Shelby had never considered shopping an adventure. But that was before she’d gone shopping with Brandy.
With Brandy, shopping was more of a “search and destroy” mission, as Shelby had learned as she followed behind her friend and a metal shopping cart as, together, they took on T.J.Maxx.
Brandy could wheel between crowded aisles, her eyes boring like lasers into the racks, picking and discarding with the precision of a berry picker sorting out rejects. “Yup. Nope. Wrong color. Oh, this is good. Come on, let’s check out the clearance racks.”
Shelby followed along, remembering well-appointed showrooms, complimentary glasses of champagne, clothing being brought to her rather than the other way round.
And clerks. Shelby remembered clerks. Helpful clerks.
“Where are the clerks?” she asked as Brandy played a quick game of chicken with a woman who’d dared to push a cart toward her as she was already halfway down an aisle.
“Salespersons,” Brandy corrected. “I’m in employment, remember. We don’t call them clerks anymore. It’s demeaning.”
“Sorry. So, where are the salespersons? I mean, what if I want to try something on and it’s the wrong size?”
“Then I schlepp out of the dressing room and get you the right size, silly. The only salespersons you’ll see in this place are cashiers. How do you think they keep the prices so low?”
“I hadn’t thought about it, actually,” Shelby admitted. “Although they probably are saving quite a bit of money in not carpeting the floor. Or cleaning it very often.”
Brandy pulled out a black summer sweater that was more of a crop-top, held it up to Shelby, nodded, then tossed it into the cart. “You’re not getting this, are you? Shopping, that is.”
“Am I buying that?” Shelby asked, eying the sweater. “And, no, I don’t think I am. Getting this, that is. It’s just so... so alien somehow.”
“Ah, poor baby,” Brandy teased, patting her cheek. “All this not being waited on hand and foot must be a real pain. Can I get you a cookie?”
Shelby pulled a face. “Very funny. And let me see that sweater.” She reached into the cart, realizing that she was worried about a price tag for the first time in her life. Trying to read the tag was like deciphering Greek. “I don’t understand. There’s stickers all over it”
Brandy took hold of the tag, began pointing. “This is the price it should sell for, and this is the price you pay. Or the price you would have paid, except it’s on clearance, so you pay what’s on the top red sticker. Comprende?”
Shelby looked at the tag again, then grabbed the sweater, checking the brand name in the neckline. “But... but this is... my God, Brandy, what are designer labels doing in a place like this?”
“What do you care? You’ve just saved sixty bucks. Right?”
“Right,” Shelby said quietly, then smiled. “I can get shorts, too, can’t I?”
“Shorts, tops, anything your little heart desires. Even shoes.”
“Shoes?” That was it. Shelby was in love. She stood on tiptoe, actually sniffed the air like a hunting dog going on point. “Where?”
An hour later, Shelby was the proud owner of the black sweater, three more midriff-hugging cotton tops, two pair of denim shorts, and two pair of sneakers, one red, one white. And she still had enough money in her pocket to buy some socks.
Ah, capitalism. She had a whole new understanding of the concept.
The hour she and Brandy had spent in the discount store had flown by, and Shelby panicked when she looked at her watch, realizing that she had to be at Tony’s in a half hour. “Today’s going to be really busy, Tabby told me. Actually, she said Saturdays are the pits, but I think I’ve translated correctly.”
“You did. We’ll hit McDonald’s drive-through,” Brandy told her reassuringly as they pulled out of the parking lot. “You have eaten at McDonald’s haven’t you, Shelley?”
“Will you hate me if I say I haven’t? But I have heard of it. That counts, doesn’t it?”
“God, girl, you’re so deprived. Nothing but artichoke hearts and caviar. Poor baby. Next time I’m wishing I was rich and famous I’m going to remember that I’d probably never get any more Mickey D french fries. That’ll cure me. So,” Brandy said, dropping Quinn into the conversation without bothering with subtlety, “did he kiss you? We left you alone out there in the hall so he’d kiss you, you know.”
Shelby busied herself rearranging the seat belt strap, as Brandy’s way of driving one way while looking another was a little unnerving. “We just went bowling, Brandy. It wasn’t even a date. Not really. Was it?”
“If he didn’t kiss you, then I guess not. Bummer.”
Shelby sat back against the seat, remembering how Quinn had looked at her for a long time as they stood outside the door to her apartment. How he had actually put out his hand, begun to reach for her, then stepped back, said he’d hoped she’d enjoyed the evening. As if she were poison or something. “Yeah,” she said as Brandy pulled into McDonald’s parking lot. “Bummer.”
Her disappointment faded soon enough as she munched on french fries that did things for her palate pheasant had never been able to do. “These are delicious,” she said, her mouth full, her hand reaching into the bag for more. “I can’t understand how I’ve lived this long without them.”
Brandy reached over and patted her on the shoulder. “Ah, grasshopper,” she said, her voice heavily accented, “the tings I will show you, the tings you will learn.”
What Brandy showed Shelby next was how to weave in and out of three lanes of traffic while holding a soda cup in one hand and eating a hamburger with the other. But they arrived at Tony’s in time for her shift, which had to mean something. Not much, Shelby decided, having believed they were going to die at least three separate times, but something.
As she was climbing out of the car, Brandy leaned over, said, “Oh, did I tell you? We’re going miniature golfing tonight. The four of us. Gary arranged it all with Quinn last night, although he didn’t bother to tell me until you’d gone to bed. And please don’t tell me you’ve never played miniature golf. That’s putting only, in case you didn’t know.”
Shelby thought about her bowling scores. Thought about the 238 Quinn had rolled—the showoff. Thought about the silver cups and plates she’d won at the country club. The big silver punch bowl had been for last year’s contest on the putting green, she remembered proudly. And then she smiled. Putting, huh?
“Oh, yes, Brandy. I’ve played golf, not that we have to mention that to Gary and Quinn. Well, this is going to be interesting. What do you say we make it you and me against the men?”
Brandy looked at her assessingly. “You’re that good?”
“Good, Brandy? Oh, I’m better than that,” Shelby said confidently, grinning as she pushed the car door closed and headed off to work. At her job. Her very real job. In the very real world. Where she was having herself a very real adventure.
And, tonight, damn it, she was going to have a very real date or know the reason why!