Sequel: Postcards From... ›
Status: Re-written
The Club Is Open Until 8:00Pm
Vingt
Gerard's POV
“I”m sorry sir, but I really can’t sell you that without consulting my boss. I believe she had plans for that bag already.” The young woman whose tag named her Ginger explained politely. Frankie let out a frustrated sigh and looked around the shop anxiously. “There's plenty of other bags. Just get her a different one.” I suggested. “She wanted this one though.” He said quickly. “Do you know where you boss is? Is she here? Can I talk to her?”
Ginger shook her head though for a moment, and called to a person named Genevieve. A woman in her mid-to-late 30s came out and asked what. “I’m looking for a Joanne Stevens.” He drummed his fingertips on the counter. “Mrs. Stevens won’t be in today; it’s her daughter’s birthday.” Her french accent was clearly detectable.
“Do you have her number or an address as to where I could reach her?” He pressed. “I give you her address. So you can ask her yourself.” She said, pulling out a slip of receipt paper and scribbling down the info. Frankie took it gratefully and left. Genevieve gave me a look that made me uneasy.
Once in the car, Frankie squeezed himself between Ray and Mikey in the backseat. “Ok Bob, we need a 95 Chicken Farm Hill Drive.” Bob and I looked back from the front seats. Ray and Mikey were also staring at him. “What?” He asked. “Are you serious? Chicken Farm Hill Drive?” Bob questioned. “Hey I didn’t name it. And that's what it says.” I tried not to laugh as bob pulled out of the narrow parking space.
...
Bob slowed down once we hit the 90s on that street and pulled into the driveway. Frankie climbed over Mikey to get out and approached the man who was standing in front of a smoking grill. The men who were there and drinking noticed him and I assumed answered his questions. I watched a woman come out from the house and approach the grill. She and Frankie talked for a second, then went inside.
“So what now? We just sit here and wait?” Bob asked. I shrugged and watched the from door. Frankie came out holding an exact copy of the bag he wanted to get Jamia back at the boutique. Apparently the woman had made two just in case someone wanted the other.
Frankie stopped for a second, said something so fast I could catch it and went to the trunk. I asked Bob to pop it and got out to see what he was up to. “It’s her birthday, Gerard. I have to get her something.” He spoke randomly. “What? Whose birthday?” I furrowed. “Monet’s.” I was silent. “Yah, I was freaked, but I don’t think its her. It would seem way to coincidental.” He offered. “But I don’t know. Honestly.”
Two girls came out of the house and slammed the screen door. One was Blue. he I recognized. The other I didn’t. A friend of hers I guess. Blue wore a jean skirt that showed her legs and a plain red t-shirt. She was eating/drinking a root beer float. Frankie showed her the contents of the trunk. We always kept a few items of merch in there for reason that escape me.
She picked up a few things with her free hand and then put them back. “I want these.” She said politely. She had picked the fingerless gloves. “An excellent choice.” Coincidental or not. She looked up at me and smiled thinly. “Go ahead try them on.” Frankie said, holding her drink for her as she slipped them on. She extended her fingers and made a fist. “They look good.” It was my Monet.
God, she looked so much liked her mother.
“I”m sorry sir, but I really can’t sell you that without consulting my boss. I believe she had plans for that bag already.” The young woman whose tag named her Ginger explained politely. Frankie let out a frustrated sigh and looked around the shop anxiously. “There's plenty of other bags. Just get her a different one.” I suggested. “She wanted this one though.” He said quickly. “Do you know where you boss is? Is she here? Can I talk to her?”
Ginger shook her head though for a moment, and called to a person named Genevieve. A woman in her mid-to-late 30s came out and asked what. “I’m looking for a Joanne Stevens.” He drummed his fingertips on the counter. “Mrs. Stevens won’t be in today; it’s her daughter’s birthday.” Her french accent was clearly detectable.
“Do you have her number or an address as to where I could reach her?” He pressed. “I give you her address. So you can ask her yourself.” She said, pulling out a slip of receipt paper and scribbling down the info. Frankie took it gratefully and left. Genevieve gave me a look that made me uneasy.
Once in the car, Frankie squeezed himself between Ray and Mikey in the backseat. “Ok Bob, we need a 95 Chicken Farm Hill Drive.” Bob and I looked back from the front seats. Ray and Mikey were also staring at him. “What?” He asked. “Are you serious? Chicken Farm Hill Drive?” Bob questioned. “Hey I didn’t name it. And that's what it says.” I tried not to laugh as bob pulled out of the narrow parking space.
...
Bob slowed down once we hit the 90s on that street and pulled into the driveway. Frankie climbed over Mikey to get out and approached the man who was standing in front of a smoking grill. The men who were there and drinking noticed him and I assumed answered his questions. I watched a woman come out from the house and approach the grill. She and Frankie talked for a second, then went inside.
“So what now? We just sit here and wait?” Bob asked. I shrugged and watched the from door. Frankie came out holding an exact copy of the bag he wanted to get Jamia back at the boutique. Apparently the woman had made two just in case someone wanted the other.
Frankie stopped for a second, said something so fast I could catch it and went to the trunk. I asked Bob to pop it and got out to see what he was up to. “It’s her birthday, Gerard. I have to get her something.” He spoke randomly. “What? Whose birthday?” I furrowed. “Monet’s.” I was silent. “Yah, I was freaked, but I don’t think its her. It would seem way to coincidental.” He offered. “But I don’t know. Honestly.”
Two girls came out of the house and slammed the screen door. One was Blue. he I recognized. The other I didn’t. A friend of hers I guess. Blue wore a jean skirt that showed her legs and a plain red t-shirt. She was eating/drinking a root beer float. Frankie showed her the contents of the trunk. We always kept a few items of merch in there for reason that escape me.
She picked up a few things with her free hand and then put them back. “I want these.” She said politely. She had picked the fingerless gloves. “An excellent choice.” Coincidental or not. She looked up at me and smiled thinly. “Go ahead try them on.” Frankie said, holding her drink for her as she slipped them on. She extended her fingers and made a fist. “They look good.” It was my Monet.
God, she looked so much liked her mother.