Uptown Girl

The boy looked barely old enough to drive let alone work in a gas station. His short stature was only emphasised by his unflattering work clothes and poor posture. He had a way of cocking his neck that didn’t even look natural…
Glaring up at the Sun beating down on his neck, he wiped his dirty hands on his dark blue overalls, finally ridding his callused fingers of grease and petrol after spending all afternoon fixing a gas pump. How the skittle had lodged it’s self so far up the nozzle was a mystery to him but part of the job description at Billy’s Discount Gas was never ever ask questions.

Looking down at the agonisingly slow hands of his watch, he sighed in despair. He only had to endure one more hour of this hell until he was free to go to his lonely one bedroom apartment with less furniture than cockroaches. Needless to say he was down on his luck.

“Frank, have you fixed pump five yet?” barked the gruff voice of Billy Domenic, owner and beneficiary of Billy’s Discount Gas.

The boy named Frank nodded slowly, wiping sweat away from his forehead, squinting at his boss.

“Good,” he said, “I need you to man the cash desk whilst I’m gone.”

“Where are you going?” asked Frank, curiously, following his boss into the gas station where he took his position behind the desk, staring intently at the back of Billy’s inflated head as it bobbed about the room.

Billy looked Frank square in the eye and muttered, blushing, “It’s Wednesday. You know where I go…”

No other explanation was needed; he knew what Billy meant. Frank had never seen Billy as one of those guys who cheated on their wives, but another thing this job had taught him was to never judge a book by it’s cover. Through the time he had spent working in the Gas station Frank had seen people of all walks of life, the rich, poor, young, old and he had even witnessed the most heinous of crimes; after all, it was Jersey.

Frank watched as Billy pulled on his cheap leather jacket and jammed a pair of sunglasses on his oversized head.

“Watch the till kid.” He called over before turning his back on the dingy station that supplied him with his secret lifestyle of liquor, girls and sex.

Frank sighed, leaning his chin on the palm of his oily hand. It had been a slow day as usual. He gazed out of the murky window and looked out to the highway just as a black jaguar appeared over the horizon; it’s blacked out windows casting an air of importance in an otherwise run down area.

Frank looked shocked as the car pulled into the station; a car of this calibre was rarely spotted on the premises. He looked on with interest as a man wearing a black suit and a chauffeur hat stepped onto the tarmac. He opened the door to the backseat and leant in to speak to the passengers.

Frank cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. Moments later two young men wearing huge dark sunglasses and fabulously tight jeans climbed out of the car and approached the station. Frank immediately jerked into action, straightening his name tag nervously as he watched the two enter, the obnoxious sound of a bell ringing in his ears as they did so.

The shorter of the two gave him a nod of acknowledgement as he approached the counter whereas the other made an immediate beeline for the comic book display.

“Hey, can I have a pack of Marlboro red?” the smaller asked, yet Frank barely seemed to hear him as his beauty seemed to blind him. He was sure he had not seen perfection until now, yet there he was, clear as day.

The man stared at him expectantly and Frank stared back.

“Do you ugh, speak English um…? Andy?” the angel spoke.

Frank looked up, “Andy?”

“Your name tag?”

Frank looked down, and sure enough his tag seemed to read ‘Andy’. Why was he wearing Andy’s tag? Who the fuck is Andy?

“Oh, um, this isn’t my tag… I’m Frank.”

“Gerard.”

They shared an awkward handshake over the counter as Gerard looked at Frank expectantly, “So… how about them cigs?”