A Vision Of Loveliness
What first got my attention was her accent. It sounded Russian, but it could have been something else. As I looked up from the deli meats to see who was speaking with such a lilting intonation, I was surprised when my eyes met such a beautiful young woman.
“Hello,” she said in perfect English, “May I be of some assistance to you?”
“Sure,” I said, smiling at the fact that I was turned on by her enunciation. “May I please have a pound of the bologna that’s on sale?”
“Yes, you may,” she said, tilting her head to one side and giving me a sweet smile.
Her blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she wore a hairnet, as required by law.
Her bright blue eyes almost reflected off the top of the deli case.
Her perfect mouth and her supple lips protruded slightly as she spoke my language.
Her nametag said “Marketa.”
“How would you like that sliced?”
“Thin, please,” I said, smiling at this vision of loveliness.
She went about her work, slicing my bologna. She pushed the bologna through the slicer, back and forth, back and forth, until she had about a pound. She weighed it and it was just slightly over.
“That’ll be fine,” I said, as she looked up at me.
“Will there be anything else I can get for you?” she asked, her accent driving me wild.
“That’s a nice accent you have. Where does it come from?” I asked, hoping that I wasn’t being too personal.
“I am from Romania,” she said, “Two years, now, I have been living in New York State.”
“Well, it’s very nice.”
“Thank you,” she said, shooting that sweet smile at me once again.
“Mar-kee-ta? Is that how your name is pronounced?” I asked.
“Yes. That is very good. You got it right in first try.”
I smiled broadly.
“Is there something else I can get for you?” she asked, her eyes sparkling like diamonds.
“Yes, Marketa. May I please have a half-pound of the baked ham, sliced thin?”
“Yes, you may,” she replied.
As she sliced the ham, a thin strand of her flaxen hair fell from her hairnet. It hung there for the moment, gliding back and forth against her soft cheek.
The movement of her body was seductive, yet innocent.
As she worked the slicer back and forth, I watched as her arm brushed against one of her hefty breasts behind her smock.
I was enjoying every movement of this pretty Romanian doll.
Again, she weighed the meat that she had just sliced.
“It is a little over,” she said, smiling at me again.
“That’ll be fine,” I said, returning a smile.
“Anything else for you?”
“Yes,” I said, “I would like about ten slices of the Swiss cheese that’s on sale, sliced thick.”
“Ten slices?” she asked.
“Yes. Ten slices should be enough,” I said.
“Okay. I will get you ten slices,” she said, once again showing me that pretty smile.
As she sliced the cheese, she looked up to see me watching her. Her cheeks became rosy and she tried to conceal her bashful smile by pursing her lips.
“I like Swiss cheese too,” she said, trying to chase the awkwardness away.
“I like it on ham with mustard and lettuce,” I said, “Do you like ham?”
“Yes, but I like it on steak sandwich,” she said, her English slightly broken, “It is good when melted.”
“Mmm. That does sound good,” I said, “I’ll have to try it.”
“Yes. Try it,” she said, “Go buy some steak and try it. Would you like something else?”
I wanted to stay there all day with her, asking her to cut me all sorts of meats and cheeses, but cold cuts are expensive.
“No. That will do it for today.”
“Okay. Thank you very much. Have a nice day.”
“I will. Thank you, Marketa,” I said, “See you next time I come in.”
“Come in again soon,” she said, “I will be waiting for you here.”
“By the way, my name is Biff.”
“I am saying it, but it sounds different because I am from Romania,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand as she laughed.
“Okay, Marketa. I will see you next time.”
“Goodbye Beef!” she giggled.
I walked away with a smile on my face, a spring in my step, and my heart beating a little quicker.
As I continued with the rest of my grocery shopping, I found reasons to keep going over near the deli department, where we would again exchange smiles as our eyes met. The third time I did this, she waved me over.
“Here. You try this kind of Swiss cheese,” she said, handing me a thin slice of something. I took a bite.
“Mmm! This is good,” I said, “What kind is it?”
She told me what kind it was and sliced a few slices and packaged them for me.
“Free sample,” she said, “The cashier will not charge you for this.”
“Thank you, Marketa.”
I glanced at her hands for a ring to see if, perhaps, she was taken. I didn’t see a ring, but I don’t know if the deli clerks are supposed to remove their jewelry before serving customers.
“I will see you again soon?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, “Maybe even tomorrow.”
She then displayed her widest smile yet, and I felt myself slightly blushing in the presence of her charm.
“Goodbye,” she said, giving me a quick wave.
I kept peering over my shoulder as I pushed my cart full of groceries to the front of the store. She was watching me the whole time, up until she had to wait on another customer.
At the checkout counter, the elderly clerk greeted me and asked if I found everything I was looking for.
“Yeah,” I said, “Marketa!”
© 2011 Biff Remington, Model Citizen - 4/28/11