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So, in consideration of all of this, when raised voices echoed from inside Olivia’s office and the fancy young man in the ridiculous suit stormed out, buttoning his blazer as he strode past her, Gertrude was concerned.
She didn’t knock—her and Olivia were beyond that—she burst into the room, placed her hands on her boss's desk, and demanded to know what that was about.
“We,” Olivia said, “are going out of business. That—” she nodded to the door, “was the man trying to run us out of business so he can level the block.”
“The hedge-fund looking weirdo? Barret-Wilson or whatever?”
“Woodrow Barret. Yes.” Olivia bit her nails. “I’ll be honest, I’m not sure what to do.” Her eyes lost that sharp look that Gertrude had grown accustomed to. “I’m actually thinking about selling. I can’t believe it.”
“It’s not over yet,” Gertrude said, seizing on a wellspring of optimism that she never felt, yet hurling it hopefully at Olivia as though it could snap her out of her doomed spiral. She was used to Olivia being energetic; driven. This grim mood was alarming.
And Gertrude was desperate for the DNF to stay open.
It kept giving her glimpses of a life she could have. One where she was a brighter, happier person, a life with warmth and friendship and a sense of belonging. The DNF was balancing her out; a light to contrast with her perpetual dark, and she was horrifically attached to it in a way she’d never experienced. She was a black leech nursing citrussy blood out of a ripe fruit.
She would do anything to keep the bookstore open.
***
The following day, a funeral mood fumigated the bookstore. Black smoke despair oozed between the shelves, bitterness seemed to drip from the ceiling, forming dark stalactite fangs that sharpened into teeth, closing around the DNF employees.
Rebecca updated her resume.
Ariana came in even though it was her day off and sat in one of the chairs, looking sullen, an expression that did not fit her.
In fact, all of the employees came into the store and hung about, milling around the counter, chatting quietly, drinking too much coffee and wandering the breakroom.
Waiting.
Waiting for Olivia to fix it.
Their boss remained in her office. Any of them could go in there, but it felt as though she had barricaded the door. No one wanted to go in unless they had a solution.
Nora joked that they should play the lottery.
Rebecca responded that she already had.
Ariana floated the idea that they should celebrate the last months of the store, have a huge sale, make it a party. The employees all converged around the counter, Nora listening to this idea, Rebecca noting down stuff to bring in, a sign to make for outside.
Gertrude kept quiet.
They were giving up.
3pm on a Tuesday and they were giving up. They didn’t even put up a fight.
Gertrude was wondering what her next job would be. A brief glance at job postings on her phone filled her with misery;customer service sales, retail manager, receptionist. She could already hear the men at whatever gig she got next making jokes. “Ha ha, you should work at Hot Topic.”
Gertrude was filled with a quiet rage that didn’t get much better when the flowers arrived.
The entire lot of them turned when the door chimed and a delivery person strode forward, looking warily from woman to woman, holding a bouquet of black roses. His eyes flicked from purple haired Nora, to brightly dressed Ariana, to art-teacher Rebecca, before settling on Halloween-store Gertrude. “My client said to give these to the dark haired one,” he said, holding the flowers out to her. “Gertrude?”
Ariana giggled, so Gertrude knew she would never hear the end of this. She could feel her coworkers (friends, oh god they were her friends, weren’t they? She liked them!) vibrating with excitement.
Finally, they were all thinking.
Something else to talk about.
They descended on the flowers like vultures around a carcass, the clashing scents of each of their different perfumes combining with flowers to create a smell that echoed “funeral, funeral, funeral” in Gertrude’s mind.
