woensdag 22 oktober 2014

The Girl at the Till

After my divorce I was convinced I would stay on my own for the rest of my life. I didn’t have any confidence in relationships any more and I knew that people of my age were not attractive to women. That gave me a peaceful feeling. A man is considered to be a hunter, but for me the hunt was over. So my life consisted of working, sleeping and having meals with only music as company. These meals were often ready made and only needed to be heated in the micro wave. Feelings of loneliness were drowned in gallons of beer.

But suddenly I became aware that there had to be a sort of scent on me: available.
Buying a six pack of special beers lead to words of a woman behind me in the supermarket: “If you need help drinking that, I would love to help you out”. And she was not buying any beer herself.
There was a girl at the till who started little conversations about things I bought. Asked me to tell her how the taste of a sort of ready made meal was for me. Or what I thought about the new crisps. She was a slim girl with short brown curly hair. I always had been convinced my favourite type of women were the blondes. But this was not about attraction I told myself, she was just a nice person.

I got a bit addicted to this and I always tried to get to her counter if I had to go shopping. She would notice me and always gave me a little smile or a wink. Sometimes I would see her walking near the shop. Obviously she lived nearby. And she always greeted me at these times. After weeks, even months like this I started to look at her in a different manner. She was nice in a very common manner, not unattractive. But she was way too young for me. She looked like she was in her early twenties while I was in my early fifties. So I decided to let things be like they were. But I did notice on her badge that her name was Frances.

Some months later she completely disappeared; she never was at a till and I didn’t see her in the streets either. I completely forgot about her until I went to a party of friends.
One of their male friends I disliked a bit. He was only a few years younger than me. He would always talk about his being clever and always having the finest things. So he would show his new car or his new watch or very special clothes and whatever you could think of. In my mind I had given him the nickname Mister Lacoste.

He came in and had something new to show. His new wife was dressed like she was going to a gala and was wearing a necklace that must have been gold.
Even with her heavy make up I recognised Frances immediately. I could tell by the way she looked at me, that she knew exactly who I was too. Still we made no sign and became introduced to each other formally.

That night she never looked at me and I was really surprised that she changed such a lot because I could not help but observing her. Everything I could hear was about jewels and gold and expensive travels. Mister Lacoste made it very clear that the necklace was almost as expensive as his car. He left quite early with his young wife, told everybody they had a busy night ahead with a wink.
The next time I saw him again was at another party. He was dressed a bit shabbily compared to his normal suits and was very loud mouthed. It looked like he had to show he was in anger. He was talking about a filthy little whore that divorced him and took half of his money. It appeared that they were married without a marriage contract. This was also his last party with his friends; he was going to move to Florida the next week. His brother had the best car company of Florida and he was going to be a partner in this.

He was drinking heavily and my friends had to call a taxi to get him home when he became sick.
When I left the party I saw his expensive car in front of the house waiting in the rain.
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