Asimov's Science Fiction: December 2013 (15 page)

She did not feel it necessary to conduct this training in the privacy of her office. If one did not desire certain information to be overheard by the general public, a whisper could suitably convey it.

There was one awkward hurdle, however, and eventually that hurdle had to be faced. Directing Throgmorton to the back of the shop, she pointed out the curtained cubicles. "These, Mr. Throgmorton, are the fitting rooms. Customers are allowed to try on all our items with the exception of hosiery and briefs. You will keep careful track of those items going into the cubicles, making sure that they all come out again. Some people are not above theft, even of the most intimate apparel." She paused, so that an awareness of this unfortunate depravity might sink in to his consciousness.

The pause took on the air of a hesitation. "Mr. Throgmorton," she began, but did not continue.

She gathered herself, straightened her spine, and began again. "Mr. Throgmorton, there will be the occasional customer who will require assistance in the process of trying on a garment. Perhaps they will request your opinion of a garment's suitability, as we have already experienced, though they might wish to have the garment on in this case."

She waved a hand emptily for a moment, seeking the next phrase, "Or perhaps— very rarely—a customer will need you to actually take a hand, er, ah, to physically assist in the tightening of a strap or the hooking of a brassiere." She gave him a look of uncertainty. "You feel that you would be capable of this, Mr. Throgmorton?"

"G–s... Yes, of course, Miss Douglas."

And even as it replied, three voices chimed, "Could I have a little...?"

Throgmorton's ability to extend its shepherd's crook-like extensions into two cubicles at once, fully assisting a pair of customers simultaneously, both shocked and gratified Miss Douglas. She sent Alsatia into the back to bring out more stock. The thought crossed her mind that a few days of brisk sales would go a long way toward balancing the books.

Her niece had been irresponsible, yet somehow business had been better in her time. Miss Douglas always felt an uneasy self-doubt when she thought about that. So she didn't.

Minine made the most of this unusual development at the store, spending hours scorching the infobahn with her observations on the new co-worker. "Honey, with those hook things of his he looks like a threesome of bishops, and don't tell me that some of those bishops aren't just like that. I could tell you some things, believe me."

And, "Honey, the guy looks like an octopus jammed upside down into a rusted out trash can if you ask me.... What do you mean he ain't a guy? Don't you believe what some TV scientist says about sex. Those types don't get out enough. And when they do, well, I could tell you some stories.... Trust me, doll, with this many women hanging around it's gotta be a guy alien. They can smell it...."

And, "Honey, I'd quit the place if I didn't need a discount on my unmentionables. Why men take them like trophies is beyond me. You don't see me papering the wall with boxer shorts. And the cute stuff ain't cheap, neither.... Gifts? Ain't hardly a man out there who'll even pay for dinner anymore, thank you Ms. Gloria Steinbomb. Honey, let me tell you, what you get from men these days—half the time it's incurable..."

And, "It's not fair is what it is. He rakes in all the commissions, except for the timid ones. If I didn't work on their guilt I'd be losin' money on this job. While they're peekin' at Throgfart I'm movin' them into the pricey stuff.... Well, the guy gives Als'n me a third of his for ringing them up, cause it's 'could he help me' this and 'could he fit me' that all day.... So, yeah, I'm makin' more'n I did but Miss Stick has us on full-time and I get home an' my feet are
killing
me. Honey, it's cuttin' into my social life!"

The popularity of her new salesalien forced Miss Douglas to be severe with him on numerous occasions. First, there was the matter of product selection.

"Mr. Throgmorton, do I detect a reluctance on your part to sell the more undisclositive of our merchandise? It seems to me that you unduly stress the transparent and the minuscule, which makes up but a small fraction of our many lines."

"G–s... I had understood from the remarks of Minine and Alsatia that the less there is of a garment, the more the profit. Does this view need revision?"

"Elegance, Mr. Throgmorton," said Miss Douglas regally, "elegance is also worth an extra percentage. Elegance has its own sensuality. It has its own mystique."

"G–s... Elegance?" it asked, suggesting that this human virtue had yet to make its presence felt in the depths of space.

"Alsatia!" barked Miss Douglas, summoning the tattooed, bald young lady in an outfit of tight-fitting blue leather on one side and loosely draped jersey on the other. Her eyes peered through gold rings attached just below her vermilion-tinted eyebrows. A delicate fingerless glove of chain mail accented her left hand.

"Alsatia, Mr. Throgmorton here does not understand the term elegance. Before you leave tonight, could you acquaint him with those items in our collection to which that quality obtains?"

Throgmorton's question did make Miss Douglas pull up the spreadsheets.

A review of the wholesale prices suggested, indeed, that demure items did not carry their full weight in the profit area. However distasteful, a reconsideration of stock selections might be necessary. The road to hell, she suspected, was paved with healthy balance sheets.

Alsatia dutifully revealed the secrets of elegance as it related to Randi's Bustique Boutique. The three quite separate forms of elegance were the color black, if it sug gested revelation while actually concealing; lace; and things that suggested an origin in the Victorian era, though not necessarily resembling the actual historical items in any conceivable way. She further attempted to explain that certain shades of the color beige were considered elegance itself, but strayed from that subject into the history of the eponymous Randi.

"She was Miss Douglas's brother's girl. Her folks broke up and her dad died and Miss Douglas loaned her the money to buy this place. About a year ago Randi met this guy, his name was real geeky, like Nathanial or Thurston or something? But he rode a motorcycle and sold drugs. One day she just up and ran off into the sunset with him, so Miss Douglas had to take over the store. She wants to unload it, but she hasn't had a decent offer yet, I guess."

"G–s... The shop seems very busy. Is there some problem with the location?"

"No offense," Alsatia's eyes glittered behind the gold, "but we're only busy because
you're
here. You're quite the attraction."

"G–s... So novelty alone is my function? I have been striving to provide attentive and courteous service."

"Novelty is what this business is all about," Alsatia began, when an explosion of bubble-gum from the end of the aisle interrupted her.

"Honey," snapped Minine's authoritative voice, "the
illusion
of novelty is what this business is all about. Folks want novelty, they're gonna have to work a lot harder than this. Trust me."

President Sean Penn's ex-wife, still semi-nude despite her age, dropped in without an appointment. She apologized for this oversight, shook Miss Douglas's hand, and proceeded to monopolize Throgmorton for the next two hours.

She spent a small fortune on things she'd never really looked at. Her eyes, instead, had seen only Throgmorton. Had lingered on its every tendril. Had adored each knob and protrusion of its every semi-organic crustal surfaces. She, who moved in the same social circles as some of the big-name theatrical Thaliamajorans, had cooed and dimpled under the careful attentions of Throgmorton's crooks. She had presumed to draw, with dark purple lipstick, a smiley face on the fitter's exterior.

Miss Douglas had to be even firmer with the alien after that.

"Perhaps it is not clear to you, Mr. Throgmorton, that clients such as we are now attracting will not be content to share your services with mere suburban housewives. They will expect to be treated exclusively. They will have to have a separate area of the shop to themselves, and they will require appointments. You will simply have to make three evenings a week available, and come in two hours earlier on Tuesdays and Thursdays." She paused for his response.

"G–s... Yes, Miss Douglas."

"Very well. And now I need some help quadrupling the price of every item in this store. These people expect coddling, Mr. Throgmorton, and they expect to be fleeced. It's their little way of admitting that great wealth has nothing to do with great merit."

"G–s... Won't Alsatia and Minine be inconvenienced by this arrangement?"

This had not crossed Miss Douglas's mind. She had martyred herself to keep up with the extra demands the business had required these last few weeks, and expected nothing less of them.

"They may resent the size of the commissions that this sort of customer
will
produce. You might want to share some of yours with them, though I won't insist."

"G–s... Would 50 percent be enough, do you think?"

“Let me tell you, honey, she’s ordering some fancy stuff now.” Minine had this guy figured for at least another two drinks. Maybe he'd spring for dinner. "Why she's got stuff coming from Chez Nous, and Katmandu, and Timbuktu. Expensive stuff wholesale. I'm afraid to steal any of it. But these folks is paying big money for it. Big money."

The attentive gentleman signaled casually for another round. "What's the alien get out of this? He get a cut of the business, or what?"

"Not from Miss Kiss My Icicles he ain't. Three percent, just like we always got. Mind you," she added, in self-interest, "that's turned into a healthy sum, lately. The money part's fine, but I don't get much dancing time with the hours we got. A girl's gotta dance, if you know what I mean?"

"In local business news, Waldo Ace, millionaire entrepreneur and owner of Rodeo Drive's most exclusive mall, has been frustrated in his attempts to lure a Thaliamajoran salesentity away from a suburban L.A. panty boutique. The alien has reportedly turned down a huge salary offer, citing 'loyalty to his employer' as its reason. The alien supposedly developed this quaint notion as a result of watching an all-night retrospective of old Mafia movies."

The customer, and her entourage, were completely wrapped up in emergency video calls about a scandal involving two of her Cabinet Ministers and some kind of vegetable.

"G–s... As we have a moment, Alsatia, may I admit that I am still quite puzzled by the relation of 'elegance' and the shade of beige called 'umberine.' Had you not deftly snatched that body corset from me I would have presented it to Her Excellency."

Alsatia raised the veil that was clipped to her eyebrow rings. "I'm not sure I can explain. It's not just because you're not human. I don't think an Eskimo would understand unless they'd grown up with it."

"G–s... How discouraging. I keep trying to grasp the logic of all this...."

"Ah!" the girl interrupted. "It isn't really logical. Have you read about semiotics? The study of signs and meaning?"

"G–s... Could this be helpful?"

"There's this book you should read,
The Fashion System,
by this French intellectual. It'll give you the idea... oops, she's off the net."

"G–s... What would Your Excellency wish to try next?"

Minine smiled smugly. Right first time. There was Randi Douglas on the friends list of the
Bikerbroad.com
HotTimer Facebook page.

A few keystrokes to the wise, in Minine's opinion, was the least she could do. The very least.

"G–s... The concepts of Fashion, then, are rather arbitrarily determined by the various fashion design houses and fashion critics?"

Alsatia nodded, which set the bottle-caps of her cape rattling. "Though tradition and culture do define many of the symbols."

"G–s... And so to understand 'elegance' or 'youngness' or 'sophistication' one need only read fashion magemails and advertisements and make note of the assertions that they make. Even if they are without logic?"

"Exactly. This year palm-print silks are considered Second Empire, though I doubt the Second Empire ever saw such a thing. Yet
Infanta
says it is, so it is."

"G–s... But next year?

"Is next year."

"Why, if it isn't Miss Randi," exclaimed Minine, rushing to open the front door.

"Why, Aunt Looey! You won't believe where I've been!"

Miss Douglas met her niece's unannounced return without surprise and without warmth. "And why, young lady, would I care to believe it?"

"Surely you're glad to see me, Aunt?" said Randi, hobbling across the carpet in heels, the chopper-straddle not yet out of her gait. "I'd have emailed, but can you believe it, there are still places..."

"I suppose," the acidic aunt practically hissed, "that you've come back to take over the business." It was not a question.

Minine drifted back toward the Maternity Specials.

"Well of course. And as soon as we get settled, Halstead and I, we'll catch up on those payments...."

"I suppose," the sulfuric aunt steamed, "that you are unable to pay the balance of the note upon which you are in default."

Minine slid somewhat behind the Maternity Specials, edging toward the Classic Foundations.

Randi pouted in frustration. "No, but you won't have to look after this place any-more and we intend to make it up to you for taking over while we..."

"I suppose," the volcanic aunt oozed, "you remember my lawyer who wrote you the checks. I had already supposed that you would have become aware of media reports about our success here; reports which, I might add,
are greatly exaggerated,"
she said, allowing her eyes to flicker to the employees for the first time. "He has some documents for you to sign, so as to avoid the disgrace of arrest. Perhaps you should see him this morning, while you're still in town."

The spurned niece, bursting into uncharacteristic tears, turned her back and stormed out. Her shoes flew off in careless arcs, and the last that was seen of her was her calves jiggling down the sidewalk, the rest of her obscured by the banner declaring GRAND REOPENING OF LA BUSTIQUE.