by Alexa Davis
“Mind if I give it a shot?” I ask.
Ellie rolls her eyes and hands me the phone. “You’ll be lucky to get a word in,” she says.
I put the phone to my ear and her boss, Troy, is still going. “…had to work up front yesterday,” he says. “Do you know how long it’s been since I did that? What if a customer had come in?”
No customers all day and he’s bitching at Ellie for missing a shift?
“Yes, Troy is it?” I ask.
“Who are you?” he spits. “I’m trying to speak with my employee, or should I say, former—”
“Nick Scipio,” I answer. “You can call me Mr. Scipio.”
The line’s quiet.
“Now, Troy,” I start, “you seem like a reasonable man. As I say that, you’re not all that reasonable, are you? I guess that’s just something people say before they’re about to lay down the law.”
“Mr. Scipio,” he says. “I didn’t know she was with you.”
“Does that make a difference?” I ask.
After a long pause, he answers, “I guess not, no.”
“Good,” I say. “From what I saw when I was in there, Ellie does a lot of great work for you, and I don’t think it’s couth of a man in your position to speak to her in such a way; don’t you agree?” I ask.
“Yeah, of course,” he says all too quickly. “I don’t know, it’s just early morning, and I don’t even think I knew what I was saying and—”
This man’s a worm.
“Well that’s great,” I interrupt, making sure he knows just how little I care for his excuses. “Now, I think someone as skilled as Ellie should get a raise. What do you say?”
“Vacation time,” Ellie whispers to me. “I haven’t had more than two days off in a row since high school.”
“Also, how about some vacation time?” I ask. “You know how people tend to work better, harder and faster when they’ve had a chance to recharge their batteries.”
“Of course, Mr. Scipio,” Troy answers. The cherry on top of the sundae that is this moment is when he asks, “Is there anything else I can do to make this right?”
I smile.
“Yeah,” I answer. “I think we both know you owe Ellie an apology, so why don’t you do the right thing and show us all how sorry you are.”
I don’t say anything, but Ellie’s eyes seem a bit more dilated than they were five or six seconds ago. As I hand the phone over to her, she’s stifling a smile.
“This is Ellie,” she says. The smile just grows until she’s handing the phone back to me, saying, “Okay, that was impressive. Thank you.”
“People like try to dominate everyone until someone calls them on it. After that, they’re all apologies and timidity,” I tell her.
“Well,” she says, “it worked. You know, after all of that, I think I might be up for a little dinner.”
“Great,” I respond. “I’ll send Amin a quick text and let him know we’re on our way over there.”
I ignore the multiple threats of physical violence Amin’s texted me since I notified him dinner was postponed and let Amin know we’re on our way. Troy was easy to deal with, but Amin is the sort of person you don’t jerk around: he has passion.
We get to the beach and find the two chairs set about twenty feet from the water’s edge, and we sit.
“I will say this: you live quite a life, Nick Scipio,” Ellie says as we gaze out over the distance.
Champagne comes, then dinner proper, but after the bit of excitement over her job, I’m starting to fade. We eat and we chat, but mostly, we just sit together and try to keep our eyes open long enough to finish the sunset.
By the time we leave the beach, Ellie and I are dragging our feet. We’re both asleep within minutes of getting back in the car.
Once we pull up to the airfield a few hours away, the stopping car brings us both around again. Only, now that we’re both out of the car and walking to the plane, Ellie’s not speaking to me.
For a while, I chalk it up to the jetlag, but when I open my mouth to say something to her, she jumps in first. “I’m not going to sit here and lie to you,” she says. “All this is more than slightly overwhelming, and I’ve had stars in my eyes.”
“But?” I ask.
“But you’re still acting like I’m someone that can be bought by all this,” she says. “All of this, the date, talking to Troy, I do appreciate it, but if you wanted to impress me, you’d …”
“Yes?” I ask.
She sighs. “I don’t know. You’d do something to protect the rainforest around the village or donate money to the people who live there year round, so maybe ours isn’t the last generation that gets to see what you flew us both halfway around the world to show me.”
“You know, that’s something I could—” I start.
“I’m exhausted,” she says, and with that, she’s gazing out the window again, and I’m not sure I’m any farther with her than when we left Mulholland.
Chapter Five
Adjusting
Ellie
It’s been a day or two since we got back from Kola Kitanabu, and I’m still a bit off-schedule. We weren’t there long enough for my internal clock to adjust, but trying to sleep on the way back proved to be problematic.
After I told Nick all the things I thought he should be doing, but wasn’t, I tried for a long time to ignore his presence. The same approach worked when I brought all those books in the car with me. He may think I’m a bit weird, but at least he won’t know how insanely nervous he makes me.
I don’t believe he’s too good at picking up on that sort of thing.
What I picked up on, though, was the phone call Nick made when we were a few hours from home. Okay, he made a lot of phone calls on the way home; the way there, but he only left his seat for one of them. He was trying to hide something he wasn’t trying to hide before.
At first, I just assumed it was because there was a chance he might start yelling at whoever was on the other end of the phone, but that’s not what I heard when he went back into the rear section of the plane. I didn’t hear anything.
I got out of my seat, curious as to why he’d bother hiding this call when he clearly detailed an upcoming hostile takeover Stingray is making to the CEO of the company Nick’s going after.
I pressed my ear against the door and didn’t understand the language spoken on the other side. It sounded a lot like what they were speaking in Kola Kitanabu, though I’m no expert.
Occasionally, though, Nick wouldn’t know a word, and so I’d catch an aural glimpse of the conversation. At first, this wasn’t all that helpful, but when the English words he was saying shifted from regular parts of conversation to numbers and acres it started becoming clear.
I kept my ear against the door until Nick unwittingly confirmed what I’d suspected: he was calling someone in Kola Kitanabu, or at least someone with some influence over the area. Most of the conversation was impenetrable, but I’d heard enough.
When he came out of the back, he nearly caught me spying on him. Fortunately, I have cat-like reflexes and the instincts of a ninja. Okay, the phone call ended, and I may have flailed my way back to my seat before he opened the door separating us. But that’s not anywhere near as inspiring.
When I tell Naomi about it, I think I’ll stick with the cat/ninja thing. Ooh, I like that: Cat Ninja.
At first, I was more upset than anything. From what I’d gleaned, he was talking to someone about the rainforest around Kola Kitanabu. While a big part of me was glad he’d listened, the rest of me just took it as confirmation that he still believed the only thing between him and my affection was that he hadn’t thrown enough money around for my benefit.
When I asked who he was talking to on the phone, though, he said it was the chef. Nick said he was just giving his old friend a thank you call for the exquisite beachside dinner. That’s all he’d say about it.
That’s when I decided to give him a real chance.
To tell
the truth, I probably would have had a hard enough time keeping up my defenses. You don’t talk about price-per-acre with a chef.
Now, I’m almost to work and, as I round the final corner, my stomach drops.
A large crowd is standing in front of the shop.
Ever since that day in the hotel, people around town have been giving me dirty looks. Even though no one, least of all me, got a job from Nick that day as far as I know, they think it’s my fault nobody was hired.
As I get closer to the group in front of the store, though, something happens. Everyone starts smiling.
Almost in unison, somewhere between eighty and a hundred people say my name.
I don’t know what they want, but at least they look happy.
Coming closer, I start wondering if I should turn and get out of here, but the people in front of me move to the side, creating a path for me to get to the door.
“Good morning, Ellie!” someone behind me says.
“It’s a beautiful day, don’t you think, Ellie?” someone else chimes in.
I couldn’t respond if I knew how. As soon as I open my mouth to thank someone for complimenting my outfit or to say, “Good morning,” back to someone, somebody else is trying to get my attention.
Finally, I make it to the door, and I’m a little worried about what’s going to happen next when I turn the unlocked knob. Everyone’s very respectful, though. Somebody holds the door open as I walk through, and despite my certainty of my pending demise, I’m not trampled on the way into the shop.
The people follow me into the store, but so far there’s no visible threat of violence.
I make a quick stop to the office to let Troy know I’m here, but it doesn’t look like he’s in there, though his antique phone is off its cradle.
“Troy?” I ask.
“What’s happening out there?” Troy’s voice comes back to me, though he’s still nowhere in sight.
Furrowing my brow, I walk around the desk and find him in the leg space beneath it.
“Hey there, fella,” I say. “If you’ll come out from under there like a big boy, I’ll give you some ice cream.”
“What the hell is going on out there?” Troy asks, his eyelids forming two nearly perfect circles. He’s sweating.
“I have no idea, but I don’t think they came here to break anything,” I answer.
“How do you know?” Troy asks.
I shrug. “Have you heard anything break since they came in here?”
He’s curled into a little ball, and he’s hugging his knees. The phone’s receiver is lying on the ground next to him.
“Who’d you call?” I ask.
“What?” he asks.
“Okay, well you just stay under there, and I’ll deal with the very scary townspeople you’ve known your entire life,” I tell him.
A minute ago, I was pretty terrified, myself, but it’s so much more fun to mess with him.
Still, as I’m walking out of the office, I get another jolt. Everyone in the store has something in their hands, and almost all of them are looking at me right now.
I stand on the threshold a few beats; right until I notice that what I’m looking at isn’t just a mob of people. They’re trying to form a line.
If this is Mulholland’s idea of looting, it’s very polite.
My knees not quite doing their job, I walk around to the back of the counter and take my seat on the stool in front of the cash register. Looking up, I say, “I’m sorry, I have no idea who was first.”
They figure it out, and over the next hour or so, I sell every single thing in the store. Mrs. Taber even comes up to the counter with the tag for the armoire she wasn’t interested in buying only a month ago.
When there’s nothing left on the shelves, a couple of people stay behind to ask if those are for sale, too. I tell them, “I’ll have to ask Troy, but I doubt it.”
They don’t seem to care.
I get up and walk back into the office to find Troy sitting at his desk, the phone to his ear.
“Yeah,” he says, “just one. No, I don’t know how long it’s going to be, can we just leave it open-ended? Great.” He covers the mouthpiece with his palm and says, “Did they get everything?”
“Pretty much,” I tell him. “They wanted to know if the shelves were for sale, too, but I didn’t—”
“How much are they offering?” he asks.
“Probably more than what you bought them for,” I answer. “What should I tell them?”
“Tell them if they can get the shelves out of here themselves, they can buy them, but we don’t do home deliveries,” he says. He turns his attention back to the phone, saying, “Yeah, I’m here. You don’t have anything straight through to Papeete?” He groans and I walk out of the office with the good news.
The guys waiting on word about the shelving pay me, but say they’ll have to come back with a truck another time. I let them know we’re probably going to be closing up for a little while—for obvious reasons. The only response I get as the final two men leave is, “Don’t worry about it.”
After the shortest shift of my life, I head home. As much as I’d love to revel in the insane bonus that’s no doubt coming my way, I’ve got to get my head together.
Nick is coming over tonight.
Initially, we’d talked about grabbing a drink after I was off, but since my schedule seems to be open for … I’m not sure how long, but a couple of days, at least, Nick’s coming over to my place in about an hour.
Now all I have to do is convince Naomi to make herself scarce. I don’t know how that’s going to work, but as much fun as it was to see the townspeople come together to try to buy my affection the same way I thought Nick was, I don’t feel too much like going out anymore.
I get to my building and start down the hall. When I come around the corner, though, I’m hit with déjà vu.
Standing in front of my door is a group of ten or twelve people.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
Mr. Robbins, the assistant principal of the high school answers, “Well, we just wanted to see if we could get a few minutes to talk to you about Stingray.”
“I don’t work for Stingray,” I answer. “Can I get to my door?”
“Of course,” Mr. Robbins says. “Listen, we know that Mr. Scipio’s putting something together here in town, and a lot of us would just like to be a part of it, you see?” he asks. “Why, I bet if he were to hear it from you—”
“Okay, I don’t know what you think I can do for you, but I don’t work for Stingray. I have no say in who gets hired or who gets fired, and as far as I know, they won’t even be doing any of that for a while,” I say. “I wish you all the best of luck, but now will you please get out of my way so I can go home?”
“We’re not trying to take advantage of anyone, Miss Michaels,” Mr. Robbins says. “We were just hoping—”
“I have nothing to do with it,” I interrupt. “You need to get out of my way, now. And seriously, who camps out in front of someone’s door to ask them for a job?” I ask. “I may not have any say over anything Stingray does, but I know if I were the one doing the hiring, each and every one of you would be on my blacklist, so maybe it’d be best if you all move now.” When they don’t jump out of the way, I repeat, “Move now!”
Slowly, they turn and start filing toward the other end of the hallway.
When I get through the door and lock the deadbolt behind me, I pull out my phone.
Nick answers, “Scipio.”
“Hey, Nick,” I start. “Listen, I just got home, but I’m not feeling so well all of a sudden. Would you mind if we postpone things for a while?”
* * *
It’s been three days and I haven’t left the apartment.
Every time I approach the door to look out the peephole, I get this feeling like I’m on the verge of opening Pandora’s Box.
I haven’t heard anything from Troy about coming back to work yet, but I suppose I didn’t ex
pect I would. Knowing him, he’s probably on a riverboat somewhere along the Mississippi, losing every last dime we made in a poker game.
Right now, I’m ducking behind the couch because someone’s at the door. A moment later, Naomi’s coming in, carrying three paper bags of groceries in her arms, saying, “No, it’s fine. I’ve got it. No, don’t worry about it. I was built for manual labor, you know.”
I get up and take two bags from her, and we haul everything to the kitchen.
“How is it out there?” I ask.
“It’s about the same,” Naomi says. “You know, about the same as it has been for the last twenty-eight years of your life. What is your deal, anyway?”
“They all think I can do something for them, but I can’t,” I tell her. “How much longer do you believe they're going to buy that, though? I’ve seen the news. I know how quickly things can go bad.”
“Remind me to cancel the cable,” Naomi says as she starts unloading groceries. “You have seriously got to get out of this place for a while.”
“Actually,” I start, my nerves creeping back to the surface, “I was hoping you might be willing to do me a favor.”
“If this is another chocolate run,” Naomi says, “I get that your metabolism is fantastic and everything, but—”
“It’s not that,” I tell her.
Nick called this morning, asking if he could stop by with some chicken soup. Apparently, the soup was prepared by world class chef What’s-His-Name and is said to have healing powers beyond that of conventional poultry.
“Oh, you’ll never guess what happened to me today,” Naomi says.
“Win something?” I ask.
She sighs and her shoulders drop a little. “You know you take all the fun out of this,” she says.
Naomi is the luckiest person I’ve ever met. When Naomi was five months old, mom entered her into a cute baby contest. Naomi came in fourth. Between the time she was passed over for the job and the photo shoot itself, though, all three kids in front of her came down with a different illness.
Since then, every time there’s something to win, Naomi’s won it. The only exceptions I’ve found so far are the lottery and general gambling. I guess it’s more a sweepstakes kind of luck than anything.
