I reach over the blue couch with red pillows, flipping a blind to peek outside. A long line of bodies winds across the sidewalk, black velvet ropes barricading them from the street. The line never shortens until thirty minutes from closing.
“Whatever you want, Lily,” Garth tells me.
“It’s just across the street,” I mention. “It’d be kind of silly to drive, right?”
He shrugs, not giving me an answer.
My nerves are already heightened, and I’ve practiced my apology into the mirror about a million times. I don’t want to pussy out though. Not like yesterday and the day before that.
I value my relationship with my sister too much to keep going on like this. “Okay.” I jump off the couch. “We walk. Quickly. And we don’t make eye contact with any of the cameras.” Paparazzi always linger outside the store to catch footage of me leaving.
“All right.” He closes the magazine and stands, just as the store manager breezes into the break room. Michelle, a curvy college grad, has on a Superheroes & Scones T-shirt with the slogan: Channel your inner superhero.
“Hey, are you leaving?” she asks, her brown bangs nearly hiding her eyes, but I catch her looking to Garth who rarely ever moves off his post on the couch.
“Yeah, I’m going to finish the day at my house. Do you need anything?”
“We just sold out of the Guardians of the Galaxy, Volume 1: Cosmic Avengers, but I can make a note of it in the inventory list.”
Michelle used to help run this small Indie comic book store in D.C., and after many, many interviews with other potential store managers—and having to let go of a few others before her—we’ve hired Michelle full-time.
I wave her goodbye. The biggest benefit with Michelle, she never asks about my personal life. Our relationship is purely professional and comics based. I kinda love it. “See you tomorrow.” I push through the door and Garth follows, keeping up with my quick stride.
When the crowds spot me, the familiar screams of glee and click, click of cameras overwhelms my senses. Focus on the ground, Lily. The gravel is your friend.
I concentrate on the pavement, crossing the street with little traffic and then reach a new store window. I dig into my pocket and try to find the right key on my jangling ring.
Last week, Rose set the key on the counter with a note.
Lily,
This key is for you if you ever want to stop by.
Love you, Rose
Our relationship hasn’t mended enough for her to hand me the key in person or for her to say those words to my face. Today is the day that everything changes. It has to.
The brick store has newly-painted letters up above: Calloway Couture. After the sex tapes, as in plural （the online porn site has already released two）， Rose gave up her dream of having a fashion line in thousands of department stores. She settled for a boutique in Philly.
The coming soon sign hangs across the front window, and my hands sweat as I struggle to open the door.
“Lily! Where’s Lo?!” a camera guy shouts behind me.
“Lily! Have you watched Rose’s sex tapes?”
No. Never. Everyone has this stupid theory that I’ve seen them, that I’m so addicted to porn, I’d watch my own sister banging her husband. Even if I was in a very bad place, I’d never want to watch that. We’re related.
“Do you need help?” Garth asks.
The lock clicks. “Ah-ha!” I smile. “Got it.” The success almost distracts me from my current mission, a bundle of anxiety attached. With one deep inhale, I enter the store.
I expect to see workers bustling around, hanging clothes and fixing up mannequins, but the white marble floors are nearly bare, no pitter-patter of hurried feet. I wonder if she just wants a quiet, less hectic job than the one she had.
The empty store is only brightened by the chandelier lamps hanging from the ceiling.
The bells on the door clink together as Garth shuts it.
“Poppy, if that’s you, I need your opinion on the mannequins.” Rose’s voice sounds further back in the store, and I hear paper crinkling and the clap of her heels. “Do you like the headless, faceless or realistic ones?”
My stomach flips a little, and I notice the three mannequins she’s talking about. The middle one has a smooth head. “The faceless one is really freaky,” I say, my voice squeaking out.
Dead silence fills the room. Maybe this was a bad idea.
Before I can make a decision, Rose walks into view, carrying a half-opened package with tissue paper and plastic falling over the sides. The tension stretches and is only broken by Garth, who clears his throat and says, “I’m going to go sit down.”