Picture Not Perfect (2 page)

I caught it, then lined up my shot and tossed it in the trash. “Two points.”

“Good shot. I’m heading out. Thanks for taking over.” Mike untied the white apron from his waist and tossed it over his shoulder. As he exited, the bells on the door jingled.

A woman with a huge multi colored purse slung over her shoulder walked in as Mike left.

“Good evening and welcome to Leonardo’s. Savannah’s most famous ice cream parlor, established in 1919. The city’s best ice cream and sandwiches. My name is Tim,” I greeted her with our standard spiel.

“Your hat says Tim ICG, what does ICG mean?”

“Ice Cream Guy,” I replied.

“Creative.” She smiled.

“I try to come up with something different every time,” I said. Each shift we got a new paper hat. We took a crayon and wrote our name on it. Some employees drew pictures on their hats as well. “What can I get for you?”

She looked through the glass display case. “There are so many choices here.”

“Forty three flavors, all made fresh right here,” I said, motioning toward the back room. “In our kitchen.”

“You sure have a lot of Hollywood memorabilia,” she said as she pointed at the wall.

“The owner is a movie producer and this is stuff he’s collected over the years. Plus, there are a lot of original pictures and things from the three original owners.”

While she walked over to a wall adjacent to the ice cream display case, I noticed she stood about five and a half feet tall, half a foot shorter than me. Her short red hair poked out from under a straw hat. Her pale skin had a few slight wrinkles. I guessed her around my mom’s age, maybe late thirties.

“Are you from around here?” I asked.

“No, I’m from Pennsylvania,” she said. Her back was to me as she stood in front of a shadowbox on the wall. Lining the entire wall were pictures and posters. So many that only very small areas of the red wall was visible. I knew each item on the wall by heart, having cleaned the glass on every piece many times.

“Is this your first time in Savannah?” I asked, trying to make small talk. Rule number twenty in Leonardo’s employee manual is to show customers southern hospitality. That meant small talk.

“No, I visited here as a child. I had family who lived in the Victorian district.”

“Are they still here?”

“No.” She turned to face me.

“How long are you staying?”

“Just until Saturday.” She reached in her bag and pulled out Leonardo’s brochure and laid it on the counter. “The concierge gave this to me. He said it gives patrons ten percent off.”

The front of the brochure had pictures of the interior of Leonardo’s and a history of the store. The backside had a stamp from the Marshall House.

“Just let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll be glad to take your order,” I said.

“Can you give me a few more minutes?” she said as she looked at the wall of pictures.

I figured she was finished with small talk. The back door buzzer sounded. I ignored it. Then my phone buzzed. I looked at the caller id. It was my brother.

I texted him: What?

He texted back: Open back door.

I texted back:  No can do. I’m working.

The buzzer went off again.

Then he texted: emergency

Rats. “Would you excuse me a sec?”  I said to the lady customer.

“Hmm. Sure,” she said, sounding distracted a she studied the pictures.

I locked the register, and put the tip jar under the counter then I jogged through the kitchen to the back door. Looking through the peephole, I saw my twin brother, Theodore. He was my mirror image; slim build, six feet tall, curly black hair, olive toned skin and chocolate brown eyes.

After unlatching the locks, I opened the door. His bike leaned against the brick wall adjacent to the door.

“Listen, I could get in big trouble. What’s the emergency?” I asked.

“I need twenty bucks, I’m kind of short this month and I really want to take Vicky to the movie. You know the vampire one.”

“That is not an emergency.”

“To me it is.”

“Anyway the movie is horrible. I’ll give you money not to go.”

“Yeah, I can’t stand it either. But she sure gets cozy with me after seeing that lead actor.” Theodore winked.

My wallet had exactly twenty dollars in it, and it was going toward my prom fund.

“It starts in thirty minutes, and I promised her. But I’m tapped out with all the prom stuff I had to pay for,” Theodore said.

“I’m broke and I need the money for prom.”

“C’mon, please, you’ll get it back tomorrow. Promise.” He motioned across his heart.

“You better.” I raised an eyebrow.

He was always tugging at my heartstrings, and I usually gave in. I pulled out my wallet and handed him my twenty. Perhaps my being born a minute of ahead of him gave me a big brother protective complex. On the other hand, maybe I was just a sucker.

I put my now empty wallet back into my pocket. Just then, my stomach growled. Thankfully, my one free meal per shift of a sandwich and chips was waiting for me in the fridge.

“Thanks, bro,” Theodore said. Then he hopped on his bike.

“Don’t forget, pay it back,” I said to him as he rode off. With that twenty and my next check I’d be able to afford prom.

Within seconds, I heard purring. I looked down and saw Leo, the grey striped stray cat the employees had sort of adopted. Leo liked to be petted behind his ears. “Hey buddy, you having a good night?”

He tilted his head and then licked my hand.

I went into a storage closet and got a scoop of dry cat food from the bag we set aside for Leo. I emptied the scoop into the bowl we kept outside the back door. Leo rubbed against my leg, let out a soft meow then went to town on the food. I shut and locked the back door then washed my hands.

Nearing the register, I looked around and noticed that the lady, who had been in here earlier, had left.

The front door bells jangled again.

“Hi, Timmy, I love the hat,” Gabrielle said as she strolled in. “What does Tim ICG mean?”

Stupid paper hat. “It’s the initials for Ice Cream Guy. I thought that would get people talking to me, like you just did.”

“Hmm, why don’t you just put ‘Tim cute boyfriend’ on it?”

“Right, and on yours I’d write ‘hot chick.’” My heart seemed to be sprinting. The common reaction I had whenever I was around her. Gabrielle was tall with long blonde hair and gorgeous big green eyes. “I thought you were busy tonight with your debutante meeting?”

“Huh?” her eyebrows scrunched. Then she cleared her throat. “Oh, yes.  That was cancelled. Father decided that I should decline the invitation to join. With us being new in town, we didn’t want to come on too strong. Maybe next year. Unless, of course, we move to our chalet in France.” She ran a long finger along the glass display case. Her eyes were wide as she gazed inside.

“Can I get you something?” She looked thinner than when I first met her a few weeks ago. She said she'd transferred here from some private boarding school in Maine.

“Our chef is off tonight, and I am such a mess in the kitchen. You know having had servants, it’s so hard to even figure out how to make something as simple as a sandwich. I’m all thumbs.” She gave me a weak smile.

“Hey, I’ve got a sandwich in the fridge. Why don’t you just take it?” I said.

“Oh, no. You don’t have to give my anything. I can pay for it.” She dug into her purse. “Rats. I must have left my wallet at home.”

I reached into the fridge, took out my bagged dinner, and handed it to her. “Please take this, I insist. Are you okay?”

“Huh?”

“You are just getting so thin.”

“Yes.” She twisted a piece of her hair. “You can’t be too skinny or too rich.”

“I think you look perfect the way you are. You don’t have to go on a diet.”

“I’m not on a diet.” She clutched the white paper bag. “Thank you. I’ll get you the money as soon as I can.”

“No, I won’t take it. Plus, it’s my free meal.” I decided it was now or never. “Listen, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been meaning to ask you, what are you doing this weekend?”

“Not sure.”

“Are you busy Saturday night?” I asked. My words felt thick and stuck like peanut butter in my throat.

She cocked her head to the side. Her eyes slit. “Why?”

“This is super short notice and all, and I would have asked sooner, but I’ve been saving up and…well… what I’m trying to say is, would you like to go to prom with me?”

Her eyebrows raised and her mouth opened.

Shoot. That was not the response I wanted.  She did not look happy.  Was she mad that I dared ask? Or was she just surprised? “I mean, I know I’ve only known you a few weeks, but this is senior prom. And I would love to take you.”

“No. I mean, I can’t go. I have to go now. Really, I am so sorry.” With that, Gabrielle turned on her heels and went out the front door.

What happened? Did I push too hard? Maybe she was breaking up with me. I wished I could call her, but she didn’t have a cell phone. She said her dad was getting her a new smart phone, but it was on order.

I let out a big sigh, my feet feeling like lead. Maybe, if I kept myself busy cleaning, I could forget about being shot down by my girlfriend. I wiped the white Formica tables and turned the black wrought iron chairs upside down on them, then got the mop out of the cleaning closet. All the while, I thought about Gabrielle.

By the time I finished mopping, it was time to lock up.

My girlfriend turned me down for prom and I was broke and hungry.

And I had to wear a stupid paper cap. Life sucked.

As I walked toward the door, my eye caught a patch of red on the poster wall. Red wall paint I shouldn’t be able to see.

Something was missing.

Then I knew what was gone.

A twelve by twelve inch shadowbox, which held an original signed script from a famous motion picture, as well as a five by six inch black and white picture of Leonardo’s great grandfather with the two original founders.

By the time the police completed taking my statement, it was almost midnight. Stanley Leonardo, the owner, had been called to the store as well. The police wanted to see if they could get videotape from the surveillance camera.

“The security camera broke down last week.” Stanley scratched his head. His glasses slipped down his long skinny nose as his salt and pepper hair fell on his face.

“I’m so sorry about all of this,” I said to Mr. Leonardo as the police walked around the store.

“That was an original signed move script,” Stanley said as he looked at the empty spot on the wall. “Last week on eBay, something similar went for over twenty thousand.”

Twenty thousand? Holy smokes. My head spun. Guilt strangled me, I’d left the store, and someone took it. 

“Mr. Leonardo, we think that it could be a snatch and grab. We’ve had a few reports this week of other local business having the same type of theft.” The officer flipped open his notepad.

“Oh?” Mr. Leonardo looked around the store.

“Yes, the store owners on either side of you had their tips jars stolen when a perpetrator ran in, grabbed it and then escaped,” the officer said. “Usually, it’s just petty theft. Well, except for your shadowbox.”

Mr. Leonardo shrugged his shoulders and turned his palms up. “Why would they take that instead of the tip jar?”

“These types of criminals know what they are after. They do their research. More than likely, they were in your store earlier and cased the place. They knew exactly what they would grab if they had had the opportunity.”

“But my employee was here the whole time. Weren’t you?” Stanley furrowed his eyebrows.

“Sir, I’m just telling you what I know.” The officer clicked his pen.

“There was a lady in here looking at it this evening,” I said to the officer and Mr. Leonardo. “Maybe she took it?”

“Did you see her take it?” Mr. Leonardo asked.

“No. But she seemed really interested in it,” I said.

“But you must have seen her take it down from the wall, you where right here the whole time she was in the store, right?” Mr. Leonardo pointed behind the counter.

“No sir. I left for a minute to go to the back door.” I looked down at my feet. I studied the scuffs crisscrossing along the tops of my brown loafers.

“You left a customer in the store alone?” His face scrunched like a crumpled paper hat.

“Yes, sir. I did.” I felt a rush of heat go from my chest to my head. I wanted to tell him that I had locked the register, and hid the tip jar, but decided against it.

“Then you are fully responsible for the cost of that picture. You were in charge, and you know better. Rule number 23 is to never leave the store unless it’s on fire.”

“Yes, sir. I am sorry,” I said. Rule number 1, the owner is always right.