Member-only story
The Store Front
I first suspected that the business was a front for drugs when I found thousands of dollars shoved into pencil bags.
I worked for Kenny when I was in graduate school. He was handsome and he had sex with anyone who could give him a discount: the owner of the building, the landlord, my coworkers.
My friend Sami liked him at first.
Sami rented space in Kenny’s store. She fell in love with the idea of him. Kenny was handy and put together glass display cases while wearing tight white shirts. When he was on the ground, sweating and covered in dust, Sami watched in lustful awe.
Kenny sold glasses. Sami sold paintings. At first, I helped Sami sell her paintings. But then, Kenny needed more salespeople. Sami did not.
“It’s okay,” she said. Kenny paid on commission, and I was pretty broke.
I drank wine to be more friendly. I got good at knowing what shapes looked good on what faces. Kenny told me to say that the sunglasses were designed by art students and that the money went toward their college educations. I went along with this until angry customers returned and showed me the same frames online for less than a dollar.
“Kenny, I can’t keep saying the glasses are designed by students,” I said. “And can I have a chair? I can’t stand for 12 hours a day.”
