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I guess I unlocked the door. I vaguely remember setting up the rooms. But man, everything was a blur. Luckily, the room-setup portion of the day is perfect for when you’re stuck in your thoughts. Thankfully, I don’t have to do any cleaning, because I wouldn’t trust me with so much as a bottle of Pine-sol right now. I’m sure I’d manage to spill it down myself or squirt it into my distracted eyes (yeah, I’m distracted: I’ve caught myself staring at Inara a time or twenty-five since we clocked in.ThatI kept count of).
Four years ago, the cleaning situation was a different story. I was the lone crewmember in an unsung hero way, playing front man and maid service, absolutely, completely slaving for this place. It was a big job, and I never truly appreciated harried mothers everywhere who mop floors only to watch kids mess them up until I was mopping floors and watching fifty, sixty, seventy pairs of feet tromp on my hard work every night. Now I hire out cleaning to Stillwaters, a company whose workforce is made of men and women who have intellectual and physical disabilities. God bless their hardworking hands, they saved people—I was starting to give death stares to every person who didn’t wipe their feet on the welcome mats, and scowling at paying customers is sort of a frowned-upon as a business practice. So is murder.
My minions(i.e., loyal, paid employees)stroll into the building, lining up to punch in at the time clock, i.e., write their time of arrival using a pencil stump on manilla folders cut in half, because I’ve only had five kids working here at a time, and now that Tansy and Cooper ran off, I’ve got three. (Inara doesn’t count because she’s off the books.) Which means I haven’t invested in fancy programs and tech for us to keep track of our time. I probably never will.
And when it’s opening time, I’m pleasantly surprised to find our first group of gamers are lined up at the door, kicking off a surprisingly busy night. I find out why when they hit the alien game room: they’re Inara’s brand new fanboys. When they all flash their discounted business cards I passed out today, I make a mental note to put in an order for more discount cards, especially if I’m going to tool around town anywhere with Inara.
Judging by the stack of turned-in cards Stacy waves at me, her grin sharklike and thrilled, I’m going to need a big damn re-order.Way to go, Inara.
When I catch her between entertaining her gaming groups, I hold up my hand to give Inara a high five—and she lights up in delight, apparently having seen this ‘human greeting’ already. She digs it.
The group of adventure gaming hopefuls next in line are watching us, and they eat up Inara’s and my interaction, just like she’s putting on a cute little show with me, and not like she’s a real damn alien enjoying her first gimme-five.
Instead of heading for the Centaur Stable escape room, they ask Stacy if they can make a last-minute switch. When Stacy confirms that they can, just like every group before them, they jump at the chance to go to the escape room with Inara.
Not once did Tansy and Cooper get this kind of reaction. Despite the fact that their costumes cost a fortune and they were cool looking, there’s something about Inara… a genuineness, I guess. And it’s evident to everybody who sees her, even if they don’t believe she’s the real deal. They still sense it.
And as if thinking of Cooper and Tansy has conjured them, Stacy hollers, “Tansy just called!”
Speak of the wayward pair of newlywed runaways.“Yeah? Were their ears tingling or something? I was just thinking about them.” I amble out to the front desk. “You didn’t transfer the call to my phone because…?”
Stacy purses her lips and folds her hands on the desk in front of herself, giving me judgemental eyes. “Because she was afraid you’d yell at her.”
“That was not for you to be concerned about.” I match her concerned stare with an unforgiving one. “That was my opportunity to say my piece to one of my employees who ran off with one of my other employees, no notice, leaving my ass in the lurch with a pre-registered group on their way to see said employees perform the role I paid them good money to perform.”
Stacy pauses, glancing down as she considers my side of this argument that she doesn’t need to be sticking her nose in, and she inclines her head, conceding my point.
Although she did it nonverbally, I verbally acknowledge the point she gave me. “Thanks. Now. Next time, should there ever be a next time?”
Stacy sighs. “I’ll transfer them to you so you can yell at them.”
I lean in until Stacy leans back, her startled eyes flying up to mine. “Next time, you transfer her so I can say what I want to say to her. And now you can call her back and ask for her to give you their address if it’s different than what we’ve got on file.”
“Why? Their paychecks are direct deposit,” Stacy doggedly goes on. Her loyalty is admirable. “You don’t need to mail them—”
“Fuck,” I say, grabbing the bridge of my nose. “Sis, when did I make you the boss?”
Stacy sounds like she’s both rueful—as she should be—and smiling, which she definitely shouldn’t be. Damn twit. “You didn’t.”
I snap my fingers and straighten. “That’s right—I didn’t.” I give her a meaningful look. “Address. Get me it. Then call the florist. Get them something nice, including a congratulations card.”
I turn and head for my office.
“Really?” Stacy asks my back, clearly surprised.
“Do I need to repeat myself?” I call over my shoulder.
“No! Just… what do you want me to have them put in the flower shop’s card?”
“‘Congrats, you two. From: All of Us?’”I suggest.
“You got it, boss. You’re a good man!” Stacy chirps.
“Stop it or you’re fired,” I order before I shut my door to block out her chipper voice chatting up the florist.
***
I’m not settled behind my desk ten minutes before I get a new notification. And I’m not talking Facebook.
