5 posts tagged “shop”

As pay back for having to come and get me after spending the night with Jim- er, Tim, Elle made me work the next day. This job really is God-awful dull. I actually caught myself reading a dictionary to pass the very slow-moving time.

I wander if I could just give myself a severe paper cut across the throat and DIE.

I was spying on Black Books through the window when the little bell above the door jingle, letting us all know that a customer was coming in. Nobody had been in all day so it gave me quite a start.

It was Tom.

And he didn't even notice me.

So, I had to make him notice me.

I grabbed a book off a random shelf, opened it and "accidently" bumped into Tom.

"Oh, gosh," I exclaimed. "I'm so sorry!" I looked up at him, batting my eyelashes discreetly. "Tom!"

He raised his eyebrows. "Elise. What the bloody hell are you doing in a book store?"

I glared at him. "I can read, you know!"

Tom glanced at the cover of the book I had in my hand. It was, unfortunately, The Black Man's Guide to Understanding the Black Woman. Just my luck. It couldn't have been something like The Da Vinci Code or-or-or... 1001 Ways To Tell If Your Lover Is A Complete Fuck-Up Named Tom. Oh, yes. That would have been a really good one.

"Interesting choice," he said with a laugh. "So. How long have you been a black man, anyway? Not long."

I tossed the book onto a nearby shelf and crossed my arms over my chest. "Well, you would know!!"

It was about 0.5 seconds later that I realized that that wasn't actually a come-back. Bugger.

I glanced at Elle for a little assistance. Maybe she would toss the wanker out on his ass. But no. My dear sister was asleep, her head on her desk, an empty bottle of wine sitting on some old books. Great.

Tom just smirked. (Prat.) "I think we should go to lunch."

"It's half ten," I said.

Tom looked at Elle. "Think your boss would mind if you took off a little early?"

"She's not my boss!" I huffed. "She doesn't tell me what I can and cannot do!" I grabbed his hand and lead him out of the shop.

We went to the nearby pub and had some lunch. We talked about everything. Mark. Trish. Us. The whole complicated mess. But, there had been an update since the whole blow-up happened.

"Mark and Trish have been sleeping together for over a year," Tom explained. "And Trish is pregnant."

I gaped at him. "Well, is it yours or is it Mark's?"

Wow, I thought. That is exactly what happened on EastEnders yesterday. 

"Well, the doctor told her she is four weeks pregnant," he said, looking like he didn't give a fig. "So, it has to be Mark's." Tom sighed and sipped his lager. "Needless to say, Mark and I are no longer chums. And Trish is now at his place."

"Do you miss her?" I asked softly.

"Not really," he said with a shrug. "I do miss you, though."   

When Bert and I got back from France, it was New Year's Eve. He slept most of the way home on the plane- but I could barely close my eyes, let alone drift off to Dream Land.

There was no point in denying it. Bernard and Elle were shagging. Or, at least they had shagged. At least once.

I cringed at the thought. I mean, really. Ew.

So, when we got home to the shop, I just wanted to get Elle alone and ask her if the bloody thing was true or not. God, I hoped it wasn't... especially after I'd gone and told Bert that Elle fancied him. Yeesh.

Of course, there was always the possibility that Bernard had really only just slept at the shop. Highly unlikely- but I imagined Bernard and Elle were probably brilliant drinkers together and ended up pissed and he just crashed at the shop. With her.

Ew, ew, ew!! No, no!! Bad brain, bad!!

Before I could talk to Elle, Bert suggested we all go down to the pub for a New Year's Eve drink. So, the lot of us (Elle, Bert, Bernard, Fran, Manny and I) all went down to the pub and started drinking.

And drank some more. And laughed for a bit.

And continued drinking.

Well, my suspicions were confirmed, more or less. Not by Elle, but by Bernard.

He had his arm draped around Elle's shoulders and, despite the amount of vodka in her blood stream, she still looked uncomfortable with the public display of affection.

Bernard nuzzled her ear and announced to the whole pub, "This is Elle and she is... reeeeeeally lovely!!" His head then slammed onto the table as he passed out.

Bert, oddly enough, didn't seem too bothered by the fact that his woman was being nuzzled by somebody else and, of all people, Bernard Black. He was too busy flirting with Fran! And she seemed quite keen on him as well. She didn't even mind the wig, makeup and Marilyn Monroe-style dress.

So. That left Manny and me.

Manny smiled at me awkwardly as we clinked our shot glasses together and downed some tequila. Manny started getting handsy under the table, the more liquor we ingested. And since I was absolutely pissed and he was being so sweet, I didn't even bother removing his hands from underneath my skirt.

"...Elise?"

My eyes flashed open- and my head was suddenly struck with the worst hangover headache the world has ever known. I looked up to see Manny.

...Standing beside the bed in which I was laying. He'd brought me breakfast on a tray. And a newspaper. And a rose in a slender glass vase.

"Well," I said, sliding up in (his) bed, "Happy New Year to you, Manny."

On behalf of Elle, Bert and the whole gang, Happy Holidays!!

OH GOD.  They KNOW.

At least I'm pretty sure they all know.  Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

When we last left off, Bernard and I were heading full-tilt into a snog-fest. 

Bernard had mumbled something about going upstairs… I had really thought about what he was talking about; that was until Fran stumbled in the door singing “Good King Wenceslas” and “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” at the same time.

“Bernard!” she called, juggling a few boxes.  “Bernard, I – aaaccckkk!”

We jumped off the couch and stood awkwardly on each end of it.

“Uh, hallo Fran,” said Bernard, rubbing the back of his head.

“What’s this?  Bernard, what’s she doing here?” asked Fran, her words slurring slightly.  Bernard mumbled something, while I tried avoiding looking at either of them.  “I thought you didn’t like her!  Thought you said she was a - !” Fran was about to say something when Bernard amazingly leapt across the shop and clapped a hand across her mouth to stop her from saying anything else.

“Not her,” Bernard whispered.  “Dat’s Elle.”  Fran said something that sounded like “Ohhhh”, I couldn’t really tell, you, with Bernard’s hand covering her mouth and all.  Bernard removed his hand and so Fran’s drunk rambling’s continued.

“You know, I don’t know why you’re being all secretive about it…how come I can never tell you two apart?” she asked me, as seriously as a drunk can.

“We’re twins?” I offered.

“Ohhhh!” Fran threw her hands up.  “Of course!  I should have…you know you should dye your hair.  I’ll do it for you!  I always wanted to be a stylist, you know.  I need some…” She started on with her drunken witch’s cackle mid sentence.

“Is she serious?” I asked Bernard, who made some incomprehensible sounds and shrugged his shoulders a couple of times.  I looked back over at Fran who was doubling over with laughter and then back to Bernard, who had began to rifle through a bunch on presents Fran had dumped on his desk.  He pulled one out and shook it at me.

“Chocolate wine ‘tings!” he said, smiling crookedly.

I wonder if his face is able to stretch into a normal smile? 

Fran had finished laughing, and headed for the door; her mind now set on dying my hair (honestly God, I was only joking!). 

"Oh look, there's Manny!" she exclaimed from the door. 

And, well, Bernard and I naturally panicked.  He was half-eating a chocolate wine thing and half-shoving me under his desk.

"Manny!  Manny, guess who's here!" shouted Fran from the door.  Bernard began to tell Fran to stuff it, and I think he also threw a couple of the winey things at her.

"Father Christmas?" asked Manny as he entered the shop.  Fran cackled some more.  "No, no!  That girl from across the - arh!  Stop it!" 

"What?"

"She's drunk, don't listen to her, Thor.  What are you doing here?!"

"My - my parents had to go away ...somewhere.  So I came back early."

"Well you shouldn't have!"

"I thought you'd be lonely."

"Well I'm not!  I've got...ah...Fran!"

"And - "

"DON'T!"

"But -"

"NO."

"What?"

"Not'ing!  Go to your room and stay there until the New Year!"

"Why?" asked Manny in a whiney voice.

"Cos you ruined my beardless Christmas! GO!"

"Fine!"

"Good!"

Jesus, honestly; do they just go on like that all the time? 

Bernard and Fran yelled at each other a bit; then he moved and someone left the shop.  When I got out from under the desk, Fran was waiting by the door.

"Where'd Bernard go?"

"Pub?  Who cares; we don't need him!  Besides, who needs a man to help dye hair?" she smiled.  Damn it.  "Come on! We'll hop off to Boots and grab some stuff!" She grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the shop.

When we got back, Bernard was sitting outside in a snowbank, shivering, on the side walk, smoking.

"What you doin' out here?" I asked.  He mumbled something about Manny.  I started to pull him out of the snow bank (mostly to bend down to hear what he was saying).

"Manny locked you out of the shop?" asked Fran, who had sobered up a bit since our trip to Boots.

“Yes!” Bernard growled.

“Right, come on then.  We’ll just have to go to my place to so you can warm up…and so Fran can butcher – I mean dye my hair.”  Bernard was trying not to laugh (probably cos it would have hurt his nearly frozen face).  Fran didn’t hear because she was already across the street, practically jumping up and down in front of the shop door.  We went round the back way and into the kitchen.  I gave Bernard a blanket, a bottle of whiskey and forced him to sit (and stay) on Auntie Madge’s sofa.  Fran dragged me upstairs (!) to the bathroom to dye my hair.

An hour later, Fran was passed out on the floor, and I was trying to rub my skin off.

A word to the wise – never decided that half-way through having someone dye your hair that getting some wine might make it seem like it’s going better and will give the dyer some “creative inspiration.”  Never ever.  Or just don’t let anyone named Fran Katzenjammer dye your hair.

It really wasn’t that bad.  I managed to get all the dye off my face and ears.  And then I thought I heard the phone ring downstairs.  And Bernard yelling.

I ran downstairs to where he was actually yelling into the phone.  Fab.

“You’ve got the wrong number!” he was yelling at it, when I got to the bottom of the stairs.

OhsitohshitohshitoSHITohshit.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod.

What is wrong with me?

When Bernard got me to the shop, I refused to tell him where my keys were.  I doubled over laughing like a mental hyena.  Like my sister. 

He got a little bit fed up with me, but took me over to his shop, while I was still laughing my bottom off. 

I think he told me Manny went home for Christmas to visit his parents, and Fran was out getting smashed with her friend Julie.

So we were all alone.  In his shop.

I remember falling onto the couch while he went to find something out back.  I pulled my jacket off like a child, you know, pulling at the sleeves and everything else until it comes off.  I then found a display of Christmas books that Manny must have put out and pulled out Dicken's "A Christmas Carol" from the middle of the stack, causing them to topple to the floor as I sat back down on the couch.  Using my jacket as a throw, I began thumbing through the book.

It was quite embarassing, but when Bernard came back out with two glasses of wine, I was reading the book as if I was Sean Connery as James Bond.

"And a bloody fuckin' humbug, Q!"

Yep, just a little embarassing.

It got a bit better, I suppose.  Bernard got drunk and started reading bits as if he was the Queen on the telly.

We had a good laugh about it.  He disappeared again and brought out a real throw, and strangely enough, it looked as though he had tried to do something to his hair. 

He was smiling like a bedlamite when he tossed the throw over us, after he had plunked himself back down next to me...and...

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.  I WISH I could honestly remember what happened next.

There was lots of giggling...I think we spilled wine on the book...but...why am I laying on the couch next to him?

We didn't...? OH SHITE.  We did.  I know we did.

No.  No, we couldn't of.

Shit, I think we did.

This is complete bullocks.

We were supposed to split Auntie Madge's inheritance equally or go on a nice holiday together. Something nice. Something not stupid.

Only my prat sister could be so clueless. She has no experience in retail. And she's apparently missing a brain or something. Who the hell just goes ahead and buys a dinky little crap book shop?

But it gets even better.

The book shop. Is across from. Another book shop.