Fool's Love

4. Tipsy Tipsy

Four years pass by slowly. In Xavier's absence, I meet with Earl Dwyer alone. The older man asks me to call him 'father', and sometimes I do when I'm in a good mood.

I spend the weekends at his manor. Early in the morning, while the sun is nothing more than a soft touch of orange on the horizon, we jog around his estate until our shirts are drenched in sweat. Then we wash, change into casual clothing and meet in the drawing room to discuss business matters.

He wants to know my expenditures for each month and profits. So, I go over the numbers with him, and my mother plays the piano in the background. The two of them are officially married, and despite whatever scorn they draw from other affluent members of society, they are happy.

My father nods as he realizes my store has been profitable two months in a row and gives my shoulder a light squeeze in congratulation. The light streaming in through the stained-glass window brightens his red hair and sprinkles across the dusting of stubble that covers his jaw.

His praise leaves a proud, fluttering sensation in my chest.

I wonder if my parents would still be able to laugh and smile with me if they found out I was no different from Xavier.

***

Monday comes, and I yawn as I sit on a stool behind a counter, sipping a glass of chilled apple juice. Blake and I own a bookstore called 'Loopios'. What I like about our store is the fresh purple paint. The cut-out comic characters that wait at the front of the aisles, ready to jump out at you. There's even a section for erotic fiction with adult toys, but only for people over the age of twenty. It's quite popular with our customers.

A record player in the corner plays soft rock. Blake's got his hair in a ponytail as he sweeps the floor, whistling. He wears a vibrant white shirt covered in purple blossoms, long tapered black pants and high-heeled boots. He smiles as he cleans our display windows, and I go through the notebook with yesterday's sales. It's our second business venture together after a failed restaurant when we were nineteen; we had been young, then, immature, and too hungover in the morning to open on time. We hadn't been prepared to handle that responsibility and shut down within a month.

But selling comics is easier.

Blake returns the cleaning supplies to the backroom and emerges a few minutes later after changing into his Spiderman costume. He slips a toothpick between his teeth and murmurs, "Here he comes, the first Indian Spiderman! Feast your eyes on my sexy body." He winks at me and spins the arrow-shaped sale sign round and round before going outside. A bell dings as the door closes behind him, and he stands on the sidewalk, waving his sign to attract passersby.

Surprisingly, our store does well.

We get a lot of female customers because we exclusively hire handsome men. It's kind of shitty when you think about it, but to make money, you must know your audience. Who cares whose feelings get hurt in the process. The rejected applicants sometimes egg our windows or shit on the sidewalk, but that kind of stuff can be easily cleaned.

As I linger behind the counter, I unwrap one of the free caramel candies and suck on it while I wait on the new deliveries. The truck comes a little after eight-thirty. The guy who brings our newest products is the same as usual. Dark-haired with a strong jaw. A short sleeve shirt reveals his bulging biceps, and his tight black pants show off his muscular legs. He has got a decent tan going on. I bite my lip as he passes, and he winks, but I pretend not to notice.

Jace and I go to the same college, but while my major is Political Science, his focus is Criminology. Jace takes a few boxes into the backroom. I glance outside, checking on Blake before I abandon my station. Blake seems to be taking care of things. He shows the ladies he has attracted a dimpled smile that leaves them weak-kneed. Trusting Blake to keep an eye on things, I go to the back.