Supermarket - Bobby Hall Page 0,20

and put them in a pretty package to give them that baked-from-scratch look.

I spent the next few days in the bakery, and over that time I learned a lot. Pretty soon, my notepad was almost full. For example, did you know that when anything new is brought onto the floor, such as pies and any other baked goods, they place the freshest on the bottom so as to move the old product first? So whenever you go shopping, be sure to grab your bread from the back or bottom.

Aside from the Bond villain trying to kill any bit of happiness I might have, there was always Mia. Our stations were right next to each other. I prepared the bagels and loaves of bread on a countertop, like a buffet table with the sneeze guard, you know? I mean, well, minus the sneeze guard. To my right was a gap where we could walk out onto the floor, and on the other side of the gap was Mia’s station. Mia would man the ovens. We had enough face time that we built a nice little rapport. We would chitchat, shoot the shit, joke around. She taught me how to bake and ice a cake. This was straight out of an episode of The Bachelor. Contestants having to bake together. Flour was flirtatiously tossed. I really got the feeling she’d taken a liking to me.

Mia told me about her ambitions in life, and how she had been in college studying law. She explained how her family was extremely poor, how her dad had left her family and was a little crazy. She’d entered a contest for a full-ride scholarship to law school, had written a moving essay to a man running for governor. In the end, he decided to donate his own money to a good cause—the good cause being this brown-skinned poor girl. It was a smart move, playing to the young, lower-class female and Hispanic vote all in one shot. That’s politics.

Mia didn’t mind knowing this was a big reason she received the ride—all she cared about was the fact that she’d be in school and working toward a career she really cared about. She wanted to be an entertainment attorney. She wasn’t really musically inclined, but in the shower it was Showtime at the Apollo for her! She wanted to be behind the talent, representing their interests, making sure they weren’t being exploited, and that they were getting their money where it was due.

The time we spent together was amazing. I mean, she was the girl next door who you just wanted to spend time with and get to know. Her family situation reminded me a bit of mine. I was attracted to her intelligence, ambition, and perseverance. And for whatever reason, she seemed to want to know more and more about me. I told her everything. Well, almost everything.

I told her about my dad who I never knew. I told her about my aimless youth. I told her about my breakup with Lola and my months of depression. I told her about my ambitions of writing. I told her about how incredible and strong my mother was to have raised me on her own. What I didn’t tell her? I was currently writing a book. A book she was now a character in.

She smiled when she spoke to me, interested in everything I said. I couldn’t help but feel bad for being a little dishonest. For using her for information, as research for my novel. But pretty soon, it didn’t feel that way anymore. I decided I could ethically keep that to myself for the time being. After only an hour speaking to Mia that first day, I didn’t need the notepad anymore—I was hanging on her every word. It was all in my memory! After a while, I realized the last time I wrote in the Moleskine was with Frank.

Oh, shit, Frank! I thought to myself as Mia was speaking. By then, I hadn’t seen him in a few days and wondered where he had been. And wouldn’t you know it? It was kind of a welcome respite, I gotta say.

Just then, a lanky arm by the front of the store near aisle one was waving intensely with a banana peel, trying to get my attention.

The hand was followed by Frank’s head, which popped out from behind the shelf like a cartoon. He motioned me over, but I motioned back that I was working and pointed toward