I forgot about the sign but I did not forget about Amy Adam and her stolen credit card and her fraudulent academic attire and her large chestnut eyes. We are still hiring. She comes over. She glances at my wedding invitation and nods. “I love Austin.”
“So, how have you been?” I ask and it’s a silken maneuver on my part. I am the gentleman, assuming the role of the one who remembers so that she may be the lady, remembered. She fawns, almost curtsies. She is flattered and happy. She is staring at me and it feels good in her eyes and she hands me a résumé.
“I used to work at a little bookstore in Williamsburg, but let’s just say that it didn’t work out because of their shortsighted policies about what they call stealing.” She grunts. “Like I shouldn’t bring books home and read them. And exactly how do you even read a book without marking it up?” She is loud. “Excuse me if I’m not one of these ultramodern Kindle people, but I like pens, paper, real pages I can rip and touch.” She shakes her head. “And if you bought a book and found notes in the margins, I mean who wouldn’t love that? It’s a bonus.” She doesn’t want me to answer. She blinks. “I’m sorry. I’m going off. But it has to be said.”
She needs my acceptance. I smile. “No apology necessary.”
Now it’s her turn and she complies, playful. “I probably sound like a lunatic. Do you guys hire lunatics?”
I tell her that we only hire lunatics and she thinks I am funny. She has a lilting laugh and she likes it here with me. She will be my cashier and my girlfriend and the next time I’m invited to a wedding, it will be addressed to Joe Goldberg & Amy Adam and I won’t have to worry about finding a Guest. You are gone, forever and she is here, now.