Justin cringed as he heard the group of women nearby giggling like they were two-year-olds; to him it was almost akin to nails scraping across a blackboard. How was he supposed to get his work done with that going on? If he heard one more of them screech or fawn over what their 'significant other,' boyfriend, husband, or whatever-the-fuck they called him had bought them for Sweetest Day, he thought he would puke. He only had ten minutes left to complete the preliminary sketches he was working on before his lunch hour was over at the deli, and due in large part to the constant 'oohing' and 'aahing' being emitted over each delivery being made, he had barely gotten started. At this rate, he would never finish the idea he had come up with for the commissioned painting he was being paid to do, and the damn thing had to be done in the next two weeks. He let out a breath of agitation as he drummed his graphite pencil against the laminate surface and tired furiously to drown out the chatter.
The Fifties Diner was a remodeled trolley car made of stainless steel and tile; the black, white, and red interior reminiscent of a time long ago. He hated the squared, white hat he had to wear like some fucking soda jerk as part of his uniform, but the pay was decent for New York City and the tips were good, both from the men and the women who frequented the place. It helped to cover his part of the bills for now as he tried to break into the crazy art world of the Big Apple. Sometimes, though, in moments such as these, the place almost drove him insane, and he pondered the wisdom of what he was trying to accomplish.
Why did people make such a fuss over yet another day that had been masterfully created by Hallmark merely to line their coffers, anyway? By now, he figured there must be a day for practically anybody - and anything to commemorate, probably one for each fucking day of the year. Today was no different. Sweetest Day. What a crock of bullshit, as Brian would say.
After a few more minutes of getting nowhere, he finally scooped up his supplies, placing them back into his art portfolio before walking over to prop it up behind the counter. As he straightened out his white cap on his head, the bell above the diner jingled and yet another florist deliveryman strode in, this time carrying what appeared to be an obscenely large arrangement shrouded in the obligatory, green tissue paper. He groaned, wondering where this one would go. The counter already looked like a sea of reds, yellows, and pinks, interspersed with salt and peppershakers, beige coffee mugs and saucers, plastic ketchup bottles, and napkin holders.
The young man walked over to Stella, the oldest waitress in the place, and spoke to her near the cash register; a few seconds later, she was holding the heavy delivery in her arms as the man turned around and headed back outside, the bell jingling once more as he exited. Justin rolled his eyes as he retrieved his order pad from his pocket and prepared to wait on the newest arrivals sitting in one of his assigned booths. He winced as the four women giggled even louder this time when Stella leaned over to whisper something in their ears.
"Oh, Justin..." A singsong voice called out to him then.
He shook his head in exasperation as he turned around to scowl over at Stella, noticing all of his co-workers looking at him intently like he had grown another head. "I have to take this order," he told her curtly, trying hard to keep the irritation out of his voice. He knew it wasn't really their fault that their lovers chose one - or maybe two - days out of the year to ingratiate themselves and ensure they would remain in their good graces for a while longer. But he would have at least expected more from Stella; the brassy redhead who reminded him somewhat of Debbie was old enough to be the other employees' mother.
"Becky will take your order," was the surprising response as Stella crooked a long, lacquered finger at him. "I need to see you."
Sighing heavily, Justin walked over to the older waitress who was still holding the oversized delivery in her hands. "What?" he replied a little more crossly then he meant to.
Stella smiled sweetly at him as she abruptly thrust the flowers into his hands. "These are for you...Sunshine,'" she told him as his face instantly warmed in shocked embarrassment. No way...
The other waitresses grinned at him in glee as his face turned beet red. He initially thought they must be joking with him and making a snide comment regarding his surliness, but no one here knew him by that nickname. It couldn't be just a stroke of luck. As he gazed down at the small, white envelope attached to the clear, plastic stake, he clearly saw the name "Sunshine" written there, followed by an "AKA" with his real name in care of the diner.
His heart pounding, he walked over to one of the unoccupied booths and set the delivery down to tear the green tissue paper carefully away from the package, gasping in astonishment at the large, red blooms of two dozen roses nestled in a luxurious spray of white babies' breath and other greenery and arranged in an outrageously expensive, Waterford crystal vase. The women, unable to keep their curiosity at bay, walked over to openly admire the beautiful arrangement, sighing in envy as they finally got a good look at what he had received.
"Those are so gorgeous," one of them murmured as each woman leaned in to inhale the heady scent of the flowers. "Someone really likes you," one of his co-workers teased Justin as his face flushed in response over all the attention. "Who are they from? You've been holding out on us."
"I...I'm not sure," he stammered; it didn't make sense, it couldn't possibly be. Could it? But who else would call him that?
"Well, open the card!" Stella demanded in her gravelly voice.
Justin turned to peer over at the curious women as he pleaded softly, "Would you mind?" He smiled at them slightly as he explained, "I'd like to look at the card privately."
His co-workers, while more than a little disappointed, finally all nodded their heads and turned back to their duties while, with shaky hands, Justin slid the card out of its envelope to peer down at the message:
Fuck it. I decided to get the roses anyway. CU Saturday. ILU ~ B
Justin's face broke out into a broad smile as he held one of the thornless roses against his nose and took a deep whiff, closing his eyes as the fragrance engulfed him. Suddenly the women giggling and carrying on like schoolgirls didn't bother him anymore.