In Store
“Of course not. What would you like to know?”
She reached for the tag hanging from his shirtsleeve. “Do you always wear clothes from the racks?”
“I have to. It’s part of my job. Store policy.”
“Yes, I know…it’s just…what about outside of work? Do you wear other things at home?”
“I only buy products from this store. Why would I go anywhere else?”
The woman searched Reginald’s eyes. “Aren’t you tempted by other things? Things from other stores? Don’t you wonder what other things are like?”
“Not enough to risk my job.” Strange questions, thought Reginald. People sometimes came in to play mental games and prod at staff through the immutable bars of store policy. Generally they were quite poor at it, although Reginald had once found himself changing into the most ludicrous clothing combinations until, with a young couple’s fun over, they had left without purchasing any of the articles. But Reginald had a different feeling about this woman.
“You get a discount, I suppose?” she said.
“A modest discount. Owning the products helps us provide customer service.”
The woman pointed to the crowd surrounding Veronica Vance. “Too bad when something new appears on the shelves.”
Reginald moved to block her escape, his hunch, as unlikely as it first seemed, accurate. “How would you know we found new products on the shelves?”
“It’s all over the news,” she said. “On the monitors, I mean. Veronica Vance was saying so.”
“No she wasn’t. She doesn’t know. She’s only been told about the fish. The only people who know about the contraband products are the staff who found them and the Radicals. You’re one of them, aren’t you?”
Reginald could see the arteries in her wrist pulsing as she stretched the underpants.
“Please, let’s just talk for a minute, OK? I can hardly do anything with you standing here, can I?”
She was nothing like what he had anticipated. In any other situation, and maybe even a little now, he would be easily attracted to her. “You’re not what I expected. You look nervous.”
“Of course I’m nervous. We’re just people like you!”
“I’ve seen you somewhere before.”
She relaxed slightly when he didn’t immediately call the security. “You helped me choose a shirt for my father last year. I remember thinking it was more than just your job to be nice to me.”
“Red shirt, eighty percent cotton, twenty percent polyester, oversized pocket, offset double white stitching,” said Reginald.
“You were right, my father liked it.”
“I said it was a well-made shirt. I didn’t say he would like it. What’s your name?” When she hesitated, Reginald said, “I can check our transaction records, but I’ll have to call security to watch you.”
“All right. My name’s Jessie.”
“Why are you carrying the underwear, Jessie?”
“The security cameras don’t follow women carrying underwear or sanitary items.”
The young woman intrigued Reginald for how she disfigured his preconceptions of the Radicals. He hadn’t imagined pretty young women wondering through apparel racks clutching underwear to invoke electronic invisibility.
“It’s against store policy,” said Reginald. “Who told you that? Someone who works here told you that!”
Reginald heard a sharp bark and then nervous laughter from customers across the aisle. Two junior staff were struggling to clean a small spill. Abruptly, as through smitten by some invisible entity, both staff crashed to the floor, a pair of newborn antelopes able neither to rise nor move as their hands and feet shot away. Their struggling dispersed the liquid.
“Don’t go near them,” said Jessie, grabbing Reginald’s arm. “They’ll need a rope. It’s impossible to escape.”
“How the hell did they just get that stuff in here?”
“Four children spilled four drinks,” said Jessie, perhaps hoping to stall Reginald.
“Four spills?” Reginald saw several customers, still laughing, use replacement clothes-line cord to pull the victims to the edge.
The rescuers suddenly went down, joining the two staff in an in-store-wrestling contest. One of them laughed harder. Everywhere customers backed away as someone called for a tarpaulin or bed-sheets to throw over the malicious spill.
