Levi had a simple reason for taking the rich woman’s advice and applying at the resale boutique: he needed a legitimate way to make money.
That way Don Quixote wouldn’t get suspicious about where the cash was coming from.
He’d just assume some rich lady had taken a liking to Levi and tipped him well.
Living under the same roof until he turned eighteen, Levi couldn’t exactly explain sudden windfalls any other way.
With that in mind, Don Quixote dropped him off again in Manhattan’s Upper East Side, right in front of Dolores Resale Boutique.
It was a two-story standalone building with a pearl-white facade.
Through the glass he could see racks of high-end designer bags and clothing.
A suited security guard at the door looked him over and stopped him.
“Members only, sir,” the guard said politely.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“I’m here about the job,” Levi said.
“A woman told me I could try working here.”
The guard spoke into his radio, then waved him through.
Inside, the AC was blasting so hard Levi felt a chill even in summer.
Thick Persian rugs softened every step.
The air smelled like leather and expensive tobacco perfume.
A sharply dressed middle-aged woman with flawless makeup stepped out from behind the counter.
She gave Levi a slow once-over and stopped at his face.
“You’re the boy Tatiana recommended,” she said, her voice carrying the same thick Eastern European accent.
“She was quite taken with you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Levi answered evenly.
“My name’s Levi.”
“Call me Mrs.
Dolores,” she said with a snap of her fingers.
“Follow me.”
She led him down to a storage room in the basement, talking as she dug through racks of clothes.
“Family hit hard times?” she asked, holding a suit jacket up against him.
“That’s why you were picking through furniture on the Upper East Side?”
“Parents passed away.
That’s why I came to New York,” Levi said, watching her sort through the clothes.
“Is this a background check?”
“What?
No, no, no,” Mrs.
Dolores said.
“Just a quick conversation.
Try this on.”
“So,” Levi held up the suit, “this is my work uniform?”
“This is your uniform,” she corrected.
“The people who shop here are rich, powerful, and have taste.
You can’t serve them in some cheap t-shirt and jeans.”
“Then…” Levi pointed at her.
“You want me to change right here?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said flatly.
“I’m older than your mother.
I need to make sure you don’t have any tattoos.”
Once Levi finished changing, Mrs.
Dolores walked a slow circle around him and finally smiled for the first time.
“The job is simple,” she said.
“Keep your mouth shut, smile, and give emotional value when it’s needed.
Basically just tell them they look beautiful in whatever they try on.
Understand?”
“Got it.”
“Good.” She clapped her hands.
“Twenty dollars an hour, two percent commission, you keep all your tips.
Acceptable?”
Even in New York the pay was solid.
Levi had no reason to argue.
“I might only be able to work afternoons,” he said.
“I’ve got school and studying during the day.
Is that okay?”
Mrs.
Dolores shrugged and tossed him the latest issue of *Vogue*.
“Study this.
Learn the brands.”
…
Levi’s first hour on the floor was nerve-wracking.
He’d taken the money, so he was ready to deal with difficult rich women.
But an hour passed and not a single customer walked in.
Meanwhile Don Quixote was out there hauling bricks for eight hours and taking home about the same as Levi made standing in air conditioning for three. This story is hosted at g.com.
At three o’clock the first client finally arrived—a plump woman carrying a Chanel bag.
Levi stayed close, smiling and giving her exactly the emotional support she seemed to want.
When she asked his opinion he used Clumsy Eloquence without thinking.
She ended up dropping five thousand dollars on a designer handbag and tipped him fifty dollars on the spot, glowing the whole time.
By five o’clock his first shift was over.
He’d earned sixty dollars in base pay, a hundred in commission, and fifty in tips.
“Federal tax twelve percent, New York State four point five, New York City three point five,” Mrs.
Dolores said, counting cash into his hand.
“Since you don’t have FICA or benefits, we skip the seven point six five.
Here’s your take-home.
One hundred sixty-eight dollars.”
“America really takes its cut,” Levi muttered.
“If I ever got papers I’d be losing over thirty percent on everything?”
Mrs.
Dolores just shrugged and handed him a business card.
“Call ahead if you need to miss a shift.”
Levi thanked her and left.
Outside, the evening sun poured between the skyscrapers on the west side of Manhattan, turning Madison Avenue’s damp pavement into a shimmering black mirror.
Levi didn’t have time to enjoy it.
He checked Uber.
A ride back to Sunset Park was a hundred twenty dollars—more than half his afternoon’s earnings.
He decided to take the subway instead.
He was heading toward the station when his phone buzzed with a New York City app alert.
[Shooting at 59th Street.
Two men injured.
N train temporarily suspended.]
Levi was already getting used to these daily notifications.
He turned toward the nearest bus stop and started reading the route signs.
While he was studying the schedule, a new window appeared in his vision.
[You have discovered an Ancient Stone Tablet]
[New Quest: Read an Ancient Stone Tablet for the first time]
[Scattered around the Noble Courtyard are ancient teleportation stones of varying sizes, each holding special power.
Attempt to decipher one to complete the quest.]
[Reward: Free Attribute Points +0.1]
“You’re calling this thing an ancient stone tablet?” Levi stared at the ordinary bus stop sign.
“I mean… if you squint, I guess it could pass for a teleport stone.”