I dress in a simple pair of dark jeans and a summery pink floral blouse, paired with a navy blue blazer and some kitten heels, and then I’m on my way. As I pass my mother’s bedroom, I knock gently on the door and say, “Hey, Mom, don’t forget to take that power bill downtown, okay? It’s in an envelope on the table.”
There’s the faint sound of the bed creaking and then I hear her footsteps trudging across the room. The door opens just a crack to reveal my mother’s face, older and sadder but still beautiful. There is a regal air about her, still, no matter how drastically our circumstances have changed over time. She gives me a nod and runs her hand back over her raven-black hair.
“Of course, dear. I’ll see to it this afternoon. Will you be home for dinner?” she asks, stifling a yawn.
I bite my lip.
“Um, maybe. Not sure yet. I have a lot of inventory to do today, and I would hate to keep you waiting on me,” I reply, giving her an apologetic half-smile.
“Right, yes. Well, do let me know. I can always call for some pizza or something if you’re going to be late. I can wait up for you,” she says, and it’s hard not to giggle at the way she says pizza, as though it’s some bizarre exotic food. I suppose when you’ve spent most of your life eating caviar, a pepperoni pie delivery might feel a little pedestrian.
“Okay, Mom. Sounds good. I’ll text you later,” I tell her, blowing her a kiss as I hurry off down the stairs. I hear her door click closed as I rush out the front entry and into my car. I took a little too long in the shower this morning, and I don’t want to be late for opening hours at the shop. After all, I am the only employee. If I’m not there to open the store, and a customer just so happens to wander up at 7:30 to find it closed, I’ll probably lose that customer for life. One thing I have learned both in studying business and by running one myself, is that every single tiny human interaction counts. If I make one miniscule mistake, I might lose a potential patron. And every one I lose is another sale I lose. Or more.
I really hate math, but even I know that it all adds up quickly.
I make the long drive from our house in Riverdale down to Morris Park, thinking over the work I have to do today. Once I’m inside the shop, I turn on the little radio I keep behind the counter (I can’t yet afford to install a real speaker system for background music) and get started. I turn on the coffee maker and start going through my inventory checklist, wiping down counters and making note of what labels need reprinting as I go. That’s the cruel beauty of being the one and only employee: you learn how to multitask. Sometimes I think that I’ve gotten so used to being three people at once, I can hardly remember how to just be myself.
As I sip my coffee, I hear the telltale jingle of the front door being opened. My heart immediately skips a beat and I glance up eagerly, expecting to see a customer. And so early in the day, too! However, my excitement dims slightly when I notice that my customer is just a rough-looking guy, rather than the typical girly-girl the shop usually attracts. For a moment I wonder if maybe he might be lost, having wandered into the wrong business by accident.
Still, I have a role to play. With a big smile, I greet him, “Good morning! Welcome to Bathing Beauty, how can I help you?”
The man looks at me with two cold eyes that make my heart freeze momentarily.
Something about him feels... off. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something about him makes me incredibly uneasy. He’s dressed in jeans and a beat-up leather jacket, and it’s obvious that he hasn’t shaved in several days, judging by the scruff along his jaw. He gives me a wry smirk and strolls up to the counter. Even as I feel myself bristling with nervousness, I don’t let the smile fade from my face. Maybe he’s here to buy his sister a birthday gift, I tell myself, trying to calm my nerves.
“Is there anything in particular you’re looking for today?” I ask, trying to keep my tone even and chipper as he stands in front of me, squinting as though he’s sizing me up. He chuckles, then gives me an exaggerated once-over. I instantly feel stripped and exposed — a feeling that I despise. My mind immediately flashes back to another time when I felt degraded, and how I felt just like this before getting into that car.
But I force myself to stay strong. I can’t think about the past right now. It’s just paranoia, getting the better of me. My natural instincts trying to keep me safe, but they’re being too over-protective. That’s all. That’s all.
“I think I found exactly what I’m lookin’ for already,” he replies, giving me a wink. His voice is gruff, like he’s been smoking heavily for years. He does have an admittedly handsome face, and I might have found him attractive when I was a reckless teenager, but these days, guys like him just make me nervous.
“Oh,” I answer awkwardly. He leans on the counter, peering toward me.
“This is a pretty nice setup you’ve got here, ma’am,” he says, gesturing broadly.
“Th-thank you,” I stutter, damning myself inwardly for being so weak.
“You know,” he begins, rubbing his palms together, “I’m a discerning entrepreneur, and I really think you’ve got somethin’ good goin’ here. Is business good lately? How’s your profit margin?”
“Uh, well, it’s… um,” I struggle, taken aback by this change in topic. Who the hell is this guy?
Without letting me answer, he continues.
“I’ve been watching this shop for a while now, and my people think it might be a good place to, uh, make our mark. It’s a good thing you’re doin’ here, bringin’ an upstanding business like this to Morris Park. I’ve got an interest in cleanin’ up the neighborhood, so to speak, and it’s nice to see a local girl like you set up shop.”
“Oh. Well, thank you,” I reply, surprised again. This is definitely not the way I thought this conversation was headed a moment ago, but I guess it could be worse.
“Yeah, yeah, so we’re thinkin’ you could benefit from our services. You know, as a part of the local community here and all,” he adds, locking eyes with me.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” I admit, frowning. If this guy is trying to sell me insurance or something, he’s certainly got a weird way of making his pitch.
He takes a phone out of his jacket pocket and quickly sends a text before looking back up at me with a dangerous grin. Suddenly, my whole body is on high alert. Something is definitely wrong here. Never ignore your instincts, Serena, the back of my mind nags at me. It’s what’ll keep you safe. But what good is that? I can’t exactly dart out of the store like a maniac. My hand reaches out for my phone, but it’s too far away to do it discretely.
“Me and my guys, we’re all about tackling risk management head-on. Just lookin’ out for the neighborhood to maintain the integrity of our little community. I’m sure you understand, right? You’re a business-minded girl, I can tell. So, listen up,” he says, just as the front door jingles again.
Two hulking, musclebound men dressed in similar clothes have entered the shop. They each flank the first guy, walking around the store with menacing glares on their ugly faces.