Sidekick Returns (14 page)

I was drowning! Drowning above water! What was happening? I frantically pawed at my eyes while spluttering water out through my lips. Loud laughter and cheers surrounded me. I blinked my eyes open.

Of course. I should have known. Wet t-shirt day.

I pursed my lips and nodded at the woman standing in front of me with an empty bucket. I was pretty sure her name was Tanya, the one who had called me the other day, but in my mind I referred to her as
Straightened Hair Girl Who Hates Me
. ‘So, you greeting everyone this way? Or just me?'

She curled a lacquered lip and said, ‘Just you.'

I shook a little water out of my ear. ‘I see.' Part of me wanted to say more, but I bit my tongue. I had a job to do.

Suddenly Mr Raj strode into the room.

‘No! No!' he shouted. ‘My carpets! I've told you vipers again and again. No water on the carpets!'

‘Sorry, Boss,' Straight Hair said, ‘I thought the gopher was on fire.'

I screwed my eyes up into a mean glare, and she stuck her studded tongue out at me. Then Mr Raj pointed a finger in my direction. It felt a little like one of those red dots from a laser-pointed rifle had landed on my chest.

I gave him a pained smile.

His point turned to a
follow me
finger roll and he disappeared into the darkened hallway that led to his office.

I dry-gulped and followed, making sure I gave Straight Hair my best tough girl eye squint as I walked by. She flashed me the smug smile of a sibling who was not in trouble.

When I got to Mr Raj's office, he was already seated behind his beat-up desk. My boss was a short man with a large presence. His chest always seemed to be puffed up, dragging the weight of his belly with it. He commonly wore white dress shirts, rolled at the cuffs and open and the neck. And while he was nearly bald, it was the cool, pirate kind of bald. It didn't hurt that he had a moustache that curled ever so slightly up at the ends. He also had sharp eyes that were currently focused on me. I scooted into the office and made a move to sit in the chair facing him.

Mr Raj made a quick, ‘Tut! Tut! Tut!' noise. I froze, hovered above the chair. Mr Raj's eyes moved over my dripping person.

‘I'll just stand,' I muttered.

He nodded.

A moment of tense silence passed. I needed to take control of this situation. I inhaled sharply then launched into my pitch. ‘Mr Raj, I would like to speak to you about someth—'

He held up a hand, interrupting me. Why were people always doing that? And why did it always work? ‘We have a problem.'

I sighed. Here we go. Time to duck and weave … and hopefully confuse. ‘I know. I know. I was supposed to come in the other day, but—'

‘What other day?'

‘You know, you called me in first thing in the morning, and—'

‘I did no such thing,' Mr Raj said quickly. ‘I am at the gym every morning with my personal trainer.'

I couldn't help but eye Mr Raj's rather Santa Claus looking belly. ‘I am working on it,' he snapped.

‘I didn't say anything.'

‘You vipers will be the death of me.'

But if Mr Raj didn't get someone to call me, then … oh, of course. That had been my father's doing to make sure I was at the flash mob … and I just fell for it.

‘As I was saying, we have a problem.'

‘Problem? There's no problem. I wasn't aware of a problem. Well, I am currently having a cash flow problem, but,' I said, before pausing for a quick chuckle, ‘when don't I have a cash flow problem? Am I right? When you're right, you'r—'

And there was the hand again.

‘You are young, and I believe this is your first job, yes?' His voice had a slight British accent that always managed to make me feel the
slightest
bit stupid.

‘Yes,' I said, drawing out the word.

‘There are many different factors when it comes to job performance.'

‘Mr Raj, I think I have proven myself to be a very hard worker. Nobody sorts a thong drawer like I do, and do you remember when Jessica wanted to do that number with the python? I was the one who raised the alarm when it was suffocating that one customer to death. Remember how his eyes were all bugging out? And his face—never mind, the point is, I'm looking out for the Beaver.' Yet another sentence I never thought I would utter.

‘As I was saying,' he said with a slow blink, ‘there are many factors I take into account when it comes to job performance. You,' he said, placing his elbows on the desk and interlacing his fingers, ‘are a surprisingly hard worker. Your punctuality, however, leaves something to be desired; when you show up at all, that is.'

I swear, you miss work once or twice because you're busy saving the entire city, and you never hear the end of it.

‘Do not roll your eyes, young lady. It is unbecoming,' he said sharply. ‘Now where was I? Oh yes, as it turns out, you are also somewhat good for business.'

‘I am?'

‘Yes, you are the, the, what shall we call it?' he asked, squinting his eyes. ‘The straight man of the strip club. The customers, they enjoy the looks of horror and disgust you are constantly giving. You keep things fresh. For some of our patrons, you are a genuine reminder that they are indeed very bad boys. That—'

I waved my hands out in front of me. ‘I think I understand. Mr Pushkin said something similar.'

‘Yes well, so the business isn't the problem.'

I didn't answer. I knew what was coming.

Mr Raj leaned back into his chair. ‘It seems you have difficulty, however, playing nicely with the other vipers.'

‘Well,' I said, crossing my arms over my chest, ‘that is just super unfair.' Mr Raj appeared unmoved. ‘I barely even talk to anyone. I just do my work, and mind my own business.'

‘Yes, precisely,' he said. ‘You see, we are a family here at the Beaver.'

I pffted him. Sure, family. Like the Manson Party … or Donner Family … or Manson, Donner Family Dinner Party … or however that went. Of course, you could probably add the St. James family into that mix, but that was a topic for another time.

‘You see, when you do not speak to the other girls, they tend to assume the worst. And in this case, they find you judg—'

‘Judgey. I know. I know. But—'

‘I would have preferred judgmental, but yes,' he said while rubbing his temple. ‘I cannot have my strippers feeling judged. It confuses the business model.'

Something told me this wasn't a good time to ask for a loan. ‘Mr Raj, are you saying I'm fired?'

‘Certainly not. You owe me far too much money for that,' he said. ‘But I must do something. One of the vipers is studying law, and she is throwing around terms like
toxic workplace environment
and—God help us all—
collective bargaining
.' Mr Raj shuddered.

‘Is that like shopping as a group?'

Mr Raj closed his eyes and muttered, ‘
Be an oncologist son. You would make a lovely doctor.
But would I listen?”' His eyes snapped open. ‘They are talking about unionising!'

I chuckled. ‘I was kidding!' I said, shaking my head. For Pete's sake, I was a billionaire's daughter. My first colouring book was on union busting. But I did take a moment to really think about the vipers—I mean, my co-workers—going on strike. They would certainly make an interesting picket line, but they'd need better footwear. And what exactly would their signs read?
Hell no, we won't show … our boobies?
Oh, my life was so sad. Or maybe—
focus, Bremy. Focus.

‘You are suspended for a month. I suggest you take this time to work on your …' He spread his hands out as though reaching for an answer. ‘People skills.'

‘A month! I have rent to pay! And Luscious Lana's rent! And—' I noticed Mr Raj wasn't even paying attention to me. He was writing in some sort of ledger with a gold pen. Gah! This was just so frustrating! Why was everything in my life so difficult! Before I even realised what my brain was thinking of doing, my right foot shot out, and I kicked the corner of the desk. Mr Raj closed his eyes again, and everything went still.
Uh-oh.
I took one step towards the door, cleared my throat slightly, and said, ‘I'll just go now.'

‘I think that would be wise,' he said, without opening his eyes.

‘Before I do, though, do you think the girls would mind if I borrowed a couple of the costumes?' I asked, thinking maybe Queenie could sew maybe five or six of them together to make a dress.

‘Out!'

I scooted out the door, turned sharply, and nearly ran smack into Straight Hair. While I had been talking to Mr Raj, she, it seemed, had been applying glossy fluorescent green lipstick to match her fluorescent green bikini. The effect was somewhat … radioactive. Luckily, I didn't say that out loud. It might have been taken the wrong way, and it was time to work on my people skills.

Straight Hair's gaze fell heavily on my face, but she said nothing.

I forced the corners of my mouth into a smile, ignoring the shaking in my lips. Believe it or not, I had some trouble making friends, and my co-workers were kind of intimidating. Growing up, people just naturally liked me. Mainly because people just naturally liked money. To mix some metaphors, I found friend-making was a completely different ballgame without the billions greasing the wheels. I needed a strategy. Perhaps a compliment to get things going. ‘Have I ever told you how much I like your hair?'

A pink bubble emerged from between Straight Hair's green lips. It grew to epic proportions before it exploded, expelling a fine spray of spittle onto my cheeks.

‘You know, Straight Hair,' I said, wiping my face. ‘I think I'll miss you most of all.'

***

An hour later, I was grabbing the metal door handle to Electric Sheep. Its lack of give nearly dislocated my shoulder. I stumbled backwards and gave the store a good look. The lights were off. Huh? That was weird. It was the middle-ish of the day. Most of the nerd clientele should be up and about. Actually, most of the time all their gaming left them dazed and confused as to what time of day it was.

But it didn't matter if the store was open or not, Bart should be here. He didn't go out much. He liked the world to come to him.

I knocked on the glass and waited.

Nothing.

I knocked again.

Still nothing.

Come on!
I thought jumping up and down on the spot. I needed someone to help me plan my next steps! I put my face up against the glass and cupped my hands on either side. I could see the blinking lights of the back room through the beaded curtain, and …
There!
A shadow moved across them.

‘Bart!' I shouted with another bang on the glass. ‘Open up! It's me!'

The shadow froze. For a brief second, I worried that it wasn't Bart, but there was no mistaking his silhouette. What was going on? Why wasn't he coming to the door?

‘Bart!' I yelled again. ‘I can see you already! Just come and open the door.'

The head of the figure slumped forward, in what looked like defeat, and the beaded curtain parted. Bart shuffled through in a dark plaid bathrobe, face even scruffier than usual.

He shambled over. I glanced up to the half-eaten zombie in the poster on the wall. The resemblance was remarkable. Finally, he reached the door and turned the lock.

I pushed my way inside. ‘What's the matter with you? Are you sick?'

He made a half-hearted scoffing sound before shuffling back towards the counter.

‘Okay,' I said, following him to the back of the store. ‘Not feeling chatty. That's cool. I'll do the talking.'

‘Oh yeah, like that's a big change from normal.' He swiped what looked to be a half-eaten tube of uncooked cookie dough off the counter.

I paused. ‘Is there something
you
would like to talk about?'

He dropped himself onto his stool and scooped out a glob of the dough with his finger. ‘No, by all means, Princess Bremy. Tell me all about your problems.'

‘Um, you're dressed in a robe, you're eating cookie dough, and you're super snotty. If I didn't know any better … Oh no,' I gasped. ‘You've been dump—'

‘Stop!' Bart said, raising a hand.

‘No! Queenie?'

Bart's seething expression didn't change.

‘Of course, it's Queenie,' I said quickly. ‘She broke up with you! What did you do?'

‘I don't know!' he shouted back. ‘I thought you'd know!'

‘Well, yeah, Queenie and I are tight, but not, you know, liking talking tight.' I moved closer to the counter, but then took a step back when I realised he probably hadn't showered since the last time I had seen him. Then I remembered the large pale man knocking on Queenie's door. Again, uh-oh. ‘What did she say?'

‘I don't want to tell you.'

My eyes widened to
Oh my God
proportions. ‘But now I really must know.'

‘No.'

‘Maybe I can help!'

He huffed a laugh. ‘Said the can of gasoline to the firefighter.'

‘Hey!'

He grumbled and folded his arms across his chest.

‘You might feel better if you talk about it.'

He rolled his eyes. ‘I highly doubt that.'

‘Only one way to find out.'

‘She said …' he paused, picking at the counter with his thumbnail. ‘She said, I'm creepy—'

‘No!' For some reason I couldn't stop shouting everything I said. ‘You're creepy? She said that you're creep—'

‘In bed.'

I flinched. Jeez Louise. I wasn't expecting that one. I scanned Bart's face. He refused to look up at me. ‘Really?' He nodded.

I scratched my temple lightly with my finger. ‘So … this kind of begs the question … what exactly did you … I mean, I don't want to pry, but—'

‘Talk over!' Bart shouted, jumping to his feet. ‘I don't feel better. Why are you here?'