Window Shopping(3)

Oh, now I’m on a roll. A few passersby have even stopped to listen to my spiel and normally that would derail me, clam me up, but window dressing was my dream job once upon a time. Before my life was placed on hold, I took three years of online college courses that focused primarily on fashion merchandising and marketing. I’d hoped to one day style window displays. It’s one of the only things I’ve ever been passionate about. It’s why I usually find it too painful to walk down Fifth Avenue, reminded of how badly I messed up.

Pedestrians are still paused around us, waiting to hear what I’m going to say. And, hey. I’m never going to see any of these people again, especially Bow Tie, so why not give my opinion? It’s been a really long time since someone besides Dr. Skinner asked for it and she was only doing her job.

“That brings me to the penguins.” I make the mistake of glancing over at Bow Tie and almost lose my train of thought. He can’t be half as interested in my opinion as he looks. Can he? The man doesn’t even look like he’s breathing. “And…you know. The average lifespan of a penguin is like, thirteen years, so technically this is child labor. Not a good look.”

He studies the window as if seeing it for the first time. “You’re right. It’s awful.” He shakes his head. “One of those penguins is seconds from losing a flipper.”

I jolt a little at the way he mimics my thoughts, but hide it well by clearing my throat.

And tucking hair behind my ear, over and over again. Unnecessarily.

“Are you an artist?” he asks. “Have you window dressed before?”

I wish. God, I wish. I never got that far.

“No, I’m just critical.”

He huffs a small laugh, his eyes somehow shrewd and thoughtful and welcoming at the same time. In that moment, I am absolutely certain there is something unique about this man. A distinctiveness. Layers. And I really wish I would have just walked away when I had the chance. He’s maneuvered me to a place where I have a voice and don’t feel invisible. I didn’t see it coming. Did he do it purposely? If so, why would he take the time to do that? What did he sense about me that made him stop? What is even happening?

“How would you dress the window instead?”

Dammit.

Dammit.

I’m letting him pull me out of my anonymous solitude and it’s so rude and presumptuous of him to do so, but I’m already halfway sunk into the quicksand. Plus, I have to answer. It’s too tempting not to. Saying the words out loud is the closest I’ll ever come to the real thing. A girl with a prison record is never going to decorate a store window at Vivant.

A line appears between his brow as if he’s reading my thoughts.

Rude.

“I wouldn’t remind them they’ve come to the store to spend their money. I would remind them that buying presents is about…surprise. Surprise is priceless.” I blow out a breath, white condensation billowing in the air in front of me. “That moment when a loved one takes the lid off a box and gasps. That’s what we’re in it for. There’s a whole corner of TikTok dedicated to it.”

For the last few months, since being released from Bedford Hills, I’ve been finding comfort in watching people on the internet hear famous songs for the first time. Or their first time watching Star Wars or Twilight or Harry Potter. I watch those videos and wonder if I’ll ever be able to express emotions like that again. Just pow. No hesitating. Without toning the feelings down or worrying that if I get too emotional, my dam will break and everything will just come pouring out.

“We go out looking for a magical item, no idea what it is. If we see it, we’ll know, but we rarely find it. So show them. Show shoppers the item that will shock their lover or sibling or mother and make them feel not only loved, but exciting as a human being. The keys to a moped, the perfect nude lipstick, a designer martini shaker. If this was my window, I’d…display the dress a woman would never buy for themself but secretly wish they owned. And I’d make that dress a new lifestyle. A new start. Their desired result is on the other side of the window.”

He nods for a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

Then he turns slightly to look down the side of the building, which takes up an entire city block. “And what would you do with the other three windows?”

I blink up at him, not sure if he’s calling me out for being an armchair expert or if he’s genuinely curious. Somehow…I sense it’s the latter. Sarcasm isn’t his personality. Wait. How has he impressed his personality on me in the space of five? Ten minutes? How long have I been standing here talking to this man? “I should go—”

“You should apply,” he says at the same time, chuckling over our verbal collision. “I have it on good authority that Vivant is looking for a new window dresser.”

“Oh.” I choke on the word, unable to keep the longing off my face when looking back at the window, imagining myself on the other side with a Vivant-sized budget. Four windows to design. All manner of materials and fabrics and baubles at my fingertips. And that is never, ever going to happen. My résumé has a giant employment gap between age twenty-one and twenty-five where I was serving time in Westchester. For a crime I do not deny committing. I can’t even get hired at a diner, let alone at this upscale department store. “No. I…I’m not interested.”