Page 55 of I Saw You First

She’s motivated and determined, and she expects hard work from her employees. I don’t think she’s simply trying to make up for the interview. She looked so disappointed in herself that day that it nearly killed me to show my disappointment. And I was hurt, too. Maybe it’s stupid, but I take it personally that she’s been looking for a new job. She’s told me how much she likes working here, and I don’t want her to leave.

I hated having to write her up, but I would never want anyone to accuse me of playing favorites if I hadn’t. Either way, whether she’s trying to make amends or not, media revenue has jumped. They’re sitting at the top of all the media departments in the district for revenue and margin, and Kevin sold every visor CD holder we had in stock last week.

I’m MOD on a busy Friday night, making my rounds on the diamond, when one of our media regulars comes in. He’s a short white guy, early thirties, with long, curly, light-brown hair and a bushy mustache that makes him look like the Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz. He’s really into jazz—I overheard him tell Abbey once that he plays “keys” in a local jazz group—and he buys those expensive 24-karat gold CDs, popular with both jazz aficionados and shoplifters.

I pause in appliances, across the diamond from the last of the CD aisles, and watch while Abbey helps him. Even though she’s overworked and no doubt exhausted, she greets him with a broad smile.

“Leo!” she says. “Good to see you!”

No way is that guy’s name Leo.

He smiles—or at least, I think he smiles under all that facial hair. “I’m glad you’re here tonight.”

“I’m here most Friday nights,” she says. “Lucky me. What can I help you find?”

“Do you have the original master recording of Thelonius Monk, Live at the Monterey Jazz Festival, ’63, Volume 2, on twenty-four-karat-gold? It was released in ninety-four.”

Abbey taps her finger on her lips. “We got a few of the gold CDs in this week, but not that one. I’ll check to see if any nearby stores have it and we can have it transferred over.”

“Great,” he says. “What time are you off work? You wouldn’t want to go hear this awesome jazz trio over at the Dakota with me, would you?”

I grit my teeth. No, she fucking wouldn’t.

I think, anyway. And what the hell is wrong with me? Am I jealous that some random fan asked her out but I can’t?

“Aw, thanks for the offer,” Abbey says, “but I’m more of a blues fan.”

He shrugs, and I let out a long breath. She leaves him to browse in the jazz section and goes over to the media desk to work her magic. I have no doubt that she’ll find that Thelonious Monk CD, and I’ve never been happier for the blues.

Later, I find Abbey in Sam’s chair in the warehouse, hacking at a roll of packaging tape with a pair of scissors. “I will not let this tape gun win,” she says to herself. “I will be the victor. I have lost to this tape gun too many times, but not today.”

The sunny personality she showed Leo and all the other fans tonight has disappeared, her brow furrowed and her mouth pinched.

“Hey,” I say.

She jumps and drops the scissors. “Scooby Snax! Don’t sneak up on me!”

“Sorry. You good, Rhodes? Need help?”

She scoffs. “No, I do not need help. And don’t worry, I’ll be back on the floor as soon as I can get this box taped up.”

“I’m not worried,” I say, “except about you.”

She stands up and huffs. “Oh, well, you know me, Wil. Totally fine. Fine, fine, fine.”

“You seemed stressed.” I’m a moron. That’s an understatement. “What’s going on?”

She swallows so hard I can hear it. Just when I think she’s going to completely shut down and walk away, she says, “How could they do it? How could they leave me on my own right before the holiday season? I’m completely clueless. I’ve got a journalism degree. I’m a writer! I don’t do, I write about what other people do! What if—what if you decide I’m not competent enough for this store and you ship me off to some dump like—like Crosstown?”

I burst out a laugh before I can stop it.

She puts her hands on her hips. “What’s funny about this? I bare my soul, I’m totally vulnerable, and you’re laughing?”

I shake my head. “No, I’m not laughing at you or your situation. I’m laughing about Crosstown. It didn’t take you long to figure out the hierarchy of stores. Impressive.”

Her frustration with me seems to dissipate and her shoulders slump. “I’m already so tired and it’s not even November. How am I going to get through this? My parents are disappointed that I took a job in retail—no offense—and my degree is useless! No offense. I’m disappointed with myself!”

“Rhodes—”