A distraction is a fascination to an inappropriate attraction.

[dorian-excolo.livejournal.com]

[Sunday, June 13th (Day 378)]
[Noon, The Sacred Whore]

Ah, boredom.  My old friend.

It's slow, even for a Sunday, and by the time I've finished with all the little tasks that must be done - sweeping, dusting, reordering the clothing racks, and tidying the displays - only a few hours have passed.  And there's nothing left to do.  It's times like these that having the two assistants is more a burden than a boon, and I actually toss Winnie a look when she moves past.  

I throw some money at them and send them away.  Buy something, go take a nap, I don't care, just go.

I'm minded to flip the sign to closed after that, as everyone else has the good sense not to be open on a Sunday, but I don't.  Anything could happen, anyone could show, anyone at all...  I keep the bedroom door open, to listen for the bell, as I move back to change.  It's humid today and I'm not dressed for it, I've suddenly realized.  And my other shirt was a little dirty, from the cleaning.  Yes.

In a moment, though, I'm back to sitting on the counter, glancing around the shop and near-to-tears with nothing to do.  It's ridiculous I know, but with three of us here all the time, and two so hard-pressed to be busy little worker bees, there doesn't seem enough activity to go around.  That's it, that's the rub - they are just bothersome, underfoot and annoying.    If a customer came in they'd both be sure to just run over, before I even had the chance to give a go.  Start a conversation.  Maybe have some lunch.  Socialize. 

Hmph.

And you think they could have left me a bit of alteration to do in the meantime, something, to break up all this waiting.  All this god-awful wanting (nagging) to go do something foolish.  Like I even need any more supplies.  

Though I wonder if the General Store is even open on Sundays.

[Open to Jane]
[Continued http://estdeus-innobis.livejournal.com/446918.html]
[And there is sexy time...]

Comments

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

I haven't been to see Lucien again, nor have I sought out Jamie. I've simply tried to continue my life as usual, working and sleeping and in the spaces between trying to think a little. I have some time. I have, well, months and months really. No one will notice, not with my shalwar kameez and baking coats and aprons. No one will notice anything.

I thought about that yesterday, as I sold my pies and made conversation, and this morning, as I walked into town to work the counter at the Bakery. No one noticed me before, not even Jamie. It took another strange thing happening in town to leave us married, even if it only was for a few days. I remember my wedding sari, I remember the way he looked at me as I rode toward him. I wonder if he remembers too, because it never happened. My cousins never danced around us, and my mother never decorated my hands and feet with mehndi.

If I go to Jamie again, it won't be in a sari.

I've never been in this shop before, because it's call the Sacred Whore, for goodness sake, but the things in the window looked very fine, and there is no one around to tell my mother. A small bell rings over the door when I go in, and at first there seems to be no one around. But no, there he is, lounging against the counter. He's far too thin. I wish I'd brought a pie to start the bargaining with. "Hello?" I smooth my tunic (http://fashion4chill.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/Latest-Casual-Salwar-Kameez-e1304073986593.jpg) down a little. "I wonder if you could help me pick out a dress."

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

He's teasing me again, but I like the way his mouth curves around the words as he backs into the dressing room. And of course he'd pull the curtain shut once he's inside.

I give him a minute, not wanting to seem desperate, but then his trousers come flying out. I pick them up. They're still warm and they smell like cologne and hot iron and just the faintest trace of sweat. Not at all like honey. I drape them over a rack before I poke my head inside the curtain.

I should have known he'd be wearing something silky that drapes just perfectly over his thighs. It's obvious he's not the least bit shy, either. "You can have all the pie you want," I promise him. "Are you going to kiss me?"