Jen's Bikinis
A Tuesday afternoon, an overcast day, drizzling with light rain, is a fatal combination for a bikini shop.
Not that I mind, of course. I only took the job because my cousin Lisa used to work there and put in a good word with the owner. I get paid minimum wage regardless of how many customers are in the store, although I do make a 3% commission for every sale.
Working in a swimsuit shop a couple of blocks from the beach has its ups and downs. Sometimes you get some weird requests, like this one lady who came in one time and asked for the same swimsuit in five different colors so she could match whichever one fit her mood.
Other times it's a pretty boring job, such as when middle-aged ladies come in to browse around, but you can tell right away that they aren't going to buy anything.
One of the things that surprised me most about the job was how many tourists come in because they forgot to pack a suit. Like, who goes on vacation to the seaside and doesn't bring a swimming suit?
It's ridiculous. But I guess Jen knew what she was doing by opening a bikini shop right off the boardwalk because we got plenty of walk-ins.
Probably the worst is when a pack of young girls come in, either pre-teens or teenagers. They always finger the merchandise, pull things off the rack, and take a million pictures for their social media feeds.
Also, there was more than once when older guys would see them through the window and come in, hoping to get a peak at some underage boobies, and we'd be forced to chase them out.
So yeah, I'm glad to have the place all to myself on a slow, rainy day. With the tourists cooped up in their hotel rooms or partaking in indoor activities in town, I figure the chances of anyone walking into Jen's Bikinis today are virtually nil.
My plan was to nibble on some snacks and then catch up on my reading. I'd just discovered this app where you unlock chapters by watching ads or doing other things to earn coins, and there were some truly killer stories on there.
One was about this young woman who had been disinherited by her billionaire father and was threatening to tell the world his secret - that he was a werewolf - to get her position in the family restored, and the other was about this bad boy CEO who met his match when he got stuck in an elevator with a feisty waitress whom he'd been rude to earlier in a five-star restaurant.
On slow days, there was just one of us on duty, so I'm working all by myself. I don't mind, though, as it means that I can get some snacks and nibble on them during my shift without getting the stink eye from one of my colleagues or getting yelled at by the boss.
I had just gotten a hot chocolate and some homemade cookies from this place on the boardwalk and was just starting to get into my story when the bell tinkles and a man walks in.
He looks to be in his mid-30s or maybe early 40s. Most intriguingly, he is quite well-dressed, wearing a pair of business trousers and a white button-up shirt. Tourists walk into the shop all the time in flip-flops, Hawaiian shirts, and oversized shorts, so I could tell he was different right away.
He has thick, wavy hair and a rather handsome face. Well, it would've been handsome except that he looks incredibly forlorn, almost like my cousin Greg when his puppy that he got for his tenth birthday ran away and was never found.
In the bikini shop, we don't see too many guys come in on their own. Usually, they're with a wife or girlfriend, and they look like they'd rather be poked with a sharp stick than hang around a place selling garments for women.
Sometimes, they'll stand there and nod and pretend to be interested, but most of the time, they just post up in one spot and wait, often giving longing glances over at the door as they pray for their ordeal to be over.
I'd only been working at the bikini shop for a few months, but I'd seen more than once where the girlfriend or the wife knew full well that her man was suffering and yet she seemed to get some kind of sick pleasure out of it.
First, she'd make him carry her purse while she browsed around, and then later, she'd come out of the dressing room, forcing him to nod and smile and tell her how great she looked, knowing that he'd be attacked if he dared make a single negative comment.
Call it a power play, if you will, and it was fascinating to watch from a psychological perspective, even if it was a bit twisted.
Much more rarely, the guy in question would be a lot older than the girl, and then he would genuinely be interested in seeing her try on some bikinis, which inevitably were the skimpier and more revealing models.
In those cases, it was obvious that he was wealthy and that she was his trophy wife or bimbo girlfriend, chosen for her good looks rather than her intellect.
About the only time I'd see a guy come into the bikini shop by himself was when a frantic wife was sending her husband in to make an emergency purchase. Perhaps she'd put on more weight than she realized before they left for vacation, or maybe they'd been overindulging at the buffet, but she would discover to her horror that her old suit didn't fit and so she needed a new one ASAP.
In those cases, he'd always have a list of some kind with her measurements. He'd be looking around, nervous and overwhelmed, terrified of making a mistake and being sent back to the shop. That made him easy pickings.
I'd float over to him with a smile on my face, asking if I could help, and he'd be so grateful for being rescued that he'd buy the most expensive suit in the store without hesitation, earning me a nice little commission.
So yeah, when that well-dressed guy came in looking sad, I was intrigued. He didn't have any of the hallmarks of a husband coming in to buy an emergency suit for his fat wife. He also didn't have a list in his hand. Instead, he was slowly walking around the shop, carefully examining the merchandise.
As I sat there behind the counter, my mind began to wander as I tried to guess his story. Had he come in looking for a swimsuit for himself, not realizing we only sold women's clothing? Or was he, perhaps, some powerful businessman looking to buy a gift for his sexy secretary, doing the shopping himself so that the purchase wouldn't appear on his bank statement and thus alert his wife?
None of those stories seemed to jive with what I was seeing, though. For one, when guys did occasionally come in and ask about swim trunks for men, they just asked right away instead of browsing through the merchandise. And secondly, guys buying bikinis for their mistresses didn't look sad, and this guy looked as miserable as the weather outside.
I continue to watch the guy for a while, my curiosity growing with every moment. Sometimes, he stops and takes one of the bikinis off the rack as if contemplating whether it was suitable or not, but then he puts it back. He seems quite focused on his mission, whatever it is, never once glancing over in my direction.
Finally, I can contain myself no longer, so I hop off my stool and walk over to him.
