by Nina Post
Tom came into the automat, moving in side-to-side starts and stops, his compound eyes scanning the automat. When he spotted Kelly, his relief was obvious. He approached the table. “We have a problem. Well, we have three problems. There’s a zombie outbreak in the building, the flashing project is delayed, and Ultra-Amenity Tower’s new amenity is affecting our amenity.”
She switched her focus from eavesdropping to manager-mode and got up and walked out with him.
“I thought she’d never leave,” Forcas said.
“What does it even matter?” Raum said. “All of you insisted on being here, which looks suspicious enough in and of itself, but our assassin left the negotiations to… do whatever it was you said, Vassago, and please don’t say it again because I have enough trouble sleeping—I don’t need an additional layer of torment. And if I find out who or what is making that noise—”
“He only takes care of other spiders,” Imamiah pointed out.
“For the right price, he will take care of whatever I ask him to take care of.”
Tom tried to keep up with Kelly as she speed-walked past the indoor pool and turned left toward the elevator vestibule.
“Sitrep.”
“OK, um… the zombie outbreak is affecting nine of our residents.”
“Nine? No one mentioned anything about this to me before.”
“Uh, n-no one knew about it,” Tom said.
“And the lap pool?”
“Right. Yes. Well, the thing is…”
“Tell me.”
“Ultra-Amenity Tower is building a huge climbing wall, several stories high, so they have to dig at least a story underground.”
“And?”
“And their work is causing cracks in our lap pool. The crew has to keep sealing the cracks, which means that work is being delayed.”
Kelly felt her energy flag. This thing with Af weighed on her nearly every minute of the day. Did he want to end the relationship? Did Amenity Tower finally break him? “Do me a favor, Tom. Go get me a doughnut. Nothing with bugs on it, please. Something with chocolate.”
Tom went over to Pothole City Donuts while she went back into the mail receiving area and called Af, who surprised her by picking up.
“I don’t have long to talk,” she said. “There’s a—” She was distracted by Tubiel coming into the lobby from Pothole City Donuts after Tom had gone in. Tubiel was in his going-outside day outfit: black patent sneakers with a mirrored, metal letter on the sides; jeans with a large, mirrored metal brand sign; and a puffy, black, nylon jacket zipped up to the top. His mirrored aviator sunglasses must have been in his pocket. His curly brown hair was always the same; Af trimmed it every five weeks.
“Are you still there?” Af said.
“Yes, sorry,” she said. “Tubiel came in. I was saying that there’s a zombie outbreak and some other stuff going on.”
“That’s one thing that makes me glad I’m not there.”
“How is everything?” she asked him. Tubiel waited in front of her and gave her a placid little smile.
“Fine, fine,” he said, sounding a little tense. “Everything’s great.”
She didn’t believe him. “Is anything annoying you?”
“Nope! We’re getting along great.”
Kelly didn’t respond. It could not be any more obvious to her that he was lying. “Are you under duress right now?”
“Ha ha!” was Af’s unsettling response.
“Are you in any danger?” she asked.
“No, I did not leave the refrigerator door open,” Af said. “That must have been someone else. Ask Dave—he uses the refrigerator.”
She made a face. What?
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Nope, no modifications to the Cluck Snack supply list,” Af said.
“Well, let me know if anything changes.”
“You bet!”
After she hung up, she rubbed her knuckles over her mouth, thinking. Clearly, Af was in some kind of trouble. She suspected it before she asked what annoyed him, a test. There was absolutely no way he and that chaos demon were “getting along great,” and even less of a chance that nothing was annoying him. Also, he would never, ever say “You bet.”
That conversation told her the opposite, that the trip was a disaster, that Af was so beyond annoyed he had possibly split off a new personality, and that he was in a situation she couldn’t help him with.
“You want to come back to my office?” she asked Tubiel, who brightened and nodded. Her office, victim of a hostile takeover.
“I have to finish writing a complaint letter—” She looked down at him as they walked. “Are you here on a job?”
He broadened his smile and opened two different brown paper bags. In one was a male cardinal; in the other, a finch.
“Nice, buddy.” She glanced in the office and saw Charlotte. “Why don’t you wait by the studio? I’ll be five minutes.”
But Charlotte had a different task for her. The second she walked in the office, Charlotte said, “I want you to go to Ultra-Amenity Tower and look at their amenities first-hand.”
Kelly logged in to her computer. “Why don’t you look at their website?”
“No, we need to go there in person and see what the quality is. We need to experience the amenities.”
Kelly knew that she would have to split off a new personality if she had to do this with Charlotte. Bracing herself against the answer, she asked, “Did you need to go with me?”
“Great idea.” Charlotte grabbed her purse and focused on shutting down her computer. “First let me…”
Kelly had to think of a good reason why not, and in the next few seconds. She went with flattery.
“You know what, Charlotte? I think you’re too well-known in the community. The manager there would almost certainly recognize you. But if I go by myself, I could pose as a buyer, and no one would have any idea who I am.”
Charlotte nodded. “You’re right. You’re right!” As though she assumed that could never be the case with Kelly. “Well, I have spoken at the East Pothole City Building Owners and Managers Association banquet for the past five years. They would definitely know who I am, whereas they would have no idea who you are.” She chuckled. “Why would they? You go and report back. Don’t screw it up.”
It was so gratifying to finally have a female mentor.
“What would Roger do?” she murmured to herself on the way to Ultra-Amenity Tower as Tubiel walked faster to keep up with her.
As a manager, Roger was effortlessly diplomatic and unruffled. He was the Marcus Aurelius of Amenity Tower, handling with aplomb everything from frontier uprisings of tribes (the board, the committees, the residents), panic of the citizens, and rudeness. Not to mention belligerence, and any arising fiasco.
What she wouldn’t give for Roger Balbi’s version of Meditations. She could barely hold things together. She knew that Raum and his cronies were up to something but couldn’t figure out what; she knew it was going to be bad, and felt time running out.
She had to get that flashing project finished next week, but that new female spider resident proved a serious distraction to her workers. She wanted to make the residents happy with a death worm lap pool, but yet another Ultra-Amenity Tower amenity was threatening it. Roger overshadowed her, and Charlotte was all up in her face every day, making her feel like she would lose her job any minute.
But soon, possibly, Amenity Tower would soon be all-zombie, and the reserve would really suffer. But it wouldn’t matter anymore.
And Af.
Af wanted to get away from her and everything here so badly, he willingly went on a long road trip with a total stranger. She wouldn’t admit it, but it hurt. Work and heartache didn’t go together, unless it was work-related. She put the thought in a tiny, hot-air balloon operated by a tiny pigeon with a red cap, who opened the blast valve to make the balloon ascend.
One thing she could not do, hated to do, was to mix her feelings
and her work, so she didn’t dwell on it.
The underground walkway became more polished, more soothing, and she entered the lobby of Ultra-Amenity Tower.
Enemy territory.
Pleistocene-Sized Christmas Trees
he huge west-facing glass windows of the Ultra-Amenity Tower lobby looked out on a carport that had much more room than their carport. They obviously catered to the kind of person who drove up with a Maserati full of Louis Vuitton luggage.
Ultra-Amenity Tower was a ninety-story luxury condominium tower that did not have resident majority supernatural, hybrid, or other-dimensional creatures.
The lobby was bedecked in holiday embellishment even more stunning than it looked from the perspective of Amenity Tower. Apparently they were trying to compete with the White House. The Christmas tree soared intimidatingly to the ceiling in a room that could easily fit a construction crane, and a huge, white, fuzzy star perched on the top like a snowy owl from a fantasy novel.
The tree’s decorations alone obviously exceeded Amenity Tower’s holiday decorations budget. There would be no way the Amenity Tower Association could afford both the tree and its ornamentation, let alone any number of the gigantic wreaths that appeared to be an idle crafts hobby of the goddess Hera.
What Would Roger Do…
She marched into the management office. The male receptionist was well-groomed and professional, but gave her some initial side-eye as though affronted she’d barged in. “May I help you?”
They hadn’t had a receptionist at Amenity Tower for three months, since their previous one saw the world in a dozen primary colors and took medical leave, claiming that the building had too many colors and caused “suicide headaches.” They hadn’t hired another one yet because Claw & Crutty hadn’t agreed to hire an assistant manager and she hadn’t gotten around to finding a replacement for any new hire.
“I need to speak to the property manager,” Kelly said.
“He isn’t available. I’d be happy to give him a message for you.”
“I need to talk to him in person.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m a management consultant who moved to Pothole City, and I’m interested in buying a unit here, but I always meet the property manager first. As far as I’m concerned, it’s the number-one signifier of building quality.”
She waited.
“One moment.” He proceeded to have a brief, hushed conversation. “You can go in, but he only has a few minutes.”
Sure he does.
The receptionist scowled at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. She smiled as though he’d been nothing but helpful.
The hallway that led to the manager’s office had plush carpet and textured wallpaper. Everyone she saw was human. There were no colorful smudges or glistening streaks and it smelled like a high-end department store.
There was a hall table with a carafe of ice water. And lemon slices.
Tubiel tugged at her cuff. She paused to gather her composure and to pour some water into one of the clear, plastic cups. She gave the cup to Tubiel, who handed her one of the paper bags in exchange.
Was that Bach she heard, only barely audible, or was that directional audio that went into only her head?
The thin, etched metal sign by the last door said Coleman Grether.
She sucked in a breath and knocked. A muffled voice came through.
“Come in.”
Tubiel put on his sunglasses. Kelly went in and stuck her hand out. Grether slowly took it, giving her an And you are…? look.
“My name is Giselle Cashman, and I’m interested in buying a unit here. And this is…” Kelly turned to Tubiel. “This is my personal assistant, Haruki Murakami.”
She happened to have two new books on her nightstand. One was a new biography of legendary football coach Jay Vanner, and the other was a Haruki Murakami book. She loved Murakami because he wrote what was, to her, truly realistic fiction, and she was tearing through his books because she found it so hard to get to sleep every night, and her sleep was so restless when she did finally doze off.
And there were the recurring nightmares. Every morning she woke up in a near-panic, bolting upright, gasping for breath.
She presumed, perhaps unfairly, that Grether didn’t read much. Most building managers didn’t.
“Nice to meet you both.” Grether flashed a polite smile. Unless he had one heck of a poker face, he had no idea who Murakami was. “Please, sit down. Where else are you looking, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I’ve been looking mainly in the Gold Coast area of Pothole City, though I looked at a unit in Amenity Tower.”
He tilted his head and furrowed his brow. “What is Amenity Tower?”
“The condo tower right across the street.”
He frowned and tilted his head. “Across the street?”
“That’s right.”
His phone—the latest VOIP phone from the most expensive producer of them—rang. The phones at Amenity Tower might as well be those wood boxes her great-grandparents had.
“One moment.” Grether picked up and waited. “Good. Have one of the assistants to the assistant manager greet them. I can’t think of any of their names. Pick one at random.” He hung up.
At what must have been a pained expression on her face to what he’d said, he explained, “We’re preparing for our holiday gala, and the mayor’s office has been kind enough to let us use their catering company. It’s a sit-down dinner, based loosely on,” he clicked his mouse and peered at the screen, “the marriage feast at the Visconti wedding in fourteenth century Milan. According to my assistant’s intern.”
“It… sounds nice.” It made her want to go home, go back to bed, and stay there for a week.
“It’s a little excessive, but we want the best for our residents.” Another tight smile. Grether was one of those managers who didn’t seem like a person anymore.
“Of course.”
She decided to show a flash of ignorance. “And do you have information about your board of directors? I’d like to get a little more involved if I decide to buy a unit here.”
Since Ultra-Amenity Tower was a new property, the developer would initially operate the HOA, meaning there wouldn’t be an elected board yet. Once the building reached a certain percentage of units sold, the developer would turn over the HOA to the unit owners, presumably human ones. The owners would elect their own board—and most likely not a board of cast-down angels. She envied them for that.
When most of the units were occupied, someone appointed by the developer would serve as the temporary kangaroo board.
Kelly would prefer a kangaroo to the current board. It would always be in the pool and have problems with indiscriminately punching residents in the face, but would still be a significant improvement to Raum and his henchmen.
“Our unit owners haven’t elected their board quite yet,” he said.
A loud three-part chirp rang out from one of the bags.
“What was that?” Grether said, as though it had been a loud bang or explosion.
“A bird,” Kelly said. “So, it’s a stand-in board.”
Grether frowned, processing what she’d said. “Uh, sure, in a sense.”
She considered dropping the ruse and talking to Grether about his climbing wall project, which affected their modest death worm lap pool, but realized that Ultra-Amenity Tower, with their decadent Milanese feasts and their Pleistocene-sized Christmas trees, could easily shut down their little lap pool project on some specious basis and turn it against them.
If they needed to ask for forgiveness later, so be it, but it was far better to not ask them to do something they weren’t going to do, anyway. There was no way that UAT would interrupt their big construction project because it affected their relatively tiny amenity. Kelly knew they had to finish the lap pool and not breathe a word to UAT.
Tubiel nudged her and rustled one of the bags.
“I noticed that you have something u
nder construction outside,” Kelly said.
“Yes,” Grether said, exhibiting the most enthusiasm he had since they entered his office. “It’s our latest exclusive amenity: a fifty-foot climbing wall. We have the best amenities here at Ultra-Amenity Tower. You won’t find better.”
“I’m sure. Though I was impressed with the amenities at Amenity Tower.”
Grether squinted. “I’m sorry, where?”
Oh, come on. “The condo tower across the street.” She paused a beat to see if that inspired any familiarity. “Right over there?”
Blank expression.
“Anyway, your climbing wall project is affecting the local birds,” she said. “Perhaps you could make a donation to the Pothole City Wildlife Rehabilitation Center.”
“I will certainly look into it,” Grether said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Ms…”
“Cashman. Thank you for meeting with me.”
He ushered them out of the office. “I encourage you to meet with one of our Amenity Enjoyment Consultants.”
“Excuse me?”
“Ultra-Amenity Tower has a full-time staff of amenity trainers to help our residents get the most out of their amenities.” Grether gestured to the receptionist. “Brad, would you rustle up one of our Amenity Consultants for Ms. Cashman and her assistant, please?”
“Right away, Mr. Grether.”
Grether gave them another one of his fabricated smiles. “You can get your amenity pass from the receptionist, and meet your consultant in the lobby. Have a good day, now.”
As Grether left, the displeased receptionist placed a ribbon with a laminated pass around her shoulders like she won the silver at the winter Olympics, and did the same to Tubiel. The pass read Gold Amenity Pass.
With an affectless voice lacking any discernible trace of enthusiasm, the receptionist said, “This pass allows you to receive your personalized amenity plan from one of our Amenity Enjoyment Consultants, and gives you all-day access to all of our amenities. This is a limited-time promotion. After next week, it will cost an extra thousand dollars.”
