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“All right. Sounds good. Can I man the cash counter?” he asked.
“Be my guest.”
“Now I can also add bookstore assistant to my resume,” he said, pleased with himself, as he sat down behind the counter.
“Well—for that you have to at least make a sale,” Rory smirked.
“No problem.” Arsen looked around, grabbed a book and put it on the counter, along with a twenty dollar bill that he took out of his pocket, ringing himself in. “There you go. My first sale.”
Rory shielded her laugh with the back of her hand.
“No! Making a sale does not mean that you buy a book yourself.”
“Too bad, now it’s done,” he said, as he autographed the bill. “Now make sure that you mention this in your recommendation letter for my next employer.”
“Oh. So you haven’t sat behind the counter for five minutes and you are already thinking about the next job?”
“A man’s gotta hustle.”
“Word.” Rory bumped a fist to her chest and said it out loud in her best rapper imitation. This time, it was Arsen’s turn to laugh.
“Thinking of becoming a rapper, are we?” he said.
“Oh, dear God, no. Of all the things I have done in life, I have never ever thought of becoming a rapper.”
“So what are all the things have you done in life?”
“Well. I grew up in LA, so the usual stuff. A bunch of times I was an assistant to people who worked in the entertainment business. Chauffeuring them around, catering to their whims. I have been an assistant buyer at a small clothing brand as well, and once, at the behest of my parents, I was a full-time volunteer at the local church. You can imagine how that turned out.”
“Why? You seem like a good church-going girl,” Arsen winked.
“I have been called a lot of things but not that.” Rory chuckled. “How my mom would love to hear you say this…And I have also painted houses for a living,” she finished.
“Now that I find difficult to believe. In fact, I refuse to believe that.”
“Oh c’mon. Don’t tell me that you think that it is a man’s job?”
“Not that. I meant that a pretty girl like you would never put herself out in the harsh sun like that.”
Dammit. Stop flirting. His words were simple, but that twinkle in his eyes as he stared deep into her—that’s what made his compliments most special to her. With him she didn’t have to worry if he was just saying things. She knew he meant it.
“When I moved to LA, my first job was a nighttime security guard. Which suited me well because at the shitty building complex where I was living, you’d get to hear tons of police sirens at night. It was difficult to get good sleep. So I decided to doze off on the job instead.” He paused as if in reflection.
“In fact, that building complex, where I was crashing on an old pal’s couch, was where I first met Mickey. As the media is fond of saying, ‘the rest is history.’” He snorted sarcastically as he looked away.
“It must’ve been pretty good in the beginning?” Rory interjected, taking a seat on the high stool right opposite him.
“Absolutely. It was pretty great. He was a great singer, had a charismatic stage presence, and the first year or so was pretty darn awesome. It was all good before a lot of money started rolling in, and with that came the drugs and the parties. At that time it seemed awesome to be rich and famous but in hindsight, that is what tore the band apart.”
Arsen was still dealing with his inner turmoil. Rory could see that his attachment to the band and to his music was so intense that he easily got lost into contemplative thoughts every time he spoke of Mickey or the band.
“At times it can seem very difficult. As if there is no way out, no solution. But there is always a way,” she said in a gentle voice.
A big smile came upon Arsen’s face.
“Are you sure you haven’t been a guidance counselor as well?”
“Why?”
