(no subject)
Seymour’s next day in unremarkable until lunch time. The bell over the door rings just as he’s going downstairs to make himself some lunch.
“Good to see you back!” Mushnik greets, surprised and pleased.
Seymour glances at the door, sees Audrey. She’s wearing a light blue top with bronze beads around the neck, shorts made of tan denim, gold sandals, and a very serious expression as she looks straight at him.
He isn’t sure what to feel. What he does is give her a nod and a quick wave.
Audrey turns back to Mushnik and vaguely says, “Hi, sir. I’m here to talk to Seymour.” Her gaze goes back to him, checking if that’s okay. Seymour nods.
“…All right,” Mushnik says, glancing between the two of them.
They don’t indulge his curiosity. Audrey steps out and Seymour follows. She suggests the hotdog cart and he agrees. They both order a double dog, even though neither of them finishes it, and a Coke. As they eat they walk up and down Skid Row, see boarded up store fronts and pawn shops. Not too far away there are buildings being renovated into apartment complexes.
Seymour glances at Audrey. Her movements are small, close to the body. Her bruises haven’t quite healed up; there’s still some discoloration around her eyes.
“So, air conditioning,” she comments.
“It’s a small unit, but better than nothing,” he replies.
Audrey takes a sip of her Coke. “I was going to walk away the second after you saw me.”
When she doesn’t continue, Seymour prompts her with, “Oh?”
“Yeah.” She’s watching her feet now. “But I didn’t. Because I went here to see if you hate me, and you didn’t look like you did.”
She chuckles shortly, humourlessly. “But maybe I missed it.”
“Nothing to miss,” Seymour replies. “I could never…never hate you.” You didn’t swing an axe, no blood on your hands.
Audrey stops walking and looks at him, a faint furrow of confusion in between her brows. She takes a long breath in. He can see her question more than hear it. “Why?”
“Because….” He needs a moment; Audrey gives it to him. “It’s okay.” Puppy. “You didn’t mean what you said.”
She shakes her head. “I meant most of it. I didn’t lie about what I’ve done.”
“You as good as admitted that you took this job to get away from that life.” She didn’t, and Seymour feels blindfolded and handcuffed traveling through the murky realm of motivations. But he’s had hours to mull their conversation over…and he thinks this is close to true.
She snorts. “And I didn’t.”
“But you tried.”
“Trying doesn’t matter,” she says wearily, moving to edge of the sidewalk so people can pass them more easily. Seymour follows. “Only results matter. Some things can’t be changed.”
“No.” Audrey looks startled - Seymour feels startled - at his passion. “Anything can be changed. You need strength and friends a luck, sure, but anything can be changed.” (Except Seymour being stupid, except a dentist being cruel, except a plant that’s going to need more blood soon….)
“But I’m not strong.” Her eyes are watering. “Now that Orin’s gone…I’m scared. He’s-he was so strong.
“Oh, shit, here I go again.” She waves her free hand close to her face, blinking rapidly. “I’m such a mess. A stupid, crying mess.”
“You’re entitled,” Seymour comments.
She takes a sip of her Coke. “I shouldn’t even be here. You shouldn’t have to keep trying to make me feel better.”
“I have to,” Seymour replies softly. “I want to.”
“But,” her voice is a shaky whine, her face beginning to redden and crumple unattractively, “but there’s no better, there’s no…there’s no anything….”
“Audrey.” He clears his throat. “I’m not good with much, but here’s my best shot: he messed you up. You don’t see yourself right. We need people to help us see ourselves. So, I want to help you see yourself better, ‘cuz, no matter what you say, I’ve always seen you as a kind, decent person. Don’t worry about giving me all this. Give me whatever you like. Shout, cry, scream, whatever.”
A part of Seymour hates saying this. He wants Audrey on her pedestal, unobtainable, the nice girl that doesn’t shriek at him. But that’s not her, and that’s not fair to her. He wants the real thing. (She won’t ever know the real him. But people have to keep some secrets. It’s allowed. He’s entitled.)
Audrey chooses option number two: she cries some more. Seymour hands her a Kleenex. She wipes her eyes, glances nervously at other passersby. They begin to walk back to the store.
“Thanks,” she murmurs, stuffing the Kleenex in her pocket. “I can’t promise what happened last night won’t happen again,” she warns.
Puppy. “All right.”
“I’m so sorry about what I said,” she adds, reading his memories in his expression. She reaches down for his hand, touches his left. “You’re my best friend. I need that.”
“You’ll have it.” He tries to make this a vow, like a knight would give his lady, like a monk would give God. Maybe she gets this meaning, for even though she doesn’t look at him, she smiles.
She glances down at his left hand. “Hey, it’s healing well,” she notes, pleased.
“I’m getting better at handling things,” Seymour says, examining a nearby grocery store as an excuse to hide his face.
They make it back to the store. Audrey drops his hand when they enter. Mushnik looks up from his roast beef sandwich.
“You said what you needed to say?” he asks her.
“Sort of,” Audrey replies. “I also wanted to talk to you, sir,” she takes a deep breath, “about coming back to work here?”
“With the new accounts we’ve got, we’ll need a lot more help running things day to day,” Seymour pipes up.
Mushnik glares at Seymour. “As if I wouldn’t welcome her back with open arms! What you must think of me. Come to the back, we’ll work out your schedule.”
Any glaring of Mushnik is off-set by Audrey’s grin and grateful, “Thanks,” before she walks to the back.
Seymour hums along with Meatloaf’s “You Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth” (You hold me so close that my knees grow weak / but my soul is flying high above the ground / I’m trying to speak but no matter what I do / I just can’t seem to make any sound) as he rearranges bouquets and talks to the two customers they have at the moment.
One leaves without buying, the other buys a $40 ‘English Garden’ bouquet for her girlfriend. (She didn’t look butch; Seymour thinks he covered up his shock admirably.)
Seymour glances at the door to the back room. The song is almost over. That’s a rather long discussion. He turns the volume on the radio down a bit, and starts sweeping up close to the rear door.
“Wow, you’re actually letting go of money - things have changed,” Audrey is commenting.
“Figure we’re getting enough that I can spread the wealth,” Mushnik replies. “Seymour got a raise, too.”
Seymour didn’t, but is heartened by the idea that Mushnik might give him one.
“Oh, and one more thing, sir….No more Saturday night specials.”
“Ah,” Mushnik rumbles dismissively. “I’ve found girls that give better head than you.”
Dryly, with the air of a long-running joke: “At least when you die of syphilis, I can say it wasn’t my fault.”
Seymour hurries away from the door, determining never to eavesdrop again. There are entire sides to people that you never really know about, he reflects as he waits for his stomach to settle. Well, I wanted real. It’s a mixed blessing.
Audrey and Mushnik come out a few moments later. She goes behind the counter; seeing her there makes up for his confused feelings. Things feel right. (Except Seymour can’t look at Mushnik, but he never did that much anyway.)
Audrey and Seymour don’t say much to each other until closing. She’s by his side; he can feel her without looking. He turns to her and she steps closer, into his personal space, her gaze locked onto his face, her expression nervous.
“I’ve-I’ve got a lot of baggage,” she tells him, earnestness surrounding her like a perfume. “That’s what you’re supposed to call it, baggage.” She chuckles, as if this is funny, but Seymour doesn’t get it. “If you ever need a break, just let me know. I’ll shut up.”
“I won’t,” he replies. Audrey looks gently disbelieving. Seymour disbelieves himself a bit, because he’s never had much perseverance, he’s never been strong and…he’s never been looked at like he’s the only thing in someone’s world. He’s not a hundred percent sure, but maybe that’s the way Audrey’s looking at him now. (He’s never felt so unworthy in his life.)
“I’m fine with being your porter,” he manages from somewhere.
Audrey giggles, pretending his joke was actually good. Then she hugs him, one hand rubbing his back, the other reaching up to stroke the nape of his neck and his hair. He hugs her back clumsily, barely able to move for fear it’ll make her stop touching him. It doesn’t. Her breasts remain pressed against him, she traces meaningless patterns over his spine, she ruffles his hair, her face is so close and her limpid doe-gazelle-rabbit eyes gleam….
The kiss is quick, chaste, their noses smushing together awkwardly before he tilts his head a bit more. They pull back, breathing into each other’s faces for a moment (her breath is a little ripe, but Seymour’s can’t be much better) as she smiles and he grins.
“Bye, Seymour.”
“Bye.”
She separates from him and becomes part of the outside world again as she leaves. He’s grateful that Mushnik is in the back. This moment is theirs alone. (He glances at the plant. But it’s sleeping. It couldn’t see.)
Nothing that came before matters, Seymour finds himself thinking when he starts thinking in words. Not for either of us.