Bat Out of Hell

by Bernadette Franklin

  “You’re just having quite the day, aren’t you?”

  “I’m dressed up like a Renaissance hussy, I played a harp badly in the park, and rats peed on my harmonica. Add in that I got barely a wink of sleep last night, and we’ve graduated from quite the day to I want to get out of this day like a bat out of hell. Maybe I should fetch my Prada.” I sucked in a breath, my eyes widening as I realized I’d hung the dress on the lower rail, which put it in easy reach of rats. Darting back into my apartment, I went to the closet, opened the door, and discovered a second swarm of rats.

  Somehow, they’d pulled my Prada from its hanger, and what was left of it formed a nest.

  All I could do was take a picture. I even used my new phone to do it.

  “Jonas? We have a situation,” his mother called out, and she patted my shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”

  “Juliette Carter is already out for my blood. When she finds out what happened to the dress, she’s going to be out for more than blood.”

  “But it won’t be your blood. Also, as I noticed you took a picture, send it to me, and I will send it to her. The explosion will be spectacular, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world. With her, you can either play the game or get steamrolled. If you can’t beat her, have fun with her.”

  “Are you suggesting I should have fun with a crazy stalker?”

  “She’s only a little crazy, and if you ask her to stop, she will. She doesn’t make a good stalker, as she cares too much about her targets. You’ll get used to it.”

  “I will?”

  “You’ll be living at my house. It’s inevitable. Also, I can’t wait to tell your mother I’ve finally acquired you as mine and mine alone. Now, please let’s get out of here before I faint, scream, or both. Those rats look angry.”

  I closed the closet door to contain the nest long enough for us to make our escape. “And possibly hungry.”

  “Definitely hungry. They ate your Prada. But, that said, they have good taste.”

  Jonas and his mother had a spectacular fight in her driveway over who was keeping me. As I couldn’t handle any more insanity, I went into the house, hauling my harp with me. My second father, who often joined in the ongoing dispute with my actual parents, met me at the door.

  “You look lovely, you also look exhausted, and I’m willing to bet no one thought to feed you, so I have done my fatherly duties and put a frozen pizza in the oven. It’ll be ready in ten minutes. Consider Clarissa’s closet yours, so steal what you want. I won’t tell if you don’t, and it’s not like my wretched little girl bothers visiting often since she got hooked up with a place of her own.”

  “I heard that Dad!” my best friend shrieked from the direction of the living room. “If Shirley is living here, I’m living here, too. I’ll pay rent.”

  “No.”

  “Dad, don’t you be mean.”

  “Your apartment doesn’t have rats, so you don’t get to move back in with us. We just successfully got rid of you. Stay gone. Visit no more than two nights a week.”

  I laughed at his harsh affection for his daughter, who really was a hellion on a good day. “I’m sorry to intrude.”

  “The rats ate your Prada and ruined one of your instruments. It’s not an intrusion, but as I know full well you won’t accept charity, I’m charging you rent, and we’ll draw up a lease in a few days. We’ll pick something fair that lets you start a savings account for yourself, and we’ll help you find an arrangement you’re happy with that doesn’t involve you sharing space with pests. Non-negotiable. I already spoke to your parents about the situation.”

  Shit. I was a dead woman. My mother hated rats more than anything else, and Dad, technically my stepfather, didn’t like them either. Mom would invade while Dad would shake his head and brace for the insanity of my mother on the warpath. “She’s coming over, isn’t she?”

  “No. She’s hitting a pawnshop looking for a new harmonica for you. Also, I believe part of your rent will involve you taking us to pawnshops to experience this for ourselves. Your harp is an amazing instrument. Actually, I’m impressed the wood’s integrity survived enough it can still be played. I could hear its age.”

  “The restorer did a lot of work on it.”

  “I need their contact information if that’s all right with you. I know people with old instruments they want restored, and that harp is a masterpiece. I also will discuss how much you were charged versus how much you should have been charged.”

  Damn, my second father was on a roll. “I feel like I have four angry parents out for my blood today.”

  “We’re not after your blood. We are out for your apartment, however. The wife said you’re up for lease renewal next week?”

  Damn, damn, damn. “I am, and the lease papers are with me. Jonas was afraid I really might try to burn down the building.”

  “I wouldn’t blame you if you did, and I would pay for your attorney.”

  “You’re a very strange second father.”

  “Thank you for noticing. I hope you like meat on your pizza, as it seems we only keep pizzas for carnivores in the house.”

  Clarissa bounced into the entry and pointed in my direction. “You really do look like a lady from a painting!”

  “Your brother did the makeup and got the dress.”

  “For once in his life, he is cool. Why is he yelling at Mom in the driveway?”

  “They’re fighting over where I will live for the next while.”

  Snickering, Clarissa leaned through the door and shouted, “Mom wins because Mom actually likes Shirley. Stop being an idiot, Jonas.”

  “I like Lee just fine, you heel-obsessed freak.”

  “That is just a low blow, and I resent the accuracy of your jab.”

  “You should know better than to yell at me. I always win.”

  My best friend grunted, flipped her middle finger at her brother, and stormed inside.

  Huh. “What’s wrong?”

  “You’re not moving in with her, I suspect.”

  That made sense, and I sighed. “It’s not like I asked to be moved, Clarissa. They decided for me. The rats decided for me, that is. They ate my Prada.”

  My best friend returned, and she crossed her arms. “Tell Dad he has to let me move back in.”

  “You enjoy your personal freedom and ability to sleep with anyone when you want and how you want without your parents offering critiques. Remind yourself of this until you realize I’m not actually a winner of this situation.”

  “I should be hurt, offended, and disturbed by that statement, but it’s all true,” my second father admitted. “And please don’t tell me anything about who you are sleeping with. I raised you to be independent, and I don’t want to be tempted to have a talk with any of your boyfriends about how they should be treating you. If they aren’t treating you properly, we’ll be having words about it—and I will need bail money.”

  “Dad, it’s fine. And I’m currently single. But I do have a few candidates I might attempt to lure into my lair. As my lair would be rather restricted, I will add this to the con column of my list. But sharing a roof with Shirley is really high on my pro column.”

  “I would charge you twice the rent of what you normally pay trying to recoup some of the investments I sank into you.”

  “I would like to withdraw my interest in moving back in despite Shirley’s presence.”

  “I’ll be a nice father and say you can visit three nights a week, but you can’t bring a man over unless you’re planning on marrying him.”

  “I find your terms acceptable, and I accept your generous offer.” As wise women retreated in the face of unbeatable odds, Clarissa backed away. “I’m going to keep an eye on the pizzas, as I don’t want to be the reason Shirley really does turn into a mass-murdering lunatic.”

  “When have I ever been at any risk of becoming a mass-murdering lunatic?”

  “You tried to set your entire apartment building on fire to kill some rats. So, tonight. Other peopl
e do live in the building,” my second father replied.

  Huh. “You’re right. I think I need to go get out of this dress, eat some pizza, and go to bed. I’ve never been so happy to go to work before in my life. Work seems normal. Also, I have no idea how I’m getting to work tomorrow, and this is a problem.”

  “I’m driving you, and I’ll pick you up, too. We’ll see about fixing your car situation, as well.”

  “Taking the bus is a lot cheaper than a car.”

  “Be that as it may, the nearest bus stop is almost a mile away, as my wife really liked this house and this house has an allergy to buses.”

  “I’m still trying to figure out how you found the only place in Jersey without an accessible bus stop.”

  “Snobby rich people syndrome. Why put in a bus stop in a place where most people won’t use it? We’re rich and snobby, Shirley. That’s how being rich and snobby works. That, plus the last time I took a bus, it reminded me what having an infant was like, except it was adults losing control of their bodily functions. It left scars.”

  Having used the subways, buses, and trains in the area the entirety of my adult life, I understood and I’d seen far worse. “I recommend against taking public transit if you can avoid it.”

  “You do have your driver’s license, right?”

  “Despite not having driven a vehicle in a few years, I do have a valid license.”

  “You’re driving yourself to and from work, and you will deal with me in full hover parent mode while I make certain you remember the key points of how to drive.”

  I couldn’t win, and having seen the cars the entire family-owned, I would spend the entire drive in utter terror of scratching their beloved vehicles. “There’s crazy, then there’s letting me drive your car crazy.”

  “You get to choose between the Porsche and the Audi. I’ve decided the Land Rover is not nearly flashy enough for your refresher course in driving.”

  “I can’t drive a manual.”

  “We’re taking the Porsche, and you will be learning. Clarissa!”

  “Hold on, the pizza’s almost done,” my best friend screeched from the kitchen.

  “But that’s your Porsche.”

  “It has a dual transmission system and a manual paddle system, and it’s the friendliest of my cars for teaching the finer points of driving a manual. You’ll pick it up with no problem.”

  Jonas and his mother came in, still bickering over my living arrangements.

  “Jonas, she’s staying here, as I’ve been informed she hasn’t driven a car in several years. You’re unqualified to give her a vehicular refresher course, and I’ll be forcing her to drive my Porsche to and from work until I’m satisfied she is qualified to use her license.”

  “I lose,” Jonas announced. “The Porsche is fun. You’ll like it, and well, I can’t top that, and I drive an automatic. I’m a lazy driver who doesn’t care about my mileage. I also love my baby, and I’m not sure I could bear the thought of you driving through Manhattan in it. Me driving it around Manhattan is terrifying enough.”

  “Manhattan is terrifying, period,” I muttered. “You lost just because you decided to live in Manhattan.”

  “It has its perks. My boyfriends love living with me because I have a great location to go with my great ass.”

  I shuddered at the thought of Jonas using his home as his love shack. “Just how many boyfriends are living with you right now?”

  “Permanently, none. Frequently? A few.”

  “Can I have a fraction of your luck? Really, just one boyfriend would be nice.”

  “Don’t announce you’re in the market for a boyfriend right now, Lee. You dressed up like a lady and played the harp where the parents of a lot of eligible bachelors could see you. You might not be wealthy, but you’re officially cultured, and despite our crazy, money-spending ways, we like cultured. You’ll be a prized target if it’s discovered you’re on the market.”

  “You have lost your mind, Jonas.”

  “I have not. You already have a secret admirer.”

  The only admirer I wanted shared my love of art and had likely delivered two paintings for my enjoyment for no reason other than he could. “I do?”

  My second parents glared at their son. “She does?” they asked, their tones so accusatory I covered my mouth so I wouldn’t start laughing.”

  “Someone gave her a Tiffany set. A ruby and diamond set. Then there was a set of classic art prints in her harp case and the two paintings that showed up at her apartment while she was at work. She also got some really nice gifts for playing her harp.”

  “First, it’s not my fault rich people are crazy and put stuff in my harp case. Also, just because the stones are either red or clear does not mean they’re ruby or diamond,” I announced.

  “Lee, it’s from Tiffany. It’s a ruby and diamond set.”

  “He’s right,” my second mother said, shaking her head. “I didn’t see anyone add a Tiffany box to the case, though.”

  “It was buried under other things, so whoever did it may have added other things to the pile or recruited help. I’m concerned, though. Juliette left an empty clothing bag in there. Lee thought it was a body bag.”

  “In my defense, it’s black, it’s big, and it looks like it could fit a body. She also swore revenge. Death would be revenge. Now she’s going to want extra revenge because of what the rats did to my Prada.”

  My poor Prada. I hoped it rested in peace despite being the nesting ground of rats.

  Jonas shook his head. “It would leak.”

  “Pizza’s done!” Clarissa called from the kitchen.

  I abandoned the insanity for dinner, and I’d hope to hell I didn’t get anything on the dress, as I was too damned hungry to change before indulging in hot, cheesy goodness.

  Chapter Seven

  Hell waited for me at work the next morning, and it didn’t take long for me to determine Juliette Carter had begun her campaign for revenge. One of her higher-ranked employees invaded the boutique with an offer only an idiot in the fashion world could refuse.

  With a catch.

  In exchange for including the boutique in a new line launch, at her standard rate, which most boutiques viewed as a steal, Juliette Carter would come to the boutique in person, pick an employee, and train said employee to her satisfaction to handle the launch. Then, since that wasn’t bad enough, the chosen employee would have to wear some of the new clothes and pose for interested customers.

  My manager looked ready to cry from joy, as the owner would be thrilled with such an offer. Fashion line launches could make a boutique and drive new customers to it for weeks. To make the launch too good to refuse, Juliette Carter wanted it for the week after Thanksgiving, beginning on Black Friday.

  I read the writing on the wall.

  Juliette Carter would get her hands on me, and she’d use my employer and the holiday shopping season to do her dirty work. Once she had her hands on me, she would take me for all I was worth.

  I had to admire the woman’s cunning and ruthlessness.

  To make matters worse, Juliette’s employee was still at the boutique, poking his nose around everywhere to get a feel for the place.

  I considered quitting. Quitting would work. I could escape reality. I could start hitchhiking across the United States to somewhere saner. I could pack up my harp and play for money until I reached California. According to most television shows I’d seen, most places in California seemed pretty nice even during the winter. I could escape the snow, the slush, the sleet, and the New Yorkers for paradise.

  I could handle being broke in California just as well as I could in New Jersey.

  I went through the motions, did my best to ignore Juliette’s employee, and tried to make sure I got to every new customer first to prevent anyone from trying to drag me into the insanity.

  “Shirley, do you have a moment?” my boss asked after I handed off my latest customer to the cashier.

  Damn it. I needed t
o figure out how to play ball with a fashion designer, but I recognized the bitter truth: I was in way over my head. I was so in over my head that hitchhiking to California with an ancient harp seemed like a really good idea. “Ma’am?”

  Since running away wouldn’t work, I walked over, doing my best to ignore the man in the suit that would make a huge mess of my day if he picked me.

  No, when he picked me.

  Juliette Carter would somehow pay for bringing her madness to my day job.

  “Clifford is going to be coordinating the Carter brand launch. I want you to work with him to make certain everything goes smoothly. You’ve been in line for a promotion to management anyway, so this will be a good chance to see if you’ve actually learned anything while on the job.”

  It would have been nice to know I’d been in line for a promotion of any sort, but anyone wanting to put me in a management position needed to have their head examined. Also, the last time someone had gotten ‘promoted’ to management, it had involved chaos and torture, and the poor bastard had quit after a week.

  The boutique’s owner liked getting rid of people during the transition process, cutting hours while they learned how to be managers. “Management?”

  Our boutique had two managers, and my boss was one of them. The other manager had just survived the promotion process, although she only worked when the main manager, my boss, couldn’t come in.

  “I’m resigning at the end of the summer, as I’ll be going to design school full time. You’re the current candidate to take my place.”

  Since telling her hell no and to kindly go screw herself with a stick would get me fired, I tried to find a silver lining in the cloud. Increased pay? No. No amount of money on Earth could make up for working management at the boutique. On a good day, the most I could hope for was making an unhappy customer somewhat pleased with my service. The holy grail of nice customers came by once a month at the absolute most, and I rejoiced when they showed up.

  I’d heard rumors from other retail slaves about promotions to management. Managers dealt with the worst of the worst, and they were expected to smile the entire time. They had to dress better, too, and I doubted my boss’s paycheck made up for the heightened clothing bills.