The Fine Art of Reading Riley

Chapter 2

Fresh snow fell down from the heavens: bulky snowflakes mixed with a tempestuous wind, which added a ferocious cold layer to the day. The chill felt almost unbearable, in the low twenties, biting. Five inches of snow had already covered Plimpton. By the end of the day, at least three more inches could be expected, according to the early morning news. Later, a torrential snowstorm could hit his little town, coming down from Canada, if it veered ever so slightly to the west, catching Pennsylvania’s northwestern lakeside coast.

The Basket Grocery Store sat at the far end of Elberstein Way in downtown Plimpton, next to Dixie’s Cardshop Land. A parking lot that snugly fit seven cars could be located behind the brick building. The square footage of the place was ten thousand feet, consisting of a bakery area, dairy, meats, vegetables, and a miscellaneous aisle jam-packed with foreign foods. Hours of operation were from six in the morning until ten at night, every day of the week. Plimpton was a small town next to Lake Erie, bumped up against Templeton and the city of Erie. All three cities were closed on holidays throughout the year, which included Martin Luther King’s birthday, Columbus Day, Presidents’ Day, and Flag Day.

Today wasn’t a holiday, though, and Basket Grocery flashed a bright orange sign saying Open. Stone thought the Chinese-American owners of the grocery store a delight. Xi Cho, (pronounced Zee Chew), was funny, with his unibrow, wide smile, and bright brown eyes. Pai, (pronounced Pie), his wife of ten years, was just as amazing, kind-hearted, polite, and quite the little buzzing bee around their grocery store. The imported couple from Nanjing, China had been only a few years younger than him. Xi’s family became known for making shoes (xie), and Pai’s family made straw hats (caomao). They didn’t feel embarrassed about their past lives in China and called the eighteen-year-old period something in Chinese Stone couldn’t understand. He recently translated it as: our struggle for a better life.

There were two particular stock boys, Dave and John, who worked for Xi and Pai. They were nephews to the owners. Xi and Pai made a goal to have American and Chinese cultures blend, hence the water-downed names. Dave, Stone guessed, probably had the name Ding, and John translated from Ji, not that Stone knew for sure. Frankly, he didn’t care what the teenagers’ names were. He glanced at the cousins for a brief amount of time, stopped, and then headed to the restroom area at the back of the store to drain his bladder, which felt as if it were going to burst.

The bathroom sat on the second floor of the grocery store. It looked simple, unisex. Two American Standard toilets were divided in stalls. Green tile covered the floor. Two mirrors hung on the wall above two sinks. One of the sinks kept dripping with water. The small room smelled like Pine-Sol, freshly cleaned by maybe John or Dave.

Stone took a long piss, emptying his bladder. A smile formed on his face as he remembered being twenty years old, having loads of safe and unsafe s*x in various roadside restrooms throughout western Pennsylvania. Those were ridiculous days in his life when he acted careless, willy nilly about things, and not at all mature. Twelve years could change a person, though, turning a boy into a man. It happened to him, like most men his age. They went from having rough bathroom s*x with random roadies to throwing book club parties with their closest friends.

He zipped up, washed his hands, and returned to the main floor of the grocery store. Boxes of all-natural granola caught his eye and so did Jack Panda, his ex-lover.

Jack Panda, more or less, came across as Jack-off in Stone’s heart. Nothing seemed all-natural about the i***t. Coincidentally, the two met in a restroom three years ago along Interstate 79, jacked each other off outside a small city named Butler, exchanged cell numbers, and tried to make a go of a relationship for two years. Jack liked his restrooms a little too much and played the field while involved with Stone, screwing every Tom, d**k, and Harry he could find. The relationship ended a year ago, and Stone hadn’t seen him since, a wish come true.

Jack still looked good, with his blond hair and blue eyes, astute and model-like. He had the stance and jawline of a cowboy. The scruff on his chin and cheeks told Stone the guy still liked to be a player. s*x in restrooms continued to be the man’s gig. Jack looked like one of those steamy and sexy guys on the front cover a drugstore paperback romance. Chiseled, as well as degrading, filthy, and many other undignified labels. They made eye contact but didn’t speak to each other.

Good thing, Stone thought, because I just might slam one of my fists in the guy’s face.

Jack really buggered their business over, leaving Stone high and dry when the romance in their relationship had died. The business they started together three years ago was called The Cat Breed. They were hired to provide cat owners with exclusive and personal information about their client’s cats. Details pertained to cat standards for showing purposes. Withers, coats, necks, croups, hocks, tails, paw pads, stifles, stops, and whiskers were listed in a portfolio for each client about their beloved p***y. The information then qualified, or unqualified, the owner’s cat for showing purposes.

Jack and Stone made a killing from the business. Then Jack sued the Jesus out of him for half of the business, won, and started a new business called The Perfect p***y, which, Stone understood, had become popular and did quite well, according to rumors, even with its offensive name.

In the end, the attorneys Bradley, Rawe, and Crow legally forced Stone to ditch The Cat Breed trademark. Stone then started his own company, Catfabulous, which cloned everything The Cat Breed had become, except with a different name. The first six months of business were grueling, unproductive, and filled with much heartache for Stone. But the last six months had taken a turn-around for the better and proved he could make a living at providing cat owners advice for possible showings. No, he could never be a millionaire, but he had found a sense of happiness, especially now that Jack had exited the stage of his life and Stone’s heart had healed. Amen.

Screw Jack Panda, Stone thought, turning his view away from the man who had temporarily ruined him. Stone had bigger and better things to accomplish, like prepare for the book club and his guests that evening.

During the next twenty minutes, he gathered an arrangement of food for his fellowship. Blueberry cheesecake, maple-bacon-filled turnovers, a variety of frozen appetizers, and freshly made pot-stickers were tossed into a green plastic basket he carried around the store like Little Red Riding Hood. Thereafter, he made his way to the front of the store and the register area.

There were two Robert Riley paperbacks next to an assortment of magazines at the checkout. Tender Down and The Wicked Will Prey. Both were national best-sellers at the turn of the century, and Stone enjoyed them, staying up late into the night to finish. Tender Down was a mystery set in Erie. A young man had been found along Lake Erie, and his neck sported a slice from ear to ear. Short but potent, the solid whodunit had already been discussed, and thoroughly enjoyed, among Stone’s book club members.

The Wicked Will Prey comprised of two hundred pages that most of the members thought challenging; a romance/drama of sorts between an Amish boy from Foxburg, Pennsylvania, and a local high school drama teacher almost twice his age. Although Stone enjoyed the story, others in his book club found it an atrocity, sinful, and taboo, but still had claimed they had liked the tale.

With his purchases in hand, Stone left The Basket Grocery Store. Xi and Pai waved their goodbyes with friendly smiles, and off Stone went, continuing to be productive in his day.