My first retail experience began when I was 15 at a funky little boutique in Northern Westchester called Nonesuch. The store was owned by two very sweet, totally disorganized former party girls. Well, one of them was a former party girl; the other one had continued partying long after everyone had gone home, slept off the cocktails, showered, dressed and gone to work. She was now a full blown alcoholic, and the store was in shambles. I was hired, at first, to just clean the piles of clothes that lay about in people high heaps. Empty tequila bottles were nestled in these stacks staining the lace collars yellow and matting velvet sleeves into sticky-hard bundles. The bottles lay dormant everywhere and I found them like a trail of depressing Easter eggs throughout the tiny shop: in the piles of empty boxes in the storage room, behind the desk in unsold handbags, under hats decorated with flowers and feathers, in the middle of circular racks and in deli plastic bags hanging at the back of the wall racks. The dust was inches thick, and the jewlry was a tangled mass in the glass case which was itself sticky with spilled drinks and grime. The store was the physical embodiment of ten pounds of shit violently shoved into a one pound bag. My first job was to, in my boss, Lynn's words: "just get everything off the floor."
Much happened in the first few months: Lynn finally bought Kristin's share of the store and they fought bitterly; Lynn dated several men, but always stuck with her explosive and violent boyfriend, who I had to call the cops on twice; I met Lynn's two suprisingly good kids and occasionally babysat for them; I got my driver's license; Lynn took me on a buying trip to the Javitz Center where I saw more pink carpet than I ever thought possible; and I got everything, everything off the floor. By the time Christmas rolled around, I was running the store. Lynn, a competative bodybuilder, aerobics teacher and single mom, trusted me with writing checks, placing orders, handling cash deposits and organizing all the paperwork for her accountant. It was kind of crazy, but I took it for granted that this was a typical highschool job. For $8 an hour. Lynn came in less and less and usually it was to cry about some new terrible thing Antonio, her dickhead boyfriend, had done. She told me I was so mature, that I was the most mature person she knew, and either out of cockiness or a simple recognition of the truth, I believed her. I was really happy there. I felt so grown up driving to work after my half day of school, opening the store at noon and staying there, selling, cleaning, organizing, doing paperwork and doing my homework until it was time to close at 8.
Lynn was a big fan of holiday decorations: at Halloween half a dozen glitterey jack-o-lanterns, a shrieking witch, a couple of motion sensing, yowling black cats, streamers of black and orange, and the piece de resistance: a gargoyle encrusted fountain with dry ice smoke making tacky whisps over the most godawful Halloween sweaters. I was forever trying to reign her in, fantasizing about the clean, nearly empty stores I saw in Soho on the weekends. But when Christmas rolled around, there was no stopping her. It was Christmas music for eight hours a day for every day between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I liked the lights in the window, but I would have liked to burn some of the Victorian cut outs plastered on the walls and windows. Lynn had reluctantly asked me to work Christmas Eve, and was elated when I told her I didn't care: I'm Jewish.
The town of Katonah is always picturesque. A tiny little main street with a mix of stores catering to the extremely wealthy and the handful of blue collar folks who's families had been in the area since the railroad had been built to create a suburb for wealthy Manhattanites. During Christmastime, the town takes on the aura of a Currier and Ives print and makes everyone feel like wearing thick sweaters and fuzzy mittens. The snow lays in drifts a few feet high, sticking to pine trees, reflecting softer versions of the brightly colored lights. Everyone is happy and shopping and so.. Christian! They sing carols, say prayers in school, and then, in an insultig nod to the three or four Jewish kids, teach everyone how to play driedle(which is essentially gambling)and then add a sneering "happy Hannukka" so our famously legal race won't get up in arms and sue. Amid all this cheeriness and good will, it seemed perfectly natural for me to wear torn fishnet stockings a pair of worn black granny boots, a red velvet sleevless dress that was little more than a t-shirt, and a thin black velvet jacket with more black eye makeup than a football player. Nothing says holiday spirit like a giant ankh, black hair and a Twinkie fueled eating disorder.
So there it was, 4pm on Christmas Eve day, and the town was mostly shut down. It was the town's ability to completely empty itself of all signs of life that always made my stomach lurch. I hated knowing that 99% of the people in that town were sitting down to huge family dinners and being all happy and Christian. I was pouting and drawing when the bells on the door tinkled and there stood a youngish man, one of the bazillion commuters in the town, brushing snow off his long wool coat. At first I just rolled my eyes, not wanting my sulking to be interrupted by some asshole republican business man (my powers of perception and classification were not so well honed back then: you were either a liberal or a republican and one could tell one from the other by whether the subject was wearing a suit or not.)He smiled and apologized for getting snow on some of the novelty sweaters next to the door.
"No biggie," I said
He started to nervously wander around the store looking for all the world like a rat lost in a display of plastic cheese. Finally, I deigned to speak to the suited drone.
"Can I help you?" I asked.
"Ah. No. Actually. Maybe you could." He pulled out a shapeless, unattractive dress and held it out. "You seem to have a pretty cool sense of style. What do you think of this dress?"
"Who's it for?"
"My wife." I balked. If I were a fellow's wife, and he brought something like that home for my Christmas present, I wouldn't say anything, I would just punch him. Or I would have when I was 16, anyway.
"Um..." I said, and he got the message. "What size is she?"
He blushed deeply. "I don't know." He gave me an appraising look that made me uncomfortable. I sat down. "Oh! I'm sorry, I'm just trying to figure out if you're about the same size."
"I doubt it," I said. "I'm probably taller than her." At 16 I was already 5'10".
"Well, yes, much taller, but, you look.. your wrist looks about the same size." That was possible. I was skinny then.
"She's probably a six or four," I said. "I wear an 8 because I'm tall."
He smiled and snapped his fingers. "That sounds right."
"What color hair? Eyes?" I asked.
"Actually," he shifted uncomfortably. "She's very similar to your coloring." I looked at him suspiciously. Was he trying to hit on me? I was at least half his age and I was pretty sure that he was an evil corporate exec and his wife was some sort of bulemic trophy wife. "Here," he said correctly interpreting my very obvious glare. He pulled out a picture of his wife and daughter. She was lovely. She could have been my older, prettier, shorter, less gothy sister. We did look very similar. I relaxed then and thus began a three hour shopping extravaganza.
I pulled out dresses and seperates, earrings, neclaces, scarves, belts and hats. I made outfits on a mannequin, pulling out all of the clothes I would have bought for myself if I could afford it. He gave a thumbs up to almost everything, but that meant nothing to me, since he clearly had no idea what would look good on his wife. I would put a frilly skirt with an oversize sweater and a thick belt, a scarf, and a beret and he'd look excited and say "wow! that looks terrif-" but I would cut him off to say it would be too much fabric on his wife's small frame and he would nod and marvel at my sagacious knowledge.
He got four full outfits, earrings, scarves, bracelets, everything. And when we were done with his wife's closet, we began on his daughter's. She was seven and a little easier to pick out clothes for. I was on a crazy high. It was like dressing paper dolls, but better. We had some toys in the store that I had picked out at market, and he bought his daughter one of each.
When all was said and done, when I thought the jovial laughter couldn't be any more enjoyable, I felt him looking at me. "You really are talented, you know." He said. I blushed.
"I just really like clothes. Not that I'm materialistic or anything." As if.
"Let me pay for this and I'll leave you to do the wrapping while I get a cup of coffee, if that's okay," he said.
He'd spent over a thousand dollars. I was shocked. I felt bad, like I had wronged him. He smiled. "I don't really do presents most of the time, so every year I go crazy at Christmas." For some reason I didn't believe him. I thought he had probably done something shitty and was trying to buy his wife and daughter's love back. Or, I thought, maybe they're dead. Maybe they died at Christmas years ago in a car accident, and every year he goes berzerk and buys a trousseau's worth of clothes, and then he sits alone, miserably surrounded by these terrible reminders of all of the gifts they will never be able to accept. I wondered if maybe the accident had been his fault. Was his house empty except for dozens of boxes, neatly wrapped, containing fabric and jewels, rich in texture and hue, locked away until he finally dies and the executors of the estate begin to sob when they open the boxes, ribbons and paper flying willy nilly, and realize the terrible burden this poor man has lived with his whole adult life? Or did he give the clothes to charities after the new year, and resume his daily duties of making money and feeding himself, maybe dating every so often? Either way, I was beginning to fall in love with his tragedy a little bit and I wrapped each box with special flourishes, touches I hoped would look more cheerful than the usual staid bow.
He returned an hour later. It was nearly eight o clock, awfully late for Christmas Eve. He apologized for keeping me late (I had been hoping to close at six.) I looked at him with pity, until he handed me a cup of hot chocolate. That was awesome. I hadn't even realized how hungry I was (I had been trying to forget eating as much as possible at the time, but it never really worked) and I sucked the sweet drink down before I finished wrapping his presents. He smiled and he asked what I was doing that night.
"Nothing. I'm Jewish. There isn't even anything on TV."
"You could come to my house if you want." That's it, I thought, either he's a total creep or they're dead and he can't face another lonely night.
"Uh, no." I said.
He saw he'd overstepped. "I just meant, you really saved my life tonight. I thought I was going to be in big trouble, and, I dunno. I thought you might like to see your handiwork. I mean, really, Jen (his wife) and Alicia (his daughter) are going to LOVE all this. I've never given such good gifts in my life. I'm sure they're going to want to meet you."
I still thought he was being a total creep, but I was flattered. I declined his offer again, but thanked him. Finally, the gifts were all wrapped and safely in bags. We shook hands and he wished me a happy hannukka. I told him it had ended weeks ago... I was tactful like that.
"Merry Christmas?" I said
"Thanks," he smiled.
He crammed on a handsom fedora that I hadn't noticed before and the bells jingled on the way out.
I closed the store and drove home feeling pleasant in spite of myself.
* * * *
A few days after the New Year, I was taking down the Kris Kringle decorations and sighing over the box of doilies and hearts that Lynn had just dropped off. I hadn't stopped thinking about "Moneybags", as I'd named him. I was wondering what charity he'd given all the gifts to. Or, if his pretty wife was still alive and he really didn't do gifts on the other holidays, did that mean he did't give her anything on Valentine's Day? Personally, I hated Valentine's Day. But then I wasn't married. I wondered if I'd get into Valentines's Day if I was married and if I did, would I expect chocolates and flowers? I thought I might, but only black roses and 3 Musketeers bars. The door bell tinkled and in front of me stood a family silouhetted by the glaring snow outside.
"Hi Jess, I wanted to introduce you to Jen and Alicia!" It was Moneybags here to prove me morbid.
"Jess! Andy couldn't stop singing your praises, and I can't thank you enough!" Jen stepped toward me smiling beautifully. I felt big and bulky next to her petite frame. She was wearing one of the outfits I'd put together for her. It fit perfectly. She looked wonderful. She even had on the earrings I had picked out. "How in the world did you know?" She asked beaming.
"Um, he, uh, he showed me your picture. I figured you'd wear what you thought looked good for a family portrait and, um..." she smiled at my cleverness. "And, um, I picked out stuff I like." She laughed.
"Daddy! Look, there's my bear!" Alicia spotted the twin of one of the bears Moneybags had bought for her a week earlier. She too was dressed, head to toe, in the clothes I had picked for her. I was pleased with how mother and daughter looked, but for some reason I was terribly embarrassed and I wished they would leave. They were so sweet, so good looking, so happy, so warm and so pleased. I wanted to curl up and hide in a corner of the store, but I stood there and blushed as they happily chatted and looked around at other merchandise. They spent the better part of the afternoon talking and laughing, praising outfits I picked for the other infrequet customers who came and went. By four o clock, it was nearly dark and I'd learned that Jen and Andy were from Colorado and had come east to work work for two different non-profits, I don't remember which ones. The overcoat Andy wore was over twenty years old, a highschool graduation present given to him by his grandfather. Jen had started a feminist club in highschool. Alicia liked spiders. They were clearly not the conservative Wall Street people I'd assumed they were. They were vegetarians! They didn't believe in hyper consumerism, but they made an exception for Christmas so Alicia wouldn't feel like a freak in school(a consideration I deeply appreciated)and, because, well, sometimes, stuff is fun. I had a crush on the family unit by the time they left.
Andy and Jen stopped in with Alicia now and then but, true to their anti-consumerist stance, they never bought anything else.
