The Heart Foundation
“Ready to go, Brodie?” asked Natalie in a cheerful way; Natalie is always being cheerful and that. That’s why she’d been working as a cashier at the Fairyland department store for more than 2 years. New girls never lasted long, and she’d seen them come and go, all right. The last one, Cindy, had only lasted 4 days before accounting “irregularities” forced her into early retirement.
“Yep, give me a moment, gotta give the mop a scrub,” replied Brodie in a not-so cheerful manner. “Why do some mothers insist that their children eat too much?” The smell of the mop was overwhelming. The little brat had a hotdog in his one hand and an ice-cream in the other. No wonder he puked. And this just before closing time.
Natalie smiled. “I’ll do it, Brodes. You start locking up.”
“Can’t let you, Nats, it’s my du–.”
“Oh, shut it old man,” she mocked, her dimples forcing him to smile. “You look knackered - worse than the mop, in fact! I said I’ll do it. “Besides, the sooner we leave, the better. I have a hot date tonight.”
“You sound in love this time, Nats; I can see the proverbial sparkle in your eye - but promise me one thing: Don’t let him steal your heart. Whatsisname? Paul?”
“Nobody can steal my heart, Brodes. NOBODY. Now, go roll down those roll-up doors.”
“Ahh, Shucks, Natalie, thanks a million. I’m beat.”
Brodie had been walking up and down, in and out all day - helping old ladies across the street, getting rid of the skateboard kids (who always come back the next day and say ‘Fuck you fatty!”), following suspicious characters round as if to say “I can see you, Mother-Bitch, if you so much as touch that pack of Durex, you will feel the full force of The Brodester!”
Oh, the life as a security guard! he thought.
Natalie took the stinking mop to the back. Brodie flipped a switch and the lights went out.
“Shit! Sorry, Natalie. Must be habit!,” shouted Brodie apologetically as soon as he realized that she was probably standing there, next to the bra section, in complete darkness..
“I’ll find my way, don’t worry, I’m a big girl!” came Natalie’s reply.
Brodie shook his head at his own thoughtlessness and pressed the Light button on his watch. Nothing happened. “Fucken thing,” he cursed, “bought it only yesterday.” He spoke quietly, perfectly aware of female presence. The button etched itself into the tip of his forefinger a couple times more, and then that familiar green told him that he was late, very late, for dinner.
“Shit!”
As she walked to the back, her eyes still playing tricks on her, she remembered what her grandfather told her when she turned 18. She’d been following his advice for the last 7 years: “Always get to work before the boss, so he or she can see you. Always be the last to leave, no matter how tired you are. This way you’ll be climbing the ladder very quickly.”
“Next step on the ladder: floor manager!”, she thought to herself, and got an extra spring in her step. She couldn’t wait to see Paul…
Something moved by the window of the ladies’ underwear section. Natalie squinted, but couldn’t see anything - the sudden death of flourescent tubing casting purples and greens in her head.
“Brodie, the black cat is back!,” she shouted, giggling to herself. Brodie is pissed-scared of black cats.
Choeeeet-choeeeet
***
Outside Brodie was roling down the roll up doors.
Takatakatakatakata they went, the vibration sending messages to his brain that his feet were killing them.
“Thank God, tomorrow is a national holiday,” he whispered. “Time to spend some time with the wife and kids. Maybe fix that annoying Choeeeet-choeeeet sound on mybicycle.”
Brodie had made peace with the fact that he would never be a rich man. It didn’t bother him in the least. “Pride. That’s what counts,” he recalled his father’s voice. “As long as you have some pride, son, they can’t touch you!” He wondered who ‘they‘ were while rolling down the last door. He slowly walked back, whisteling ‘Here Comes the Sun’ by The Beatles. While he was waiting for Natalie, he inspected his bike. He lifted up the back wheel and gave it a good spin.
Choeeeet-choeeeet…
***
Choeeeet-choeeeet, the Mannequin moved. Slowly and stiffly past the lovely langerie.
“Where you going, sweetheart?” asked Evelyn Mannequin. Tilting her neck in a jerking motion in the male mannequin direction’s direction, almost as if she couldn’t wait for his answer.
“Gotta find me a heart. I need a heart. My limbs are going, Evelyn,” he stated, not making eye-contact. Not tonight, Evelyn. Not tonight!
“You can always have my heart,” said Evelin Mannequin in a waxy voice, her plastic fingers revealing a nippleless breast, ”in return for that.” She pointed to his groin area.
“Later, Ev, later.”
Natalie didn’t even hear him coming.
She wassitting on the threshold, looking out - bent over , scrubbing away at the mop with a steel brush and some washing detergent she’d found in a faded light yellow Tupper-Ware container. Water was running into an empty bucket.
“Bad habit,” she thought to herself, referring to her leaving the tap open while doing other tasks. “Must save water,” she added as she closed the tap.
He hit her with the back of the hack saw. Right in the sweet spot - the back of the neck. She dropped like a Comrades-marathon runner. Face forward onto the bottom cement step. The foamy OMO turned turning pink immediately as blood gushed from her nose and bottom lip where cold concrete had got a hold of it.
“I have to soften her chest up a bit. Sawing can be a bitch. Don’t pass out again!” he reminded himself, remembering the last time. He spotted the mop and noticed the plasyic thingymagik at the end of the aluminium handle had come off. “That’s nice and sharp!” He started pounding away at Natalie’s chest, her bra ripping, exposing her tiny, but bloody breasts.
“Natalie! Natalie?!”
Brodie moved quietly through the langerie section. “If that fucking cat..”
Choeeeet-choeeeet
“And just where do you think you’re heading, Big Boy?”
The End
