Burning the Candle at Both Ends

The next couple of days were a flurry of activity as the entire facility seemed to be gaining momentum in preparation for the upcoming semester.

The bursary Oliver had received to attend university was pretty small and while the student loans took care of courses, materials, and housing expenses, there was nothing left over for living. His parents had provided him with an ‘emergencies only’ credit card, but the reality of the situation was that if he wanted any spending cash, he was going to need a job. The influx of new students into the area meant there were more kids than jobs, at least close to the school.

Cam was in the same boat, but seemed wholly unconcerned by the situation. “Shit will take care of itself. Here,” he said, picking up a business card off his desk and handing it to Oliver. “Sersei said the old broad who owns the shop is looking for someone to do some heavy lifting and mind the till from time to time.”

Taking the card, Oliver looked at it, Vesper’s Candles and Such. “Candles?” he asked.

Cam shrugged, “I don’t know, Sersei gave it to me. Apparently the old gal makes them herself, wax on, wax off Daniel-san,” he said, making circular motions with his hands.

He didn’t know anything about candles but what he did know, is he needed a job. Wandering back over to his side of the room, he dialed the number. A pleasant sounding woman answered and he set up an appointment for an interview later in the afternoon.

Disconnecting the call, he relayed the information to Cam and immediately Googled the address and then city transit lines and scheduling.

Finding the shop was easy enough, getting to it another matter, requiring him to make two zone transfers. All in all, he figured it would probably take him almost three quarters of an hour to get there.

Taking the bus, and making the necessary changes, it took him just under forty minutes, including walking to and from bus stops to get to the shop.

The outside of the shop was small and unremarkable, a sign above the store front reading the same as the card. The windows were curtained, he supposed to keep the temperature down.

Pushing through the door, the wood striking a bell on a metal hanger above the jamb of the door and ringing out. He was instantly greet by the smell of a variety of scents, each mingling with the other and hanging richly in the air.

“Just moment,” came the female voice from earlier on the phone from somewhere beyond the doorway leading into the rear of the shop.

Looking around, he took stock of all of the amazing candles lining the shelves in the dimly lit room. There were all shapes and size and colors. There were others in the glass display case as well.

A woman appeared through the door, “Oliver?” she asked, slipping a ring on her right thumb and extending a hand, warm smile on her face.

He stood there a moment, slightly agog. Cam had made reference to this woman being older so he had envisioned some blue haired spinster making candles, instead, she was positively gorgeous, shapely body a half dozen inches shorter than him, thirtyish, maybe a little older, long dark hair under a do-rag.

“Yes,” he babbled, smiling and taking her hand.

“Vesper,” she answered, grinning.

“You have an amazing shop,” he commented, releasing her hand.

Placing hands on hips, she looked around, “Thank you, I do my best,” she said. “I’m open most nights until about 8:30, so I need a little help in the afternoons and early evening,” she stated.

“I’ll be available around 3:00 Mondays through Wednesdays, a little later on Thursdays and Fridays. I also have weekends off so I could come in then too,” he offered.

“About an hour by bus from the school?” she asked.

“Thereabouts, if that’s alright?” he queried.

“You planning on robbing me or taking advantage of a girl working all alone here in the shop?” she asked playfully, angling her head to the side and narrowing her light green eyes.

He shook his head, “No,” he replied.

Grinning, she looked him up and down, eyes lingering a split second longer on the flash of bright pink encircling his wrist before meeting his eyes again, “You look honest enough, plus you’re cute as hell, so consider the jobs yours,” she advised, nodding slowly.

“Thank you, I’ll take it,” he beamed, smiling from ear to ear.

Chuckling, “Don’t you want to know what it pays?” she teased.

“I was hoping you would compensate me in wax,” he said with a grin.

“Cheeky. I like it,” she retorted.

She told him she would pay him a dollar an hour above minimum and needed him for about fifteen to twenty hours a week. She had no problem with him doing schoolwork in the shop but advised him she would not tolerate absenteeism or showing up for work under the influence.

Agreeing to her terms, he asked when he could start and she told him the next day. One more thing off of his ’to do’ list. Bidding her farewell, he returned back to the campus.

When he arrived back at his room, Cam was on his phone, feet up. “How did it go at Madame Tussaud’s?” he asked without bothering to look up.

Oliver chuckled, “I got the job,” he answered.

“Lucky,” he said sarcastically.

Plopping down on the side of his bed, Oliver shook his head, “I don’t know who told you she was old? She couldn’t have been forty. Very attractive,” he said.

Cam sat upright, swinging his legs off the bed, “Whoa, whoa, hold on a minute there Olive Oyl! Are you telling me the candle chick is actually a heater?”

Oliver grinned, “Using your vernacular, I would classify her as eminently bangable,” he said.

Cam scowled, “Sersei said she was older,” he groused.

“She is older than us,” Oliver offered.

Shaking his head, Cam made a growling noise in his throat, “I think she tricked me by the way she said it, ‘older lady’, but I’m okay,” he paused, putting on a calm face, “I shall thank her for her suggestion and let her know you were able to take the job,” he added, nodding. “The silver lining to this cloud, I mean aside from you getting to work for some hot older gal, bravo for you, is it gives me another chance to wander over to Omega Pi and work on my seedlings.”

“If only they knew how fiendishly clever you are Professor Moriarty,” Oliver said, wringing his hands together.

“Like fish in a barrel,” Cam said, getting up and checking his watch. “Coming?”

“What? Now?” Oliver asked, checking his own wristwatch.

“Sure, after we can swing by the stripper bar I told you about, celebrate your inclusion into the proletariat working class,” he said.

Letting a breath, Oliver nodded and stood up, “I suppose.”