Roy gave Della a probing look, ran a hand over his bald head and took a deep breath. “Don’t worry, it’s early,” he said. “Customers will show up later in the day, after work and for sure Saturday and Sunday.” He appeared to be talking more to himself than to her.
Della arranged the displays under the counter, then behind the counter, then arranged them again. She swept the floor although it didn’t need sweeping. Time crawled by. That evening two customers showed up and bought a hundred dollars worth of marijuana in total. Della was overjoyed.
On Saturday she opened the store early, at nine. That morning she hired a skinny, oval-faced college student, Carl, to work with her on the weekends and if necessary some evenings. She hoped it would be necessary.
“Can you start now?”
“Sure.”
The morning was dead quiet. She sent Carl out to bring back a pizza for lunch. She and Carl spent most of the day playing Gin Rummy. She had to teach him the rules. By closing time at 10 p.m. Preferred Puff had only had three customers. She called Roy to tell him that Saturday, their second day of operations had largely been a bust.
“Don’t worry, it’s just the beginning. Nobody knows Puff exists yet.”
“They should know. We sent out fliers and the sign above the window is certainly big enough.”
“I know someone who’ll rent us one of those mobile signs on wheels. They’re cheap. I should have thought of that earlier.”
“Okay,” she said, dejectedly. Cheap? More likely money down the drain. Oh God, what have I gotten myself into?
That night at home she rolled herself a fat joint. Tears flowed down her cheeks. I’m going to go broke, lose my condo, my car, my mind. I might have to beg some relative to take me in or even end up on the street living in a filthy sleeping bag.
She texted Carl telling him not to come to work the following day. There was no point in paying for staff when there was so little business.
That night she had a dreadful nightmare. She saw herself dressed in rags standing in an endless queue of bag ladies outside a food bank. All at once the line vanished into a bottomless pit leaving only her. She found herself alone at the counter stacked high with apples, cans and bottles when a monstrously huge hand grabbed her and tossed her into a slime filled street.
It drizzled on Sunday. In the afternoon the drizzle turned to a slanting rain. The pavement in front of Preferred Puff Cannabis was empty of people. Near noon the woman who ran the flower shop next door came in. She was carrying a large bouquet.
“Special delivery for you,” Cecilia Liu said with a smile. She was a tall woman of uncertain age, wearing black pants, black top and a short white apron.
Della peered at the flowers with suspicion. Without looking at Cecilia she sheepishly flipped open the attached card. “Best of luck in your new adventure,” it read. It was from her husband.
