital.

The cow catcher was kind of beat up and wasn’t attached, but he could fix that. The lights worked on it and the horn, too. And it ran, even in reverse. A few cosmetic touch-ups were all it would take. He shut the browser down, didn’t want to jinx it—staring at it while it was counting down was a sure-fire way to bring out adversaries.

#

Pete was out on the sales floor when Julio caught up with him, said, “Hey, boss, we have a situation.”

Pete just came out here to be away from the countdown on his train. He couldn’t afford another bid, anyway. Wouldn’t afford it. He wanted to resist all temptation. Now Julio had roped him into a ‘situation’.

“We got two little ladies here walking off with a lot of cosmetics.”

“Which ones?” Julio was about the best guy you could ask for in Loss Prevention. He was excited by the job and he took pride in his skills. He never half-assed it.

“Two hotties over there,” he said, pointing at two teen girls cutting through Household like they didn’t have a care in the world. Two cool customers.

“Don’t call them hotties, Julio.”

“Sorry about that.”

“You sure?” They looked like a couple of rich kids. Shouldn’t even be in a Save-Mart.

“Positive,” he said, pulling down the lower lid of his right eye, which Pete took to mean Julio saw it happen.

“All right, why you telling me?”

“Could use your help. They look like the type to split up, make it hard for me. I’m here alone today.”

“I got it, I got it. What did they take?”

“Five lipstick. Seventy-five dollars. Maybellines.”

“Shit, okay, okay, you cover that front door, I’ll go to the east side.”

“Cool, chief.”

Pete fucking hated this. Why the fuck did he get roped into it? This kind of confrontation was his nightmare. If he could just find another staff, send them off to do this. Goddamnit, his heart was racing. He looked over his shoulder, Julio nodded to him, his head bobbing along over an aisle of laundry detergent.

Fuck, there was no one else. No one to signal over and take this away from him. He walked on reluctantly, but he was looking around for the girls.

Fucking shit, here they were. Targets approaching. They’d headed to the front. That’s why he sent Julio that way, but maybe they pegged him for Loss Prevention and started for this east door.

His blood pounded in his neck, beating on his eardrums as he walked towards them. Couple of alpha princesses. Both tall and thin, deathly beautiful, painted lips, long legs in skinny jeans, a sliver of bare belly above the waist bands, expensive shoes, LeBrons or Jordans or whatever. Medusas who, instead of turning him into stone, turned him into the sixteen-year-old loser he was in high school. If he said shit to them right now, he knew his voice would squeak.

They saw him coming, locked this old balding creep with their heartiest bitch faces. He could feel everything shrinking up in his underwear, tightening, retracting.

They got closer and closer. They were going to pass each other in just a moment. He had to say something.

“Huh-hey… Duh-do you know what time it is?”

“Do you know what time it is?” one said, scowling at him.

“Fuh-fuh-fuck off,” the other one said, and that made the first one cackle. Throw her head back and laugh at her friend’s cruelty. They bumped their shoulders together in camaraderie, still walking, never even broke their stride. That was it. Then they were gone. Couple of sixteen-year-old bitches who saw right through him, saw him for what he was.

Julio caught up with him at the cosmetics counter a couple of minutes later. Pete was handing cash over to Wanda at the checkout.

“Hey, Mr. Mapplethorpe, what happened?”

“Huh?”

“Did you get them?”

“Yeah. They freaked out, gave me cash. I let them go.”

“You let them go? We’re supposed to—”

“I know, I know. I felt bad for them. They were shaking.”

“They bought all five?”

“Gave me enough cash to cover. I got them before they were out of the store, so technically they hadn’t stolen them yet…”

“Still… Couple of rich girls ought to learn a lesson.”

“I know, but I didn’t have the heart.”

“All right, Mr. Mapplethorpe, they should be glad was you then, it was me got them… He lightly punched one fist into his open palm.”

“You’re doing a good job, Julio. We came out all right here,” he said to him as Julio got himself back to surveillance.

So old Petey was going to take the L on this one. No win for Sad Sack today. Seventy-five dollars plus tax out of pocket. He hoped to God he didn’t win that auction now.

He hustled back to his office and closed himself in. Why the fuck did he go out on the floor? He had plenty to do in here.

He refreshed his browser. Well, Daryl1979, you just saved my bacon. He was outbid by five dollars. Normally, he would think Daryl was an asshole, but today he was Pete’s best friend.

#

Jess checked to make sure the bathroom door was locked. Twisted the worn brass knob for a third time. Yes, Jess, it’s still locked. If one of the boys walked in, she’d be mortified, so there was no harm in being careful. Come on Jess, bedroom door locked and bathroom door locked.

Another late August teacher bash tonight. Faculty and family getting together one more time before it was back to school for them all. Familiar faces, friends, and who else? Well, you just never know. Her muscular stud might turn up. She hoped he would.

She moved her stool over to the door and sat on it, put her back up against the hollow-core door. Just in case. The water in the shower was running to drown out any noises that might lead to someone asking through the door what she was doing in there. Water running cold, she wasn’t going to waste hot water.

The hard plastic seat on the stool was cold on her flattened cheeks. She pulled her towel off the rack and draped it over the stool she usually used to sit on and put her makeup on.

Finally satisfied, she could begin. She arranged the tools she’d need on the formica vanity. A brand new pink lady razor fresh from the cell pack, six for 4.99, a bowl she brought from the kitchen and filled with very hot water, a can of shaving gel, cocoa butter, and a hand mirror she’d wiped spotless with a facecloth.

There was only two weeks’ worth of stubble down there. But it had to go. You never know…

Thirty-five years old and she’d never shaved her lady parts until two weeks ago. That was the first time. Surprised her what a thrill she got from it. Her girl bits had tingled like crazy, put butterflies in her tummy.

A blast from the shaving gel can gave up a pleasant blueberry-pomegranate breeze. She hunched over and look at her little lady. She definitely needed a trim. The gel went on smooth as silk, turned to frosting under her fingers. She inhaled and closed her eyes at the touch of her own hand. She was a live wire. She worked it in, let herself have two little swipes up the middle that got her heart beating. Just two though, she wanted to keep herself on edge tonight.

She hunched over and wiped her hands on the towel. Her butt cheeks were mashed flat on the stool. She didn’t have a fat ass, did she? She didn’t think she did. It looked real good in clothes. She caught people looking. Maybe it was just an unflattering angle. Her skin was still perfectly smooth, and there was not a trace of cellulite. She had a great, healthy ass. She would double check when she stood up, and made a mental note not to spread her legs on a stool in front of any guys. You know, should that ever come up.

The hot, wet blade felt so good sliding across her mound, leaving a bald, shining path through the foam. After each careful, slow swipe, she’d wash the blade in the hot bowl. Keeping it clean, but also getting it nice and wet and warm to give her that little thrill as she passed it over her skin. Scratch, scratch—she went over herself until the blade was silent, until it passed over her soft, wet mound without a sound.

The bowl she’d brought to shave with was one of the deep ones that had a handle on it like a huge teacup. They usually used it for pasta night—kept the mess down with the kids, since they always wanted spaghetti. Thumb hooked through the handle, resting it in her lap, while her free hand used the hot water to wipe her bald little thing clean. Patted herself dry with the towel and then brought the hand mirror down to give herself a good inspection. Everything looked smooth as silk down there, no little nicks, or red skin or anything. Just smooth and ready. The cocoa butter went on like velvet, almost feeling too good. She had to bring her thighs together at one point. Clamped them together on her hand to stop herself from going too far.

This endeavor with Pete, and these last few weeks, had turned her into a horny little teenager again. She hadn’t felt so alive between her legs since—gosh, when? University, probably.

Jess packed her things up, put away her blade and gel, rinsed the pasta bowl in the sink and left it where she wouldn’t forget to return it to the kitchen. She cranked the shower lever to the right for the hot and stood naked in the narrow master bath, one hand under the stream waiting for it to come to temperature. She let her mind wander to all sorts of dirty places.