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Noora didn't think she'd be twenty-three and working in the men's department of a semi upscale clothing store on Karl Johans, but here she is. It's not so bad, actually. She's been doing it for years, and even though her favourite co-worker, Jonas, has left her to go do something with the youth group he's finally got a permanent position with, the new girl has finally hit her stride, and Noora can breathe a sigh of relief again. She misses Jonas' anti-capitalist mumblings ever Saturday morning when the rush of shoppers really hit its peak, but she's heard it all so much it basically still echoes in her head. It's a little hard to explain to Vilde that while, yes, technically she's smiling to herself thinking about a guy, it's not like that at all. It's just that the haunted look in Jonas' eyes after the fourtieth guy asked him if they have any belts, all the while standing right beside the belts is amusing in its absence and the memory of their shared pain.
She's sure eventually she'll get there with Vilde.
For now, she'll settle for Vilde to stop giggling at the brunet prettyboy who keeps paying her backhanded compliments like he's actually saying anything of value.
“I'm sure this colour would look great on you,” Vilde says, encouraging him to buy the most expensive jumper in their collection right now. Noora has to give her props for that at least. Vilde is very good at the kind of earnestness that leaves most people buying into her sales advice. Or maybe she actually means it, Noora hasn't figured it out yet.
“Yes, I think so,” he agrees, and then adds, “That blue of your blouse washes you out a bit but you've corrected that marvellously with the blush.”
Vilde giggles again, while Noora's seething on the inside because did Vilde ask? She can already tell from the way Vilde smoothes down an imaginary wrinkle that she won't wear this blouse for at least a week or two, and probably throw a cardigan over it the next time she does. Who does this dickhead think he is?
“Well, my colleague will ring you up, if that's all?” Vilde says, gesturing vaguely in Noora's direction, and Noora has to school her expression into something at least approaching pleasant when it makes Dickhead look over. He doesn't thank Vilde or anything, just swaggers over to Noora like he thinks he's walking in slo motion and she's at all impressed.
“Hello,” he says, in that tone of voice that guys use when they think they're being suave.
“Good afternoon,” Noora replies professionally, and starts ringing him up. She doesn't look up at him the entire time, until she's packed his things into a plastic bag and then taps a few icons on her screen so he can pay by card. She gestures at him to go ahead, and stuffs the receipt in the bag before turning it around so he can grab it.
“Thank you, Noora,” he says, staring down at her chest with more attention than reading her name tag probably requires. Noora has never hated having to wear one more. “Goodbye.”
“Goodbye,” Noora replies.
When he's gone, Vilde comes over and leans against the cash register, cheeks flushed a little, but hands folded in front of her stomach.
“Wasn't he dreamy,” she giggles.
“Vilde,” Noora says, and makes sure Vilde is looking her right in the eyes before she goes on. “He was a complete asshole not worthy of a second of your attention.”
Vilde's smile slips for a second before it's replaced with her sales-smile. It's a good imitation of her real one, actually.
“Right,” she says, and shuffles away again, straightening out a stack of jumpers that was already perfectly even.
Somehow, that must have been the wrong thing to say.
Dickhead is back a week later, and Noora has never been more grateful for being almost swamped at the register. She spares half a glance at the way he hovers around Vilde and she keeps ducking her head, before getting distracted by her actual work again, hoping he won't buy anything this time.
He doesn't do her the favour, of coures.
“Hello again, Noora,” he says. She gives him half a smile and rings him up.
“You look absolutely ravishing in this shade of blue I have to say,” he says. It's the same blouse Vilde was wearing last week, out of the approved pieces from their women's collection they're allowed to wear as part of the uniform. Noora clenches her teeth and gives him half another smile.
“That'll be 595,” she says.
He pulls out his card lazily and she presses the icons on her screen and then gestures for him to go ahead.
“Have a good day,” she says, stuffing the receipt into his bag slightly less carefully than she should and he smiles at her like he's won something.
“I will, Noora.”
The next time he doesn't even talk to Vilde at all, just grabs what seems like a random belt, though he hovers by the display a good five minutes, and then saunters up to Noora at the register.
“Hello, Noora,” he grins and pushes a hand through his hair before setting down the belt.
She takes it and immediately looks away from his face, wishing she had more items to ring up just so she could avoid looking at him for longer.
“I wanted to ask you to dinner,” he says when she looks up to tell him the total. She pauses for a moment, taken aback. It doesn't happen very often that someone actually does this.
“No, thank you,” she says and then glances back at the screen briefly. “That'll be 320 kroner.”
He pays without another word, but he keeps grinning to himself and winks when he leaves like she didn't just turn him down.
He doesn't wait a full week to come back and doesn't buy anything either, just waits for a break between customers lining up and walks right up to her with that same self-assured grin.
“So, how about dinner, Noora?”
“I already said no. The answer isn't going to change if you keep asking,” she says, feeling irritation boil low in her gut. She knows what giving in to this sort of game means, how mistaking persistence for depth of emotion really only ever leads to disappointment. She's not playing anymore.
“How can you say no when you don't even know me? My name's William,” he says, holding out a hand to her. She doesn't take it.
“Your name isn't going to change my mind, Wilhelm,” she says. Thankfully, she catches Vilde sending over two blond guys seemingly bickering over a beanie hat of all things, and turns back from them to Dickhead. “You're holding up the line.”
Dickhead looks slightly put out, but moves out of the way, and with a last smarmy smile leaves.
Noora grabs the beanie hat to give herself a moment to gather her composure as she rings them up.
“We didn't mean to interrupt,” one of them says, frown a little worried when Noora looks up.
“I'm glad you did,” she says firmly, perhaps a bit unprofessionally. Judging by the way they both frown a little deeper at that, they don't mind.
“You're welcome then,” Taller One amends, and smiles at her.
She smiles back.
“Card?” she asks, and he nods, but Shorter One is the one to take out his wallet.
“Oh, I don't need one,” he says when he sees her reaching for a bag and just accepts the receipt to carelessly stuff in his wallet.
“Could you cut the tag off for me?” he asks instead, shuffling his wallet back into his pocket.
“Yeah, sure, one second,” Noora says and fumbles slightly with the scissors, making sure not to accidentally cut the hat. Not like that has ever happened to her, but it's a thought that lingers in the back of her mind when someone has just spent 300 kroner on something and wants her to handle it with scissors.
Taller One sighs a little. “I told you you could just borrow mine.”
“You'll get sick, we both know your constitution is that of a baby fawn,” Shorter One says.
Noora tries not to smile at that, but Shorter One gives her a twinkly-eyed wink as he pulls the hat over his hair.
“That's a pleonasm,” Taller One mumbles with the air of someone who knows when they've been defeated.
“Thanks,” Shorter One says to Noora and nods at her in greeting. “Bye.”
“Goodbye,” she says automatically and grins when she sees them tangle their fingers together as they leave.
Dickhead comes back and Noora has to reject his advances yet again.
“It's flattering though, don't you think?” Vilde asks. “That he wants to go out with you so badly he'll keep asking.”
“No, it's not,” Noora says. “He doesn't want me, he just wants to prove to himself that he can get me to change my mind.”
Vilde frowns. “Well, I'd think it was a little flattering, if it happened to me.”
Noora wants to say that she understands, that she used to feel like that too, that it's hard not to let attention get to one's head. That Vilde should try to learn how to differentiate genuine interest from when people see her as a prize to be won, but she doesn't know how to do any of that without making Vilde frown and draw back again, and that's probably not actually helping her at all.
“Well, I don't,” she says instead with a shrug. “I wish he'd just stop.”
“Come on, Noora,” Dickhead says. “You're a smart girl. Surely by now you've figured out the only way to make me stop is to agree to go to dinner with me.”
“I'm not going to go to dinner with you,” Noora repeats for what feels like the one hundredth time. “Now, if you're not buying anything, can you please leave?”
Dickhead looks behind himself and Noora curses the current lull in business. Of course the one time she actually wants to be swamped with customers all demanding to be rung up right now, there's no one around.
“I'm not holding up a line,” he says, smiling at her again. “We can chat a bit more.”
He's still smiling at her, that smile that has her balling her fists underneath the counter and trying to find any words that might be polite enough and yet effective in making him go away, when all she wants to to is scream.
“Hi,” Vilde pops up to say, smiling at Dickhead. “Um, I think my colleague has given you her answer. If you would leave her to her work now, please.”
Dickhead looks at Vilde like no one has ever said no to him before even when Noora literally did it a few moments ago.
“I was just chatting to her a little, Vilde,” he says.
“She obviously doesn't want to talk to you, and she doesn't want to go to dinner with you,” Vilde repeats. “So please leave, or I'm going to have to call security.”
That actually gets Dickhead to straighten up from where he's been leaning on the counter.
“There's no need to get rude,” he says, frowning at Vilde.
“You're harassing an employee in her workspace, I am well within my rights to have you removed. Please only come back if you have another purchase to make,” Vilde says, steel behind her smile and voice.
Dickhead's frown deepens and then he whirls around, leaving without another word.
Noora can't do anything but stare at Vilde who looks after Dickhead, her face going from resolve to wide-eyed surprise.
“I can't believe I said that,” she says faintly, turning to Noora. “Am I even allowed to say that? What if he complains to Mari?”
Noora pulls Vilde into a hug and laughs into her shoulder.
“Thank you,” she says. “Thank you so much, Vilde.”
Vilde hesitantly lifts her arms and hugs her back.
“Um, you're welcome,” she says. “He really was out of line, wasn't he.”
“He was,” Noora confirms. “But you shoved him right back behind it. Way to go, Vilde, that was amazing.”
Vilde beams at Noora, and then excuses herself to go help a couple over by the jackets. She wears the blue blouse the next day.
The End