Lookin' Good

by Chris Laing

He's the third customer back in her line-up, behind the dumpy woman in the shiny blue dress with hair to match. Maryann catches him appraising her and she thinks she sees some promise in his steady gaze before his eyes drift away. Does he like what he sees?

Well, why wouldn't he? She's still attractive and keeps herself in good shape, works out twice a week, jogs when she has nothing better to do, which is often.

Now here he is before her: tall and tanned, GQ-casual, no wedding ring. Lines form around his eyes and mouth as his smile widens revealing pearly teeth and, she never doubted it, sweet breath. When he notes the gold name tag on her breast he says, “Maryann” in a throaty baritone, as though he's tasting her name. He pauses a beat. “You look nice today.”

She feels a tingle rippling up her legs like spiders on tip-toe and she quiets the quiver in her brain by gripping the counter with both hands. Don't be tongue-tied, she tells herself, take a deep breath, relax and smile. And don't be too eager. “Thank you,” she says, swallowing hard, keeping control. “How can I help you?”

He completes his deposit slip and slides it under the glass panel, his smile enfolding her like a lover's embrace.

She glances at the slip then lifts her head in slow motion, her dark eyes filling with infinite sadness as she sees the gun.