Karen Templeton - Playing For Keeps

The right side of his mouth hitched up. “I kinda figured that out.”

“You…oh.”

“Uh-huh. But then, how would you know more’n half my customers are adults comin’ in to buy things for themselves?” He finished writing the check, ripped it out and handed it over to her, with instructions to get him an invoice whenever it was convenient. Then he capped his pen, tossing it back onto the cash register. “A person doesn’t have to be a kid to still get a kick out of playing. And collecting’s something anybody can do. Cars, dolls, model trains…” He picked up Clarence. “Santas.” He grinned down at the doll, then back at her. “Looking at this guy just makes you feel good inside, doesn’t it? Like I want to laugh right out loud.” He looked at her, something like wistfulness softening his features, making her insides jump. “Sometimes grown-ups need a little poke to make ’em remember what it was like to be a kid, when it was okay to believe in magic. And that’s something most folks can’t put a price on.”

Joanna stared at the check, shaking her head. “Even if they can get them for a fraction of the price at Costco or Sam’s.”

“There you go again. Tryin’ to talk me out of this.”

“But by the time you take your markup…I’m sorry. It’s about this practical streak I have.”

“Which you put aside to make these, I take it.”

“No,” she said, her brow puckering. “This is a business. My livelihood. I can’t afford not to be practical…why are you laughing now?”

“Would you listen to yourself? I can’t think of many things more impractical than making dolls that sell for three hundred bucks a pop.”

“Which is why I don’t sell too many of them. I mean, I’ll never get rich from these.”

“Then why do you do it?”

“Because…they feed something inside me.”

“Then trust me…they’ll feed something inside everyone who buys one, too. Something none of that mass produced stuff can ever do. Sure, most folks are perfectly content buying what they’re gonna see in half their neighbor’s living rooms. But you and I know that’s not enough for everybody.” He leaned his hands on the edge of the counter, hooking her gaze in his. “Not for the fools who have the nerve to try to compete with Toys “R” Us and Target and K mart, or the ones who spend hours making a single doll instead of holding down a regular job in some office with a guaranteed paycheck and a dental plan. Or for the ones who pay five, ten, a hundred times more for something than they have to, just for the satisfaction of having something that nobody else does…”

“Joanna! Come here!”

She jumped, tearing her eyes away from the crazy man and toward her mother, who was beckoning her to the back of the store. Joanna wended her way through the narrow aisles to look outside at a display of wooden play forts with attached swing sets, each one bigger and badder than the next and more expensive.

“Wouldn’t the boys love one of those for their birthday?”

“Right. Honestly, Mom—I paid less than that for my first car.”

But her mother, hanging on to the stuffed frog she’d apparently decided on for the new baby, had already turned to Dale, who’d followed Joanna. “My twin grandsons’ eighth birthday is two weeks from today—can you have one of these delivered by then?”

“I can’t let you spend that much on the boys—!”

Glynnie quelled her with a don’t-be-rude look as Dale assured her that was no problem. Then another customer arrived and, with a “Be right back, ladies,” Dale took off. Glynnie smacked Jo lightly in the arm.

“For God’s sake, Joanna. It’s just money. Loosen up.”

“Been down that road already, Mother. I’m perfectly happy being my tight little self again.”

“Happy? Hell, you haven’t been happy in years.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, it’s true.”

“Is not.”

“Is, too.” Glynnie glanced over, presumably to make sure they couldn’t be heard, then lowered her voice anyway. “I saw him making goo-goo eyes at you.”

“No, you didn’t,” Joanna whispered back.

“Don’t tell me what I didn’t see, young lady. I could feel the buzzing from clear on the other side of the store.”

“That’s because you forgot to take your Prozac this morning.”

“Joanna Swann! You know full well I haven’t touched that stuff in years. And anyway, that has nothing to do with the fact that your flirting skills could use a major tune-up. And here’s a perfectly good learning tool, tossed right in your path. So what could it hurt to practice?”

“Oh, gee, I don’t know. Maybe because he’s a total stranger? Because for all I know he’s married? Because—” this had just come to her “—I haven’t got the time or energy right now to start from scratch?”

“Honey, if you’re waiting until they bring out the heat ’n’ serve variety, you’re outta luck.”

“Mother. Even discounting his questionable marital status or the fact that I’ve known him for, oh, five minutes, the man is nuts.”

“Why do you say that?”

Joanna showed her the check. Glynnie’s eyes shot to Joanna’s. “And this is for…?”

“Eight Santas.”

“Oh?” Glynnie frowned. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh. What kind of crazy person gives a total stranger a check for twenty-four hundred dollars, with no paperwork, nothing, no assurances that I’ll even deliver? The man is not well. Or at least, not fiscally responsible.”

“Okay, maybe you have a point,” Glynnie said, her attention straying to Dale, helping the man who’d come in to pick out a computer learning game. “But come on, admit it…when was the last time you saw somebody that cute?”

“This morning,” Joanna said. Glynnie looked at her. “Your grandchildren’s father? Dark hair, dark eyes, charming smile? Totally clueless—”

“Okay, ladies, I’m back,” Dale said, making them both jump. “Now, which one of these would you like? I’ve got ’em all in stock.”

“That one,” Glynnie said before Jo could protest again, naturally pointing to the largest one in the batch. She whipped out her AmEx and smacked it down on the counter, dumping the hapless frog beside it. “And you said you can deliver it in time for their birthday?”

“Sure thing. If you’ll just fill this out—” he handed her a clipboard with a form of some kind on it “—we can get it all set up for you.” While her mother did as he asked, he turned his attention to Joanna. “So. You’ve got kids?”

Was it her, or did she detect just the slightest edge to that question? “Three,” she said. “The boys and an eleven-year-old girl.”

“Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”

Before Joanna could answer, Glynnie said, “Oh, it’s not so bad.” She handed him back the clipboard. “They’re with their father every weekend. Are you married, Mr. McConnaughy?”

Dale dropped the clipboard, which clattered to the counter, while Joanna fumbled for her brain before it landed on the floor and rolled away. When he looked up, Joanna pointed to her mother behind her back, then mimed hanging herself.

Then he did this slow, lazy grinning thing, and Joanna felt her blood heat up a degree or two. “Why?” he said to her mother. “You fixin’ to ask me out?”

Nice save, she thought as her mother—or the alien that looked like her mother—merely smiled. “Oh, I wasn’t asking for myself. I’m happily married, thank you.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that, Ms. Swann. But you know…” Dale leaned forward, bracing his hands against the edge of the counter. Those nice, slender, sinewy hands. “Maybe you should be careful who you ask that question. Some folks might take it the wrong way. Especially from a woman as attractive as yourself.”