by JD Nixon
“I looked, but nothing seemed interesting.”
His glance was sceptical. “And what? Wearing a hamburger outfit seemed interesting to you?”
“No,” I admitted. My shoulders slumped. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Take some more time off to think about it. You still have a while before Heller will let you return to work here.”
My shoulders sagged even more. “I know. Why does he have to be such a hardarse?”
“Because that’s how you run a successful business, Matilda.”
I squealed and spun around, not having heard him approach, deep in the midst of my self-pity ocean. “Heller! Stop sneaking up on me.”
“I wasn’t sneaking. And why are you here in the office anyway? You know what I said about that.”
“I was talking to Danny.”
Daniel snorted. “No, you weren’t. You were actually bothering me while I was trying to work.”
“Please let Daniel do his job. I depend on him to do it with accuracy and he can’t do that if you’re annoying him.”
“I’m not annoying him. I’m not an annoying kind of person.” I didn’t miss the loaded look Heller and Daniel shared when I said that. “Hey, I saw that!”
“Tilly, just go away,” Daniel said, running his finger along a line of figures on his paperwork, no longer paying me any attention.
I ruffled his hair, exasperating him even more, and trailed after Heller into his office. Despite his dark glance at me, I flopped on to his leather lounge and propped my feet on the arm, my fingers laced together under my neck. Surely there had to be some perks in being the boss’ squeeze, and if that meant open access to his office then he’d just have to put up with it.
“I’m bored.”
He didn’t even look at me, engrossed in his emails. “That’s unfortunate for you, my sweet. However, I’m not bored because I have a lot of work to get through today.”
I groaned. “Nobody wants to talk to me.”
“I’ve heard people are more interesting when they have a job.”
“Geez, has anyone ever told you you’re not very good at giving out hints, Heller? In fact, you’re quite heavy-handed with them.”
“I’ve always found that I need to say some things quite bluntly to some people before they understand.” He twisted around from his computer to look at me. “So, go away please. There. Was that blunt enough for you?”
“Aw, not even you want me around.”
“Go find a job.”
“They’re all boring. I want to come back here to work.”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“Pretty please?”
“No.”
“Why do you have to be so mean?”
He didn’t even look my way, absorbed in an email. “Some call it mean, some call it maintaining good discipline.”
I stood and waited for him to pay me some attention, but he ignored me, so I wandered aimlessly back up to my flat. I fired up the internet and searched through all the vacant jobs again. The only thing that even piqued my interest was a casual job as a retail assistant at a high-end boutique in the shopping mall Niq and I had recently visited. The pay was crap, but there was more of a chance of earning some tips there than as a burger-flipper at a fast food chain. What the hell? I thought. What did I have to lose? I picked up the phone.
A very snooty lady answered. I assumed my poshest voice in response and enquired about the position.
“You do have retail experience in a more refined store, I presume?” she asked, as if almost expecting me to slink away.
“Oh, certainly,” I gushed, mentioning the name of the expensive store where I’d acted as lowly carrier bag runner and re-racker of all the clothes tried on and discarded in the change room by very rich women. She didn’t need to know I’d never been trusted with actually serving anyone. Inspiration suddenly struck me. “And I don’t like to brag, but I was even awarded Employee of the Month at one store at which I was employed.” I dropped the name of a fancy department store in the same shopping centre as her boutique.
“Well, that’s quite impressive, I must say. That store has a large staff. And they’re very particular about their hiring. I should know because I worked there for years.” She tittered. And to my shame, I sycophantically did as well. Were there no depths to which I wouldn’t sink to secure a job, I thought in despair. God, the tips better be worth it.
“I was very surprised and thrilled to receive that award,” I said modestly, especially considering I didn’t even work at the store at the time.
“What department were you working in then?”
“I was in ladies’ lingerie.” It wasn’t really a lie because I’d somehow found myself serving behind the counter when I’d only gone there to buy a bra. And I did give exceptional service during that brief period, even if I say so myself. I probably deserved Employee of the Month.
“I must say that you sound just the sort of client experience enhancer that I’m after.”
“Sorry? A client whosawhatsy?”
“Client experience enhancer. It’s the title I give to all my lovely ladies who ensure that my clients are introduced to the perfect garments for them.” Oh brother! This store was wankier than I ever imagined. “I tell all my girls that they’re almost like matchmakers. It’s such an enjoyable working environment.” She tittered again. That was really going to get on my nerves if I landed this job. So was being called a girl.
“I can see your boutique would be a wonderful place to work,” I lied, hoping I wasn’t laying it on too thick. But apparently, that was impossible with this woman.
“I like you, Tilly,” she decided. “I really feel as if we’re on the same wavelength about customer service, and I don’t say that to many people. Come in for an interview tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Ms . . . um. Sorry, what was your name?”
“You may call me Miss Petunia,” she said, as though she’d just bestowed the honour on me of marrying her firstborn son.
“Thank you for the opportunity, Miss Petunia,” I fawned, hating myself even more. “I look forward to meeting you.”
By the time I hung up, after discussing the particulars of my interview, my self-loathing was almost too much to bear. Almost. I’d done worse to secure a job in my life than ingratiating myself with a boss. I’d see tomorrow if I could possibly stomach the brown-nosing enough to take the job, not that I had many options.
Bored, and with nothing to do for the rest of the day, I visited my lovely sister-in-law, Elise. She was currently at home, being rather pregnant with Sean’s and her first child. I nervously scanned the room, noting with dismay that she hadn’t abandoned her experiments in aromatherapy.
“How lucky for me that you visited today!” she sang, virtually bouncing up and down, her eyes shining. “I need a person to test some scented moisturising lotions I’ve developed.”
I groaned to myself. The last time I’d been her guinea pig, the whole experience had ended with a painful physical encounter with Heller. I sure didn’t want to re-enact that. And I could guarantee that he didn’t want to either.
“I thought you passed that course?”
“I did. I’ve moved on to the advanced course.”
“I’ve kind of had enough of lotions at the moment,” I stated, but my resolve instantly wavered at the sight of her pretty face losing its sunshine.
“Please, Tilly?” she begged. “Even if you only test just one. And I’ll let you choose which one.”
And I didn’t know if it was the result of having a sweet pregnant woman abjectly pleading with me, but my determination to not be involved with any more ointments caved in completely.
“Okay, I guess I could test one,” I agreed reluctantly.
Delighted, she led me to her ‘therapy centre’ (a small table and a shelf in the corner of the cramped living room of their small flat) where sat an array of strange smelling tiny jars
. She handed me the first. I opened it, took a whiff and reeled backwards in disgust.
“Eww, not that one.” Definitely not that one.
Her face fell again. “I really thought that one would be a success. Such an interesting mix of ingredients. My instructor told me she was really excited about its originality.”
“Then your instructor needs to get her nostrils tested.”
A little downcast, she handed me the next. It was as equally putrid as the first. The scent was barely discernable in the third one over the overpowering smell of whatever base oil she’d used. I presumed the whole point of aromatherapy was to have an aroma to provide the therapy, so advised her not to go with that one. The fourth one wasn’t too bad, so I put it aside. The fifth was too strong, though not unpleasant. But it had the kind of industrial-strength scent that could cause strangers in a lift to pass out.
I went back to the fourth, sniffing experimentally again. I was starting to feel like a connoisseur – a potential future career as a lotion-smeller briefly crossing my mind. I rubbed some on my arm and held that patch to my nose. It smelt pretty good on my arm. The lotion, reacting to the warmth of my body, spread easily without being sticky.
“I like this one,” I declared, rubbing some more into my arms. I stood in front of a mirror and applied it to my face, neck and as much of my chest I could reach until I hit my t-shirt.
Elise watched me avidly as I did and spent the rest of the afternoon, as we chatted and watched daytime TV soaps together, observing me closely. Disconcerted by her intense scrutiny, I consoled myself by taking full advantage of their well-stocked pantry, filling my belly as well as hers, not that it needed much more filling, being extended already with the pressure of the baby.
Though I considered whether or not I could get away with also staying for dinner, I decided that type of freeloading was a little blatant, even for me. Also, her constant surveillance was making me uneasy.
At the door as we kissed each other goodbye, she asked me if I experienced any effects.
“What kind of effects?” I asked, slightly alarmed. “Should I be expecting effects?”
“No, no,” she hastily assured. “I was just checking. I used a different base with that lotion, but it looks like that’s the one I’ll use for my assessment.”
“Okay. Good luck,” I said, now a little wary. “Give Sean a kiss for me.”
Back at my flat, I leaned in close to the mirror, checking my face anxiously, but I looked the same as usual to me.
I was in the middle of cooking my dinner (after pilfering more ingredients from the pantry) when my phone shrilled, making me jump.
“Matilda,” Heller said on the other end, his voice stern. “Come down to my office immediately.”
Uh oh! I thought, my heart sinking. What have I done now?
Chapter 27
A million thoughts raced around in my mind as I made my way down two levels to the office. How could I possibly be in trouble again? I was usually aware of my misdemeanours, but I couldn’t think of anything I’d done recently. That could only mean I’d done something previously that I’d thought I’d gotten away with or I’d forgotten about.
So it was with a large dose of trepidation that I approached his office. Nobody was around in the main section, but I could hear voices floating from his room. He wasn’t alone.
I cautiously poked my head through his doorway, scoping. Heller, Clive, Sid and Daniel were present, Niq nowhere to be seen. Not entirely reassured by that ensemble of the key players at Heller’s, nevertheless a small flame of hope flared inside me. Maybe we were going to discuss my early return to security work?
“Sit down, Matilda,” Heller instructed. As usual there was nowhere for me to sit, so I perched on the arm of Daniel’s chair, draping my arm around his neck.
“Where’s Niq?” I asked him.
“He’s upstairs,” answered Daniel. That was kind of promising – made it sound even more like a work-related discussion.
“Do you remember me talking about that matter I’d decided on?” Heller asked.
“Yes,” I smiled briefly. “Your big, mysterious decision.”
“It won’t be mysterious for long.”
Maybe he was going to sell the business? My heart froze for an instant – maybe he was returning to his home country? Maybe he’d decided to finally tell us all about the wife and ten kids he’d abandoned there? I sharply told myself to pipe down with the speculation when I realised I was actually missing what he was saying.
“I have decided to personally take on some commissioned jobs.” From the faces of the other men, I could see I wasn’t the only one surprised by his announcement, but I didn’t give anyone else the chance to speak before I started in on him.
“Commissioned? Commissioned by who?”
“The government, my sweet.”
“The government is a big organisation, Heller. Which part of the government?”
“A highly classified part.”
“What will you be doing?”
“Highly classified special projects.”
“Special projects? What’s that supposed to mean? What kind of projects?”
“Exceptionally well-paid ones.”
“You don’t need more money. Your business is doing well.”
“Matilda,” he answered, his voice gentle and patient. That only annoyed me more. “I have many people to support. I need to ensure I have the resources to do so. And also it’s beneficial to work for the government. It may begin to throw other, more ordinary work my way.”
“Why do you have to do these projects personally?”
He shrugged. “I have a special skill set which is required. Also, I need a challenge. My life has been relatively tame for a long time now.”
“There’s nothing wrong with tame. Surely running a business is enough of a challenge every single day for anyone?”
“No. I need more.” He stood and moved over to the window to gaze out. “I’m restless. It’s been building up for years. Doing these projects will cure me of that as well as bring in a rewarding amount of money. I’m starting my first one tomorrow. I’ll be gone for about a week.”
“That’s it? Decision made? Just ‘see you when I get back’? No considering other options for improving your incomings? No discussion? No talking it over with your girlfriend? No asking her how she feels about the whole matter?” I demanded, hurt.
Though his voice was still gentle, his words cut deeply. “It is not your business to know about my business, my sweet. And I have talked it over thoroughly, so you may rest assured about that.”
My eyes shot to Clive at that last comment. He avoided my angry stare, obviously not as ignorant about the situation as he’d originally tried to make out.
“Are you going to be in any danger?” I asked Heller.
He continued to look out the window. Whatever he saw out there must have been fascinating to hold his attention for so long. The silence grew awkwardly in the room and I guess that gave me the answer to my question.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this. You, the person who worries so much about everyone else and providing for them, is going to voluntarily put yourself into ridiculous danger. And for what? To earn a few extra bucks and to get a cheap thrill.”
He didn’t deny it. “Everyone has been well provided for in the event of any negative outcomes for me.” He turned to smile. “Especially you.”
I jumped up, desperately needing to throw something at him. I picked up a cushion and pegged it at him, missing him by miles. “I don’t want any of your stupid money. I want you – alive and safe and well! And here at home with us!”
He retrieved the cushion and brought it back, dumping it back on the chair. “Matilda, be reasonable. Many people have to be away for periods of time for work purposes. You, yourself, have left here to do assignments. It’s perfectly normally and nothing to worry about.”
“Yes, but I don’t plan for ‘negative outcomes’, so exc
use me, but it sounds as though there’s plenty to worry about.”
“It’s only . . .” He stopped, puzzlement creasing his features. He strode closer to me, peering down at me. “Matilda, what’s wrong with your face?”
“There’s nothing wrong with my face! What an unbelievably rude thing to say,” I spat back. There was no call for him to propose pissing off on me on a regular basis doing who-knew-what to who-knew-who one minute, and then the next minute insulting me while he exited on his mystery adventure. “My face is perfectly fine, so don’t try to distract me.”
“Oh, my sweet . . .” He seemed lost for words. When I glanced at the others, they wore similar expressions of horror, and in Clive’s case, borderline disgust.
I rushed over to his wall mirror, shrieking when I saw my reflection. I was spotty, but not with acne. Red, measles-type spots, which started to swell, dotted my face, neck and chest. I touched my face – it was bumpy.
“Good God, Tilly,” Daniel spoke from behind me, his reflection appearing next to mine. “I can see more appearing while we watch!”
He wasn’t exaggerating. As we stared into the mirror, more and more red spots popped up on those areas where I’d smeared on the lotion. So many sprang up in some places, they joined together into huge red patches of bumps. I swiftly resembled a tomato – a lumpy, disease-ridden tomato that even dumpster-divers would shun if they spotted it in the industrial bin behind the supermarket.
“I must be having some kind of allergic reaction to Elise’s lotion,” I wailed. “Look at me!”
Clive averted his eyes. “No, thanks.”
“I’m splodgy! And bumpy! I’m splodgy and bumpy! And I have an interview to go to tomorrow morning. How am I going to land a job looking like this?”
Heller whipped out his phone and a thumbed a speed dial number. “I’d appreciate it if you came over immediately. Matilda seems to be suffering from an unattractive reaction to something.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have let her experiment on me again. What if it’s permanent? What if I look like this for the rest of my life?” Nobody knew what to say to me, which didn’t fill me with confidence about my current predicament.
