by Elle Casey
“Morning.”
My head jerks up just in time to catch Rebel disappearing around the corner again. His hand is the last thing to go, sliding off the door jamb.
He came back! He talked to me! My heart soars like it has the great big wings of an eagle attached. The angels are singing up on high! The sky is a brighter blue than it ever was before! Even though I can’t see it from inside my office! The world is a nicer place to be, as of right this moment! I want to go out and do charity work and make the less fortunate feel like I feel right now!
His head comes back around the corner. “Oh, and make sure you clean the bathroom out. We have clients coming later today.” His head disappears once more.
My heart? It’s a whoopie cushion, and Rebel just sat on it.
I throw my pen across the room at the place where he was standing. It bounces off the doorframe and goes out into the car bay.
When I’m done twisting my mouth at the filing cabinet and fantasizing about storming out in a huff, I get down to business. “Clean the bathroom?” I grumble to myself. “You’ve got to be high on premium crack, yo, because I am not a maid. I am a college almost-graduate.”
Grabbing the phone directory, I page through the yellow section and start calling janitorial services, but after getting three ridiculously expensive quotes, I slam the book shut in frustration. Taking a few deep breaths, I face my new reality. “Note to self. You are a maid until a better offer comes along.”
The next few hours of my day are not spent computerizing the client files. They are also not spent expanding my intelligence in any way, form, or fashion. They are spent turning that disgusting hole of a toxic waste dump bathroom into one I’d be proud to drop my panties in. By the time the rock-n-roll bad boy of my wet dreams walks through the office door, the bathroom floor is so clean, I could eat off it.
“Hey,” says Tarin Kilgour, lead singer of By Degrees, one of the most amazing bands to ever record music, “is Rebel in?” He lets the door swing shut behind him.
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out except some gurgling sounds. “Guuhhh, guummm, derrrrr, yyyeeeaaahhhh.” I walk over to my desk and sit down, grabbing up the phone handset in a panic. As soon as the hard plastic hits me in the side of the head, I realize I have no one to call, so I put it back down. It rattles loudly in the cradle. Picking up a pen, I point to the door that leads into the car bay. “There,” I finally manage to say.
He grins and follows the direction of my pointing pen. He must be used to people turning into complete idiots in his presence, he handles my brain break-down so well.
As soon as he’s gone, I put my head down on the desk and try to breathe. I can hear all three of their happy voices over the sound of my beating heart banging loudly in my ears. Apparently, they’re very excited to see each other. Hopefully, Tarin will forget I even exist and I’ll be able to go on without too much of a memory of my famous person paralysis problem.
A minute or two passes and my heart gets back to a regular rhythm. I’m scared to death to actually face that rock star again - the actual Tarin Kilgour in the flesh - but I’m too intrigued by hearing Rebel’s voice with this much emotion in it to ignore it. After only hesitating for a few seconds, I jump up from my desk and run to the door, peeking around the corner in an effort to spy on them.
Mick’s face is transformed. He’s totally hyped, and who could blame him? It’s not every day that a Hollywood god graces this place with his presence. I know the names on the files in the drawer and most of them are people I’ve never heard of. Mick is obviously a fan-boy, but I have to admire the fact that he can actually speak like a normal human while standing just a few feet away from Tarin.
Rebel, on the other hand, is just Rebel. He stands there stoic, as cool as a guy can possibly be, one hand casually on his hip and the other gesturing to one of the cars that’s halfway done. I envy his bad assitude. I wish I could not be a puddle of fan-goo right now.
The door leading to the parking lot opens.
I spin around to see a girl coming in with a baby on her hip. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see that she’s not the blonde from the club. Standing up straight, I try and pretend like I wasn’t just oggling a customer. “Hi. Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m with Tarin. I just had to get the baby out of the car.” Her diaper bag swings in as she gets through the doorway and throws her a little off balance. I recognize her as the girl who was with Tarin outside the club just the other night.
My face falls. What a dick, leaving his wife and baby to struggle in without him.
She grins. “Don’t look at me like that. I told him to go in without us. She was sleeping, and I didn’t want to wake her up, but as soon as her dad was gone she started yelling. Total daddy’s girl.”
I let out a sigh of relief. I don’t know why, but I need my fantasies about people to stay intact right now. That burglary has made me hate humans in general, I think. To know that Tarin is a good papa is calming my nerves already.
“Can I get you anything?” I ask. “A chair?” I watch the child struggle in her arms. “A shot of whiskey maybe? A spa day?”
She laughs, her face lighting up. “The chair would be nice. The whiskey and spa day I’ll take another time.”
I scramble to roll my chair around the desk for her. Once it’s around the opposite side, she sits in it and settles the squirmy kid in her lap before looking around. “I took your chair,” she finally says.
I hitch my hip up onto the corner of the desk. “That’s okay. You’re getting me out of work, so stay in it as long as you want.”
Her gaze scans the room. “I’ve been here once before, but it looked different. Really different.”
“Like a garbage dump, right? Pizza boxes? Dust bunnies bigger than your diaper bag?”
She nods. “I didn’t want to say it quite like that, but yes.”
“Yeah, I did some cleaning.”
“Good for you. What’s your name?”
“Teagan. I’m the queen of files. What’s your name?”
“Scarlett. I’m Tarin’s wife. And this is Geneva.”
I wiggle my fingers at the baby. “Hello, Geneva. You have ants in your pants.”
“Yes, she does.” Scarlett puts the squirming baby down and blows a big breath of air up into her face when the little girl starts to totter off. “She never sits still. I’ve lost six pounds running after her.”
“She’s cute.” I remember reading something about this baby in a magazine once, but thank the stars my mouth has remembered how to stay shut for a change. Maybe it’s just being around Rebel that loosens my tongue. I clamp my teeth together just to be sure.
“Yeah, she’s a doll baby.” Scarlett gets up and stands in the doorway to the car bay.
“Are you guys looking to buy a car?” I ask, hopping down from the desk and going over to the baby, steering her away from a sharp corner that I know is waiting for her on the edge of the filing cabinet.
“I guess so. Tarin met Rebel a couple times a while back and he hasn’t stopped talking about muscle cars since. He’s getting a little obsessed.”
“Yeah, it’s a disease, I think.”
“Do you have one?” she asks, looking at me.
“Me? Heck no. I drive a Beetle.”
“A classic.” She smiles. “Not that far from these classics, I’d bet.”
I shrug. “Guess I never thought of it that way.” I pick up the baby and bounce her on my hip. She’s cute with a ton of little curls all over her head.
She grins at me and a giant glob of drool comes out of her mouth to land on her chest. I catch a flash of a two tiny teeth in her bottom jaw before I’m blinded by a side-winder baby-smack to the eyeball.
“Ow,” I say, squinting through the pain. I don’t move, afraid I might drop her.
A second baby smack comes right after the first, hitting me in the same eye.
“Ouch! Holy right hook, Geneva...”
Scarlett comes rushing o
ver. “Oh my god, I am so sorry. She’s in a hitting phase. I should have warned you.”
I blink through the tears. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.” I rub my eye gently once the baby is lifted from my arms. “Do you have her enrolled in Tae Kwon Do or what?” I can feel a little swelling coming up. “Kung fu fighter alert.”
Scarlett is still laughing when Tarin and Rebel join us in the office.
“What’s going on?” Tarin asks, looking from me to her. I can see him with my one good eye.
“Nothing much,” I say, wiping the tears coming out of my bad eye, “just got my ass handed to me by a baby, that’s all.”
“She slapped her,” said Scarlett, like she can’t believe it happened. “Twice. Geneva is a beast.” She squeezes her baby and showers her with kisses, making me think the kid is being rewarded for kicking my ass, but whatever. I’m no parent. Maybe that’s how you keep a baby from turning into a prize fighter.
Tarin gives Geneva a not-very-threatening frown. “That’s bad, Gigi. No hitting.” He points a finger at her. “No hits.”
She grins and reaches up in a flash to deliver a slap to his nose. Her little arm is like a damn windmill the way it keeps going around and around trying to catch some grown-up unawares.
He grabs her hand and puts her arm in his mouth, growling like a dog and shaking his head a little once he has a good grip on her.
For a second I’m shocked at what appears to be massively awful child abuse; but when she smiles hugely and squeals with delight, I realize he’s not using his teeth and that this is some weird game they play.
He lets her arm go and then head butts her gently in the chest. She takes the opportunity to grab his entire head with both hands and sink her gums and two teeth into his scalp.
“Youch!” he yells, pulling back, his hair sticking out all over the place. “That beast just bit me!”
“What did you expect, you lunatic?” Scarlett says, moving away from him as she gently scolds the baby. “You bit her arm. She thinks it’s a game.”
Tarin frowns, rubbing his head. “It is until you use fangs.” He points at the baby again. “No bites. No bites, you little beast.”
I look over at Rebel and expect to find him enjoying the entertainment, but instead, he’s staring at me.
I’m instantly self-conscious. Maybe I’m supposed to be doing something. My mind searches for the right thing to say.
“Kids who are raised by wolves do the same thing. Bite as a way to communicate.”
Everyone goes silent and still. Only heads swivel in my direction.
Ack! Help! Reverse! “Not that you guys are wolves. Or even like wolves. I mean, you bite your kid, but not like that.”
Silence.
“Anyone need to use the bathroom? It’s super clean. You could eat off the floor in there.”
Rebel walks towards the front door, completely ignoring the asshole in the room that is me. “I’ll call you when I have something,” he says, all calm and collected.
Tarin is still staring at me as he moves towards the door. “Yeah … cool … that’s cool, man.” When he’s even with Rebel he finally gives him his attention and holds out his hand. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
Scarlett is laughing silently as she leaves. She and Rebel exchange nods on her way out the door.
I back up towards the other side of my desk in stunned silence. Somehow I managed to not only make a complete fool of myself, but I also figured out a way to sneak in an insult about a baby being a dog raised by dogs. My butt bumps into what feels like the edge of my chair and I slump down into it.
Imagine my surprise when I end up in a pile on the floor.
Rebel comes over and bends down. “Are you okay?” He’s frowning. I can’t tell if he’s concerned or pissed.
I get up on my hands and knees and use the edge of my desk to stand. I’m only halfway there before the pain really hits me. I groan. “Fuck me sideways. I forgot my chair wasn’t there.”
He chuckles.
The sound surprises me so much, I look up.
That’s when he really starts laughing.
“What’s so damn funny?” I stand partway up, hunched over like that guy who hangs out in Notre Dame.
Apparently it’s my face that’s hilarious because he can’t stop long enough to tell me what the hell his problem is. He leaves the office with his shoulders shaking silently and his face glowing. I’m double pissed because he’s the only asshole I know who can laugh hysterically without making a single sound.
Limping over to the chair, I fume. I cannot believe that my total embarrassment and very bad impression of Lucille Ball is so completely amusing that he suddenly becomes a person who experiences emotion. How rude. How fucked up. How … annoying. I grab the back of the chair that was supposed to be behind me and wheel it over to my desk like it’s an old-lady walker. As I sit down in it, Mick puts his head around the corner.
“What the hell happened in here?”
“Nothing.” I’m grumpy and I don’t want to talk to his stupid happy face.
“Seriously. I’ve never seen Rebel laugh like that in my entire life.”
“He’s not laughing. He’s having a seizure. An asshole seizure.”
“What’d you do?” Mick says, grinning.
“Could you please leave? People are trying to work in here.” I stare at the computer screen and start pressing buttons. Any buttons. My fingers fly over the keyboard. GZQW54 FUCKMEI CAN’TBELIVE IDIDTHAT. I just need to stew in my shame alone and try to figure out how I can go about working here and living next door to Rebel without actually seeing him.
I’m blaming all of this on him. Before I came here, I was normal. I was cool. I was never jealous of other women. I said the right thing at the right time and I never sat down on air. This shit has got to stop before I accidentally kill myself.
“Okay, if you say so…” Mick disappears around the corner, but something tells me I haven’t heard the last of this.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I LEAVE WORK AT FOUR instead of five since I came in early this morning and head over to the hardware store. I use ten precious dollars of my cash to buy a big chain lock and some nails. I’m not even sure what I’m going to do with the nails, but they seem like a good thing to have for a person in the process of repairing a doorframe.
The only bright light of happiness in my afternoon appears when I catch a cute guy checking me out in the store. He’s standing there, flipping keys around in a big circle on a long keychain. When I return his look with a grin, he snaps his keys into his hand, frowns, and walks away with his face turned away.
Whoopie cushion blerp.
So much for a light at the end of the tunnel. Life completely and totally sucks right now. I’ve even lost my man-killer mojo. If I weren’t so mad at my circumstances I’d be bawling. Luckily, anger and frustration are like twin jet engines powering my body forward, keeping me from falling into a heap of self-pity.
I blaze through the check-out line and leave the parking lot, sliding my back tires around the corner on my way out. I’ll show that doorframe who’s boss.
When I get to the Golden Legacy, Stella the landlord is there at the bottom of the stairs and she’s fuming.
“What the hell happened in there?” she asks, following me to my apartment. She acts like she’s been waiting for me to drive in all day; I’ve never seen her move so fast. She’s huffing and wheezing as she stays on my heels.
Resisting the temptation to practice my roundhouse kick, I roll my eyes. “I was burgled.” I’m so not in the mood for her nonsense. Why can’t she just sit in her office and fill her lungs with carbon monoxide all day? Why does she have to ride my ass the minute I come on the property? Can’t I get a break anywhere today?
“You’re going to have to pay for the door,” she says.
I stop walking and turn around. “What? You’re nuts, I’m not paying for that.”
“Oh, yes you are, m
issy.” She’s at the stairs, its handrail in her white-knuckle grip.
“My name’s not missy, and no I’m not paying for it. It was a crime and I am the victim. You have to pay for it since you own it. Call your insurance company if you want to be reimbursed.” I’m halfway up the stairs before she responds.
“I knew I shouldn’t have taken a chance on you.”
She’s behind me, so I’m in the perfect position to stop and look down on her. I take advantage of my superior height and give her a hardcore staredown. “Let me get this straight... you think I’m some kind of trouble and I invited this in here?” I snort. “Like it’s not all the drug addicts and criminals who live in all the other apartments?”
“I don’t see anyone else’s apartment broken into, do you?” She gestures around the place, and I can’t help but stare at the flap of cottage-cheesy arm that sways under her triceps.
I swallow hard and force myself to look away. “Maybe there are other break-ins and you just don’t know it yet.”
“Nope. I hear about ‘em as soon as they happen. You should have called me yesterday.”
“I don’t have your number.” I continue up the stairs to the top. “I had to stay somewhere else last night because this place isn’t safe.”
“I hope you intend to fix that today.” She stops in my doorway. “And that hole in the wall, too.”
I spin around and face her, my head ready to blow up. “I’ll have you know that the hole was there when I moved in, and I fixed it at my own expense. Then some asshole came back and punched it in again. I shouldn’t have had to pay for it the first time let alone the second.”
“So you say. I didn’t see that on the move-in checklist.” She folds her arms across her ample chest and I have to look away. I used to have an appetite for dinner, but not anymore. All that cottage cheese … shudder. I’m never going to eat dairy products again.