Disclaimer: I do not own anything…
PROLOGUE:
Desperate Times […and all that]
Levy paced in front of the storefront for what felt like the dozenth time, though it could have been more. She had lost count during her contemplation of her predicament, reading and rereading the strip of paper torn from the morning's newspaper grasped in her hand. Creases threatening to rip the disfigured portion in two from constant folding and unfolding.
Now Hiring: Full-Time Bookstore Clerk …
It be fair, that had been all she had read earlier that morning. Desperate for a job, she had rushed out of her apartment—piece of toast clenched between her teeth to be finished on the bus—in hopes of acquiring what seemed to be the perfect job for a currently unemployed bibliophile with a literary degree collecting metaphorical dust.
She should have read the posting in its entirety, then she would have been aware that the bookshop seeking out an employee was of the adult line of work. That had come as a shock when, on arriving at the address indicated, Levy noticed the tinted windows—preventing anyone, who may be trying to spy in on merchandise or clientele, from obtaining more than his or her own reflection—and red-lit sign declaring the establishment open for business.
Those were the only indications of disreputable actions and dealings occurring within. At a glance, most would have assumed the establishment to be a boutique with a selective patronage—going by the camera that was undoubtedly taking in every unresolved step Levy made as she tried to work through what she should do next.
She actually had grabbed the handle, wrought iron and delicately crafted, before noticing the sign hanging above the balcony-awing.
Fairy Tail Fantasies~
With a tastefully suggestive outline of a woman containing the name.
Either this was an adult bookstore—better known to those who frequent such places as a porn shop, a more befitting name than the romanticized title others may prefer to assuage mortification of frequenting—or a brothel where the ad iwa being used to lure young prospects in to be sold off as mail-ordered brides.
That was about the time when she actually took the effort to read aforementioned ad and realized that it was allegedly the former of these two grim options.
"Excuse me—"
Levy squeaked at the polite voice sounding behind her, jumping and nearly falling off the curb and into the street if not for the soft, pale hands that gripped her upper arm and gently hauled her back to the safety of the sidewalk.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I just figured things may go easier for your contemplation if you would be able to speak to someone on the matter…rather than spiral into what ifs." The voice was not what Levy would have expected from someone dwelling within the, despite the pristine and demure exterior, the shop she had been wearing down a trench in front of from her pacing. Turning to face the voice's owner, she was even less prepared for the sight of the woman smiling over at her.
Beautiful seemed to pale in comparison. An inadequate adjective nearing insult.
Silver-blonde hair, flowing past her tiny waist and about amble curves, was clipped out of deep-blue eyes. Leaving a face belonging to a porcelain stature from being obscured. Levy would have used the word 'doll' but—like beautiful—such seemed to be an unfit descriptor. In this case it was less from the underwhelming disputation the word left and more from the inappropriate.
Unless the doll in question was being used for perverse reasons. The woman's body being that which, Levy assumed, men considered the ideal fantasy. Tall and statuesque and so very, very different than Levy's petite height and lacking bust…made pear-shape when her hips were factored.
"Um…yeah…sorry…" Levy cleared her throat, trying to consider what next to say, and was saved from such by a sunny smile and the woman politely nudging her way into the conversation with an introduction.
"Mirajane." Hand moved from Levy's arm to grasping at the smaller woman's palm. "The owner."
"You…you own…?" Again, how best to phrase what was going on about her mind?
"A porn shop." Smile growing with eyes dancing with mischievous delight. "Yes. Would you like to come inside? We could talk about the opening far more comfortably in my parlor."
Looking towards the door, Levy couldn't help but recall her other fear regarding what this place may be selling.
"Or, better yet, how do you feel about getting some coffee?"
…
…
…
And that is how Levy found herself sitting in a chic little café with the owner of a porn shop, who politely ignored how Levy was awkwardly churning her sixth package of sugar within a mug that was more sweetener and cream than anything that once resembled coffee.
"It always amazes me how many women find shame in sexual curiosity, as if something is wrong with them for having such urges." Mirajane tapped the neck of her spoon against the rim of her bowl-sized coffee cup. "The purpose of my shop is to create a safe haven, free of judgement, with women's personal preference in mind. Of course, I do have male patrons as well but, you will find, my shelves are more likely to be stocked with erotic fiction and vibrators than blow-up dolls and penis pumps."
Levy nearly spewed her mouthful of over-sweet coffee-colored cream.
"And I prefer to employ women for this very reason. Less threatening, more welcoming. Though, I do have the random male employee. Some for the ambiance—a nice face is always appreciated—and others for a sense of security."
"You need bouncers?" It was the first declarative sentence Levy had managed since their meeting.
The inquiry made Mirajane outright beam, quite possibly interpreting such as genuine intrigue into the position. "Of a sort. More for display—what such represents, that being safety—than necessary. Also, it makes my business partner less conspicuous whenever he makes his presence known." This was added with a conspiring roll off the eye, as if Levy shared an inside joke with the owner. "Regardless, all my employees are expected to work with the best of manners and the upmost of digression."
"I take it that, along with being women, your clients tend to be more from upper society."
"Some, but far from all. Though one of my highest selling erotica series and stand-alone novels are written by an heiress, and a dear friend of mine." A chuckle entered Mirajane's voice as she helped herself so another sip of her brew before she shook her head in a near endearing tick. "Whenever she releases the next installment, the shop is at risk of breaking the dire code or having a line coil about the block in anticipation."
"For erotica?"
Mirajane's smile, which had yet to dim…just shift, turned knowing. "Literary manager?"
"How can you tell?"
A perfectly manicured nail was waved about in front of Levy's face. "Your nose crinkles in distaste whenever I mention it."
"I just...I never understood the appeal for such."
The plots were always so outlandish—just how many millionaires were there lying in wait to fall for a Mary-Sue; the dialogue too…well terrible; the 'love' scenes were almost debasing, even though such was supposed to be created with women in mind.
"Well, she just started a new project." Reaching into her bag, Mirajane withdrew a flash-drive. Holding it out for Levy in invitation. "Might I suggest that, to get a feel for what my shop is about, you give her rough draft a look over? I'm sure Luce would appreciate a notes from a more critical perspective. Maybe, after you read, we can meet up for a dinner and talk about you potentially coming to work for me."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why the hard sell?" She had never known any prospective employer attempt to woo a possible full-timer for such a low-grade position. Unless Mirajane had somehow learned Levy's blood type and need to harvest her organs on the black market.
"I am very selective on who I hire, and I trust my instincts entirely. Those instincts are telling me that you would be a great asset."
"I—"
"No need to give any answer now." Mirajane's chin tilted towards the flash-drive resting in Levy's hand. "Like I said, if nothing else, I'm certain Luce would appreciate fresh eyes on her work."
"And how—"
Leaning forward, Mirajane carefully turned the flash-drive about so the back was facing up. Taped along the length was a piece of what appeared to be a section of note card with Mirajane's name and phone number carefully scribed across.
"Give me a call, one way or another, whenever you're ready. Remember, it just would be working at a shop, not much different than any other retail job. Nothing to be ashamed or scared of."
Levy straightened, closing her fingers about the flash-drive and rested her fists in her lap. "It's not so much fear or shame as-"
"You don't need to tell me that this isn't the way you see your life going." Mirajane held up an understanding hand, smile reassuring and eyes understanding. "We've all been there. How I see things is that life is like a river; it has the course it wants to go in and-while that might divert from the destination you may have had in mind-you can either fight it and try to get to your original destination or you can just go with the current and see where it takes you."
"How very fortune cookie of you." Levy's knuckles went up to rest against her lips, surprised at her brazen disrespect. No matter how much she was leaning against the prospect of employment, there was no reason to be rude. Not when Mirajane had given her nothing but complete respect and kindness.
All her comment merited was a wink. "Just speaking from experience." Rising to leave, Mirajane paused before turning back to Levy. "By the way, if you're at all curious about my shop's starting wage, I guess it would be best to get it over with now. I tend to dislike talking about such things in such a stagnate way but, here is it."
Levy could feel her eyes widen at the amount per hour she could be making. Knuckles whitening from where they held the drive.
All right...maybe this did involve some consideration after all.
A/N: Just a random idea that popped into my mind. A taste – Next chapter, if there is one, will be longer. Let me know thoughts/opinions.