I have always hated the morning. I think it’s got something to do with hatred for the sun. Yes indeed, I hate the sun. It’s all hot, and it makes you sticky, and it burns me. I suppose that wouldn’t be so bad if I turned a nice tan shade after the red, but no… It goes red, pink, white. It’s a vicious cycle, really. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, my hatred for mornings. That particular morning was much worse than most of my mornings. You see, I have to be in to work at about nine o’clock in the morning, which I normally manage to do without too much brouhaha. Unfortunately for me, the night before had been sweltering, forcing me to sleep downstairs in the air condition (we’re cheap and don’t have central air, okay?). And my mother’s boyfriend was spending the night. All of which together doesn’t seem to bad, I mean, hey, I can battle the nausea of watching my thirty eight year old mother make out on the living room floor, right? But the thing is, the boyfriend assumed that since he wasn’t getting up early for work, either was anyone else, so he unplugged my alarm clock. The result? 9:00 AM rolling around with me on the couch still.
I walked casually into the store at about 9:18 and went over to punch in, at my main area, which is the handbag department. As I rounded the corner to get into the enclosed register area, I stopped dead. There was someone behind the counter. Behind *my* counter. You see, for quite some time now, I had been the only one in the handbag department. No one ever wanted to go in to it (it’s commonly referred to as handbag hell) because it was such a mess. But me, being the new girl, got stuck in it. So I was quite used to it being just mine and now there was this guy behind my counter. I frowned at him and he said hello. I muttered a quick greeting before clocking in, extremely late.
It was a few hours later when I passed by the guy. The sleeves to his dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows and his tie was slightly askew. I watched as he leaned a little across the counter toward an elderly looking woman, his hair falling down to play peek-a-boo with his eyes. He looked up and his blue eyes met mine. A little smile appeared as he waved hello. My arms were full of handbags, so I flashed a half-hearted smile and continued on my way, thoughts of his eyes cluttering my mind. During my fifth trip to the stock room from the cart in the aisle, I noticed him watching me. Deciding that it just wasn’t fair, I marched over. “Umm, what are you doing?”
He looked at me, innocently. “Nothing.”
“You look bored.” I said, trying to shake a smile onto my face.
“I am.” He confirmed and gave me a lazy, infuriating smile.
“Well, then, not to put my work on you or anything, but do you think you could help out?” I asked as sweetly as I could muster. Oh yes, my boss has taught me well.
He looked very childlike while he cocked his head at me. “What do you want me to do?”
“Well… you could put away those bags there…”
“Where do they go?” Dear God. The boy was not kidding. First, they stick me with Taylor Hanson- umm… oops… did I just say that? Okay, fine, I’ll admit it, I knew who he was, and maybe that was part of the reason I was resenting him so much. Didn’t he already have enough, conquering the music world, without coming into my territory?
“Uh, those ones go on a 30% off rack, and those go on vendor racks.” I said, pointing out the different bags for him.
He smiled at me again, damn charming man. I bristled and walked away, leaving him to deal with the misplaced pocketbooks.
“Michaela?” Great. My boss was calling me. The department was still one big mess and I couldn’t possibly ever get done all this stock and the boss was calling me.
“Yeah?”
She appeared then, a short little blonde woman, from behind the huge cart of handbags. “Would you mind doing some mark downs?” She asked, smiling that smile I had done just an hour ago to Taylor.
“Sure!” I said in my best suck-up voice.
“Good,” She smiled. “You can start with the Coach bags.”
Uh-oh. Coach is some expensive shit, which means I’ll have to go back in the register area to get to it. Back in the area containing the hottie, oops, I mean Taylor.
“Hi.” I said, as I slipped through the waist high door and into the small space.
“Hey.” He smiled again. Why does he always smile?
“I’m just here to do some mark downs.” I said, lest he believe I was there for him.
He nodded and some old women with purses marched to the counter. “I’d like to buy this.” One of them declared to me and thrust it in my general direction.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” My voice dripped with syrupy sweetness. “But I don’t ring.” I jammed a thumb in Taylor’s direction. “That’s his job.”
He gave out a hearty laugh and turned to help the woman as I went to retrieve a sacred purple pen. Now, purple pens are absolutely vital to the retail business. If prices need to be changed, it’s done in purple pen. So after I found mine, I went to work decoding the cryptic descriptions of the Coach bags. Did I tell you I hate this job? The mark down sheets might as well have been written in Japanese for all the good they did me. So what’s a girl to do? I cursed and grabbed the scan gun, solidly resolving to scan every single Coach bag, until I found the horrid little marked down ones. As I was attacking the first shelf, I heard laughter from behind me.
“What?” I demanded, spinning around to meet Taylor’s laughing face.
“You’re so short. You’re never going to be able to reach that.” He told me, while reaching up to unlock the top purses and bring them to my level. I tried not to stare too hard at the flexing muscles in his back as he stretched.
“Thank you.” I said, begrudgingly as he handed them to me.
But he seemed to take that as a conversation starter. “So… what’s your name?” He asked, leaning on the counter and watching me slaughter the prices.
“Michaela.” I was not going to look at him. I was not going to give in on my dislike for him.
“That’s a pretty name.” He said softly. And I made the mistake of glancing up at him. His eyes were doing that insanely sexy peek-a-boo thing again and I fought hard to smother the smile coming to my mouth. “And the ice queen melts…” His laughter tinkled merrily as I lost the battle to my smile.
“Shutup,” I ordered gruffly, trying to get back to my job. He was quiet for a full moment and when I looked back to talk to him again, he was gathering his things.
“I’ll see ya, okay? I’m done for the day.” He smiled and pushed out the small door, leaving me to the Coach bags. The leather was a little slimy from the heat and I sighed. What the hell was Taylor Hanson doing working here anyway? Only one way to find out.
Seeing as it was nearly break time anyway, I decided to walk upstairs and visit my mom. Yes, my mom worked there. In fact, half of my family did, or had at one time or another. It just so happens though, that my mother is in charge of hiring and firing, so if anyone would know the deal with Taylor, it would be her. I couldn’t just leave though… Spotting the swifter, a sharp tool for attaching tags to merchandise, sitting on the counter, I snatched it up. Lining it up perfectly with my thumb… I squeezed the trigger. “Ow!”
I pushed open the door to her office and stepped in. She was seated at her desk, typing away like nobody’s business. She flashed a brief smile at me. “How ya doing, Hun?”
“I’m fine. I just cut myself with the swifter…” I held up my wounded thumb with a pitiful look on my face.
She jumped from her desk and ran to a bin across the room. Ah, the band-aid bin. Score one for the handbag chick. “Come here, sweetie. Let me see that!”
I gave her my thumb while trying to look innocent. “So… we had someone new downstairs today.”
“Really? Who?” She frowned at the cut. It was still bleeding rather a lot.
“His name’s Taylor…”
Her Florence Nightingale routine dropped. “Taylor Gesso? He’s Nancy’s son!”
I shook my head at her. “No, it’s another Taylor… He’s sort of cute.”
Her mom radar went up. “Taylor Hanson?”
I nodded, pretending to be surprised.
“Darling!” She put on a despairing voice. “You can’t date him!”
My look was of mock horror. “Who said anything about dating? And why not, huh?”
“Darling!” She cried again. “He has a baby!”
“What?” She pinched my thumb accidentally but I hardly noticed in the shock of the moment.
“Yeah, he has a son… Cute little thing…”
I was devastated, to say the least. Why is it all the cute ones always have some emotional baggage?
Started on August 21, 2000