He was at the last cooler. He slid a few six-packs to the front and then poked his head around the corner. No one was checking out at the moment. Ori was standing by her register, arms crossed, looking out into the parking lot. He walked over, hands in pockets.
“Hey, Ori,” he said. “Got a moment?”
She turned towards him, arms still crossed. As always, he was struck by the large tattoo on her arm. A flame-spewing dragon curled through three large, blue orchids (Ori said they symbolized rarity), and a foaming wave, similar in style to the ancient print The Great Wave off Kanagawa, caressed her bicep. Several words in several languages spoke from her flesh. Thomas only knew the English one: “Verity.” He’d never asked about the others.
Her bandanna today was white with stylized blue flames racing across the fabric. Even though its kinetic design didn’t mesh with her still demeanor, Thomas still thought it looked attractive. There was something about a bandanna that made a woman look spunky and earthy.
“Yeah,” she replied softly, and a bit warily, in Thomas’s opinion. “What’s up?”
“I had an… interesting conversation with Cynthia earlier. She seems a little out of sorts. Know what’s going on with her?”
Ori nodded. “I know a bit. I know she’s under a lot of pressure. Her parents are acting despotic, and her roommates seem to have switched to retard-partier mode.”
“Hunh. I thought she liked her roomies — thought they were nice and quiet.”
“They were, but then they became involved with guys who weren’t nice and quiet.”
“I see. Thank god I live alone.”
“I second that. Well, technically I’m still living above my parents’ garage, but I’m pretty much by myself.” She said this a bit sheepishly, as most twenty-somethings do when they admit they’re living with their parents. “I think Cynthia’s thinking of moving out. Her parents know this, and it sounds like they want her to… well, upgrade herself if she does. You know, move away from this backwater, go to college, etcetera.”
“Damn. Talk about being supportive… they’re like hyenas going after the weakest member of the pack.”
“Yeah, pretty much — and nice analogy, by the way.”
“Thanks. I have the erudition.”
Ori smiled faintly. It was like a patch of moonlight poking briefly through the clouds. Thomas felt himself grinning cheekily.
“Another nice witticism, Mr. Copeland,” she said. “By the by, did I hear it was your birthday today?”
Nice segue, Thomas thought thankfully. It got them safely away from Cynthia’s problems.
“No, it was yesterday, actually,” Thomas replied.
“My fault. I must’ve misheard.” Another faint smile flickered onto her thin face. “You’re forty, I was told.”
“Yes, I am. And please don’t ask me if I’m going to have a midlife crisis.”
“Uh, OK?” she replied, momentarily puzzled. Then she figured out his meaning and shook her head. “Have a lot of people been asking you that?”
“Well, not a lot. A few.”
“Don’t worry about it. People have to say something, so it might as well be something that’s been said a billion times before.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Still — not very comforting to be asked.”
“Nah, I bet not.” She paused, then put on a different sort of grin. It wasn’t at all faint; it was full and toothy, with a large portion of mischief. “But if that question does make you uncomfortable…”
“Don’t even start.”
“…then maybe…”
“Quit it.”
“…you are having a midlife crisis. After all, a man of sound mind would let that question just roll off of him, wouldn’t he? So…”
But Thomas was back-peddling and holding up his hands.
“Nope, I’ve had enough. Nice chatting with you.”
“That’s right, run from your problems,” she said, laughing. The laugh was thick, with each “hah” being laughed separately, but it was still somehow endearing — mainly, Thomas supposed, because it was so rare to hear her laugh.
At the other register, Peggy had been watching this exchange. She was an older woman, but she had none of Maureen’s indiscriminate goodwill. She was censorious and frigid: from her tall frame, she sent her gaze sweeping through the store like a lighthouse-beam. Thomas caught her eye as he retreated, and he knew that this little episode would enter into the dispatches of gossip she delivered to the lady-friends she went to church with: “Outrageous flirtation, and him seventeen years older than her! Why, if that isn’t robbing the cradle, I don’t know what is.” Thomas frowned at her. Why was she up here, anyway? There were few customers, so she should’ve been doing something else, like cleaning some shelves or sweeping the front porch. Peggy didn’t flinch under Thomas’s frown, not one bit, and her return frown could’ve withered a small section of rainforest. Thomas looked back to Ori, hoping her smile would counteract Peggy’s frown, but Ori had a customer, and she was ringing up unsalted peanuts and lemon pepper spice.
Chapter Four
It had been an eventful day by Oxendine’s winter season standards. Thomas didn’t know what had been more interesting: the travails of normally-sunny Cynthia or the cool warmth of Orianna.
Thinking about these two women inevitably led him to consider another woman in his life. As he stood on the boardwalk in the evening, watching the stars twinkle, he thought about Kara, his friend-with-benefits.
Actually, even friend-with-benefits was a misnomer. They now saw each other so rarely that they were barely acquaintances-with-benefits. Thomas counted off days: thirteen… no, fourteen days since they’d last seen each other. As usual, Kara had been sullen and malleable. She was like a large electronic doll that spat out flat, rote phrases: “Kiss me.” “Hug me.” “That was nice.” It almost made Thomas shudder to think about their sexual encounters. Almost. He could still get off, and he supposed she did too, though he didn’t know for certain.
He was irritated that she hadn’t gotten up with him on his birthday, but then he couldn’t remember if she even knew when his birthday was. If she did, she’d probably conveniently forgotten the date.
Their “relationship” began a few months ago. Thomas had been letting off some steam at a bar called Sharkey’s in downtown Morehead City. He rarely went to bars, but his sister had said something that riled him during a rare phone call — something about Dan forgetting their anniversary, and how Thomas was somehow also at fault for her husband’s forgetfulness — so he thought he’d get drunk and pick up a chick. He usually failed whenever he tried this, but like men everywhere, he knew that this time would be different. He ordered a burger, and then once he’d scarfed that down, he began chugging draft beer in earnest. He scanned the dark-wood interior, but there were few women available. A group of girls dressed in denim skirts and flowing pastel-colored dresses were sitting at a booth, but their giggles and screeching voices terrified him. He could handle one girl by herself, but four of them together would rip him apart if he, a 39-year-old man, approached. At another booth, two chunky women chatted quietly and looked about meekly as they sipped fruity cocktails, well aware that they were the ugliest women there, and the last choices for most men.