Window Shopping

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Bradley asks, turning his chair slightly in my direction. “Don’t people want a return to normalcy?”

“Yes, sir. And what constitutes normalcy changes. It has changed. That’s not to say we’ve completely taken our focus off physical, in-person shopping. As we know, consumers tend to buy more in person or open a line of credit. We’re incentivizing in-person shopping through the newsletter and various television spots running through the holidays in the tri-state.” My bow tie suddenly feels tighter. “As far as appealing to casual shoppers and tourists, we hired a new window dresser, as you requested, and she’s taking things in an interesting direction. I should be able to send you more details once she’s finished with her current design. Now as far as—”

“Oh thank God,” my grandmother interjects. “The last girl was an abomination. Who is the new one? Have I heard of her? Please tell me you stole that genius from Saks.”

Hang on to your smile. “I did not.” I start to tell them about Stella, then hesitate. Not because I don’t think she’s qualified. Not because I’m afraid they’ll disapprove of her past (although they definitely would). But I’m already right on the edge of my patience. If one of them has a negative thing to say about Stella (they definitely would), I’m not going to handle it well. At all. In fact, I’m very protective of her in a way I didn’t realize until now. Or possibly when she called me, sounding breathless and terrified, to say she’d gotten locked in the window space and my heart dropped ten stories to the sidewalk below. Yeah, I was protective then and I’m even more so now.

I’m not casting her name out into the viper pit to be torn apart.

But at the very core of me is a need to people please. Especially when it comes to my family. No matter how unlikely it seems that they’ll be satisfied with anything I do, I can’t seem to stop trying, either. Something will give eventually, won’t it?

“She’s been hired on a trial basis,” I say. “We’re going to unveil her initial design on Friday and go from there.”

My grandmother sits up straighter. “But who is she—”

“Begging your pardon, Shirley,” I say, slapping a hand to my chest. “I have a conference call shortly. Would you mind if we powered through and I’ll update you on the window design situation at the end of the week? Thank you.”

Without taking a breath, I address the next few bullet points, but my grandmother doesn’t say a word for the rest of the meeting, continuing to watch me through eyes the size of dime slits. Toward the end of my marketing recap, I realize I may have made a mistake. In refusing to give them Stella’s name, have I inadvertently drawn their attention to her?

5

Stella

With my heart in my mouth, I stare down at the missed call on my phone.

Connecticut number?

There is only one person I know in the state of Connecticut and she’s housed in their women’s prison. Nicole. She must have found out I’ve been released, otherwise she wouldn’t have called my cell. Is she just calling to catch up? Why didn’t she leave a message?

With a familiar pinch in my chest, I leave the window box to find I’ve once again worked past closing without realizing it. I did the same last night and found myself on the various upper floors, roaming the empty aisles of Vivant to the sound of vacuums humming downstairs. There is something oddly soothing about a dark, empty department store.

For tonight’s venue, I choose the luggage section for my stroll. Picking through the holiday displays and boxes of inventory waiting to be shelved tomorrow morning, I can almost hear the buzz of customers lingering behind, even though it’s deadly silent in here now. Big, elaborate garlands are hung along the perimeter of the room, Vivant’s signature vanilla and cardamom scent evident in the air. Walking past a small, black quilted carry-on suitcase, I reach down and turn over the price tag, choking over the cost. No holiday bargains in this store.

Continuing on my slow journey through Vivant, I reach up and massage the back of my neck. I’m sore head to toe from hunching over on hands and knees all day. In the middle of the night last night, inspiration hit and now I’m covering the floor in fragmented pieces of broken mirror, which I smashed up with a hammer—very therapeutic, truth be told—to make the floor reflective. Once I hang the butterflies and turn on the lighting, the effect should be prismatic and amazing.

Hopefully.

Please be amazing.

Tomorrow is the unveiling of my first ever window display. It could be a massive flop. I could have completely misjudged the direction Vivant should be taking. It’s too late to change anything now, though, so I’m trying to keep my head down and focus on the finish line.