Bentley Little - The Store

Most of the documentation he wrote sat in impressive-looking binders, untouched, on customers' shelves.

It was a depressing situation, and one he felt guilty about, but there was little he could do to change it. This was his job. He had a family to help support -- they certainly couldn't survive on Ginny's salary alone -- and he possessed no other skills, certainly none that could land him gainful employment in Juniper. At the very least, they'd have to move to a bigger city, someplace where he might be able to catch on at a large company. It was highly unlikely that another employer would allow him to telecommute and work out of his home.

Besides, he liked his job.

He felt guilty about that, too.

He wasn't in the mood to continue working on computer instructions, so he saved what he'd written on both the hard disk and a diskette, then toggled over to check his E-mail.

There was a message from Street, and he called it up:

You are God, buddy! I heard about the council meeting, and I want you to know that all of us downtown are pretty damn impressed with the way you stood up for us. Especially for a guy who always did his shopping in Phoenix!

Thanx for stating our case. Every little bit helps.

Want to join the recall effort?

How about chess tonight?

He smiled as he read the message. Maybe he wasn't such a traitor after all. He sent Street a message agreeing to a computer game, then signed off. He stared at the blank screen and found himself wondering what would happen if Street lost his store. Would he be able to find a job here in town, or would he have to move? It wasn't just an idle question anymore. There'd been a seismic shift in the economics of Juniper, and the shift was permanent. The Store wasn't going anywhere, and whatever business couldn't coexist with it would be killed.

Street might survive, because his shop carried a broad range of seldom needed electronic parts that it probably wouldn't be economically feasible for The Store to stock. But a lot of the local merchants carried a small selection of mainstream goods, and not only did The Store sell those items for a cheaper price, it offered a wider selection. Those businesses wouldn't make it.

The phone rang, and Bill answered.

It was Williamson James.

"Thank you," he said. "Thank you for posting my ad on the computer."

"What happened?"

"I found a buyer for the cafй."

"That's great. Who?"

"You're not going to believe this."

"Who?"

"The Store."

Bill was silent.

"Are you still there?" the cafй owner asked. "Bill?"

"I'm here," he said, and he tried not to let the emotions he was feeling into his voice.

"They're paying big bucks, too. I'm really lucky. Really _really_ lucky."

Bill closed his eyes, held the receiver tightly. "Yeah," he said finally.

"You are."

3

Ginny walked in from the bathroom, drying her hair, and glanced over at Bill on the bed. He was sitting up against the headboard, an open book in his lap, but his gaze was distant, far-off, not on the pages in front of him. She tossed the towel on top of the hamper. "Hey," she said, walking over. "What is it?" Bill looked up at her. He shook his head, put his book facedown on the nightstand next to him. "Nothing."

"Something." She sat down on her side of the bed and picked up a container of moisturizer from the nightstand, opening it. "Tell me."

"It's not important."

"Suit yourself."

He smiled at her in his best adoring housewife manner. "So how was your day, dear?"

She started spreading the moisturizer on her face. "Except for the students and Meg, it was fine."

"That's nice."

She paused. "You know, it's weird. The past week or so, the kids have seemed completely different. Ever since Easter vacation. They were only out for a week, but it's like they were gone for a year. Now they all dress like gang members, with the big pants, the baggy clothes. . . ."

"Fads change. You know that." He chuckled. "So the MTV influence has finally penetrated our little town."

"It's not that. It's . . ." She shook her head. "I can't explain it, but something's changed. They don't just look different, they're acting different."

"Come on --"

"You don't know these kids. I do."

"I'm sorry."

"Their parents all bought them exactly the same clothes. Those clothes."

"If they shopped here in town, of course they're all going to buy the same clothes. There's not much of a selection."

"That's just it. These aren't Juniper, Arizona, clothes. These are New York clothes. South Central L.A. clothes. And it's not just a fad. It's more like they're wearing . . . a uniform. It's not like they want to dress this way, it's like they have to dress this way, like their parents and their friends and everything are forcing them into this, requiring it of them. The peer pressure factor's way up all of a sudden." She sighed, started again spreading the moisturizer on her face. "I don't like it."

Bill was silent for a moment. "We made a mistake," he said finally, and his voice was serious. "We never should've let Sam work at The Store."

She'd been thinking the same thing, but it felt strange hearing him say it, and she felt obligated to defend her daughter. "It's what she wants to do.

Besides, she's eighteen. She's an adult. She has to live her own life."

"She may be eighteen," Bill said, "but she's not an adult. And as long as she lives in our house, under our roof, she's going to follow our rules."

"So you want her to quit?"

Bill looked at her. "Don't you?"

"I don't think it's my decision to make."

He sighed. "You're right." He leaned back against the headboard, looked up at the ceiling. "I don't know what to do."

Ginny put down the jar of moisturizer and scooted next to him on the bed.

She put a hand on his leg. "Maybe we should both talk to her."

"No. She does need to earn money for college. Besides, if we forbid her to work, she'll just resent us for it. She might even do something . . . I don't know, drastic."

Ginny smiled. "Are you sure you don't have her confused with Shannon?"

"Sam's more like her every day."

So he'd noticed, too. Ginny thought of the way Sam had treated that customer at The Store, the almost surly attitude she'd had around the house lately. This behavior wasn't like their daughter, and it worried her. "Maybe she'll figure it out for herself," Ginny suggested. "Maybe she'll quit on her own."

"Maybe," Bill said doubtfully. "I hope so."

"I do, too," Ginny said, and a chill passed through her as she thought of the black convoy. She snuggled closer to Bill. "I do, too."

TWELVE

1

Aaron Jefcoat sat in his police cruiser, in the parking lot of Len's Donuts, finishing an apple fritter before beginning his midnight tour of the town. He'd had over a week to think about it, but he still wasn't sure how he felt about his wife working. He glanced over at the photo of Virginia he'd mounted in a clear plastic frame atop the dashboard. The picture had been taken a long time ago, before she'd had the boys, and she looked damn good in it. She still looked damn good, he thought, but the photo captured her in her prime, the way she'd looked when he'd married her, and it was a reminder, in case he ever forgot, of the way she had changed his life.

She'd had a job when they'd met. She'd been a carhop at Big Daddy's Diner, the old teenage hangout that had been torn down in the seventies to make room for KFC. But she'd quit working when they'd married to become a housewife, and she'd been responsible for taking care of the house, and later the kids, while he brought home the bacon.

It had been a fair division of labor, and it had worked now for over twenty-five years, but last week, all of a sudden, Virginia had decided that she wanted to go back to work. She wanted to get a job at The Store.