Buffy Mary Sue
By Scribe
Part Two
Not Your Typical Working Environment
Mozell spent the next day doing nothing much, just enjoying a day off. Those had been rare enough of late that she felt downright decadent. She stayed up very, very late, surfing the Internet for new slash stories, and watching horror videos. Then she slept most of the day, getting up in the evening. It wasn't a hardship--she'd worked a lot of graveyard shifts in her life.
That evening she bagged up a sandwich, some chips, and a soda, and walked to Esoterica. She wasn't entirely comfortable doing that. It wasn't exactly a good neighborhood, but it wasn't a bad one, and there were still a couple of little places along the way that were open. She had to force herself to enter the alley, though, and made a mental note to get herself a flashlight--a big one. Preferably one of those loaded-down-by-four-or-five-D-batteries-no-it's-not-a-club ones. *Maybe a portable spotlight,* she thought, edging her way through the gloom. A tiny sliver of moonlight filtered down into the alley, just letting her make out where she was going.
She found the door, and knocked, looking around nervously while she waited. The door opened and Ephraim Tempest was there, smiling down on her. "Just a tad early."
"Hope that's all right."
"Oh, yes--I'm decent." He smiled again. "Well, I'm dressed, anyway. Pray enter." He stepped aside, and she went in. He closed and locked the door after them. Ephraim pointed at the bag. "Have you brought me a present?"
She cocked her head at him. "Well, not unless you have really, really low expectations. It's a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, chips, and a Fresca."
"What sort of jelly?"
"Strawberry."
"Mm. You know, I can't remember the last time I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Probably during my halcyon youth. I seem to remember eating a lot of peanut butter, tuna fish, and cup-a-soup then."
"Didn't we all?" She was following him to the back room. "I had intended this for my lunch. Or is that supper? Anyway, I get a meal break, don't I?"
"Oh, assuredly. But I intend to feed you." He pointed at the mini-fridge.
Mozell opened it up. There was a plate of what looked like smoked salmon and pate, fancy crackers, grapes, and chocolate dipped strawberries. There was also a junior sized bottle of wine--about the size of a regular soda. She closed the door, waited a second, then opened it again. It was still there. "No cheese? These things usually come with fancy cheese."
"I thought you didn't like cheese."
She didn't. She had a low tolerance for cheese, unless it was melted over macaroni. "How did you know that?"
"I'm psychic. So, fair trade?"
"I'm willing to make the sacrifice."
"Very good. From now on I'll provide a meal each shift, but feel free to bring snacks if you wish. Just pop that bag in the fridge, and we'll see about getting you outfitted with your work clothes."
She stowed her lunch while he went over to the desk, and opened one of the deep bottom drawers. He lifted out a pile of clothes and a pair of shoes. "I believe these will fit. If they're suitable, I'll get another couple of sets in the same sizes." He handed them over. "You can change in the restroom. Oh, and I nearly forgot." He went back to the desk. This time he handed her a make-up bag.
She took it, but she held it tweezed between her fingers in the manner of a woman having to pick up a mouse by the tail. "I'm warning you. When I was finally old enough for my mother to allow me to wear make-up, I decided I'd rather spend my allowance on books and movies."
"Very well." He took the bag back, and she felt a moment of relief. Only a moment, though. "I'll do your make-up for you when you're dressed. You'll get the hang of it in no time."
"Joy."
He smiled. "I do believe I detect sarcasm. It's part of the work ensemble."
"I won't have to wear frosted eye shadow, will I?"
"No."
"I'll do it, then."
"As you said, joy."
"It's going to be nice, working for a fellow smart ass." She went into the restroom, and Ephraim took a seat on the edge of the desk. The restroom door opened again almost immediately. "There are undergarments here--black, lacy ones." He nodded. "Mister Tempest, my underwear drawer could easily belong to a Carmelite nun--I don't own anything that isn't white cotton or nylon."
"This will be a nice change for you, then."
"There's a red bow on the brassier."
"Don't worry, it won't show through."
She stared at him. He stared back, lifting an eyebrow. "So help me, if I find seamed stockings and a garter belt, I'll go on unemployment." She went back in and started changing clothes. *I guess I should be grateful that these are briefs and not a thong. I wonder if I'm going to be sexually harassed? I wonder if I should be worried that the prospect doesn't worry me any more than it does?*
A few moments later Mozell exited the restroom. Ephraim sat up alertly, examining her as she came over to stand before him. She was wearing a clinging black jersey top, with a scoop neck, and long sleeves. The black skirt reached just past her knees. It was of gauzy, floaty material, with the sort of ragged, jagged hemline that she thought looked like someone pissed off had gotten into the wardrobe with a pair of scissors. Finally she was wearing black tights, and black satin slippers. "All I'd need would be a few feathers to dance as a black swan in Swan Lake. I haven't worn a leotard since I was in third grade."
"You look charming. Just remember, you need to dress to suit the store's atmosphere and stock. Now," he opened the make-up bag. "Let's get you adorned. Hold still."
He had a bottle of foundation, and he quickly smoothed a thin, even coat over her entire face, then down her throat. When he started on her upper chest she said, "Hey!"
"You can do it yourself if you like, but you have to have an even coat, all the way down to your neckline." He handed her the bottle. "This needs to look natural--not like you're wearing a mask." She applied the make-up, down to her neckline. She also patted on the powder there, too. Then Ephraim went to work with eyeliner, eye shadow, and lipstick. Finally he said, "There. Perfect. Go have a look at yourself."
Mozell went and stood in front of the mirror, staring at herself. She wasn't exactly Kabuki white, but she was damn pale. She was so pale that she thought she looked as if she shouldn't be casting a reflection at all. The eye shadow was very dark, and smoky, and she had to admit that it and the eye liner made her eyes look even brighter blue. The lipstick was the brightest red she'd ever seen outside photographs from the fifties. She came out and said, "So I'm Morticia."
"Ah, the Addams family--one of my favorite American cultural icons. In any case, you look precisely as I think a representative of this shop should look."
"Thank you. Shall I speak to the customers in iambic pentameter?"
"Only if you really want to. Come along, and I'll familiarize you with the eccentricities of the cash register. You WILL use it, though many of my customers operate on a credit basis."
The flowers in the vase tonight were lilies. Mozell had to resist an urge to take one and cross her arms over her chest. It didn't take long to learn the cash register, not after having to deal with an electronic one (one she was positive had been possessed by some form of cyber demon most of the time. Either that, or it just flat hated her).
Once that was done, Ephraim started leading her around the store, elucidating on various items. "You'll need to dust each night--some with a duster, some with a cloth. Some you won't touch. If you see someone else trying to touch them, you'll try to dissuade them. If you can't dissuade them, you'll get out of the store."
"You do know that it's illegal to sell explosives unless you're licensed, right?"
"These aren't explosives--exactly. If the wrong person gets their hands on some of these, believe me--explosions will be the least of our worries. Now, you'll notice that this enclosed case is locked. I'll show you where the key is later. These items are seen only by appointment, and I'll be the one showing them. No matter who or what tells you that it's all right if they see something in this case while I'm not here--they're lying. You may be offered a considerable bribe. Believe me, whatever it is, it won't be worth it. That little leather book on the top shelf? Guess what sort of leather it's bound in."
She squinted at it, then took a step back. "That looks like a tattoo on the cover."
"Clever girl! That came out of a Japanese prison camp after WWII. It contains some formulas for calling up very obscure, very nasty oriental demons. And that wicked little knife on the shelf below was used to prepare the binding material. Note the symbols embossed on the handle. You truly do not want to cut yourself with that, as it's been spelled to make any wound impossible to heal. That's not as nasty as that pick next to it--that one's poisoned, but it takes oh, a year or so to reach the lethal stage. It's so painful, though, that the victim usually doesn't live that long. They usually commit suicide first."
"Uh-huh. Don't you have anything a little more cheerful in this shop? Something to ensure luck, cleanse auras, attract money, or love..."
"Well, that pretty little heart shaped locket in the back case IS a love charm. Of course, the love that it inspires has a tendency to turn to obsession, which can be rather dangerous."
"Right."
The tour continued. He didn't explain the bucket and shovel--he just said that she should take the DO NOT TOUCH sign seriously, especially given their proximity to the coast. When the tour was finished, he declared it time for their lunch break, and they adjourned to the back room.
She mentioned that she would really prefer the Fresca to the wine, and he was amenable; so they sat down to eat together. He tucked into the sandwich with every sign of relish, and she wondered if the wine complimented it. She had no idea what the proper wine was to serve with PB&J.
"As to the prices. Any time I have to leave you alone, I'll provide a list of firm prices for some of the items." He smiled at her, and licked a smear of jelly off his thumb in a manner she found rather suggestive (she just wasn't sure if he was doing it deliberately, or unconsciously. She had a feeling that the first was the most likely). "However, you are encouraged to mention a significantly higher sum to begin with, and see if they'll go for it. Other than those items, I'll leave the pricing up to you."
"Pardon, but I thought you just said that I was to decide the prices."
"I did."
"I've never been good at estimating costs. I've done well at Jeopardy, but I suck at The Price Is Right, and that's with national brand name products. I wouldn't even begin to have the foggiest notion what to charge for those knick-knacks out there."
"It doesn't matter."
"You don't understand. I might very well ask seven-fifty for something you could get a few hundred, or more, for. If I do that too often, you might have a hard time explaining it to the IRS."
"Miss Mozeby, I didn't open Esoterica just to make money. That's a plus, of course, but there are other benefits to providing my wares to society. Believe me, any loss I take financially will be more than balanced by..." He hesitated. "By just knowing that the goods are out there circulating, doing what they're intended to do."
"Mm-hm. Mister Tempest, exactly how much of those fairy tales you told me do you believe?"
"All of it, of course. I couldn't very well be an effective merchant if I didn't believe in my stock."
"I don't see why not. I'm pretty sure it happens a lot in commercial America."
"And you don't believe any of it?"
"Well, I believe that there are things that happen in this world that can't be explained in a science lab, but not as many as the tabloids would have us believe. No, I don't believe the stories you told me, but I'm willing to act like I believe I do. I won't touch anything you say not to. I won't express skepticism when there's a customer around. But I'm going to use the phrases 'it's reported to' and 'they say that' a lot. I don't intend to be hauled into small claims court for making false claims. That's one reason why I couldn't work selling those mail order weight loss and 'natural male enhancement' products. The other reason is that I couldn't report their claims without either gagging or laughing. Believe me, it'll be a lot easier to tell someone that the paperweight they're interested in will let them read through any envelope they pass it over."
"I like that one--lots of potential. Just don't try to persuade anyone not to buy, and we'll get along fine. In fact, if you make a particularly good sale, I'll give you a commission."
She sat up. "And capitalism rears its lovely head. I can plus sell. If there's one thing I learned in college, it's to bullshit with the best of them."
"Wonderful." Ephraim at a potato chip. "I can tell that you're going to be wonderful at spreading..." he trailed off, then smiled. "My kind of energy."
