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(II)

“So what time are we going for pizza?” Veronica asked when Mike came out of the office.

“Huh? Oh, Veronica—”

“Yeah, Veronica—you know. Your girlfriend?” She giggled it off, knowing this was just another of his macho games. But—

Did he discretely wince when she’d uttered the word girlfriend?

No, no. Don’t be so paranoid, she scolded herself.

He turned his back to her, dropped change into the employee soda machine, and out clunked a can of Mr. Pibb. He popped it open and took a sip. “Oh, damn. I’d buy you one but I’m out of change.”

Veronica bristled. I don’t want a MR. PIBB! I want YOU!

Mike walked back to the showroom, talking as he walked. “Oh, pizza, wow. You know—jeez—I forgot, I’ve got all this year-end paperwork to do, and I’ll have to take it home. We’ll have to do pizza another time.”

Veronica’s breasts bobbed smartly as she hurried to keep up. “Oh. Well, okay. Tomorrow then, right?” but even just looking at the back of his head, she thought, God, I love him SO MUCH…

“Yeah, sure. Tomorrow. We’ll have pizza and talk.”

Veronica’s freshly tweaked nipples deflated when he’d said that. And TALK? What did that mean? It sounded…ominous. “Mike, is everything all right? With us, I mean?”

“Huh?” He hurried around the front check-out. “Oh, sure. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“But-but—”

The bell dinged, then the Greeter—a perky and utterly empty headed teeny bop pert-breasted pixie—said, “Welcome to Best Buy, sir!” She had one of those sticking-out-at-the-top ponytails.

Mike sipped more Mr. Pibb. “Chop-chop, Veronica. Looks like you got a customer…”

The bad vibe was already needling her. Distracted, she noticed the large man loping around the camera counters.

Who is…THAT?

Veronica hustled right over.

It was a very big man, with a jacket she could only think of as “shaggy,” big clunky boots, and a hat like in that old Clint Eastwood movie she’d watched with Mike not too long ago. Something about a sister named Sara. And…

He didn’t smell good.

“Hi, welcome to Best Buy, sir. My name’s Veronica.”

The looming man turned and looked down. Veronica flinched.

He had shaggy grayish hair and a big bushy beard.

“Why, hey there, Veronnerka. My name’s Helton,” and he thrust out his hand which, when fully opened might be able to cover her entire face and half her head. It was with some reluctance that she shook it—it looked kind of dirty—and she flinched again by the texture of his palm: like sandpaper.

“What can I help you with today, sir?”

“Helton, missy. No need ta call me sir. And, see”—he scratched his beard, releasing some trace dandruff. “What it is I need is a camera.”

“Oh, well, you’ve come to the right place—we’ve got the best selection in town.” She manned her station at once, going into saleswoman mode. “We’ve got the new line of Nikon Cool Pix just in.” She picked one up and showed him. “Versatile, easy to use, and modestly priced. They’re practically flying off the shelves.”

The shaggy man looked unimpressed. “Anything that puny ain’t gonna do the job. See, what I need is a movin’-picture camera, Veronnerka.”

The man’s accent was a riot. She giggled. “Why, I haven’t heard that term in years, Helton. What they’re called today are digital video cameras—”

“And I’m gonna need me a dang good?one.”

Hmm. “Have you…owned a camera before?”

“Naw, I don’t know from such things. But I reckon I should ‘splain my sitcher-aye-shun, huh? See, I got me this…fella…who I gotta send some…movin’-pictures to.”

“Oh, you want to send videos to a friend.”

The looming man seemed to have some difficulty. “It’s very important…uh, family stuff.”

“Of course, Helton. Christmas movies of the family—”

Shaggy brows shot up. “Why, yeah, somethin’ like that. Sort’a. So’s…say I wanna leave a movie at this friend’s house, or maybe mail it to him, how do I do that, hon?”

Veronica picked up a typical mini-memory card. “Right here, Helton. You can put a beautiful high-rezz video on this card”—she moved over to the video cameras and picked up a Canon ZR900, demonstrating how the memory card fit into the slot—“then give it to your friend or mail it to him. Of course, it’s easier just to email him the vid file but…I’ve got a hunch you don’t own a computer.”

“Naw, naw, missy, I got no fancy fer such things, but…” Helton looked suspiciously at the tiny memory card. “You’re tellin’ me that a movin’-picture’ll fit on that little thing there that ain’t the size’a my thumbnail?”

“Modern technology, Helton. This little card will store a 30-minute movie.”

Helton looked astonished. “Dang. Well, I guess that’s the ticket. Don’t know how many we’ll need—”

“For the Christmas movies.”

“Oh, yeah, right. The Christmas movies. Might have to make…a lot of ’em.”

Veronica tried to sound accommodating, all the while hoping she could sell him the Canon as well. It would up her weekly sales. “It’s what the season’s for—sharing your holiday joy with family and friends.”

Helton paused. “Yeah. And I guess I better be on the safe side. I’ll take twenny’a them little doohickeys.”

“Twenty?”

“You heard me, darlin’. Twenny.” But then he gave a coarse chuckle. “But a’course, now I needs ya to sell me a camera to go along with them li’l things!”

“This Canon right here”—she passed it to him—“is a perfect choice for your needs, and it’s less than $300.”

Helton’s giant hand dwarfed the digital camera. “Veronnerka, what’cha need ta know ’bout me is I’se the kind’a fella who don’t trust nothin’ he cain’t get both hands on. This camera? I don’t like it. It’s too puny. These movies I gotta make—they’re important.”

“Of course, Helton.”

“So let’s not beat ’round the danged bush. I want the best camera ya got.”

This is…weird, she thought. But what did she have to lose? If he was mentally ill or something, she’d have been able to discern that by now. Her hand landed on the Samsung High Def Hybrid. “This, Helton, might suit your needs quite well. But…it’s $850, and since I’m not sure what your budget is—”

Helton shook his head. “Naw. That ‘un’s too puny too.” His lips pursed. “Veronnerka. You tellin’ me that in all’a this big fancy store here, that’s the best camera you got? Hail, girl, ya got tv’s the size’a garage doors! Ya must have a camera bigger’n that.”

Yeah, she thought, this is REAL weird. “All right, Helton. You asked for the best, I’ll show you the best.” She bent over, knowing that her cleavage was in full view. She unlocked the display cabinet and removed the Sony. It clunked when she set it down atop the counter.

“Dang!” Helton raved.

“This, Helton, is the Sony HVR-S27. It’s top of the line. It’s essentially identical to the cameras they use on television news shows, reality TV, soap operas—”

“That the dandiest camera I’se could ever imagine!”

“Lithium-ion battery, home-charger, car-charger, built in light and microphone.” Veronica splayed her hands