Free Apple Brown Betty by Phillip Thomas Duck

effects of that sleepless night. She yawned into her heavily scented wrist between stopping potential consumers so she could spray their wrists and make them smell like her own. She was dealing with such a woman now, an older white woman who appeared to have benefited from quite a bit of plastic surgery. The woman wore expensive sunglasses and an elegant scarf.
    â€œThis is devilish, sugar,” the woman said. “What is it called again?”
    â€œGreen tea…” Cydney’s voice trailed off as she noticed a familiar face in the distance. She always caught a sense when he was near. He stood by a rack of jewelry, waiting for this woman to leave so he could come forward. He smiled when Cydney’s eyes caught a glimpse of him. Cydney looked away, gave her attention to the starlet in front of her. “Smells wonderful on your skin, too,” Cydney told her. Then she whispered conspiratorially, “You know, every perfume isn’t for every woman. It has to blend correctly with the natural oils and scent of the person. I’ve got a feeling, though, that everything smells good on you.”
    The woman nodded in agreement. “I do have a devilish relationship with fragrance. I’ll definitely take this.”
    Cydney smiled. The commission from this sale was a week’s worth of cable.
    Cydney processed the sale, plus a few other accessories the woman noticed on her way to the checkout counter, and looked up as Stephon approached. She didn’t want to see him but had to admit he looked mighty fine in that pink-striped shirt with the white collar, his tie loosened, his coat hanging cockily over his shoulder. His hair was cut low, his beard looking as if he’d recently had it touched up and trimmed, forming a perfect black border around the jawline of his face.
    She looked down as he neared her, fumbled with a calculator, tallying her commission thus far today. She could feel his shadow looming over her. Then his voice lowered upon her. “Hello, Cydney.” It was so rich with feeling, so hefty in its masculinity. Cydney lost her place on the calculator keys, closed her eyes to gather her calm. “Cydney,” Stephon repeated. She slammed her fingers into the calculator, pushed it aside and looked up at him. His even-teethed, perfectly white smile made her abandon her attempt to ignore him further.
    â€œWhat are you doing here, Stephon?” she asked, her heart pressing against her chest where she secretly wished his hands were.
    â€œI left the office and decided to take a drive down this way. I wanted to see if you had done that restaurant review yet for Cush.”
    â€œMy deadline is weeks away,” Cydney said.
    â€œYou get off soon, don’t you?” Stephon asked.
    â€œYes, but I’m dead tired. I’ve got to get myself some sleep.”
    â€œNo classes tonight?”
    â€œNo,” she said, “and I think you know that. Don’t you have every detail surrounding my life filed in your PalmPilot?”
    He laughed. “What do you say we go check out Cush together?”
    â€œI told you, I’m bone tired. And I also told you we had to stop doing this.”
    â€œI didn’t ask that we do our usual,” he defended, his arms outstretched, pleading his case. “You’re my drug, Cydney. You have to let me ease off of you. A meal, that’s it. I promise.”
    â€œI don’t know, Stephon. This doesn’t make it any easier.”
    He batted his eyes. “One meal, that’s it. Please, Cydney.”
    She glanced at her watch. “I’ll be done in about twenty minutes, okay?”
    Stephon clasped his hands together. “I’ll go look around while I wait.” He started to move away, then turned back. “Where is the intimate apparel in here?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye.
    Cydney didn’t miss a beat. “Your wife’s a what—large? I believe that section is upstairs.