JUST BEST FRIENDS

MIRA

Rawr Raaawr.

Damn, forgot to replace the batteries on the doorbell sensor again, I think.

Now, instead of the regular Ding Dong, most doorbells have, mine sounds like a cat in heat.

"Good Morning, Ladies. "

I smile and look over to greet my first customers of the day. "My name is Mira. If you need help with anything, just holler. "

When I see them smile and nod back at me, I go back to my table of sweaters which have become a bit of a mess from the day before and commence re-folding.

Most people wouldn't do this with a huge smile on their face but, what can I say?

I take pride in my work.

Rawr Raaawr.

I start speaking cheerfully before I see who comes through the door, "Good Morn...Oh, it's just you! How's it going?"

I see my not so cheerful worker girl Jessie walk through the studio and straight to the staff room without so much as a nod.

"Ooookay then."

This is not unusual for Jessie. She is super cranky in the best way. You can ask her anything, anything at all and she'll only give you a straight answer. Everyone needs a friend like her.

She emerges from the staff room, walks across the studio and straight out the door again.

I see her turn left and smile to myself. I know she'll only be a few minutes but will come back with the best Good Morning greeting anyone can get.

Re-commence sweater folding.

Five minutes later I hear the awful doorbell again and Jessie walks over to me carrying the potion of life in her dainty hands. I take the cup from her and sip.

Mmmmmm, Caramel Latte. I love you.

She takes her place behind the counter and logs into the register.

She looks over at me and asks, "What are you smiling at, Atomic?"

She calls me atomic because of my surname. I laugh and shake my head at her. I see her lip twitch as she looks over her to-do list.

I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Mira Tomic. Actually, my name is Mirabel Tomic. But the only time I ever get called Mirabel is when I'm in trouble.

I manage Safira Boutique. Actually, scratch that, I own Safira Boutique. None of my workers know this. They all believe I'm the store manager because this is what I have led them to believe. Safira Boutique is my pride and joy.

I bought it two years ago. The building was in pretty good shape but I put some good money into renovating. I made all the fixings more modern and added a small kitchenette in the back which holds a fridge, microwave, small two-burner stove, and a sink to wash our dirty dishes. I also had new signs put up and a brand new front counter put in. It's very modern, shiny black with a high back; this hides our register and computer. There is also a super tiny change room at the back of the store. The store room was in good condition but the overall wiring needed to be re-done. This cost me a packet, but it was totally worth it.

Safira's is a narrow building but is long; it looks small from the front but is surprisingly deceptive.

I had it repainted a deep blue color because Safira means Sapphire in Croatian which is my ethnic background.

The store front window holds two mannequins; I change their outfits every week.

I love doing this.

We carry many types of clothing items for several occasions. Clubbing and party clothes, cocktail dresses, formal occasion wear, sexy sleepwear (ooh la la), and a crap load of accessories. Our accessories are our main seller. We have clutches, necklaces, bracelets, bangles, costume jewellery, rings, and hair accessories. The reason these are our main sellers is because they don't cost a lot, so after school hours, we are packed with high school and college girls who unfortunately can't afford our clothing but go nuts over the affordable things.

I love my job!

Safira has three workers; myself, Jessie and Lola. I work full time, 9 to 5. Jessie and Lola get three to four shifts a week depending on how busy we are. We'll soon add a fourth to our trio.

My BFF, Sophia, is coming to live in New York!

Excited, you ask?!

Who, me?

Noooooo... I'm freaking ecstatic!

Although born and raised in California, I moved to New York two years ago. Sophia has been my best friend pretty much all my life. So when I moved away, it broke both our hearts. I had my reasons for moving. She understood why I left Cali but declared she couldn't live without me because she says "Cali sucks without you".

So, this week I'll have a moving truck arrive at my apartment. I'll pack the second bedroom full of her stuff and next week my BFF will not only be living with me but also working with me.

Totally awesome, if you ask me.

Jessie interrupts my thought by nudging me. "There he is again. Damn, that boy is fine. And I mean fine with a capital F. "

I look through the shop window, past the mannequins and my heart stutters. This is not the first time I've noticed him. And Jessie is right.

He Is fine.

Super fine.

So fine he should be on a billboard or a book cover somewhere. But something about him bothers me.

Two weeks earlier...

Great. Just great.

A traffic jam and I have approximately six minutes to open the store. No way am I going to get there on time and this ticks me off. I open the store at nine am and pretty often there are already customers waiting for me.

Ten minutes later I have my car parked at a public parking spot because I can never get a space by my store and I don't have parking spaces under or behind the building. I've tried taking the bus a few times but found I value my sleep too much to get up an hour earlier than I have to if I take my car.

Four customers are waiting for me. Three of them are smiling when they see me running towards them. One of them is scowling at me and it makes her pretty face oh-so ugly.

"I'm so sorry. There was a traffic jam down the street and I was stuck. I hope you haven't been waiting long. " I unlock the door and they follow me inside.

I open the staff room door, literally throw my bag onto the kitchenette counter, and run back to the register to log on.

The scowling woman is waiting for me.

I smile and say, "Good Morning. My name is Mira. How can I help you today?"

She flicks her nails at a garment on the counter and replies, "This dress is awful."

She has a great Jersey accent.

My smile falters and I respond, "I'm so sorry you don't like it. " I'm trying to be sympathetic but it's kind of hard when she's looking at me like I forced her to buy it.

Her elbow is resting on the counter, she looks closely at her nails and says, "Yeah, well, I want a refund."

I look closely over the fabulous dress, smile and say, "Okay, let me see what I can do." The tags have been removed and there are stains on the hem.

Uh oh. Great.

Shit just got serious.

I hate confrontations; they give me hives.

I clear my throat and say, "This dress has been worn ma'am. I can't give you a refund or exchange. I'm sorry but our policies are clear. They're on the walls and receipts. "

Her scowl re-appears. She would be so pretty if she smiled.

She leans forward and hisses right in my face, "This is BULLSHIT! That dress cost me THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS!"

I know this. The dress is one of our most expensive pieces and is fab-U-lous. I really want to ask her if her daddy actually bought it but she continues.

"It looks like a goddamn potato sack!"

I feel the flush rising up my neck and I so badly want to scratch at it. I say quietly, "Like I said ma'am, there's nothing I can do. "

Her lip curls and she spits, "I wanna speak to a manager. "

I nod and respond, "I'm the manager."

She smiles almost cruelly and says, "Then I wanna speak to the owner."

I stare her right in the eyeball and I'm thankful none of my girls are working.

I say in a firm voice, "I am the owner. "

Her face shifts into something even uglier than her scowl. I don't know how to describe it, but if looks could kill, I'd be six feet under. She snatches the dress out of my hands and storms out of my store.

Rawr Raaawr.

Damn it.

Crap! Forgot to get batteries for the doorbell. Again.

I look out the window past the mannequins, and the She-Devil is walking across the street to a man standing with his back to me. He looks big. Not fat but built. She-Devil talks a mile a minute pointing towards Safira. The man is obviously talking back to her because she stops talking and starts pouting. Then she stomps her foot. Yes, actually stomps her foot and pushes her chest out while pouting up at his face. I can almost hear her whining. She walks off and the man turns towards Safira and shakes his head slowly. What a spoiled brat!

It takes me a second to notice the man.

Oh. My. God.

Angels must have broken out in song when this man was born. I feel like breaking out in song.

He is so handsome.

I'll admit I can't see his face very well from across the street but I can see enough of it to see he is hot. As in hawt. And the rest of him is just as impressive. He's tall, probably 6'2" or 6'3", and has gorgeous olive-toned skin. He's dressed in suit pants and a shirt. He has broad shoulders and great arms; I can tell from the muscle definition I can see through his shirt. He has a face made of straight angles and his lips have a natural pout to them. His hair is styled in a masculine faux hawk, shaved at the sides, longer on top, and spiked up and to the left side of his head. I can't see his eye color from where I am, though.

This makes me sad.

I want to walk up to him and hold his face in my hands just so I can get a good look at him, but that would be rude. And I'd probably get arrested.

The only turn off I can see from my vantage point is that he's smoking.

He looks angry, too. His lip is curled as he looks into Safira's window.

I'm scared he'll come in here and yell at me trying to get his girlfriend's money back for the fabulous dress she's ruined. I just know my neck is red, I can tell from how much it's itching.

Please, please don't come in here and yell at me, Mr. Large Man.

Like an answer to my silent prayer he throws his cigarette butt onto the pavement (another turn off-litter bug), steps on it, and walks into a building I was told by my girls is a very popular nightclub.

From the front of the building it doesn't look like much. The large double doors are the typical ones you'd normally see at a club. It also looks narrow. Not quite as narrow as Safira but still narrow for a club. The sign atop the door catches my eye.

The White Rabbit.

The sign is white with a whimsical feel to it. The words are written in black and it all looks very plain but artsy.

What a strange name for a club.

I'm confused.

Why would he be at a nightclub during the day?