Secret Shopper (9 page)

“Sorry, Mrs. Farmer, I thought. . .”
Frances dropped her eyes. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Who? Was there someone here at my condo before?”
Frances blushed a bright red. She was built like an ox, much like my late grandmother. Her knowledge of fixing things was vast and I always wondered why she was in this field. She looked like she should be baking cookies for her grandkids and not working so hard near her retiring age. Did she know something? No one in our neighborhood knew that my marriage was on the rocks. Not yet, at least.

“
Frances? You can tell me.” I reassured her.

“Awhile ago, I saw a woman enter your condo when no one was home. She was tall and blond. I saw her near your car the day before that. Then I saw her go to your door.”
Frances raced through the details. Rachel observed the exchange while sitting on the hood of Bradley’s car. She probably didn’t care that her studded jeans scratched the hood.

“She had
a key, but I confronted her. She said she was Bradley’s cousin and she was getting some paperwork for him.”

Jem. It must have been Jem. I felt like racing into my house and setting fire to the king sized bed that I once shared with Bradley, barely shared at that. I mused that she met Bradley while I was out. I didn’t want to visualize their dirty bedroom antics.

Frances didn’t need to hear the gritty truth. I lied that we had a “cousin” visiting that week. Frances looked doubtful, but let it go. I didn’t want to become a source of gossip here. Rachel rolled her eyes and I explained my suspicions about the mysterious scratch on my car door. She was ready to go psycho chick and track down Jem’s BMW. I knew she wasn’t serious, but Rachel’s rage should never be underestimated.

“I’m loving Bradlame and Jem more and more.” Rachel’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

I stared at the little river rocks near my shoes. So smooth, so ordinary. “Let’s go. Remember to stay under the radar.”

“Are you talking about me or you here?” Rachel hopped off the car.

Within ten minutes, we were parked near Bag It. I used Bradley’s leased Lexus GS, which was void of any Guam paraphernalia. Unprofessional, he once said. Rachel and I reviewed our game plan and she headed inside. She was going to text me details like the number of customers and whether Thomas was there or not. I wondered if I should give her a cut of my pay for this hit. This report was earning me twenty bucks, chump change in Rachel’s world. I had to time my encounter just right so I was sure to be serviced by him.

I smiled as my mind envisioned Thomas moving in slow motion, smiling that big screen smile. Then an image of me naked on the counter with him placing tomatoes in just the right places and pickles elsewhere danced in my mind. An off camera fan would blow my hair back, slow motion, with the
boom chicka bow wow
porno music in the background. My phone buzzed waking me from my fantasy.

Rachel texted,

An Asian chick @ register. 10 people dining. 3 in line. Sexy vamp making subs.

Rachel agreed to engage Alma, the “Asian girl” in a conversation so I could order directly from Thomas. I grabbed my Hello Kitty book bag and checked my reflection before going in for the kill. The red lipstick was really too much. I French kissed a tissue until most of the color transferred off.

Rachel sat near Alma. My best friend overacted as I expected like the extras you see in a restaurant scene in a movie. I staked my spot in line behind two Navy men in blue uniforms. The shorter one of the two, the one without the wedding ring, turned to eye me. He said hello, a goofy smile greeting me. Just as he was about to speak I put my hand up, in a talk to the hand gesture, then pointed to Alma who was ready to take their orders. I didn’t mean to be rude,
well, yes I did
, I was working after all. I pulled out my Blackberry and pretended to be texting. I glanced around the shop and didn’t see any other employees. It was about eleven in the morning, just early enough that I wouldn’t run into a lunch crowd. I glanced over my swap meet faux designer shades and saw Thomas working away. He wasn’t wearing a baseball cap this time and his brown sugar hair flopped to the right. It was a perfect blend of proper grooming and wild child disarray. I blinked a few times to clear my head of his visage and reviewed the standards I needed to evaluate, which I thankfully uploaded to my Blackberry.

Like clockwork,
Alma was about to call me and Thomas delivered several bags. He glanced up at me and held my shielded gaze for a few moments. He did a once over on me and his eyes locked on my shoes. A tiny smile danced on his lips and my heart fluttered. I wondered if he liked what he saw. I wasn’t the dressed up fashionable karaoke diva from the other night. He went back to work at his station and I frowned. Why did I want him to look at me again?

I let the next customer cut, mumbling an excuse that I was still deciding. Thomas glanced at me a few times. I panicked for a second thinking he made me. But, unless his sister told him he was going to be evaluated, I had nothing to worry about.

Rachel watched the exchange, a silly grin on her face. Just as Alma was about to invite me, being the only customer in line for the moment, Rachel remembered her cue, jumped up and asked Alma for her recommendation of subs. She had other questions about catering and calories and just about anything else that would keep Alma busy.
God, she was so obvious, but it did the trick
. I took that as my chance to get Thomas’s assistance. I stood by the counter and looked up at the menu, reading it like it was my first time. I had to get Thomas to engage in a conversation about one of the subs and my curiosity really wanted his take on the Guam Sub. Just as Thomas called out the two Navy guys’ orders—“Chuck!” He turned his attention to me, after tossing the bags to the sailors.
Tsk, tsk
, that’s why his sister hired me.

“What can I get you?” Thomas asked, his face very serious. I continued to look at the menu, distracted by Rachel’s booming conversation with Alma and Thomas’s nearness. I cleared my throat nervously then pushed my shades to my head, using it like a head band to get the hair off my face. Thomas’s gray eyes rested on my face and I felt my cheeks burn. The microscopic movements of his haunting eyes told me he was examining my face. I wondered what he thought. I tried desperately not to smile, and his lips didn’t betray his thoughts, staying in a straight line.

“I’ve never been here and I was wondering about number eight. What is Chicken Ke-La-Goon?” I slaughtered the pronunciation on purpose. Thomas tilted his head like he knew I was lying. I returned my gaze to the menu board and tapped my foot nervously.

“It’s pronounced,
ke-la-gwen
and it’s basically barbecue chicken with lemon, peppers and onions, minus shredded coconut. It’s a specialty from Guam. I highly recommend it.” Check that off the evaluation. He needed to use that phrasing—
I highly recommend
when discussing a specific sub. I hope I wasn’t working too hard to get him to pass the evaluation. I did need to include that he wasn’t wearing a hair net and that he practically flung the bags at the previous customers in my report.

“Okay, I’ll get that.”

“What size?” I played dumb again and took a moment before I requested
Give it to me good
, with a straight face. I ordered the Loose Lady Sub as well in the same embarrassing size. Thomas needed to upsell my order to a meal and also recommend a dessert. There was a selection of fruit filled pastries. I secretly wanted him to pass this evaluation, but he failed on both ends. Thomas passed another standard by repeating my order, which ended up sounding like a really strange list of porno movies that take place on Guam. I blushed, but Thomas was accustomed to this shop lingo. “What’s your name?” I was set to be Kimberly—but my funny bone was back in commission and I blurted the first thing that appeared in my mind.

“Mufasa.” I declared.
Damn, Lion King!
My favorite Disney movie.

Thomas guffawed loudly and whispered back as he wrote on th
e receipt slip, “Mu-Fa-Sa it is.” He looked at me and beamed, his eyes transforming to a glorious set of mesmerizing forces of nature. He shook his head and laughed again. He turned on his heel and on the way to the sandwich station he hummed Elton John’s
Circle of Life.

Alma
looked at me and smiled and also began humming and harmonizing with Thomas. These people with their weekly karaoke meetings.

I stood along the beige wall, beating myself up inside for letting my funny bone dictate my fake name. I hid my face and looked at the new décor. One 8 x 10 picture was of a beach and coconut trees. Something you could get at Bed Bath and Beyond, but it was strangely familiar. I have been there I thought and I moved closer. I recognized the beloved Camel Rock in
Asan
, Guam.

The second picture was a black and white print of a mermaid painting. I knew this one intimately too! It looked like the painting of the Sirena legend that used to hang at the old
Guam Airport. I used to fantasize about that painting when I was a kid. This specific painting was my definition of beauty, maybe because she was fair like me. If this Chamorro mermaid could look like she did, pale, brown hair, fair eyes, then maybe I wasn’t too shabby. She sat atop a large rock in the middle of a churning sea, with men in a ship in the distance. I sighed loudly.

The third black and white photo was a beach shot of
Tumon
beach and hotels. I almost didn’t hear Alma call out, “MUFASA!” Breaking free from my trance, I walked away from the pictures that made me suddenly homesick for Guam. “Do you want meals or just the sandwich, Mufasa?”

“Huh, no. I mean, yes.” I stuttered.

I wrapped up with Alma, and saw that Rachel stood enraptured by the photos of the home we knew. How many people came to this very shop and knew or even been to these places from Guam? I gave Rachel a knowing look and turned my mind back to my assignment. We were really going to blow it if we continued to stare at the collection of photos like homesick island girls.

I had a great vantage point of Thomas’s back. He worked quickly on my order and I kept my eye on my watch. For two large subs, he had to complete it within four minutes. There was a tiered scale for the time limits. Tamara was pretty detailed, since the evaluation was often created by the shop owners.

Moments later, Thomas turned around and had two bags with my orders. He smiled at me and bowed.

“Mufasa, your subs await.” He laughed, then turned his attention to a couple of uniformed Navy women. I observed their reactions to him. They had been watching him since they entered the store. Maybe they too were Thomas fans.

I made several mental notes about the cleanliness of the store and the supplied stock of chips and cups and other paraphernalia.

Rachel walked out with a take out menu before me. When I plopped into the car, I was breathless with excitement.

“Did you see those pictures?” Rachel read my mind.

“Yeah, I haven’t seen that Sirena painting since I was a kid!”

“I know, before the old Guam Airport shut down. I wonder how he got that?”

I wondered too. We drove to the beach, discussing the evaluation. My mind kept returning to Thomas’s gorgeous eyes. My fascination with him swelled. Rachel and I followed the best friend code, even if I wasn’t divorced, my claim on Thomas was understood.

“Hey, Nix?”

Rachel woke me from my reverie, the salt water air was warm and cleansing. “Hmm?”

“You have a pretty great job.”

“I do, don’t I, for now.”

Rachel planned out the next few nights to a tee. It should have been my duty since she was in my new hometown, but Rachel was here to help me heal, help me move on. In my mind, I knew that that was supposed to happen. It was my stupid loyal heart that dragged itself along, branded with Bradley’s initials. Was there an official scale to healing from a broken heart? This was honestly my very first one. Back in high school, Rachel’s first major heartbreak took her about three months to get over. Everything must be accelerated in our teen years though.

The three evenings I had with Rachel were going to fly by. When Rachel was with me, life didn’t feel so dismal, so stuck in a slump. She picked up my weight and helped me glide through each second, each minute, each otherwise lonely hour of my day. I dreaded the day I would have to take her to the airport, and not just because I had to have her there so damn early in the morning. I was going to truly miss my sister.

Tuesday evening, Rachel found an advanced salsa class at the nearby YMCA. She convinced the handsome dance instructor to let us in for the hour and paid him double his fees. How could he say no? I mean, this
was
Rachel we were talking about. She could probably get Trump to shave his trademark head of hair with a wink of her business eye.

It was a crazy night of swinging and tripping over my shoes, but Rachel and I had a blast. We held our own and the teenag
ers seemed to enjoy the fresh blood and goofiness we brought. I asked Rachel jokingly if we were off to get matching tattoos next. She took too long to answer and was on her phone suddenly using Yelp to find a reputable parlor.