Love in the City

Chapter 3

 Several days had passed since the death of Melanie. Bryce inhaled the familiar smell of the department store as he slowly walked to his counter. As he passed the other clerks, they either gave him a sad smile, or stared at the floor. None of them could bear the extreme pain embedded in the eyes of the broken, young man. It was as though his heart had died along with the girl he loved, and just his body walked around in a cloud of sorrow.

Bryce sighed and flicked the switch that lit up the little sign above his counter, alerting customers that he was ready for the day. "Good morning, Mr. Lassiter," a deep male voice said. His boss, Mr. Daniels leaned over him.

"Good morning to you too, sir." Bryce nodded his head and focused his gaze on a Giorgio Armani display case. The cabinet lights glittered off the cut glass of the perfume bottles and the gold buckles on the Italian crafted men's wallets. He could feel his boss's eyes scrutinizing his face. Mr. Daniels hand rested heavily on his shoulder. "Are you going to be okay?" Bryce struggled to regain his composure. The concern in the older man's voice brought forth a longing for a father figure that Bryce had once had, but lost. His dad had died from colorectal cancer three days after Stormy was born. Bryce had been just eleven years old. Daddy... Melanie... Why?

"Bryce?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Daniels. I will be fine. Thank you for your concern."

"If you need me, I will be in my office." The man gave Bryce a final glance, and walked away. Bryce buried his face in his arms. I don't need you. I don't need anybody. Even Stormy said that. Why did he call me 'Bryce'? He has always addressed me by my last name. No! I don't need sympathy! I won't take it! Why can't everyone just leave me alone?

"Excuse me, I would like to check out if you don't mind." A tall well-dressed man, and a woman equally dressed stood at the counter. They woman cast an insolent smile on the young man as he jumped to his feet in embarrassment. What a way to start an already awful day!

*****

Warm air and the smell of pumpkin pie spice accosted his senses as Bryce pushed open the door to the little coffee shop/pub on the corner of a four-way. A homey environment, it attracted the stressed and tired citizens of the city. The owner, a little rotund man, crowned with a shock of grey hair, smiled at Bryce as he dropped wearily into a window booth.

"Goo' day to you, Mr. Lassimere! Would you like the usual?" the man trilled, casting a pleased smile on the profile of the heart-broken clerk in the window. Bryce nodded his head.

"Yes, thank you Ben. And it's Lassiter, not Lassimere." The elderly Scotchman had an endearing penchant for habitually getting names wrong. He took Bryce's correction with all the aplomb of the president.

"Of course, it is! I knew it! Well, give me a moment and your coffee will be ready." Bryce smiled in amusement as the old man waddled toward the back of the shop. A few minutes later, Ben triumphantly placed a steaming mug full of pumpkin spice latte and a sugar cookie on a tray in front of Bryce. He thanked the man, and lifted the cup to his lips. He allowed the liquid to wash away his sadness for a moment, and leaned his head against the window. He wrapped his hands around the mug and let the heat pervade every pore. Closing his eyes, he allowed his mind to go blank.

Bryce opened his eyes as he heard a car horn honk and an angry voice yell. He sat up in his chair and strained to see what was happening. He gasped as a young woman dashed in front of a car and made an attempt to leap onto the curb on his side of the street. He rushed for the door as he saw her high heels catch on the cement, throwing her to the ground. The cold air slammed into his chest. He gasped for air, and knelt down beside the young woman. She was curled up on the ground in a fetal position. Her long, dark hair hid her face from view. Her body was encased in a tight, red, silk pencil dress and her stilettoes matched perfectly.

He touched her smooth shoulder. "Are you okay, ma'am?" The woman turned her head and glanced up at him. A look of recognition shot between them. It was her... the prostitute.