Crow Foods pt 8

Apr 04, 2011 19:01

Story: Crow Foods pt 8
Author: Cincoflex
Rating: M (you'll see)

Summary: Sometimes the people you work with are the better family in your life.

Author's Notes: Again, none of this would be possible without VR_Trakowski and Lovellama. They keep me on course, and encourage me even when I'm sure it's awful. Ladies, you are my angels.






Only one person who worked the AM shift at Crow Foods was married. This didn’t mean that the others were unlovable or at flaw in any way; far from it. A few, like Ned Spade and Salem Bleusang had been married in the past. Gunther, Luddie and Barracuda were single mostly because they were young, and hadn’t yet had too many affairs of the heart. Some, like Gein chose to be alone, and others like Tristan and Vim had loved before and would again.

Repeatedly.

Only Mrs. Malone was currently married, and on the whole, it was a very nice arrangement. Mr. Malone was dearly fond of her plumpness, her cooking and her serenity; she in turn loved his curly beard, his lovely brogue and the fact that he made the most marvelous shoes.

Every night, Mr. Malone made lunch for his wife, packing pink pickles and a sweet cheese sandwich into a small cauldron, leaving it on the counter before he went off to work. Mrs. Malone made sure to leave Mr. Malone a little note, thanking him, and telling him she loved him before she took it with her to Crow Foods.

When she came home at noon, Mrs. Malone would check to make sure he was napping before she set out to work on the garden in the back yard, and they would have dinner together, drinking daisy wine and sharing stories about their co-workers as they dined on porridge, or magic beans or gingerbread men.

It was a good sort of marriage.

Mrs. Malone was aware that something was happening regarding the old break yard along the side of Crow Foods. She’d seen Luddie go out there twice in the past few days, and the dear boy Gunther had been stepped out for a while, coming back in with a full trash bag and a satisfied smile.

And under the store itself, past the linoleum and brick and foundations, the ground herself was humming a bit with the call of spring, and the promise of new life. Since the break yard was exposed and open to the sun, it was a bit louder than the rest of the area, practically purring.

This was a good sign, and Mrs. Malone was pleased at the strong flow of new energy. Ever since working at Crow Foods, she’d sensed they were close to a ley line, and this seemed to confirm it properly. She’d walked the perimeter of the store a few times to orient herself to it, and now it she could feel it through the soles of her shoes. That seemed only natural, considering Mr. Malone had made them, and they were particularly handy in matters beyond sight.

In any event, Mrs. Malone took her break and wandered out to the yard herself, looking it over and thinking deeply. She closed her eyes and breathed in the air, sorting through the various scents, and found herself nodding. Yes. Yes, it would be all right, with a little bit of a . . . nudge. A boost, as it were, to help matters along. Practical aid, on the same level as good fertilizer, or regular watering.

She hummed softly, and reached into her pocket, pulling out a little box of lozenges, but when Mrs. Malone opened it, it held a sparkling powder that caught the morning sunlight. With care, Mrs. Malone walked to the northeast corner and sprinkled a fourth of the powder on the ground. “Sky be blessed here,” she whispered.

Moving to the southeast corner, she spilled the second fourth. “Water be blessed here.”At the southwest corner, she murmured, “Wind be blessed here, and left another portion of the powder on the ground, and at the northwest corner, she finished her ritual with, “Earth be blessed here,” and emptied the last of the box on the ground.

For a moment, each spot glowed and swirled, then in a quick flash, they disappeared, leaving Mrs. Malone to re-pocket the box and smile at a good deed well-done. She gave a happy sigh and went back inside to give those wilting tulips from the florist truck a pep talk.

***

Gunther listened, and carefully measured the index card as Luddie murmured the numbers to him in her soft girl voice. Out of all the math he’d ever done, he always liked geometry best-lines and squares and triangles with sides you could count on made sense. He smoothed out the graph paper and began to lightly draw, making a rectangle that was exactly matched by square to the measurements Luddie had recited.

She leaned over and put a hand on the page, smiling. “So that’s it; our yard out there. Can you put in the door, so we know where it is?”

“Yep.” He added a small slanted line to indicate the door, and looked up at Luddie, who nodded.

“It’s so much easier to see it now when it’s all drawn out like this,” she murmured. “Okay, now to see-”

But at that moment, the rest of the morning shift came into the break room, talking and finding seats. Luddie squeezed in next to Gunther as Salem, Megara, Mrs. Malone came in, chatting in a group. They took their seats, waiting patiently as Ned Spade came up, writing something on the big white board.

Luddie sighed. Monday meetings were generally well . . . a little boring. Usually there was some big talk about sales and what was going ON sale, and then some talk about housekeeping, which usually meant about the go-backs and the dumb contests with the other Crow Food stores.

They never won any of them; not the discount card sign-ups, or the charity fund-raisers or even the store display ones. Luddie knew that her particular store was smaller and older and on the outskirts, so it wasn’t one of the big money-makers. Still, they had lots of loyal customers, and the suppliers liked them too.

But Mr. Spade still had to talk about housekeeping, and they all had to pretend to listen; that was the rule. Luddie tried to look interested. Next to her, Gunther pushed the paper, and she glanced down.

He’d thoughtfully labeled the directions, and Luddie realized that the yard was lying north to south, which was an incredible piece of luck. It meant they could plant all sorts of things without worries about damp places or too much sun in any part of the garden. Too much shade would encourage slugs, and too much sun would dry things out.

Before Luddie could do anything with the little map, though, Salem was looking over her shoulder and giving an approving nod. “That looks like the yard” she whispered with enthusiasm. “Got plans for it?”

Luddie nodded shyly. “Gunther and me thought we might try . . . to grow things.”

She expected Salem to laugh at that. Why grow things when you already had more than enough produce coming in from all over the country? But instead, Salem nodded and smiled back.
“I think it’s a great idea-can I help?”

Luddie blinked as a rush of happy gratitude filled her face. “Um, sure. Is it okay, Gunther?”

“Yep.” He nodded, carefully writing something on the page.

“Okay then,” Luddie grinned. “What should we grow?”

***

Ned wished people would pay attention, but he couldn’t blame them because Monday meetings were pretty boring. He understood why the upper management required them, but so much of the information was pointless to his people here. They didn’t much follow the corporate line, and when it came to the team-building or competitions, none of it really seemed to apply to this particular Crow Foods.

Everyone here seemed beyond team-more like family. And as for competition, well . . . it just wasn’t in their nature. Everyone tended to help each other out without a second thought. Just this morning Vim had spent part of his break giving Gein’s truck a jump start, and Mrs. Malone brought in some baby books to pass along to the Goof.

He looked at everyone at the long table, and only Megara looked back at him with a grin; the others were all passing along a paper and whispering. Ned suddenly felt like a teacher with a class of fourth graders. “Okay, fine-let’s have it.”

Guilty faces looked up; Barracuda dropped his hands over the paper protectively. “What?”

“Come on, give me the note. Sheesh, it’s like having seven-year olds. Pass it up.”

Reluctantly the page passed from hand to hand until it reached Ned, who glanced down at it. He blinked, looked again, and looked up.

“This is . . . the break yard.”

Everyone nodded.

“This is what . . . . you want to DO to the break yard?”

Nods again.

Ned rubbed a hand over his face, looking at the paper once again. The entire yard had been gridded out, and familiar printing filled areas in it. Strawberries in Salem’s fine handwriting. Cabbage and carrots in Gunther’s careful block printing. Misc herbs in Mrs. Malone’s curly script. There were notations for sprinklers and a whirligig and even a path of stones laid out.

He took a breath, and carefully Ned let his gaze move from face to face, making the silence stretch out. They all looked so damned eager, united by this whimsical little project, and Ned himself felt the pull of the idea. A garden would be nice addition; certainly better than the packed dirt and littered spot it was now.

But it would take a hell of a lot of work. A lot of volunteer time at that, and since the property belonged to Corporate the plan would have to be sent to them for approval, and then all the details would have to be hammered out, and by the time anything got decided another year would have gone by. Maybe two, even.

Or it might even be shot down, ka-boom, within the first day.

And Ned hated to have to point that out; hated to have to be the bad guy here, especially when Gunther looked so earnest.

Ned let his glance drift to Megara, and he saw in one quick moment of empathetic insight that she understood what the balance was. Before he could speak, she rose up, all six feet of her.

Glorious, Ned thought before immediately squelching the lust.

“Guys, before we get too worked up about this, we um, need to ask permission. I mean, this property does belong to Mr. Fowler, and he might not want us doing anything to it.”

For a moment the assembled group was quiet, and Ned could almost see the enthusiasm of the moment before draining away like helium from a balloon before Vim quietly spoke up.

“We could ask Mr. Grimm. I mean, he’s good friends with Mr. Fowler, and if we show him the plan I bet he’d be down with it too. He likes our store and all.”

“That’s . . .” Ned paused, thinking, and grinned at Vim, “a good idea, actually. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, and if he can get Mr. Fowler to approve, I can’t see anyone under him disagreeing.”

“We could draft a proposal,” Megara nodded, picking up the thread smoothly. “If we could show how it would benefit the store, I’m sure we’d get the okay.”

It was astounding how quickly everyone agreed to the plan, and Ned snickered to himself at how once again, his crew blithely and easily sailed against the mainstream of conformity. It was a comfort to see how reliable that quirk was.

***

More flowers arrived, and embarrassed, Salem took them to the back of the produce department before returning to her check stand, feeling her cheeks burn. She took deep breaths and tried not to feel the playful glances of her fellow employees as she carefully smoothed down her apron and tried to think of what to say to Parker Porterman.

Whatever else, Salem suspected it was going to result in hurt; lots of it, and on both sides. She didn’t want to burst whatever romantic delusions the security guard had, but this was getting out of hand now, and the sooner she dealt with it the better.

At least that was the theory. Deep inside, Salem felt that old familiar blend of sorrow and panic at once again having to justify herself to someone who probably wasn’t going to understand. There were still some days in front of the mirror when Salem herself wasn’t sure at all about where she was going, but even that felt better than living under the slow and suffocating lie of her marriage. Aline would probably never understand, and Salem reasoned that if her ex-wife couldn’t quite grasp the whole genderfog, then a straight arrow like Parker Porterman was certainly going to be buying a first class ticket to Outtahere.

Still, Salem felt it was only right to tackle it all head on, and if the security guard never came to Crow Foods again, life would still go on. It would suck big-time for a while, but Salem was used to that too.

So fifteen minutes later, when Parker Porterman came into the still mostly empty Crow Foods, Salem flipped off the light for her register and stepped out from behind it, making a beeline for him.

It didn’t help that he was gazing at her, his expression soft and patient. “Good morning, Miss Salem.”

“We need to talk,” she blurted, and motioned with her chin to the doors. Salem hurried through them, praying he would follow without her having to check on him. She turned left, moving beyond the little cement shopping cart corral, and rested her back to the wall, grateful that the sun wasn’t quite up yet, and everything was in the mauve half-shadow.

Parker Porterman loomed, his stride long. He moved closer, just inside the edge of her personal space, his big frame a shield against anyone eavesdropping as he shoved his hands in his pockets and just . . . waited.

Salem took a deep breath. “Thank you for the flowers, I appreciate them very much, but I think you need to stop now, because I’m not what you seem to think I am.”

He seemed to consider that. “You mean you’re not a kind, generous, beautiful spirit with charm and wit and compassion?”

“Please just stop it!” Salem snapped, nerves already taut. “It shouldn’t come as a complete surprise to you, but I’m not a lady, Mr. Porterman.”

“I beg to differ,” he replied, and she caught a glint of a smile. “As my mother would say, ‘ladies are made, not born.”

“Parker!” her exasperation reached its peak, and Salem went for the jugular. “I have a dick, and I’m gay!”

“Yes,” he nodded. “I know.”

“So you . . . wait--you know?” Salem stuttered, startled out of her train of thought by this unexpected reply. “But . . .”

“The cold and scientific term for what I am is ‘gyneminetophiliac’ but it doesn’t really put an emotional context to the way I feel about you, Miss Salem,” Parker Porterman rumbled quietly. “You are in a word, lovely, inside and out and I’ve been trying to work up what little courage I have to tell you so for quite a while.”

A million thoughts raced through Salem’s mind at light-speed, none of them quite coherent in the face of this completely unexpected turn of events. She tried to say something, finally managing, “But you . . . you’re not gay, Parker.”

“Actually, I am,” he assured her, his expression bleak for a moment, his jaw tightening. “Technically I’d be a five on the Kinsey scale, but the assessment lacks fluidity, and labels are so confining. Suffice it to say that I’m drawn to the amazing blend of feminine and masculine in you, Miss Salem.”

For a minute neither of them spoke as they stared at each other. It was getting lighter now, and the streetlights in the parking lot were beginning to shut off.

Salem shook her head, feeling a flutter of something odd and sweet in her chest. “No. No, you’re big and solid and straight; I’ve never caught even a hint of . . . of . . .”

“Neither of us look the part,” Parker Porterman agreed softly. “But there you have it.”

She looked out over the parking lot and gave a shaky sigh. “I . . . need some time. To process. Seriously, I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Understood,” Parker Porterman looked down at his boots, suddenly shy. “Although if you’d like to go for coffee sometime after any of your shifts, I’d be delighted to take you.”

Salem gave a soft laugh, and in a moment of daring, she reached up and lightly patted his cheek. “Time, Parker Porterman. I’ll let you know.”

He held out a hand, but she moved and slipped her arms around him in a quick hug, and turned, darting back into the store and leaving him standing outside as the glass panels ‘whooshed’ closed in front of his smiling face.

crow foods

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