The Color Master: Stories Read Online Free

relaxed against the cash register. Business was slow; only a few other customers rotated around the perimeter of the department.
    “You mean when? Like during dinner?” asked the saleslady.
    “Whenever. Sure.”
    “Depends on who has more to say that day, I guess.”
    “And who pays, if you’re out?”
    “We usually split it,” said the saleslady. “We both make about the same salary. Or one will take the other. There’s no rule. What kind of turtleneck? You might want sportswear instead, that’s one floor down. Did you say wool?”
    Now, in addition to the ribbon, Janet noticed how the delicate mole punctuating the tip of the saleslady’s eyebrow looked just like Venus at the tip of a crescent moon. Perfection.
    “And do you regularly orgasm?” asked Janet.
    “Excuse me?”
    Janet held still. She could hear the cash registers erupt into sound around them. Printing out receipts over the sounds of pens signing shiny credit card paper that curls into itself.
    “Please,” said Janet. “I know it’s very forward, but please. It would mean an enormous amount to me to know.”
    The saleslady’s eyes dodged around the store.
    “The turtlenecks are downstairs,” she said. “You’d bettergo down there. There’s a woman downstairs in that department who likes to talk about things like this. You should ask her. Molly. Look for Molly.”
    Janet shook her head. “I want to ask you,” she said.
    The saleslady was fidgeting all around the cash register now, pushing buttons, ripping tissue paper, as if she were trapped in there.
    Janet took a breath. “Look,” she said. “I’m sure I seem crazy, but I’m not. I just don’t know what it’s like for other people. I live a sheltered life. Do you keep track? I don’t want to ask Molly, because I don’t want to be like Molly. This will be my last question, honestly.”
    Janet fumbled in her purse and pulled out two hundred-dollar bills.
    “I’ll pay you,” she said firmly.
    The saleslady stared at the bills and balled the ripped tissue paper into hard pellets.
    “Two hundred dollars?” She glanced over her shoulder. “For one question? Are you serious?”
    Janet didn’t even blink.
    The saleslady’s eyebrows crunched in, and the mole pulled closer to her temple.
    “It’s for a study?”
    A nod. “A self-study.”
    “And then you’ll stop?”
    Another nod.
    “And are you a member of this store?”
    Janet rummaged in her wallet and this time produced a bronze store credit card.
    “Well,” the saleslady said, bobbing her head tightly, “if it’s worth that much to you. Fairly regularly, yes. What would you call regular?”
    “Majority of the time,” Janet said.
    “Fine, then,” said the saleslady. “Majority of the time. About seventy percent, through one method or another. Easier on some days than others. I don’t keep track, no. Better off the pill than on. Nicer for me at night than in the morning. Now. Done! The turtlenecks are that way.”
    Her face was flushed. The red ribbon matched, in perfect harmony, the blush high on her cheeks.
    Janet thrust the bills forward and held herself back from taking the woman’s hand and kissing it.
    “Thank you.” She felt her eyes watering. “You are really very beautiful.” The yearning in her voice was so palpable it caught them both by surprise.
    The saleslady stared at the money and broke into uncomfortable giggles before she grabbed it and strode off into the suit section. The older, blonder manager meandered over from across the room, sensing a need for managerial skills.
    “Can I help you?” she asked Janet, now standing alone at the register.
    “I need a turtleneck,” said Janet.
    In the horror story, the woman tells the man that she loves him, and she will marry him, but he must never remove the red velvet ribbon around her neck. It is the one thing he can never ask of her. At first it’s the easiest trade; he complies for years and they are blissfully happy, but after a while it