Caramel Flava

He certainly wouldn’t be doing the men any favors by getting another salesperson to ring them up, so he left well enough alone—but found himself wondering if she was the type of woman that would let him come all over her chest.

When he came back from lunch an hour and half later, he was surprised to see that there was still a large number of men waiting on line for her help. When he got closer though, he saw none of the same faces from earlier. This was a brand-new crop of men vying for her sartorial attention.

He asked around and found out that she had been consistently outselling everyone else in the store since the day she started. Even the folks who worked expensive counters like jewelry couldn’t understand how she was leaving them in the dust with tie sales. But she was.

He observed her closely for a few days and decided that the compliment that might work on her was that if she was his woman, all those other men would have to buy their ties elsewhere. He got distracted by easy conquests for a while, but the day he saw her wearing those fishnets and ankle-strap stilettos was the day he decided to make his move.

A lot of good it had done him, though. If anyone had seen him running around half-naked with his dick wrapped up like a goddamn Christmas present, he’d have been fired for sure. He decided to let things calm down for a while before he tried again.

“So, all you’re selling is ties, right?” He didn’t mean to sound wounded and insecure. He intended for his words to come off as a stern warning that any unseemly sexual behavior would not be tolerated. Not that he should be the one to cast stones, but still. He knew he had miscalculated as soon as his words hit the air. Ms. Ramos’ look was frigid and at least two of the men in her omnipresent line of customers snickered.

“I’m just saying. I don’t want to have to fire anyone today.” He tried to infuse this with some bravado but it only partially worked.

“Are you here to buy a tie?” she asked, her voice distant and sharp. He noticed that she spoke English without the slightest trace of an accent. He shook his head.

“Are you going to fire me for selling ties?” she pressed. Again, he shook his head. She was making plenty of money for Macy’s so she was a commodity. If he let her go he’d have to answer for it.

“Then I better get back to it,” she said, turning away. He looked around just enough to see that the faces of the men in her line were alight with smiles, which only intensified the sting of being dismissed.

“Just make sure that’s all you’re selling,” he mumbled as he walked away, more for the men’s ears than for hers. He could already see how it would play out if he angered her. She’d be smart enough to claim sexual harassment and his pleasure playground era at Thirty-fourth Street would be over.

For days, he tried to stop thinking about her, but he couldn’t. Even revisiting the conquests he’d already made was not enough to sate him. Frightened to confront her on the floor in front of her endless posse of men and equally fearful of what might happen if he called her to his office again, he settled for the only option available to him. He swallowed what was left of his pride and got in line to buy a tie with his employee discount.

“Only one, dawg?” the guy in front of him said with a derisive laugh. “Must be your first time.”

He tried to shake off the feeling of inadequacy instilled by the man’s comment, but when he looked around he noticed that everyone else in the line had multiple ties in their hand. He knew the tie prices by heart and saw that all the men had a single sale tie in their hands, in addition to a range of higher caliber ties, from Kenneth Cole to Joseph Abboud.

He noticed other things too, like the fact that many of the men in line did not seem to be the tie-wearing type. Not at all. As he noticed the other men in line, they noticed him too. Invariably their eyes would fall to his single clearance-sale tie and smiles and whispers would follow.

He thought about getting a few more ties, just to be on par with everyone else, but he didn’t want to lose his place in line and, even more, he didn’t want to feel like the other men had forced him into it. So, he stood there and waited his turn.

Ms. Ramos acted like she didn’t know him any more than she knew the other men. Actually, even less so, since she seemed to have regular customers she’d been bantering with before she got to him. She held his tie up with her thumb and forefinger, examining it the way a woman might look at an expended condom after a disappointing sexual encounter. He heard chuckles behind him. There were outright laughs when she told him to take the tie back and find another. His pride flared and he insisted that she ring up the tie in her hand.

“It’s not the right tie for you,” she countered, holding it up under his chin and letting it drape over the tie he already had on.

“It’s the one I’m buying,” he said, trying not to snarl. She acquiesced with a glare and tapped on the cash register. With his managerial discount the tie came to $5.47. He reached for his wallet but she stopped him.

“This, you don’t deserve to pay for,” she said in Spanish before making a show of pulling a twenty from just underneath the pink lace fringe framing her breasts and putting it into the till.

“I’ll let the house keep the change,” she said, speaking in English again, and then she reached past him for the next customer. “Next time, get a better tie,” she said to his back as he walked away. Male laughter followed him all the way to the escalator.

Over a greasy lunch procured in the food court of the Manhattan Mall, he mulled it over. He couldn’t fire her. He couldn’t write her up because she didn’t seem to be doing anything wrong. He couldn’t very well complain about the fact that she’d paid more than double the price of a tie and given it to him.

What bothered him more than anything was that he couldn’t get her out of his head. In the days since she’d mummified him, his mind had become hardwired for Ms. Ramos and the mystery of her ties. It was an itch that needed to be scratched.

He waited a whole agonizing week before he tried again. This time, he followed suit: one semi-cheap sale tie, and three expensive ties ranging from $75 to $90. He spent some time trying to choose ties that were complimentary too. When he got to the front of the line, she gave his ties an appraising look.

“Much better,” she rumbled, more purr than voice. “What’s your home address?” He rattled it off without thinking before wondering aloud why she’d asked.

“I’ll deliver these at eight o’clock. Be home.”

“Ms. Ramos,” he said, feeling a rare opportunity to reassert control. “We don’t do home delivery here.”

“I believe in personal service. Are you going to fire me for that?” She smiled the predatory smile again and reminded him she’d be over at eight o’clock, sharp.

He pretended to be annoyed while he was still facing her in the store, but by the time the digital readout on his microwave’s clock read 8:00, he was waiting with chilled champagne, fresh strawberries and an assortment of chocolates. The intercom buzzer barked at him before the clock’s time shifted to 8:01 and he was impressed by her punctuality.

She barged past him as soon as he opened the door, hardly giving him time to notice the fact that her trench coat wasn’t nearly cinched tight enough to hide the undulating ripples of her oiled skin as she stalked inside, the sound of her heels clicking firmly across his hardwood floors sending tickles of anticipation across his skin.