{ Chapter Thirty-One: Your Honey is Back! }
EARS STILL RED FROM THE WIND OUTSIDE, JAMES blows on his cold fingers before pulling on the doorknob from the door that let him into the back of his store. Pulling his light windbreaker closer to his body, he kicks back the door with the heel of his foot.
"Brielle!" he calls out after he puts his stuff away. "I'm back!"
Brielle's signature brown ponytail almost whips him in the face when she turns the corner, boxes in her hands. "Do I look like your honey? I heard you come in."
James takes one of the boxes from her hands, shifting his weight. "I'd be upset about the lack of affection but I'm just too glad to get out of a small room to care."
"I wouldn't have given you a hug either," huffs Brielle, "my hands are just a little full doing all the work you slacked over into me. I'm three years your senior but that doesn't mean I like having to fill in your position. Unlike you, I actually have a life."
Moving into the inventory room, James stacks the shipments onto the metal rack. Brielle eagerly lets him take them, rubbing her elbows and whistling. "If I didn't think of you as my younger brother, I'd be awed by your lack of biceps."
James shot a look over his shoulder. "Can you not see this definition?" James flexes his forearms. "I pick up boxes, like, every—"
"—two weeks when the inspector comes in to see whether you're still competent enough to work," coughs Brielle. "Though you're pretty famous with the sugar momma's that come here."
"I'll have you know that I'm a pretty wanted man," protests James. Twirling the keys around his ring finger, he scratches the back of his neck. "And unlike what Janice says, not just for parking tickets."
Laughing, they exit the room to open up the store. Albeit having no windows directly inside the store, the morning sky was apparent from the glow outside the entrance. While the interior of Victoria's Secret is dark and night club-like, to attract the appeal of the young adults that walked in, the light streaming in from the doors set aglow the mirrors and golden beams strung across the walls.
"I missed this place," James says, hugging a mannequin.
Brielle swats his head. "Don't touch the merchandise. That's more expensive than your paycheque."
James grins. "I'd make a joke about my merchandise if I wasn't so sure you'd probably ruin what little I'd have if I did." He turns around when he hears the familiar pattering of heels. "Renée! My favourite girl!"
Brielle throws a coupon box at him before heading over to meet a customer.
Renée grins, her sun-kissed skin glittering under the green light overhead. Her bright pink apron wrapped around her midsection and black jeans only accented her skin tone. "Favourite girl? Never thought I'd live to see the day."
"You've always been the one for me," James teases, giving Renée a quick hug.
"Too bad you're not as feminine as you act," quips Renée, returning the hug. Her black afro softly brushed his cheeks. "We could have really hit it off."
James smirks. "Please. The only reason you talk to me is because I give you all the girls' numbers I get."
"Don't be so cocky," Renée says, "because half of them don't realize it's this sexy girl here when they pick up."
Throwing an arm around her shoulders, James says, "Woe to them. Now, show me the sales data. I've been on my feet all week and I'm going to go sit down in the office. I think my skin's chapping from this wind."
"More like from being in my presence," chuckles the coloured girl. "Glad to have you back. I appreciate you more than the substitute."
"Wasn't as hot as me?"
"More like she was so gorgeous she wasn't sure what to do when a foxy black girl started hitting on her," sighs Renée, shaking her head. "I'll send over your papers to your office. It's only ten right now, but I'm sure we'll get everything you missed covered in a few hours."
Once Renée had brought all the collected information from the past week on James' desk, she spent a few hours working through some of the reports before heading out for her break. "Call me if you need anything!' she reminded him, already out the door.
A couple hours after opening, James patiently mulls over the bill payments when the smell of coffee steals his focus. A sharp knock barely allows him to sprout a hasty, "Come in!" before the door opens.
He doesn't fight off the smile on his face when he immediately recognizes the small frame. "Oh, the smell of the only love of my life. Coffee."
"I'm hurt," says Janice as she sets out a few small packages on his table, "but not as much as you can expect from whatever's in this box will do to you."
James grimaces. "Do I have to ask?"
"Tax papers. They made us resend them because the substitute made some calculation errors. Brielle was supposed to help but" —Janice looked over her shoulder, as if expecting Brielle to pop up— "I think she's out."
James nods, already prying away the brown packaging paper. "She and Renée are on break. Tiffany's looking over some it right now. Did you just get in?"
"I braved the cold to get you this cup of mocha," says Janice, "and that's all you say in gratitude?"
James shrugs, gulping down the sweetened drink. He hadn't realized how much the energy shock was needed until he'd drank more than half of the cup. "Does asking you to help me with tax papers seem good enough?"
"You sure know your way around women," Janice sighs, before wiggling her eyebrows. "How's it going with green hair?" She'd stuck to dubbing the guy who'd been mistakenly led awry by James' kindness this since he'd told her.
"I think it's actually a crime that I'm too kind," James says, "but you don't understand; his hair was seriously dope. Like it went to the side and brought out the grey in his eyes—" He gestured with his hands to emphasize his words.
"You looked into his eyes long enough to know it went with his hair?" gaped Janice.
James mouth twitches. "Staring? Staring would be a strong word. More like admired from a distance. Besides, I notice things! Like your hair goes spectacularly with your... skin!"
"Flattered," Janice deadpans.
"See," James repeats fiercely. "I'm just too kind for this world."
Rolling her eyes, Janice picks up the loose uniform off the hanger in the back and ties it on, fingers struggling to get a knot secure.
James jumps up with his hands outstretched. "Want some help?"
His hands are already tying the string, prodding and leaving behind a cute bow tie. She could feel James' lean body, feeling oddly warm despite the room's chilly temperature. James concealed a smirk. Janice is too distracted by holding her breath.
She lets it go slowly when James takes a step back, beaming. "Too kind, I know. It's my thing."
Swatting the older boy with the palm of her hand, Janice awkwardly heads out the door to see whether Tiffany needed any help with customers. She stops at the door, turning to see James already settled back at his desk. "Are you going to be cooped here for the rest of the hour?"
James looks at his watch and shakes his head. "Maybe going to be getting off in two." He eyes the tax papers with a dark look. "Maybe one and half if I'm lucky. Why?"
Janice does the calculations in her head. "I have my break around that time and I wanted to run some things with you."
"Really?" he asks, sitting straighter in his chair, suddenly nervous. "About what?"
"The Woman's Day March," Janice says. James slouches a little. "What else?"
I was going for something along the lines that green dude isn't the only one who likes you, grumbles James mentally.
"So, do you think you can be done by then?"
James picks up his pen and shoots Janice a smile. "This is why I took that workshop in the first place. We'll see. Now go and see if you can aid another girl in her quest for femininity. Shoo!"
Janice mumbles something along the lines of "forget them, help me" before he returns to his focus to his desk. Cracking his knuckles, he blows out a guff of air. Less than two hours? Why not.
For, really, James is too kind a boy to disappoint others.
•∞•
JANICE CLOCKS IN HER HOURS BEFORE making her way to the manager's door, knocking sharply with her sore knuckles. She rubs her hand afterwards, wincing. With everything going around her like a tumble, she hadn't forgotten her position on her basketball team. Early morning and late evening practices left her aching but tired enough to forget about her worries.
With the callouses, she even had trouble with the thread of her apron earlier on, even if she did end up with assistance. Her cheeks begin to flame when she remembers James fingers ghosting her back.
She takes a step back as the door opens and pops out James' head. She muffles a laugh at the mess of his marble pink and blond cut, biting her lip as she loses the fight to smile. "Did you finish your work or fall asleep in there? Is that drool?"
James automatically pushes a hand through his hair and another to swipe at his mouth. "Did both, I think." He wipes his hand on his shirt. "Wondering why the ink was stained on the last sentence."
"So are you ready to go?" Janice asks.
He nods, leaning to the side to let her in and put away her uniform. His eyes twinkle as he sees her blush as she pulls at the string on her apron. "Need some help?"
"No!" Was that a little too loud?
James raises an eyebrow, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I just spent the last two hours working my ass off, Janice, and my kindness quota goes so far." Redirecting the conversation? He could do that. He'd catch her another time. "I don't mean the uniform. I meant what you needed to talk about. Woman's Day March. What else?"
"Ah." Janice decides biting her tongue isn't a good way to die. "Well, um—" Janice fast walks, pulling James' lanky form out the door and into the hallway. "—just shut up and follow me."
"Wouldn't have it any other way!" James says gleefully, keeping up to pace with Janice easily with his long legs.
"So," James says when they're walking comfortably through the Ohio mall, "Woman's Day March. What about it?"
Janice replies by rummaging through her pockets and pulling out a slip. She hands it over to James.
He reads it aloud. "Ohio Community Adoption Centr—" James gasps, eyes widening. He flings out an arm to capture Janice's arm. "Janice?! Is your family returning you?! Are you going to go to some foster home in Africa? Are we going to have one last date—day together so I can give you extra pay on your paycheck?" James shakes his head furiously, and cuts off Janice before she can speak up. "I decline! Everything! Especially the last one!"
Janice rips her arm back. "I'm going to go there on my own will, James! Look, it's because—"
"Did your brothers finally break your sanity?" James holds back his wail. "You don't need to run away, Janice! I can find you a place! Well, I live with my roommates in one of the dorms so that won't work..." James taps his chin, scrutinizing Janice carefully. "Uh, I mean, you could pass for guy if you wore an oversized shirt... hm...."
Janice rubs her palm against her face. "I'm going to a meeting to help out a friend, James. Not sell myself."
James exhales. "You'd be too expensive," James agrees, throwing an arm around Janice's shoulders. Janice grins at him, as they walk side by side, becoming assimilated into the throng of busybodies as they make their way to the exit.
"My car's parked over there," James says, pointing to his silver sedan. He opens the passenger door for Janice before sliding into the drivers seat, glancing at his GPS and plugging in the address.
Pulling out into from the parking lot, Janice begins to explain their volunteering. "So the adoption centre isn't like an orphanage, but kind of is."
"Makes sense."
She flicks James' arm. "There isn't a nun just walking around cracking rulers on the back of kids' knuckles like in the old days. Before getting switched to a foster family, the kids have a few years under their belt to appeal to any hopeful families wishing to adopt. Some even stay there without being transferred."
"Is there an age limit?" James asks.
"As soon as you turn eighteen," Janice affirms, "but many of the kids there right now are barely sixteen."
"Okay, so," James says, "what does this volunteer have to do with the Woman's Day March?"
As they get off the Mall drive to the main road, Janice explains her brilliant ideology. "Donna, the girl who asked me to come, said that I could help volunteer for the Art From the Wanted Foundation that the adoption centre sponsors every year." Pulling out another flier from the back of her light-wash jeans, she smooths the paper over the dash. Once they've hit a red light, James inspects it over his shoulder.
The colourful reds and blues of painted faces and handprints bordered the lamented paper, complimenting the definition of the foundation. "All art proceeds go directly to the FAA—Federal Adoption Agency—and will be created by children to adults in their quest to find new families for these lovely children. Blah, blah, blah, touching story, such tear, much cry—oh, just read the part for me so the guy behind me would stop honking."
"Volunteers are expected to stop by April 14th—which is in a week—to help out with the project," Janice continues, highlighting the idea, "footage for public domain is allowed with written permission from the Adoption Director and the volunteers general consent."
"You want to record an adoption event for Woman's Day? About arts and crafts?"
"No," Janice says, eyes sparkling, "we're going to go to it, gather up willing women, and see if they don't mind doing an interview about women."
"Why is that different from just going up to them any other day?"
"You how who Rizon did a creative piece by making a poem about how she feels as a woman?" James gave a side glance and a nod. "Well, I plan to do something similar, but with visuals."
"What does that to do with the art Day—oh. Oh."
"Remember that time we got the car spray painted?" Janice says, animated at the new concept. "We're going to combine women's words with their art!"
"Cool!" James says, excited. They pause before he says, "and I though you said to forget about that incident?"
"Smart ass. Drive before I call the police and tell them you hit a pole. That's right in front of you."
"I tell you that story one time—" James is cutoff by the vibration of his phone on his console. "Janice, can you check what that is? If you can reach that far?"
Huffing a "my short legs kick hard to make up for it's length", Janice extends her arm and skims the mobile with her fingertips until it drops in her hands. Triumphant, Janice gloats, "Hah! Did it, you—" before glancing at her phone and immediately dropping the mobile. "Oh, may my eyes have mercy after living with four men."
"What?" James asks, concern tilting his normally soft voice.
"Green haired guy still texting you love notes?"
"Why?"
"Because I think my arms might be short, but I'm still longer" —she glares at the overturned back of the phone— "than whatever he sent you." She pokes the mobile away. "If this was your way of showing me you liked him back, please next time just tell me."
"What did he—"
She avoids eye contact as she shows him the phone.
James pales. "Sweet Holy Men of the Round Circle."
"Just—just drive, buddy. Even if it's not straight, just drive faster."
•∞•
A/N: THE CHAPTER WAS TOO LONG SO I CUT IT IN HALF. In the next chapter you'll see Janice interacting with adopted kids, hear their emotional and totally sad stories, watch James be a total sweet pushover who lets kids rip out his (incredible) hair, and MAYBE EVEN Janice coming to terms with her feelings (??????????).
HOPE THE WAIT WASN'T TOO LONG THIS TIME! Is this schedule more acceptable for you readers?
Also, how much do you guys love me dropping hints of Jamice? HOW DID YOU LIKE JAMES?!
(Check out Why She Drowned on Radish or on here if you're looking for something to read in the mean time!).
Your girl just passed all her exams and classes. May this be my gift to you.
Lots of love,
Sarena