An Act of Persuasion - By Stephanie Doyle Page 0,110
of the store, blew on her hands and scanned the cramped aisle. Nope, none of it would do. Bottled water, sanitary products and condoms. The necessities of life, sure, but nothing that would help her tonight.
The second aisle proved as fruitless. Nothing but potato chips, cartons of cookies and packages of those powdery little doughnuts. Mary Paige’s stomach betrayed her with a growl as she eyed the pink snowballs. She shook her head and rounded the end cap, where she scanned the new offerings, methodically sweeping her gaze along the aisle, mentally discarding everything until… Bingo!
Hanging innocently at the end of the aisle was the most repugnant pair of Christmas socks she’d ever seen. They were bright green with sparkly silver-tinsel trees around the ankles, adorned with bright cherry-red pom-poms. The tops had garish silver lace that matched the flashy trees and small jingly bells. They were hideous and absolutely perfect for the white-elephant gift required for Uncle Fred’s crazy pre-Christmas party. Mary Paige snatched them as if they were the Holy Grail. Finally, something had gone right.
She hurried toward the register, hating that she’d already taken too much time in this little stop, hating that the homeless curmudgeon outside the door weighed on her conscience. Yeah, he was a miserable old goat, but it was the beginning of the Christmas season, and it was colder than normal outside.
Perhaps she should get him a little something to warm him up?
A coffee bar sat to her right, featuring a self-service, instant cappuccino machine. Not the best, but certainly good enough. Mary Paige glanced at the register. Only one person in line. Surely five more minutes wouldn’t hurt. She spun toward the bar, snatched a medium-size cup, centered it beneath the spout and pushed the button. It filled quickly. She plopped a lid on and grabbed two sugar packs along with a stir stick.
Darn. Two more people had joined the queue behind the woman paying.
She got in line, shifting back and forth on her frozen feet trying to restore the circulation and wondering why she even bothered with an old bum outside a convenience store in the middle of Metairie. He’d probably hurl the cup at her and ruin her only decent jacket. Par for the course considering the day she’d had. A run in her stockings, a nervous stomach that had sent her to the bathroom twice, a coffee stain on her pristine white blouse and a tongue-lashing from Ivan the Terrible when the towering pile of receipts on her desk didn’t add up for their biggest client. She really wanted to go home and curl up in her ratty chenille robe with a glass of wine. Instead, fierce love for Uncle Fred sent her scurrying across the city in a cab she couldn’t afford, wearing shoes now frozen stiff.
Mary Paige finally reached the register, where the cashier snatched the socks from her, scanned them and dropped them into a plastic sack.
“Ten thirty-seven,” the cashier said, not even bothering to make eye contact with her.
Mary Paige rooted in her purse for her wallet. Ugh. She’d left it in her desk after doing some online Christmas shopping. But, luckily she always kept some cash in the side pocket along with her ATM card. Her fingers crisscrossed in a desperate search. No cash.
No way.
Thankfully a second swipe netted her the ATM card. She glanced at the cashier, who glared knowingly in return.
“Uh, do y’all have an ATM?”
The cashier pointed to a machine sitting below a glowing sign as a man behind her in line growled, “Jeez, get your cash before you get in line, lady.”
Something inside Mary Paige snapped. “Listen, buddy. I have had a hell of a day and my ex-boyfriend stole all my cash. Give me an effing break here!”
The man stepped back, throwing up his hands before giving her a smart-ass gesture toward the ATM.
“Thanks.”
She prayed as she entered her PIN that her account wasn’t overdrawn. Things had been so hectic lately she couldn’t remember the last time she balanced her bank statement. Please, please let the stupid machine spit out the money.
The machine whirred and coughed out the amount she’d requested—thirty bucks.
Whew. Hibernia Bank had just earned itself a place on her Christmas-card list.
Mary Paige popped back in line as the rude construction worker rolled his eyes and blew garlicky breath on her neck with theatrical exaggeration. Mary Paige shrugged at the cashier. “Happens to the best of us, right?”