by Nina Post
Another resident stood up. “Imamiah, sometimes you seem distant, like you’d rather be somewhere else.”
“Hold on, people—a roast does not consist of minor complaints,” Raum said. “Come on, we can take it!”
Elysia stood up and made a fluttering sound. The Jackal stood up and translated. “She said: ‘Forcas, olive is not your color; it washes you out. You would look better in jewel tones.’”
The mantis creature stood and said, “Raum, I beg your pardon, but your swimming technique could be better. Perhaps you could consider a Masters class.”
Imamiah stood up. “A roast is actually—”
The paper wasp stood up, too. “We know what a roast is. But Roger Balbi taught us not to hurt people’s feelings on purpose because we all share the same building. We all share the common areas and the amenities. And a successful community requires respect and manners.”
Kelly marveled that Roger had progressed from someone with such low self-confidence and near-suicidal desperation to the guitar-strumming, variety-show heading, community-strengthening leader and master of diplomacy and conflict resolution that he turned into before he ascended (possibly because of his student loan debt). Maybe there was hope for her as Snowy Peak’s werewolf dentist.
“Should we call off the roast?” Forcas said.
“No, let’s keep it going,” Kelly said.
The bee hummingbird made a thrumming sound. The pigeon resident who always took the bus to work in a suit, and who rarely showed up to the board meetings, translated for her: “She says that Raum sometimes talks over her,” he told the board.
“OK, the roast is over,” Imamiah said. “Thank you, everybody!”
“It’s time for the costume section of the Death Worm Fit and Show,” Kelly announced. “Prizes will be awarded.”
Raum covered the mic and whispered to Forcas. “What prizes?”
“No idea. Isn’t it in the agenda?”
Raum leaned toward the mic again. “Prizes will be awarded for various categories.”
To Forcas, Raum whispered, “Does anyone have this information?”
“Kelly probably does.”
“Where is Kelly?”
“In the kitchen. Or outside. Not sure.”
The residents settled in their folding chairs facing the floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows that looked out onto the terrace. The permanent light structures and several portable lights the engineering staff brought out earlier illuminated the new snow as it drifted down.
Kelly went out in the hallway to make sure the queue of eleven death worms and their resident owners were ready to go. She was no expert, but could tell that four of the eleven death worms were Peruvian, based on their larger size and softer pelt. Two of the Peruvians belonged to Elysia and the Jackal, though only Elysia watched them, and they were dressed up as cowboys, with Stetsons, holsters, lassos, and spurs.
The Jackal had his Abyssinian death worm, Björn, which he dressed up in the theme of Arabian Nights.
The other two Peruvians were equable and dignified. One briefly licked a lock of fur, smoothing it down, but some of the Abyssinian death worms screamed as their owners desperately tried to placate them.
Kelly stopped by one in a tuxedo costume that unleashed an unearthly wail. The owner, a pudgy caterpillar with glasses on a beaded string, fretted and tried to feed it something. “Lynette, stop it!” the caterpillar pleaded and held something up. She gave Kelly a helpless look. “I’m trying to give her this vulture egg. It’s her favorite treat, but she won’t take it.”
“We have five minutes,” Kelly told her. “You can take her into the women’s locker room to see if that helps. If she’s not calm by the starting signal, you’ll have to withdraw. I’m sorry.”
She went to the other two death worms that were bucking and screaming a little, though not like the consistent shriek emanating from Lynette. One of the owners managed to calm his ladybug-costumed death worm by humming the theme to The West Wing, with a few conductor-like flourishes.
The other owner, a possum-like creature with two big curled horns and aquamarine eyes, merely said, “Pete, enough,” and the death worm quieted.
A few minutes later, Imamiah peered out from the club room door and waved to Kelly.
“It’s time,” she called out. “Everyone stay in your line position. We’re going to walk into the club room, circle around for the costume portion and a bit later on, go out to the patio for the agility portion.”
The instrumental music cue, “Parade of the Death Worms” played from the Roger Balbi’s Holiday at Amenity Tower album, which also included such classics as “O Amenity” and “Get in the Common Area Spirit.”
The owners led their death worms down the tile floor, passing the indoor pool and the automat to the left and turned right with considerable effort, given the length of most of the death worms. Kelly followed after the last owner went in with her death worm (dressed as a rustic fruit peddler wearing a straw hat and pushing a small cart full of fruit).
She stood off to the side of the room with her clipboard and her walkie as the spectators clapped for the costumes. To her surprise, the Cluck Snack chicken ran into the club room and the entire room went wild, as though a rock star, or Roger Balbi himself, had graced them with their presence.
The chicken—a seven-foot-tall chicken costume with a touch more exoticism than similar chicken costumes owing to the variation and hue of its feather colors—carried a large basket full of Cluck Snack products, mostly candy (including, Kelly noticed, the superior Canadian version of Cluck Snack Red Wire).
The only residents in the room who weren’t screaming or changing to a vibrant hue or otherwise making a sound that indicated great enthusiasm had already fainted, and the rest held out their arms or sacs to catch the Cluck Snack products.
The tall chicken did a kind of skip-dance around the room, densely populated with residents and death worms, most of which were losing any semblance of calm behavior in the palpable excitement. He sang the Cluck Snack song, and most of the residents sang along.
Cluck cluck cluck cluck cluck cluck snack
Snack snack snack snack snack snack cluck
Cluck snack cluck snack cluck snack cluck
Snack snack snack snack snack snack cluck.
Some residents also clapped, and a few more of the residents fainted. Tom rushed in and pulled them over to the wall, where he propped them upright.
Another, smaller chicken in costume, about four feet tall, also holding a large basket, followed the larger chicken and dispensed the new line of Cluck Snack products for death worms, including Cluck Snack Scorpion Flav’r Pudd’n-Pak (“For Death Worms Only”), Cluck Snack Krispy Baked Scorpo-Bitz for Death Worms, Cluck Snack Chewie Vits for a Healthy Hydrostatic Skeleton (“For Death Worms Only”), and Cluck Snack En’rgee Drink for Pressurized Fluid (“For Death Worms Only”). The residents involved in the costume contest nearly lost their minds.
Kelly was pleased to see how happy the residents were, and hoped Tom didn’t see the new snack line. Her walkie went off. “Kelly,” Dragomir said, “need you in freight elevator on main floor. Urgent.”
She slipped out of the hullabaloo in the club room and walked through the empty, silent common area next to the indoor pool, the sounds emanating from behind the club room door now muffled. She took the stairs down to the main floor and found Dragomir by the open doors to the freight elevator.
“Look at screen,” Dragomir said.
She went inside the elevator. The message read, Phase 1 Portal Ready.
“That’s a new one.”
“You never see before?” Dragomir said.
“No,” she said. “I’ve seen Safety Door Edge Delay, Safety String, Phase Fire Service, Front Photo Cell, and Out of Service, but I have not seen Phase 1 Portal Ready. Do you have any idea what it means?”
Dragomir let out a long breath and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “I check manual.”
; “These elevators were inspected to meet Pothole City’s new elevator inspection requirements,” Kelly said, shaking her head in confusion. “I mean, I know there were some violations—”
“Not that many,” Dragomir scoffed. “They have to justify their jobs, find anything.”
“And the management office is working with the elevator company to fix these violations and schedule a re-inspection.” She considered the message. “Check the manual right now and let me know as soon as you find something. I have to get back to the party.”
She took the stairs down to the second floor and met with the Cluck Snack chickens in the empty elevator vestibule, the indoor pool ahead of her. The larger chicken winked at her and gave her a Cluck Snack product she’d never seen before: Cluck Snack Sparkling En’rgee Drink, with All-Natural Maple Syrup (“For Kelly Driscoll, Not for Ferrets”).
As soon as she took the box, she had a vivid recollection that pushed out all other thoughts.
She was eight years old, trudging through dense snow in a forest, toting a capacious can with handles, breath unfurling in long white plumes. Her grandfather had already tapped dozens of trees, and it was her job to pour the sap into her own can.
Back home, he had a complicated-looking apparatus that resembled an alcohol still, with hoses and lines. Underneath the apparatus was a wood-burning oven to cook the sap. The end result was a year’s worth of jars of maple syrup, enough for three families and more to give as gifts, or to bribe various officials (along with cash).
She was so proud of her involvement—it was the first task that gave her a real sense of the satisfaction of work, and achieving goals.
In the elevator vestibule of Amenity Tower, she felt the cold on her cheeks, smelled the forest air and the sap. She felt the warmth from the oven and smelled the tang of the wood smoke and the sweetness of the sap being heated. She heard the voices of her family, saw them like they were right there, and tears came to her eyes.
Stunned by the force of her memory, not certain that she really saw the chicken wink, all she could do was nod a thanks.
The chicken touched a wing to her back and went on his way, the smaller chicken at his heels.
Amenity Tower Death Worm Fit and Show
elly shook her head—What happened?—and called home. Dave answered, of course.
“I wanted to check if everyone was all right.”
“We’re good,” Dave said. “Rochel brought home a tree and we’re putting stuff on it.”
With a stab of guilt, she realized she hadn’t even gotten a tree. “That’s good. See you soon.” She called Af, and left another voice mail, saying only, “Come home. Miss you.”
The atmosphere in the club room was a strange mix of deflating jubilance and a bereft pall stemming from the appearance and successive absence of the Cluck Snack chickens.
Getting her head back in the game, not used to giving herself over to her emotions so much during work and not much liking it, she announced, “Would everyone please join us outside for the agility portion of the Amenity Tower Death Worm Fit and Show. We have hot beverages and Cluck Snack S’mores Staks.”
Residents stampeded toward the terrace doors as some rushed toward the outside tables. One of the death worms snapped at a resident crowding him in the queue.
Outside, it was in the low thirties and clear. A light snow steadily fell on the terrace. Fine weather for a death worm fit and show. The owners lined up their death worms, some of which were straining against their harnesses, for the obstacle course of platforms, stairs, weaves, jumps, rings, tunnels, and dangling balls.
Tom waddled up to her side and spoke in a conspiratorial hush. “The judge called. He’s stuck in traffic.”
“We’ll put off that part until he shows.” She had to pay for the judge to travel from another state because he was the only fit and show judge with any death worm experience at all. The cost of it destroyed the social budget, but she wanted to provide more amenities for the death worms, and the fit and show was important to the residents.
Kelly surveyed the outdoor terrace: the furniture and landscaping that were operations expenses; the concrete planter boxes in fair condition, the high-maintenance granite wall, and the commercial-grade pole lights in fair condition. Every single possible aspect of Amenity Tower required constant upkeep.
Her focus turned back to the fit and show. She took the mic and said, “Is everyone ready for the obstacle course?” Excited chatter and hollers and high-pitched shrieks rose from the contestants and audience. “Our first contestant is… Shock Barf! Ready? On the count of one: three, two, one!”
The owner released the death worm, which scrambled up a set of steps, its hydrostatic skeleton making it contract and distend. It launched itself off the platform, hitting two suspended balls on the way down. Its owner yelled from the sidelines: “Time to turn it! Let’s go, let’s go! Look outside, look outside!”
Shock Barf went into a kind of death worm gallop as it wriggled through a winding and collapsing tunnel, zig-zagged with the task of hitting markers, and hurtled through a series of rings interspersed with more suspended balls.
Tom tallied the score and handed it to Kelly, who announced it. “A round of applause for Shock Barf, an inspiration to all of us.” The residents applauded. “And now for our sec—”
Charlotte came out to the patio, distracting her. She started again. “Please give a warm welcome to our second contestant, Schatzeleh!” Charlotte took a hot chocolate from the dispenser on one of the tables. “On the count of three, two, one!”
While Schatzeleh ran the course, Charlotte walked up to her wearing a Pothole City special: an ankle-length down coat shaped like a sleeping bag, for when it was negative zero Fahrenheit. It wasn’t quite cold enough for something like that.
Charlotte smirked at her, looked her up and down, taking in Kelly’s wool pantsuit and knee-length wool coat as though she were wearing skin-tight acid-wash shorts with cowboy boots, a cut-off ‘Naughty’ top and a Russian fur hat. Kelly could tell that Charlotte had tried to put what she’d learned from the Jackal into practice but it didn’t work even a little. No, Charlotte’s true talent was belittling dismissal, presented as off-handed though it had as much intention as a verbal guided ballistic missile.
Charlotte crossed her arms. “You must think you’re really clever, don’t you?”
Kelly shrugged and glanced over at the death worm, who neared the end of the course. “Once in a while. Not that often.”
“Since you’re here, I assume you spoke to Claw and Crutty,” Charlotte said, her jaw set.
“Yes, I spoke with our corporate overlords. Excuse me for a minute.” Kelly took the score from Tom and picked up the mic. “A strong showing for Schatzeleh—the ‘little treasure’ of unit seven-fifty, though he’s not that little, is he?” Scattered laughter. Schatzeleh was the biggest death worm of the entire pool of contestants.
“Now, I’m pleased to present our third contestant, Rosa María de la Valle Lorena Violeta Luisa Esquibel Infante Texada. Three, two, one!”
Kelly reluctantly went back to talk to Charlotte.
“What did you tell them?”
“I told them about my situation,” Kelly said. “Why?”
“Because I’m being transferred,” Charlotte took out a piece of paper and focused on it for a second, “to a hellhole called Yellowknife, in the Northwest Territories.”
Kelly suppressed a grin. “Oh? That sounds nice. Do you like the outdoors?”
“I despise the outdoors.”
“Do you like the cold?”
“No, I don’t like the cold, and don’t screw with me—I know this is happening because of you.”
Kelly pretended to be touched. “Aw, you’re welcome! I don’t even know what I did to help, but I’m glad I did. Excuse me.” Before she turned away, she saw Charlotte’s enraged expression and stifled a chuckle.
Tom handed her a score slip and she grabbed the mic. “An off day for Rosa María de l
a Valle Lorena Violeta Luisa Esquibel Infante Texada. It happens. Please give her some applause.” Kelly waited until the clapping subsided. “Coming up next is our fourth contestant, Mr. Grapefruit. On my count: three, two, one!”
Charlotte shivered despite her sleeping-bag coat. “I wasn’t thanking you. You said something about me that made Claw and Crutty cut short my job and transfer me to Canada. Canada.”
“Be on the lookout for Cluck Snack P’nut Butt’r Koffee Eggs and Cluck Snack Red Wire. They’re even better there.”
Charlotte got in her face, pushed in on her personal zone. Kelly really wished she wouldn’t, but she kept an eye on the racing death worm.
“What did you tell them?”
“Who?”
“Claw and Crutty, who do you think?”
“I told them that I wanted a raise and an assistant manager. I guess the stars were in alignment or something because guess what? I got both of them. So I think you should leave. Excuse me again.”
Kelly went over to Tom and took the scoring slip, holding up the mic. “Wow, Mr. Grapefruit killed it on that course! He must have had a proper breakfast. Our fifth contestant, Louisa May, is up for the challenge. Ready? On my mark: three, two one!”
Raum, Forcas, Vassago, Imamiah, and Crocell snuck out of the fit and show and huddled up in the automat with cups of steaming hot coffee.
“When is this going to happen?” Imamiah said.
“Yeah, how are we even going to know?” Vassago said.
“Oh, we’ll know,” Raum said.
“But shouldn’t it have happened by now?” Crocell said.
“Have a little patience,” Raum said.
“That’s rich,” Vassago said. “This from the guy who got us soaked in gefilte fish suspension, which I’ll never stop smelling like, by the way.”
“I’ve taken three showers already,” Crocell said, “and I can’t wait until my next one.”
“I’m looking for industrial cleaners,” Forcas said. “I can still smell it on me.”
