Marie Sexton - Coda 02 - A to Z

With heartfelt gratitude to:

 

Amy and Carol,

 

for their ongoing guidance.

 

Troy, for helping me hash out those final 11,000 words.

My husband Sean,
for supporting me in every way possible through this entire endeavor, even when I paid more attention to Angelo than to him.

Zach…
I
OWN
a video store, but I hate movies. I know. It’s completely ridiculous.

It just sort of happened. I guess it started after college. I went to the University of Colorado. My parents wanted me to go to Colorado State, in Fort Collins, but I insisted on CU. I argued that it was a better school, but that wasn’t the real reason. CSU was for veterinary, forestry, and agriculture students; CU was for partying. In hindsight it was a pretty shitty thing to do to my parents. The tuition was a lot higher than at CSU, and I spent all five years drunk or high or both. I barely managed to graduate with a degree in business management. I think my GPA was somewhere around a two. Pitiful.

Of course I did more than just get drunk and high. I also had sex a lot. My senior year I dated Jonathan, and after graduation, I followed him to Arvada, a suburb on the west side of Denver. He was an accountant. I was a bum. I got a job at the movie rental place down the street and continued to spend my time drunk and high and having sex—sometimes not with Jonathan.

The day arrived when I came home, and he was gone. On the bright side, that was my wake up call. After that I managed to get my shit together—for the most part, at least. But I never did get another apartment or another job. And when my boss, Mr. Murray, decided to retire, I took out a loan and bought the video rental store.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

 

So now here I am: thirty-four, single, and the not-so-proud owner of A to Z Video Rental. Did I mention that I hate movies?

Late spring in Colorado, and the weather was stereotypically perfect: sunny, with the temperature hovering around eighty. I had finally broken down and turned on the air conditioner in the store.

A to Z Video occupied one of four spots in the building. Three of the spots were downstairs—my store in the middle, flanked by a holistic bookstore and a head shop. Between the two of them, my store always smelled like sandalwood incense. The entire upstairs was taken up by a martial arts studio, owned by Nero Sensei. I wasn’t sure if Nero was his first or last name, but mostly we just called him Sensei. Today, the parking lot in front of our building was filled with martial arts students, all wearing those white pajamas they favor, doing some type of forms in unison and sweating their asses off.

It was Friday afternoon, and I had one customer. He had been in several times lately. He was skinny, with dark skin and thick, black hair that hung in his face, and he looked like he barely had to shave. I’m not good at ethnicity. Maybe Latino, maybe not. He was walking along the shelves, looking at movies. Sometimes he would stop and look at me and shake his head. I had no idea what his problem was.

He had just returned a movie called
Blue Velvet
. I was staring at that stupid movie, trying to decide where it was supposed to go on my cluttered shelves. On the one hand, it had Dennis Hopper in it, which to me said Action. On the other hand, the pictures on the box made it look like it was in black and white, which meant Classic. I gave up and stuck it in the first empty spot I saw, on a shelf labeled Special Interest. That seemed good enough.

That was when Mr. Right walked in. He was my height, just under six feet, but built heavier than me. He obviously worked out. He had blonde hair and blue eyes. He was wearing dark gray slacks and a white dress shirt, open at the collar. I quickly checked my own shirt and was relieved to see that it was still relatively clean. I hadn’t dropped any of my lunch on it for once.

“I’m Tom Sanderson,” he said, holding his hand out to me. “I’m your new landlord.” I had read about people with rich baritone voices. He actually had one. There was a dimple in his chin. He was incredibly hot, and even better than that, he was looking me up and down with obvious curiosity.

Work was suddenly getting a lot more interesting. “Nice to meet you,” I said as I shook his hand. “Zach Mitchell.”

“Zach.” He hung on to my hand a bit longer than he needed to, before letting go and glancing around. “Nice place.” He actually managed to not sound sarcastic when he said that. I hadn’t done anything with the store in years. The movie posters on the walls were faded and dusty, and showed new releases that were several years out of date. “How’s business?”

“Not bad.” That was a lie. It
was
bad. Not nonexistent, but certainly not great. In fact the punk with the attitude was practically rush hour, in and of himself. I looked back at Tom. “I survive.” That much at least was true. “You’re my landlord now?”

“Sure am. Don’t let that fool you, though. I’m not a bad guy.” He gave me a killer smile.

 

“I’m sure that’s true,” I said.

He looked at me for a minute, like he was sizing me up, then smiled again, and said, “Let me take you to dinner tonight and I’ll prove it.”

I couldn’t believe that a guy as attractive as him would ask me out. I’m pretty average: five-eleven, brown hair, blue eyes, average build. Average, average, average. I know I’m not bad looking, but I’ve never been one of those guys that people notice, lust after, or are immediately attracted to. You know—
those
guys. Guys like him. “That sounds great,” I said, hoping that I didn’t sound overenthusiastic.