Super (Book 2): Super Duper (7 page)

BAM! BAM! BAM!
I need a sign
, I thought, as I dragged myself from bed
and made my way to apartment door.
A sign that says the super
is not available until noon. All violators will be evicted and/or shot.
Too bad I didn’t have the means to evict or to shoot anyone.
I opened the door to see my mother standing there.
“Mom? What are you doing here? How do you know where
I live?” None of my family had been to my apartment before.
I always went to them.
“You’d be surprised at how much I know.” She stood
in the middle of my tiny living room and waved her hand
around. “This is cute. Better than I expected. Not as much
dirty laundry as I expected.”
“Thank you.” I have a policy of taking my compliments
wherever I can find them.
Mom clapped her hands together. “Get dressed. We
have to get to Macy’s to look for an outfit.”
“An outfit? Why do you want me to help you shop for
an outfit? Isn’t this the type of thing you take Ella to do with
you?”
Mom put her hands on her hips. “It’s not for me. It’s
for
you.
” I stared at her. I really had no idea what she was
talking about. “For the family photo,” she finally said.
I hadn’t thought about that thing since the vote. “Mom,
I don—”
She cut me off. “You owe me. I haven’t forgotten about
the vote.”
I threw my hands up in the air in disgust. “Fine! I’m
coming.”
As I disappeared into my bedroom to get dressed,
Mom called after me. “And hurry up! Because we have to do
something about your hair, too.”

Mom didn’t even look up from the magazine she
was reading in the salon chair next to mine. Behind her, a
stylist was setting her hair in giant curlers. “Stop squirming,
Audrey.”

“It’s not my fault. She’s the one burning me.” I pointed
to the woman straightening my hair.
All of the women in my family have the same tightly
curled hair. Mom’s was dark but Ella and I shared the same
reddish brown that my dad has. And yet, they always seemed
to have figured out a way to tame their hair. My hair had a
mind of its own. It was kinky, curly, and wild. As long as it
stayed out of my way, I usually just let it be. My go-to style
had always been pulled back in a puff or forced into a messy
bun on top of my head.
But after shopping at Macy’s, Mom said she had made
an appointment with her salon for the two of us. When we
got there, it turned out she had already planned for me that I
needed to have a blowout. So here I was, sitting in the salon
chair while the stylist tried to force my hair to behave with
a flat iron set on the demon setting and an arsenal of hair
products. This was not how I had expected to spend my
Sunday.
And on top of all of that, I still had a queasy feeling
in my stomach from my last run-in with Miss Fine. I kept
replaying her ripping up that check in my head. It’s not like
I couldn’t get my dad to write me another check. And this
time, I would take it right to the accounting office to get it
credited to my account.
But what was the point? Paying my dues alone wasn’t
going to get me out of this. The only way out was through Miss
Fine and she had made it clear that she would do anything in
her power to make sure I lost my license.
“Mom,” I heard myself say. “Do you ever miss—” I
paused and looked up at the hair stylist. “—working?” I
finished. It’s hard talking about Super stuff in public. Secrecy
was in the oath.
For the first time since we’d been seated in our chairs,
Mom looked up from her reading. She raised an eyebrow.
“Working-working?”
“Yeah. Do you miss it?”
“No.” She went back to reading her magazine.
“C’mon, Mom.”
“I worked for more than twenty years. I enjoyed my
assignment. I enjoyed the work. And I think I was good at it
and I did a lot of good. But that was one part of my life and
it’s over.”
“And you don’t feel different now that you’re not
doing it anymore?”
She shook her head. “No. I have other things to do
now. It’s not as if it was the only thing good about my life.
The job is something that I did but it’s not all that I am. I’m
a mother. I’m a wife. I am someone who is passionate about
social issues. I have hobbies. I’m not just a . . . worker. I’m a
lot of things.”
Hmm
, I thought.
If I’m not a Super, what am I?
I couldn’t
answer that so I was glad when the stylist turned me around
to the mirror to see my hair.
My hair was bone straight. I didn’t recognize the
person staring back at me in the mirror. It looked like I was
wearing a really nice wig. I ran my hands through it and the
silkiness of it shocked me. That hair automatically elevated
my whole persona. The person looking back at me looked
like she had a perfectly organized closet, did yoga, and didn’t
even know what a Super audit was. Basically, everything I’d
never be.
I could only think of one thing to say. “Whoa.”
Behind me the stylist looked tired and sweaty. Her
smock was askew and her hands had a tremble that wasn’t
there when we started. “Ma’am,” she started, referring to
my mother. “I’m sorry but we’re going to have to charge you
extra. This was—” she paused as if searching for the right
word— “unusual.”
Mom pulled out a credit card from her wallet.
“Completely worth it.”

I’ve heard that changing up your appearance could
really change your attitude. It’s not like I would know. I’ve
had the same tee shirt and jeans wardrobe and wild hair for
as long as I could remember. But experiencing this amazing
new hair was making me a believer. On the subway ride
home, I found myself taking peeks of my reflection in the
windows and flipping my hair obnoxiously. Three separate
people changed their seats to get away from my foolishness.

I’d promised Mom that I would go home, take care of
my hair, and get a good night’s sleep before the photoshoot.
But this hair was too good to waste on a night in front of the
TV.
I should go do something
, I thought.
When I’m not a Super
anymore, I’m going to have time to live life and I might as well get
started now.

I got off at the train at Court Street and decided to go
to a movie. I’d be in the dark for most of the time but more
people would see my hair than if I’d just gone home. Baby
steps, you know?

As I bought my ticket, got my snacks, and found my
seat in the half empty theater, I found myself imagining all of
the things I’d do when I wasn’t working as a Super. I would
go to the movies. I’d get a hobby. I might even get my hair
done every week and be one of those girls with straight hair
and ironed clothes I see on the subway all of the time. I could
be one
those
girls.

The lights went down and the previews started. I’d
chosen a spy thriller because the only other options had been
a cartoon, a movie with a talking dog that drove a bus, and
some tearjerker about kids with cancer starting a business. It
was an easy choice.

The previews were all for similar action movies. I
rolled my eyes when the latest superhero franchise movie
trailer rolled across the screen, promising more action and
bigger stakes than ever.
Yeah, right. It’s always all about saving
the world. But who is gonna save you?

Finally, the picture started and I leaned back in my seat
to enjoy a relaxing two hours at the movies. But something
caught my eye in the dark theater. There was a flash of light,
like someone fired up their cell phone. It was gone in an
instant but it drew my attention to the short guy in the big
coat directly in front of me, two rows up.
That’s a heavy coat for
this weather,
I thought. It was getting cool out but winter was
still a couple of weeks away.

And then I saw why he was wearing such a heavy coat.
He pulled a video camera out of the coat and aimed it at the
screen. He was recording the movie.

I leaned forward to get a little closer to him. “Hey!” I
whispered as loud I could and still be whispering. “Hey!” I
whispered a little louder. The guy turned around and gave
me the stink eye. He turned back to the screen.

“Hey,” I said even louder. “Put that away. It’s illegal.”
The guy turned around again. “Leave me alone, bitch!”
Someone shushed from the rows behind me. What am

I tried to go back to watching the movie. I ate a few
pieces of popcorn. I finished my soda. I concentrated hard
on the muscle bound guy on the screen, running through the
streets of some major city I’d missed the name of. But I couldn’t
do it. My eyes kept fluttering back to the guy recording the
movie two rows ahead of me.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood up and walked
down to his aisle. Leaning over, I said “If you don’t put that
away, I’m going to go get a—.”

“Ma’am?” I turned around and was immediately
greeted with a bright light shining in my face. It was the
usher. “Ma’am, you’re going to have to come with me.”

“Have a nice day, ma’am.” The pimply faced usher
who couldn’t have been more than sixteen escorted me out of
the theater and onto the street. After being removed from the
theater, I tried to explain to him and the theater manager that
someone was bootlegging the movie. The usher went back to
check but couldn’t find anymore. And by that time, I’d made
such a commotion that the manager asked me to leave.

Out on the street, I wonder how I’d gotten here. All I
wanted to do was see a movie and get some more mileage
out of my very straight hair.
Well,
I thought, catching my
reflection in a window.
At least I still have my hair.

Running my hands through my silky hair in the
reflection, I saw the guy in the heavy coat pass behind me. I
whipped around and saw him walking quickly down Court
Street. “Hey!” I yelled.

He glanced up at me and started walking faster, taking
a sharp left and disappearing down Kane Street. Without
thinking, I ran into the street after him and narrowly missed
being hit by a dark blue Crown Victoria. The driver hit the
brakes hard and screeched to a stop. He was so close to hitting
me that my hands had made contact with the hood of the car.

The driver poked his head out of the window. Even
with his face heavily contorted into, I recognized him.
“Audrey?”

“Mike?” The word disappeared into the crack of
thunder that seemed to come from directly above my head.
Suddenly, the sky opened up and began to dump a torrent of
rain onto the street, the car, and me.

I clutched at my hair and screamed “My hair!!!”
“What are you doing?” Mike yelled from his car.
I’d never said anything with as much certainly as I said

As Mike dropped me home in his work car, I couldn’t
help but think how strange it was that I hadn’t ever seen this
guy before Monday and suddenly he was everywhere. And I
tried hard not to think about how my amazingly smooth and
straight hair now looked like a drowned rat.

The next morning, my hair was even worse. I looked
like an electrocuted poodle. Some parts were straight while
others were slightly bent, and still others were balled up into
tight curls. I did what I could with it before I finally gave
up and got dressed in the fancy black and white dress my
mother had bought me the day before. I needed to get to the
photo shoot. I knew they’d freak over my hair, but being late
and having bad hair would probably push my mother over
the edge.

When I arrived at my parents’ place, things were
already in full swing. There was a backdrop set up in front
of the fireplace and tons of lighting. Mom, Ella, and Dad
were all dressed to the nines—Dad in his tux and top hat and
Mom and Ella in glammed out black and white dresses. The
photographer and his two assistants were busy trying them
out in different positions and taking test shots.

I was in the room a full minute before anyone realized
I was there. “What happened to your hair?” Mom cried and
rushed over to me, with Ella trailing behind her.

Mom must have gone mute. She didn’t find her voice
for several long moments. “You can’t take the picture like
this. You look like a dust ball.”

“She’s right, though,” Ella added. “It looks like your
hair got caught in a weedwacker.”
The photographer pointed at my hair. “We don’t have
time to fix that. I have another shoot after this one. If you
want to do this, we have to start now.”
Mom and the photographer went back and forth for
a few minutes—her trying to negotiate more time and him
shutting her down. Even as Mom protested, the assistants
started moving us into position in front of the backdrop.
Dad took off his top hat and put it on my head. “Here.
At least we can hide it.” I gave him a smile of thanks and
tucked my hair ruined hair up into the hat.
“Places!” the photographer yelled from behind his
camera. We locked into our assigned poses.
“I can’t believe you did this,” Mom mumbled from
behind a clenched smile. You couldn’t even tell she was
talking.
Ella pulled the same trick. “Really? You really can’t
believe she did this? It’s basically her calling card.”
I wasn’t so good at this game. I broke my pose as I
cried “I didn’t do it on purpose!”
Mom still didn’t’ move. “Why would you go out to
work last night? You said you were going home when we left
the salon.”
I couldn’t tell them that I wasn’t working last night
because my license was as good as gone. I couldn’t tell them
that maybe this was the last time I’d get to do Super work
so I had to make it count. “I know you guys have neat little
lives that just work and your stuff just fits into place but I
don’t! And goddammit, it’s just a stupid picture. You’re lucky
I showed up at all. If you want, I can just leave right now and
all of the perfect members of this family can take a picture
together.”
“Stop moving! Stop talking!” shouted the photographer.
“EVERYBODY SHUT UP!” Dad bellowed. “TAKE
THE GODDAMNED PICTURE! TAKE IT NOW!”
Click, click, click
went the photographer’s camera as I
tried not to look as miserable as I felt.