Chapter Text
It started off like any other Wednesday. Toni Shalifoe, ever the early bird, awoke as the sun rose above the skyscrapers. Slithers of amber light bounced off the thousands of glass windows, causing New York in the morning to appear as though it were on fire. After brushing her teeth, showering, dressing and taming her hair as best as possible, throwing it up in a ponytail, she was ready for the day ahead. Preferring the taste of her own filtered coffee to the far too frothy, far too sweet concoctions most trendy cafés served, she took her flask with her, along with a slice of buttered toast. She enjoyed being outside before the rest of the city woke up, skipping along the empty sidewalks as though she were in a perfume advert.
A heatwave had hit New York, the temperature climbing into the high 80’s - the weekend was forecast mid 90’s. Travelling by the subway had become unbearable, with each carriage full of the nasty smell of stale sweat, at least three people fainting by the lunch. Toni, who lived in a cramped and overpriced apartment in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, was fortunate that her apartment and her place of work were situated in the same neighbourhood. No need for a bus ride or, God forbid, the subway.
Earphones plugged in, Toni tried with all her might to focus on the latest Dave feature, drowning out the sounds of the New York streets; crying babies, the screaming match between an on-again off-again couple, the occasional busker, and those creeps who’d make a pass at her. Due to the hot weather Toni’s wardrobe choices had been limited to items of clothing on the shorter side - all which meant that the unwanted leers and jeers from foul-mouthed, shameless men were inevitable. It didn’t stop her from wearing what she wanted, however. On this particular day, for example, she had chosen a pair of ruby red boxing shorts, a simple black bralette and a loose-fitting black button up left hanging open, all thrifted. Of course her worn-out pair of Jordan 1's were on her feet.
She had no trouble saying she thought she looked pretty damn good.
She walked the mile or so to her record shop - quite literally, her record shop, as her name was on the lease. It was called ‘Pop's Records’, and had been in the family for quite some years. Toni adored the shop and adored the fact that she had been allowed to make her mark on it. In the window hung a neon orange sign with the shop’s name and inside on the main wall was mural of Prince that she just loved, an ode to her home state of Minnesota and her love of gender non-conformists. Once a week she’d curate a collection of records that she really enjoyed, whether it be albums she grew up with or a new one she’d just discovered. It had helped build a rapport with regular customers and also allowed her to stand out from her competitors.
Unlocking the door, she could hear thundering footsteps down the street. Glancing to the side, she spotted a rabble of teenage boys waving their hands eagerly at her. They were all wearing cut-off jeans, hoodies (in this weather!) and Vans as though it were a uniform. Some were on skateboards, others sprinting to keep up. When they reached her they were all panting, sweat beading down their foreheads. “Have you . . . got it? Tell us you've . . . you’ve got . . . it!” they managed to get out in ragged breaths.
Chuckling, she shook her head in disbelief. “I admire your dedication boys, I really do,” she muttered, pushing the door open. She allowed them to rush in first, and wasn’t surprised to see them make a beeline for the L section. As she absent-mindedly thumbed through the letters on the floor, she watched them flip through all the artists that began with a L, and then again just to make sure.
“Where is it?” they all cried in unison.
Toni laughed again. “Fuck, is individuality really dead?” she asked. Whilst Toni was young at twenty-four, these boys were all fourteen pushing fifteen - an entirely different generation. “I thought it was cool to be yourself these days.”
“Don’t fuck with us Shalifoe,” the smallest one said, his finger pointed at her, his tone deadly serious. It took all she had not to laugh a third time.
She held her hands up. “I got a package last night but didn’t have time to organise it on the shelf,” she admitted, as she walked behind the counter, throwing her bag onto the chair. She leant down and picked up the cardboard box with great difficulty. Full to the brim with newly released vinyl records, the cellophane untouched, the box was deceptively heavy. The boys saw her struggling and to her surprise did nothing to help, instead rushing forward and watching with wide eyes. Placing the box on the counter she barely had time to step away before they descended upon the records with a savage sort of hunger only seen in wild animals. It reminded her of the hyenas she’d seen in a nature documentary about the Serengeti.
*ring ring!* The bell above the shop entrance rang to signal a new customer. Over the heads of the ransacking boys she could make-out a female figure, with a pair of sunglasses on. “I’ll be with you in a moment!” she called out to her, not wanting her to think she was being ignorant.
“Don’t worry, I’m just browsin',” she replied, in a thick, almost comical Southern drawl, holding a hand up. A tourist, clearly.
Toni hated being driven by money, but she despised that phrase more than anything. ‘Just browsing’ nine times out of ten really meant ‘I’m not really after anything I just want to be able to say that I visited a record shop today in order to seem cool amongst my friends - if you’re lucky I might tag the shop in a #nofilter post’. She left the customer to it, barely paying him a moment’s notice, instead turning her attention back to the boys.
“Would I have heard any of Labrhythm’s stuff then?” she teased them, knowing full well what the artist was really called. She’d intended to listen to the album herself too later on, having been just as excited about the new release.
They all groaned, shaking their heads in disappointment. “God, you’re so old!” one of them muttered. She’d have been offended if any other customer, particularly one that was wearing more than one layer in this heatwave, had called her old, however this was just her usual banter with them; she’d badger them for being too young and they’d ridicule her for being too old. In fact, they had quite similar music tastes. Toni had introduced them to Kid Cudi and in turn they’d introduced her to Snoh Aalegra.
Each of them paid for a record each, and every time Toni applied a special 20% discount. It was only $2.40 off, but she remembered what it was like at that age, scraping all your savings together to buy the hottest new album by an artist you adored. She knew the kids grew up in her own neighbourhood, knew that their parents - or foster parents, she knew for one or two - were more than likely working seventy hour weeks in minimum wage jobs. The $2.40 off could make the difference in a new tube of toothpaste.
“Thanks Toni for this,” the eldest one, Tyler, said, shyly holding up the record. His brother had been in Toni's year at high school, and was now serving a nine month sentence for petty drug offences. “Really, thanks.”
She shrugged it off. “Consider it early bird discount,” she grinned. “You would have got here before me if Adam’s little legs hadn’t been holding you back.” They all howled at her playful dig, jostling poor Adam about. The boy took it in his stride, however, even shooting her a coy wink.
“Oh, you need to check out Little Simz's new song,” Tyler called to her as they made their way out of the shop. “Seems like your kind of vibe.”
Taking a mental note of the recommendation, Toni tapped her head. “Alright, now get to school! I'm not having your teacher ringing me up again chewing my damn ear off,” she warned them. “If she asks why you’re late don’t drag me into it, tell her you were at the library or something!"
They waved at her as they headed back out into the street, eagerly discussing their purchases. Toni watched them go for a while, chuckling to herself as she attempted to lug the box of records over to the right aisle. Suddenly, she felt the box start to slip through her grip, and feared the worst; that the box would drop and the new records would shatter on the tiled floor, hundreds of dollars worth of stock wasted. However, luck was on her side. The customer who had stepped in after the boys rushed over, as quick as a dog on spilt food, and caught the box in her arms.
“Good catch,” she said, a wave of relief rushing over her. Looking up at her saviour, she feared her every organ had shut down; her breath hitched in her throat, her heart stopped, her feet felt glued to the ground. The customer whom she had been so quick to dismiss was in fact Shelby Goodkind, world renowned country singer and lesbian icon.
The word beautiful didn’t seem to do her justice. She was practically glowing, even make-up free. Her hair, honey blonde, was thrown up in a claw clip, effortlessly. Her physique was impressive to say the least; tall, toned abdomen muscles were on full display in her cropped ivory white tank top, flexing as she set the cardboard box down. Tanned, leggy, and classically good-looking, she looked exactly like she did on the magazine covers. Of course she even smelt incredible too.
Toni didn’t have time to conceal her recognition of her, as the shock was written all over her expression. She couldn’t stop staring. Yes, she knew it was horrendously rude and that Shelby must have hundreds of people stare at her everyday, but she truly couldn’t help it. Realising that her disguise hadn’t really worked, Shelby pulled off her sunglasses and tucked them into her jean short pocket.
She had always assumed that Shelby's trademark green eyes were enhanced with special effects in her posts, or that she wore contact lenses, but they were even more striking in real life. The same colour as the emeralds adorned by royalty, they made her knees feel a little weak.
“Where do you want these?” Shelby asked when she didn’t say anything, gesturing to the box at her feet.
Mentally cursing herself for acting such a fool, Toni shook her head. “Oh, don’t worry about it, I can manage. You're the customer, after all.” She usually wasn't so nice.
Shelby sized her up, her face breaking out into a smile, which sent a shiver down Toni's spine. “I don’t mind,” she said. Before she could protest, Shelby had bent down and picked up the records, with considerable ease. “Over by the rap, yeah?”
Still shell-shocked at the sight of Shelby Goodkind helping organise her little store, Toni took a few seconds to process what she had said. “No, by the electronic R'n'B."
She chuckled softly. “That’s very particular,” she observed.
As they walked over to the right aisle, Toni tried to calm down, feeling her cheeks burn with embarrassment. “Well, this is Brooklyn,” she told her. Shelby set down the box, and Toni began to unpack the records, slotting them into the right alphabetised sub-section. “People here are very . . . critical. As good as Labrinth is, if I categorised him in the rap aisle, alongside Tupac and Biggie, there would be boycotts.” She swallowed thickly. "You, of all people, should get it."
“Oh, of course,” she agreed, a grin still plastered on her features. "I wouldn't be happy if I saw my albums alongside Hank Williams Jr."
Finishing with the Labrinth albums, Toni folded down the cardboard box, as Shelby began to browse the rest of the albums. She passed her own discography and beamed down at them, noting that they'd been put front and centre, hard to miss. Rather awkwardly, Toni stood there for a little while, not sure what to do. She wanted to talk to her, wanted to impress her or make Shelby like her or something, but her mind was only drawing a blank. She watched as she picked up an album in the country section that she hadn’t particularly liked, or heard good things about.
“That record’s really not great,” she said, as Shelby turned to look at her again. Her eyebrow was knitted, but she didn’t dismiss her, so Toni continued. “Just in case browsing turned to buying.” She made her way towards Shelby and leant past her, accidentally (no, really) brushing her arm as she picked out Chappell Roan’s debut EP. "If you like country - shit, of course you do - then this one, on the other hand, is really good. She actually sounds like she’s trying to make good music. A lot of songs about heartbreak, and growing up . . . which might relate to you?”
Shelby was still holding the other vinyl. “Thanks, I’ll think about it.” That meant no.
“No, I suppose it's isn’t for everyone,” Toni muttered, as she put the record back. “Can’t blame a record-seller for forcing their favourite music on customers. I’ll leave you to it.” Then, something dawned on her, and she could have dropped dead there and then from sheer embarrassment. "Oh fuck, I'm lecturing you about country music. Fuck. Ignore me, shit."
She walked back to the counter, her mouth dry and her palms sweaty. What an idiot! Did she look like the kind of person who would listen to sappy, slow songs about teenage romances? Toni couldn’t have made it any more obvious that she was a fan. She should have just left her to it and stopped bothering her. Now there was no way she would ever come back.
The bell rang once more to signal a new customer. Looking up, she glanced the young man up and down, only to receive a frosty stare back. Raising her eyebrows, Toni decided to slip into the back room to take a quick look in the mirror - what sort of state did she look in? To her relief, she wasn’t that flushed. Nor was she too sweaty from her walk to work; she could pass the sheen on her skin off as dewy make-up, despite not owning any make-up. Adjusting the waistband of her shorts, she was about to head back to opening mail, when she caught sight of something on the CCTV. The sullen teenager was trying to slip the new Lana Del Rey album into his backpack.
“Hey!” Toni called out, bounding over to the door before the kid could make a run for it. She caught him just in time, the man swearing as he sped to a halt. “In a rush, are we?”
The young man, who had a row of braces and an old bowl haircut, crossed his arms. So he had chosen to take the defensive. “Yes, I am actually. Can you move?”
Toni had the, in most cases, misfortune of being five foot six. She had stopped growing in sixth grade, which had caused much teasing in middle and high school. In some situations being taller, just by a few inches, could have worked in her favour. For instance, when she was in need of intimidating potential thieves. “Of course, I wouldn’t want to keep you,” she said, hands on her hips. “First, hand over that record.”
“What record?”
“The one peeking out your fucking bag,” she replied, pointing at the corner of the vinyl visible where the man had been unable to zip his backpack up. Her temper was getting the better of her, as she took a deep breath. “Listen, I’d let you walk out of here with it here and now, shit it doesn’t matter to me. But what would Lana think? I’m assuming you’re a fan of hers; how do you think she would feel if she knew her fans were stealing albums she had worked hard to produce?” As silly as the sentence sounded, it had a profound effect on the man, who’s steely demeanour was starting to crack. “You can buy the record now, or give it over and come back later with the money - I’ll set it aside for you, if you’d like. Just don’t fucking steal.”
After much mental deliberation, he chose to put the record back where it belonged, defeatedly. Toni made her way back over to the counter where she saw that Shelby was waiting, clutching the Chappell Roan record, watching the scene unfold with bemusement. Unable to help herself, Toni broke out into a grin when she saw what Shelby was going to buy (her suggestion!), a swarm of butterflies erupting inside her stomach.
“Sorry about that,” she sighed, as she began the sale.
“It’s fine,” she replied, handing the record over so Toni could bag it. “I was goin' to steal one, but now I’ve changed my mind.”
Their eyes locked, like some scene from a rom-com, and Toni felt this incredible magnetism between them that she prayed Shelby could feel too. A beep from the cash register broke them apart. She laughed at her joke, rather belatedly, as Shelby tapped her card to the contactless machine. “Decided to give Chappell Roan a try then?”
Taking the bag from her, Shelby grinned. A genuine, earth-shattering grin that stretched to her eyes. Toni's knees felt wobbly again. “This know-it-all music snob told me I wouldn’t like it, so I’m buyin' it to prove her wrong,” she teased.
“Ah, a petty purchase,” she said, coyly smiling back. “Well, the receipt's in the bag if you ever want to return it. Prove me right.”
Before she could say anything in return, which she appeared as though she was going to, the record thief skulked over, hovering beside Shelby. “Excuse me,” he piped up.
“Yes?” she replied, all traces of humour gone.
“Can I have your autograph?” Despite being caught out for stealing only moments ago, he was surprisingly forward, a piece of scrap paper stretched out in front of him.
Lips pursed, she nodded. “Sure,” she answered. Her eyes scanned the counter for a pen, to which Toni handed Shelby her own. “What’s your name?”
“Rufus.” Shelby scrawled away, signing the piece of paper with as little care and attention to detail as possible. She gave it back to the young man, who looked at it, struggling to make out the words. “What does it say?”
“That’s my signature, and above it, it says ‘Dear Rufus, you belong in jail’.” Toni couldn’t stop the snort of laughter that left her mouth.
The man pretended to understand the joke, as he pocketed the autograph. He was lingering again, as he asked, shamelessly; "Do you want my number?"
Shelby smacked her lips together. "Temptin', but no."
She saw the man shake his head, a bewildered expression on his face as he walked out of the shop.
As the laughter died down, awkwardness settled in. Shelby was stood clutching her new purchase, already sliding on her sunglasses. Toni wanted nothing more than for her to stay all day, keeping her company. However, she wasn’t a total fool. She knew Shelby would be busy, that she probably had work to do or errands to run - even if she didn’t, what was the likelihood that she would want to spend her free time with Toni?
“Thanks,” she told her, holding up the bag. She was back to smiling again, which was making it hard for Toni to say goodbye.
Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she could feel her nose growing pink. “Yeah sure, my pleasure,” she replied. And before she could help it, she had said; “Come back, anytime.”
When Shelby didn’t say anything, she was positive that she’d only succeeded in scaring her off. Then, “Try and keep me away.”