Read Know Not Why: A Novel for Free Online

It is on , Artie II. It is on like an on thing. “And if she’s a
regular … customer?”
    “Oh, she doesn’t buy anything,” he tells me
airily.
    “Right, well, menace, then,” I say
impatiently. “I think you’re really the one who should—”
    “I’ve got to make a few phone calls upstairs,”
Arthur interrupts. “They’re somewhat important, but if you really
need help getting this situation under control, I suppose you can
come up and ask me later.”
    “Or you could just take care of it right
now.”
    Arthur makes a little face, this expression of
fake jokey contemplation. Who does this guy think he is today? “Why
don’t you take a swing at it on your own first?”
    Oh, I’ll tell you what I wanna take a swing
at.
    “I don’t know if—”
    “Good luck out there,” Arthur finishes, and then
he takes his tea and his stupid good mood and abandons me.
    “Chamomile sucks!” I shout after him. It’s the
only revenge I can come up with.
    “To each his own,” Arthur calls back.
    I cannot believe this guy. I think I might even
be feeling betrayed, for Christ’s sake. It’s just – this can’t
really be happening, right? Arthur Kraft the Second refuses to fist bump on principle. There’s no way, no realistic way he
can possibly be down with letting random people come in and gyrate
on the counter. He wears ties! He doesn’t discuss personal matters
at work! He’s the epitome of a stodgy-ass drag of a boss, and he’s
letting this slide?
    Fuck him. Fuck him times infinity.
    My brain strikes up the saddest song it knows
( Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want by The Smiths)
and I head back out, each slow step bringing me a little bit closer
to – hell, who knows?
    But then my gallows-walk is cut short, because
all of a sudden Lady Lunatic herself is heading right for me,
tromping across the floor in all her lime-and-yak glory.
    I muster all my bravery and say, “Hey, miss, you
really can’t be back here.”
    She stops like a foot away from me and crosses
her arms. She’s pretty tiny, maybe just over five feet. It doesn’t
stop her from being scary as hell. And, wow, here she is all close
up. I think she might have a nice face, but it’s really hard to
tell underneath all the piercings.
    “What are you talking about?” she demands. Her
voice is low and throaty, sort of sexy-growly.
    “This area’s for employees only,” I inform her.
My own voice, for the record, is at the moment quivery and
effeminate.
    “Well, then it’s a good thing I’m an employee, dumbass .” She gives me a saccharine smile that morphs with
truly freaky speed into a scowl, then brushes past me.
    I stand there like a … well, ‘dumbass’ is
accurate.
    Wait. Employee? Then this must be—
    “Cora?” I ask.
    “Enchanté, darling!” she yells back
sarcastically.
    Well.
    I guess it makes sense. Employees feeling
entitled to bust a move on the counter? Less shocking. Although I,
for one, would never bust a move on the counter. Especially never like that . The only dance I do, when wrangled into
situations where there is dancing, is an unenthused head bop. And
that’s ironic. I never dance unironically.
    But that is neither here or there. You know
what’s here and there, though?
    Arthur clearly knew who this chick was, and what
was going on. And Arthur didn’t tell me. Arthur played me.
    Arthur played me?
    … Arthur ?

    +

    Cora’s not so bad after the initial shock wears
off. She’s like the anti-Kristy. I mean, I’m pro-Kristy all the
way, but it’s refreshing to hear so many sentences that don’t have
the word ‘totally’ in them. Plus, I find out that she’s playing
Magenta in a production of the Rocky Horror Show, which makes her
countertop actions seem, if not sane, then at least justifiable.
Plus, we have a jolly good time hating on all the stupid crap we
sell. Oh, it’s blissful, especially after spending four days
marveling at all this nonsense in silence. Like, I’m sure