Alone in the store, Leo’s tired and ready to lock up. On Friday nights he keeps the store open until eight thirty, a half hour later than the rest of the week, since the first night of the weekend inspires strong cravings for sweets in many of his customers.
His last customer has left, the wife of the liquor storeowner next door, after buying six large bags of potato chips. The cash register is closed and the floor swept, when the front door quietly swings open. Cookie, motionless, stands framed in the doorway, reminding Leo of an old-fashioned cameo necklace. Her hair is swept up into some kind of tight bun, and a small lavender flower is pinned above her ear.
For a moment, Leo’s lungs can’t find air, but then he’s able to breathe again, and he waves her in. She closes the door behind her. A sudden urge overcomes him to dim the lights, but he resists. She removes her bright green coat, and lays it on the counter, revealing that she’s dressed gypsy-style, in a ruffled peasant blouse and layers of sheer skirts. Her eyes are large and secretive, the curve of her round face soft and inviting.
A mist forms on his upper lip. He’s not sure how it happens, and will never be sure, even years later, when he looks back at this day, how the line is first crossed. All he’s certain of is that he walks over to the front door and locks it. And that, seconds later, she’s in his arms, and their bodies and mouths are intent upon each other and nothing else. He grows hard and presses against her, feeling her hips move to accommodate his presence, and the movement of her body is both fierce and delicate, and then he knows that he must stop, must retreat back to the line of safety, the line which he can never cross again.
Drawing upon strength he’s startled to discover he has, he pulls himself away, and is about to say something awkward and foolish, something from a trashy, Grade B movie, like, “We mustn’t do this,” but she’s already buttoning up her coat, her fingers nimble and swift, her expression remarkably peaceful and unfazed, and she’s walking toward the door, opening the lock with no struggle, closing the door soundlessly behind her, and exiting into the cool night.
He shakes his head, half-convinced—and fully wanting it to be so—that he’s fallen asleep and dreamed what has just happened.