Green Girl (6 page)

quite sensual don’t you think

warm and spicy and Oriental

an elixir for the senses

it’s a greener note

do you smell the licorice?

you just want to eat it don’t you?

and guess what? no calories!

but if you really want it to last you’re going to have to layer it you know

oh, you must layer it

do you layer?

first the shower gel

then the soufflé

feel that how creamy indulgent

indulge yourself

then the perfume

make sure to spray it on your errr-ahh-jenus zones

it will never leave you

it will linger with you all day

when he smells this he will remember you

always

in another country

years later

it will be your signature scent

it isn’t just a perfume but an identity.

a woman’s pure essence

found in an oval-shaped bottle

mimicking her curves

for the woman who

wants love

is playful

is sexy

wants it all

has a strong sense of self

it’s so classic!

timeless!

it’s so modern!

the embodiment of

femininity

old-fashioned glamour

audrey

katharine

sophia

marilyn

this is the fragrance for the

trendsetter

the intellectual

the person who loves beauty

who loves little children

who loves animals

sweet things

sex

who loves to fall in love

who wants to be young

who wants to be sophisticated

who wants to be noticed

across a room but not smelled, more like sensed

It was all porn for impressionable women. Beyond the talk of top velvety notes and powdery cores and layering. The fairytale drivel, the poisonous romance narratives. Peddling in clichés. A love potion of sweet temptation. A fantasy of indulgence. Cue the symphony, the sunset as the backdrop for lovers. Or perhaps you’d like an essence more mysterious. The kind that’s subtle. That lingers in the room after the lady has left. A passing moment. A memory. A story.

It comes in a bottle and it tells a story. Put it on my Visa.

You speak like a green girl, unsifted in such perilous circumstance.

— Polonius to Ophelia in
Hamlet

So, I took another pregnancy test. Natalie leans in closer to Ruth, so close that Ruth can see her black lacy bra. Negative, thank heavens. Her breath smells like tuna. Every day at 1pm Natalie goes to the sandwich place across the road, to get triangles of mushy wheat bread with ominous fillings. Half-off between 1pm and 2pm. Egg pickle with rocket, egg mayo with rocket, tuna mayo with rocket, prawn mayo with rocket. Ruth fights the urge not to gag. Even though they are alone in the employee room, Natalie is practically sitting on Ruth’s lap. Ruth keeps attempting to pry herself away, although bit by bit, so as not to appear rude. The passivity of the green girl masquerades as politeness.

Aren’t you on the shot? Ruth asks. By now she is intimately acquainted with Natalie’s reproductive regime (which usually required total-if-not-complete abstinence). Natalie’s voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. She leans in closer, her pendulous breasts pressing against Ruth’s arm. Her chest powdered with scented silver glitter. Yes, but my hubby and I had sex, lower whisper, two weeks ago and I haven’t gotten my thing yet. Ruth has seen Natalie’s husband come to collect her from work, a goofy tower of Englishness. Are you late? No, no, not yet. I just get soooo scared. If I got pregnant I would absolutely die. Just shrivel up. Her thickly coated eyelashes tick like the hands of a clock.

Just then, the door opens. It is Olly from men’s neckties. He nods at Ruth and Natalie. Hello ladies. Hiya, Olly! Natalie calls out gaily. Ruth smiles, blushing a little, lowering her eyes modestly. She can feel Natalie watching her.

Olly pours hot water into a paper cup.

Going out for a pint Sunday?

Ruth realizes he is addressing her. Yeah…I don’t know…. But she does know. Although she doesn’t know if she is being coy or still being polite. Every Sunday night the fragrance department goes to the local pub for a drink. Ruth has never been invited, since Elspeth hates her. Maybe. I don’t know, she falters.

Oh. Well. It’d be nicer if you came along. He finishes his tea, crumples up his cup and throws it into the bin all in one gallant gesture. All right. Bye now, ladies.

Bye, Natalie says frostily, miffed not to be included in the exchange.

Bye. Ruth’s comes out unintentionally breathy, again, as if she were flirting.

Once Olly has left Natalie slaps Ruth’s pantyhosed thigh. Ruth winces. Ouch.

You fancy Olly, she says accusingly. She is still whispering, even though they are once again alone. Me? No. Ruth tries to blow this off, like the thought is ridiculous.

There are strangers who wear your face. Is this some plot, or is this my vile hallucinations? I cannot seem to shake you away.

Well, he seems to like you. Natalie appraises her.

Yeah?

Why not? You’re a cute girl. She says this almost reluctantly. She scrutinizes Ruth. We’re all cute girls in fragrance.

Natalie checks the time on her mobile. I want to grab a quick ciggie before we have to go back on the floor. Want to come? An offer that is not actually an offer. There is a certain area out back on the dock in goods receiving where the terrible girls smoke on their breaks and spray acid on everyone else in the store. Ruth knows that she would not be welcome. She shakes her head no, thanks. She is suddenly on mute. Natalie shrugs again.

As she opens the door, Natalie looks like she is struggling over whether or not to say something. The gossip in her wins out, drowning whatever else was in her underneath the surface. You know, Elspeth fancies Olly. The inferred sign posted on recently wiped glass. Ruth knows this. Everyone in all of Horrids knows this. Last month she bought him a cake for his birthday (dark chocolate), which store employees were selectively invited to eat out in the break room. Ruth had not been invited.

Oh well, she can have him, Ruth blurts out. But then as soon as she says that, she wishes she hadn’t, because it was not nice. But she had not wanted to be nice, but she feels ill not being nice. Natalie regards Ruth coolly again. Anyway, I just thought you might like to know. And then she is gone.

Thanks, smirks Ruth, once alone in the room, knowing that in the next ten minutes Elspeth will be given even more fuel to hate her. That American temp, that American temptress, making off with one of their own.

Gossipy Natalie. Like a child who likes to light fires, just to watch them burn.

Ruth is hit again with the desire to swallow her tongue, to swallow, swallow her tongue.

Later in her shift, Ruth’s stomach begins to churn, from the nauseating combination of sweet smells and body heat as well as the casual cruelty of it all. She has a fire-breathing belly. A seething sputtering ball of stress. A volcano spilling over messy anxieties, sensitivities, fears. What if it is an ulcer? Ruth worries, worries, worries, while her stomach twists, twists, twists.

Ruth hurries up to Noncy. I have an upset stomach. Fine, fine,
Ruth
, Noncy waves her away impatiently. The way she pronounces Ruth’s name comes out as an accusation. She knows that she is daily supplying material for the terrible girls to torment her with. She knows that every move she makes is documented, is reported back to Elspeth. She is overdocumented but intimate with no one.

She hurries to the employee toilet. She locks herself in a stall and begins to explode, emptying out all of her insides. Amidst the horrible sounds and the stink, the outside door opens. Ruth had forgotten to lock it. It is Elspeth and her constant companion, Sam, a watery-eyed Scottish girl from the Nars counter. Together with Elspeth’s ghost complexion and Sam’s pink and blonde squatness they resemble Roald Dahl’s two greedy aunts. Ruth frantically tries not to make any more bodily sounds.

She is in fact the subject of their conversation. Something, something, that American girl. Haughty Elspeth. Something, bad? Sam. She smiles too much. Elspeth. Do I? wonders Ruth, her stomach doing contortionist tricks. Americans, something. Sam. Something, nauseating. Elspeth. Would you like to sample Desire? Elspeth again. Giggling. They’re mimicking me, Ruth realizes with horror. The brushing of hair, the blowing of noses, the clasping closed of compacts. The door swings shut.

Ruth is going to be late coming back from her break. But she is frozen on the toilet bowl, skirt around her ankles. Tired from holding it all in, in that stall she thaws. The tears pour out, along with seemingly everything else.