“How’s business?” he asked.
“Excellent,” I replied in a tone that didn’t invite further discourse.
Marcus watched me for several seconds, his eyes giving me the impression that he missed nothing and furthermore, I wasn’t fooling him. Then he nodded and started to wander the gallery as if he had all day to peruse my wares.
I watched him.
“Are you here alone?” Marcus asked from across the gallery, his eyes on a display of exquisite glass paperweights.
“Yes,” I answered and kept my eyes on him.
He picked up a paperweight. “Is that wise?” Marcus asked quietly, studying the paperweight.
The reminder that he knew about what happened to me and the indication that he cared that I might not be safe made my heart lurch.
I ignored it.
“Ralphie will be back in ten minutes,” I told him. I didn’t know why I was forthcoming with that information but I was.
“Good,” Marcus responded, put the paperweight down and continued to wander the store.
He didn’t speak again until he went back to the paperweight, picked it up and brought it to the counter.
“Can you gift wrap that for Daisy?” he requested.
“Certainly,” I replied and then busied myself with the invoice, his credit card and the gift wrap.
He was silent until I started to put the finishing touches on the bow. My gift wrap was a matte pistachio green, ultra-thick paper, the inside was a sumptuous, opalescent cream and the bow was powder blue organdie, it was Art’s signature wrap and I thought it was lush.
“You should know, I never told Daisy you came to see her or called her after Nanette’s party,” Marcus said.
My head came up and I almost (but still managed it) couldn’t hide my surprise.
His eyes locked with mine. “She knows now,” he went on.
“Is that so?” I asked with sham fascination but my heart was beating in my chest.
“She’s not happy I kept it from her,” Marcus explained.
I just stared at him.
“She had a tough time in that social circle. You were the only one she liked. When you were gone, she missed you.”
My stomach clutched. Painfully.
I didn’t let it show. Instead, I put his wrapped box in a powder blue bag with the word “Art” in fancy pistachio script on the side, the handles made of pistachio, satin ribbon and I handed it to him.
The door opened and Ralphie walked in. Marcus looked at Ralphie, nodded then took the bag.
His eyes came back to mine. “She still misses you,” he finished.
Then he was gone.
It wasn’t until a few days later I realized that even though I knew after watching hundreds of customers make hundreds of decisions about hundreds of purchases, Marcus had decided what he wanted the minute he picked up the paperweight but he still stayed until Ralphie returned.
Now, how bizarre was that?
* * * * *