Naja Aidt - Rock, Paper, Scissors

“Experience with what?”

“Serving vodka at a Russian bar.”

Thomas can’t help but laugh. “I’m really glad you won’t be serving vodka at a Russian bar!”

Alice says nothing. Then, sadly: “Well. That’s all I wanted to say.”

She hangs up.

Thomas stands there a moment. Then he turns to Maloney. “Can we give Alice a trial hire for a few weeks?”

“Alice?”

“She’s desperate and doesn’t have a job.”

“We don’t have the money for that. You know that.”

“Let’s go have a beer,” Thomas says, collecting their jackets.

Eva and her niece (whom Maloney pines for) have begun removing products off the shelves. It smells of disinfectant and soap. Thomas reminds Eva to set the alarm. The niece pushes her black bangs to the side and looks at them with a pair of sparkling blue eyes.

Thomas hands Maloney a draft beer. “I think we should expand.”

Maloney sets his glass down with a thump. “What?!”

“Listen, things have been going pretty well, and I think we should open a branch. A small, exclusive place. I’d like to train Alice, so that one day she can manage the new place.”

“‘The new place?’ Have you lost your mind? We don’t even have money for a down payment. What’s the matter with you?”

Thomas lowers his voice. “I’ve got a little savings that I could offer.” And now, as he sits there lying, he slugs half of the tall pint down his gullet.

“Savings?!”

“It’s always been our dream, right? A chain.”

“Yeah, when we were twenty and high on pot! It’s ridiculous, Thomas. Even if you have enough to make a down payment, there’s still the overhead costs. Not to mention unforeseen costs. And Alice’s salary. And. .”

“I think I can handle all that.” Thomas drinks the rest of his beer. Maloney stares at him.

“What the fuck’s this all about? You couldn’t have put aside that kind of money, I know exactly what you make. There must be something else. What is it?”

Thomas shrugs.

“C’mon, Thomas. Spit it out.”

“Can’t we just say that it’s possible to do this. Let’s just leave it at that. I want to give Alice a chance. I’d like to spend my money on it. I want to lead Lindström & Maloney toward the future.”

“Toward the future?! Give me a break! Tell me what this is all about. Did you inherit money? Does this have anything to do with your father? Have you lost your marbles?”

But Thomas says nothing more, except that if Maloney won’t join him, he’ll do it himself. He goes to the bar and orders more beer. They sit for a long time in silence. Maloney stares out the window, as if fixated on the clouds and the rooftops. He sighs. Beer froth forms on his upper lip. Then slowly he shakes his head. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you’ve been acting strange lately. And now this. I don’t get it. Talk to me, man, tell me what’s going on. Why has Alice suddenly become so important to you?”

“She’s my niece.”

Maloney sighs again. “It’s impossible to get a straight answer out of you.”

After three beers, however, Maloney seems to accept that Thomas really has considered expanding their business. “We’ll split fifty-fifty, even if I’m the one fronting the money,” Thomas says, clutching Maloney’s forearm.

“You are crazy,” Maloney mumbles, shoving a handful of peanuts into his mouth.

“Come with me to look at some potential locations,” Thomas says.

Maloney shakes his head. “Not on these terms. This is your project. If you get it up and running, and if it doesn’t cost me anything, I’ll gladly go along with it. But not till then. In other words: I want to see it before I’ll believe it. And you will give me half of the new store.” Glancing gloomily at Thomas, a wounded expression on his face, he stands with difficulty and walks out into the twilight. Back in the bar Thomas suddenly grows desperately horny. He wants to fuck someone hard from behind. A tight pussy, a deep and timid asshole. A woman, a man. His cock swells fat and pulsing, a stab of heat spreading to his groin and climbing to his head. He tumbles out onto the street and lights a cigarette. His body astonishes him. It’s not even 6:00; he can still pick up Patricia from the museum. Behind the store’s tall window panes he sees Eva’s niece absentmindedly pushing the floor polisher across the floor. He can just make out a glimpse of her panties underneath her smock.

He barrels through the city with a hard-on. Cherry trees sway over the streets, soft pink and white. They’ve already begun to shed their petals. Imagining a new store isn’t difficult. A simple, modern design, a smiling Alice behind the counter. Thomas pictures the light cascading through an open door, warm and golden. A large glass partition to the street. Alice looks older, poised, her head’s no longer shaved. Her shiny hair spills thickly over her shoulders. The image is sharp as a blade to him. Maybe one day Alice can even become a partner. Lindström, Maloney, & Farrokhzad — it doesn’t sound that insane. And when he and Maloney no longer have the energy to run the business, she can take over. By that point, maybe, they really will have a chain of stores. He will have to pay in cash. First thing tomorrow he’ll start searching for a property. Turning the corner, he sees the museum with its streamlined architecture towering before him. A chalk-white rock in the midst of all the bustle. Two women in summer dresses sweep past him. A couple of mothers with small children sit clustered on a bench, boisterously sharing the contents of a large bag of candy. A man his own age with an apathetic expression on his face pushes an old woman in a wheelchair. A few street vendors shout from their fruit stands. Music streams from a restaurant. Vivid scents: musk, flowers, sun.

Thomas walks into Patricia’s office and locks the door behind him. She’s on the telephone watching him, surprised. She waves cheerfully. He closes the blinds. She ends her conversation, smiles, and is just about to say something when he grabs her, picks her up, spins her around, and presses her down across her desk. She wants to protest, turning halfway around, but he shushes her, covering her mouth with his hand and lifting her dress up over her back. Patricia kicks at him, she almost seems afraid. Thomas holds the backs of her legs firmly in place with his knees and quickly unzips his fly with his free hand. She gags, biting his thumb. He lets go of her mouth. “Stop it,” she says hoarsely. “What the hell are you doing? Stop it. This hurts.” She wriggles and flails, shouting, “Let go of me!” He catches a glimpse of her eyes. Again he covers her mouth with his hand, and now she growls, gurgling, and his hand grows wet with her spit. He yanks her stockings and panties down and forces his way into her dry, warm pussy. She fights harder, lashing out with her head, punching her arms backward trying to reach him. But then she grows quiet and passive. He removes his hand from her mouth, she says nothing. She puts her left cheek against her desk. And he fucks her, roughly, yanking her ponytail, he can feel the veins popping out on his forehead. She’s limp and heavy as a sack of potatoes, he’s thirsty, he pounds his thighs against hers, and it climbs in him, he comes, a white flash, millions of minute stars, heat, he falls across her back. He lets her go, and she begins to cry.

At home later — she’d taken a cab, shocked and raging, while he’d walked through the city, empty, but full of an odd sort of happiness — he steps toward her. They stood looking at each other in the living room, ten feet of space and a cat between them. He steps toward her raising one hand defensively, and says, “Honey. I needed you so badly.” Why he says this is a mystery to him. How could he step forward like that, a gesture, after what had happened? Because it’s not something you can talk about. It’s not something there are words for. When they go to bed after a silent dinner in the kitchen, where she simply sat poking at her chicken filet, she snarls at him suddenly. “You violated me.” He doesn’t respond. He glides swiftly into a dream. It starts with Alice in a well-lit room, he’s bending over her shoulder, showing her something. A finger runs across a sheet of paper, the paper’s fibers rising against his skin. Then there’s a plateau, desiccated red earth. A boy’s naked feet running and whirling up clouds of dust. And the plateau becomes a completely barren lunar landscape under a blue-gray sky. Huge clouds clump together with supernatural speed. “You assaulted me, you bastard,” Patricia says angrily, off in the distance. She shoves his shoulder, hard. But he can’t wake up.