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I perched on the stepladder, fish net in one hand and fly swatter in the other, eyeing the parakeet Yvette set free from the cage. It fluttered and I snared. All it took was a flick of the wrist.
The manager below turned on his heel. He shook his fist at Yvette and stormed off. She cackled.
Yvette was in early stage dementia. We didn’t know that then. This was at Newberry’s, the last of the downtown five and dimes. I sorted stock; Yvette worked in “Pets.”
Kelly manned the front register. It was her first day and the manager gave her a plum assignment. Yvette took offense. “Another Bloomingdale’s girl,” she scowled. Yvette referred to any salesgirl she didn’t like that way. “All they hire now are princesses.” She glared at Kelly. “Like that one.”
Something about Kelly infuriated Yvette. Maybe her hairstyle or the cross she wore over her smock. Maybe the way she chewed gum.
“She watches me,“ Kelly said, unnerved. “It’s creepy.”
I said ignore it.
I loitered with my hand cart near her register. We chit-chatted. I set up a display and greeted a customer coming in. Yvette peered down the aisle and gave Kelly the evil eye.
Parakeets fly clumsily when they’re free. Most times they crash into things. Not Yvette’s. Hers ascended to the ceiling and circled beneath the light fixtures. They hovered over us for a moment, wings beating furiously. Kelly said it reminded her of the Pentecost.
“Yvette opened all the cages,” I noted.
Kelly flinched as one darted past. “Do they bite?”
“No, they’e tame.”
The manager charged out of his office.
“What the hell?”
He narrowed his eyes and clenched his teeth. He strode purposely and hunted down Yvette. He fired her on the spot.
Animal Control rounded up the parakeets; I mopped the droppings.
Kelly’s fingers trembled over the cash register keys the rest of the afternoon.
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