Overnight Sensation

by Sarina Bowen

  “I care because of your self-destructive behavior!”

  “Oh, please!” she squeaks. “I work an obscene number of hours a day, thanks to you. Who has time for destructive behavior?”

  “Go back to school,” he says heavily.

  “We already had that discussion,” Heidi fires back. “And I’m not doing it.”

  “Where have you been staying?”

  “It just occurred to you to ask now?”

  “You don’t exactly answer my calls,” he points out. “Where are you living, Heidi? I told your mother I’d find out.”

  Heidi flinches. “That’s a private matter.”

  Tobias Pepper rolls his eyes, and for a split second the family resemblance shines through. Heidi gives me that same face sometimes. It’s way cuter on her, though. Then the man turns to me and asks, point blank, “Is she staying with you?”

  “Yessir.” I don’t even hesitate. “For as long as she needs.”

  He makes an unhappy grunt. “Heidi Jo, your ten weeks just became twenty.”

  “What?” she shrieks. “You can’t do that! I’ve done everything you asked! Every stupid job! Every humiliating moment! And I haven’t complained.”

  Oh, Jesus. I would’ve waited in the lobby if I’d known I would cause this scene.

  The old grump is already shaking his head. “You need to learn how the real world works. And you can’t learn it by ingratiating yourself with a hockey team.”

  Heidi has gone white. Her hands are in fists. She looks like O’Doul just before a sudden second-period brawl. “I can’t believe you,” she whispers.

  “You’ll believe me by March,” he says. “That’s the point.”

  She closes her eyes for a moment. Then they fly open again. She stomps toward a console table against the wall. “This must be from my mother?” There’s a gift box with a ribbon tied around it. Heidi checks the card and then tugs violently on the ribbon. “Ah,” she says, opening the lid of the box. “It’s good to know my parents are on the same page.” Heidi lifts something from the box. A scarf? A wrap?

  I don’t speak women’s fashion, but it’s diaphanous and beaded.

  “This is very useful!” she snaps. “I can wear it over my Ice Girls’ uniform between resurfacings. Or sell it on eBay. Whether or not you know it, I am a very practical girl.” She drops it back into the box and snatches it off the table. “Let’s go, Jason.” She stomps toward the door and opens it almost before I catch on.

  Heidi makes it to the elevator before I’m even out the door. But I hesitate anyway, turning to glance at her father on my way out. He’s standing quite still in his living room, looking like a grenade with the pin pulled.

  “Look,” I say, and he turns to look at me with angry eyes. “Don’t punish her for spending time with me. She doesn’t deserve that.”

  If possible, his jaw gets even harder.

  “She works really hard. I just want you to know that. She tackles the jobs you assigned to her, and she has a side hustle to earn more money.” I shake my head, thinking of all the hours Heidi works. “And she’s a good friend. She’s looking after my teammate who just had knee surgery. And she planned a birthday surprise for my roommate. She’s a good worker, and a good person. She’s impressive. If I were you, I’d be proud, not angry.”

  He closes his eyes for a brief second, and then turns his back on me.

  Having said my piece, I join Heidi at the elevator bank. Her eyes are red, and her shoulders are tight.

  When I pull her into my arms, she doesn’t resist.

  28

  Heidi

  “He doubled my jail sentence,” I tell Jana. “I’m having a dying duck fit, here.”

  “Deep breaths, Heidi Jo,” my sister says. “Stress wrinkles the face prematurely.”

  “I’ll look like a hag by the weekend, then! Why is he doing this to me?”

  “Maybe Daddy is having a midlife crisis,” my sister muses. “He snapped at Mama over the weekend, too. Right in the middle of the country club dining room.”

  “Oh, Lordy. Did she lose her squash at him later?”

  “No idea. I stayed clear of the two of them after brunch. He was giving Mama a hard time over her credit card bill.”

  “What a grump.” Although Mama is known for bringing armloads of shopping bags home every week. And she never worked a day in her life.

  Unlike me. “If you happened to watch the Brooklyn game on TV last night, you would have seen me skating with the Ice Girls again.”

  My sister giggles. “When’s the next home game? I have to see this.”

  “Friday.”

  “I’m making a note. Is the uniform awful?”

  “It’s the worst. Not just because it’s too revealing—it’s cold. And the jerk in charge is always touching us—like he’s at the grocery store trying to choose a good melon.”

  “Ew!” Jana shrieks. “I’m surprised you haven’t kneed him in the walnuts already. Our Heidi Jo doesn’t suffer fools. Tell Daddy. He’d hate that.”

  “I will not ask Daddy for help.” There’s a better way. “I’m going to write down everything the guy does and report back to the team owner.” In fact, I’m walking into the Brooklyn Bruisers headquarters right now to meet with Rebecca. “He’s going to get an earful from management.”

  “That’s showing him,” my sister says. “Now, you hang in there. If you need money, maybe I could give you a loan from my trust fund. The lawyer could help me with that.”

  “Wow. That’s generous of you. If I get really desperate, I’ll ask. I’m only halfway to banking the five thousand dollars I need for my own apartment.” I pause in the lobby to finish our conversation.

  “What?” she yelps. “Why so much?”

  “Everybody wants first and last months’ rent as a deposit. And then there’s the brokers’ fee. And I don’t own a stick of furniture.” Heck—if you add all that up, it’s more than five grand.

  “Come home,” Jana suggests. “Find a job in Nashville.”

  “I can’t! Because then Daddy wins.” Also, my subconscious has a brand-new problem with that idea. Jason is here in Brooklyn, my heart whispers.

  It’s way too soon to plan my life around his. But my subconscious doesn’t know it.

  “You hang in there,” Jana says. “Gotta jump! The spa manager is giving me the stink eye for using my phone in here. And it’s time for my full-body facial.”

  I let out a little sigh, just picturing it. What I wouldn’t give for a day at the spa right now. “Enjoy!” I tell her. “Toodles!”

  After we hang up, I hurry down the shiny hallway floorboards and into the executive suite. But instead of continuing into Rebecca’s office, I skid to a stop right in front of the reception desk where Rebecca used to sit.

  There’s someone else sitting at it now. A stranger.

  My pulse jumps and not in a good way. I’m staring down at a young woman with a shiny manicure, a crisply tailored suit, and perfect hair. There’s something familiar about her. Oh wait—that’s because she reminds me of me. Last year I was the glowing young intern who always showed up for work after a good night’s sleep and with perfect grooming.

  She’s me, only without the exhaustion from a month of petty humiliations. And what the heck is she doing at this desk? “Can I help you?” I ask her.

  The girl looks up at me, startled. “I’m pretty sure that’s my line.”

  “Who are you?” I demand.

  “Again, I’m the one who’s supposed to ask those kinds of—”

  “Heidi Jo!” Rebecca interrupts by calling to me from within the owner’s office. “Come right in.”

  I give the newcomer a searing look and then march toward Becca’s office. “Hi,” I say stiffly. “Did you already hire someone for—” I jerk my thumb toward the outer office.

  “She’s a temp,” Rebecca says kindly. “It’s a rent-to-own situation.”

  “But I want a shot at that position.” That’s my job! I want to
scream. “How much more experience could she have than me?” My voice gets high and squeaky when I’m upset.

  “I understand,” Rebecca says. “Nothing’s been decided. But I can’t leave that desk empty for months. And your father sent me an email demanding that you work through your internship jobs for an additional ten weeks.”

  “He’s being irrational,” I argue. “I’ll calm him down and make him understand.”

  “Okay. Let me know how that goes.” She gestures towards a chair. “You said you needed to talk about the Ice Girls’ gig?”

  “You bet.” I plunk down and face her. “Randy Cavanaugh is—to use a technical term—a dick weasel.”

  Rebecca flinches. “I don’t enjoy his company, either. And if his behavior is unprofessional, I’m going to need specifics. Start at the beginning.”

  So I do. I give Becca chapter and verse about the tiny uniform and the arctic breeze that turns my toes to popsicles as we greet the fans before the game. “‘Welcome sir! Here is my cleavage for your viewing pleasure. Ignore the blue tint of my skin! Beer is half-priced until warmups begin. Now retrieve your eyes from my ass and have a pleasant day!’”

  Becca claps a hand over her mouth and tries to suppress her giggle. “I’m sorry to laugh, but you are a cutup.”

  “I don’t see how it’s legal to freeze me.”

  “It’s not.” She shakes her head. “There was no reason to change the uniform. Last year they wore long black spandex tights and long-sleeved tops. They were still low cut and bare at the tummy.” Becca rolls her eyes. “But they had to be warmer, more practical.”

  “If the team had matching warmup gear, it could still work,” I point out. “But he has us dressed the same as his dance team, even when we’re just standing around shivering.”

  “You’re right. What else?”

  I hesitate. “Where did the new guy come from, anyway? There’s just something off about him generally. I know this is unhelpfully vague, but he took this girl named Amber aside last night, and afterward she was crying.”

  Becca’s eyes widen. “Did you ask her why?”

  I shake my head.

  “Well.” Becca looks thoughtful. “If Amber was late for work six nights in a row, he might have simply delivered a well-deserved warning. Or he could be a horrible man asking for sexual favors.”

  I can’t even hide my shudder.

  The boss taps the tips of her fingers together. “Listen, I have an idea. You are under absolutely no obligation to do this, though.”

  “What is it?”

  “Let’s keep you on the Ice Girls team for longer than this week. We’ll work in your other jobs around it. I’d want you to pretend to be really invested in advancement—tell Cavanaugh that you want to try out for the dance team. Tell him you’ll do whatever it takes.”

  “Goodness!” I gasp. I’m afraid to know what it takes.

  “Let me be clear,” Rebecca adds. “You are not to endanger yourself in any way, or to do anything that makes you truly uncomfortable. And meanwhile, you’re going to collect evidence to support the fact that he’s mistreating his employees. Buy a thermometer and record how cold it is where you’re standing. If he touches the girls, take a photo.”

  I let out a bark of laughter. “Hiding my phone is going to be tricky. The skirt is about four inches long. No pockets.”

  “Heidi Jo, you are the most resourceful person I’ve met in ages. Feel free to go all James Bond on this man. Find a camera on the internet that looks like a pen. Save your receipts.”

  “Oh, wow.” Suddenly, I see the possibilities. “This could be a whole lot of fun.”

  Rebecca gives me a devious smile. “This man was hired very suddenly last spring, after the woman who ran the program quit to move to Alaska with her girlfriend. Unfortunately, he has a multi-year contract. I need evidence if he’s created a hostile work environment. At the very least, I want to address the uncomfortable working conditions.”

  “I understand.”

  “Meanwhile, you’re going to have to fit in more of the work from your father’s list of jobs. But you’ll get overtime pay.”

  That’s certainly good news.

  “Oh—and what if I told your dad how amazingly helpful you are? I could let him know that your ability to work everywhere in the organization is working out so well that you and I are both giddy about it.”

  “But—” I don’t want Daddy to think this was a great idea.

  “Come on, don’t you have siblings? Reverse psychology, baby. You know it’s no fun to torture someone if they’re enjoying it.”

  “Oh,” I say slowly. “You’re very devious, too, Rebecca.”

  “I know!” She gives me a gleeful smile. “Hang in there, Heidi Jo. Not only are you doing me a big favor—one that I won’t forget—you’re also doing those other women a big favor. After you’ve been around for a while, maybe they’ll trust you enough to confide in you.”

  “Okay.” Helping the other girls would be killer. And helping Rebecca isn’t such a bad thing, either. “Say no more. I’m in.”

  Even if my boobs freeze off, it’s for a good cause.

  29

  November

  Jason

  “Heidi should keep looking,” Silas says as he zips up his suitcase for our road trip. He keeps his voice low as he adds, “That place is not the right apartment for her.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  Last night Silas accompanied Heidi to the Bronx to look at a rental. I’d wanted to see it myself, but Heidi said I was too judgmental. I’ve earned this reputation by pitching fits about the other three apartments I scoped out with her.

  In my defense, every one of them was in a dark, dangerous spot and had poor security. “How bad was it?” I ask Silas.

  He makes a disgusted face as he picks up the suitcase and carries it past me. I follow him into the living room where he sets it near the door. “A total dump. And in a shitty neighborhood.”

  “There are safety bars on the windows!” Heidi yells from my bathroom—which is mostly her bathroom these days. “I took a photo to show you, Mr. Bossypants.”

  That’s me in this scenario.

  “It also has roaches,” Silas points out.

  Gross. “Is there a doorman?”

  Silas says “no” at the same moment that Heidi yells the opposite. “Well.” Silas chuckles. “There’s a homeless man who holds the outer door in search of tips. But he’s not exactly a union employee.”

  “He was very nice,” Heidi insists. But then she sighs and changes the subject. “Guys, our car is four minutes away.”

  “We’re ready,” I call, walking toward my bathroom. “What takes you so long, anyway?”

  But the moment I spy her in the mirror, I forget the question. Heidi stands there in a short wool skirt and black tights. But it’s not only her curvy backside that’s so captivating, it’s the way she’s leaning toward the mirror, stroking some kind of makeup product onto her eyelashes, and humming softly to herself.

  It’s her essence. She’s populating my bathroom with beauty products and taking over my dresser drawer with lacy little pairs of panties, and I don’t even mind the invasion. Because I love the way her arm curls around my waist at night and the sound of her raucous laughter when I tell a joke.

  Every time I walk into a room where she is, I feel lucky. Life has been pretty kind to me for the last month.

  Heidi, however, hasn’t had it so easy. In the first place, Rebecca still has her working on the Ice Girls team, documenting Randy Cavanaugh’s offenses. That means Heidi has skated in all eight home games this month.

  And when the team is away, she does every other job her father invented for her. She’s cleaned the locker rooms at the practice facility. She’s stacked bandages for the training staff. She’s sold tickets in the box office. I get tired just thinking about it.

  My life, on the other hand, has only gotten better. I come home from road trips to a fully stocked apar
tment and an affectionate girl in my bed. And it’s funny how easily I’ve slipped into the role of being someone’s boyfriend, even after all these years. It’s like riding a bike. When I’m in town, I take her out for dinner and rub her feet. I do my part to shore her up, but I can tell she’s feeling worn down.

  This week, though, she’s heading out on a road trip with the team. So that’s new. “Are you about ready? I’ll carry your bag downstairs.”

  “Almost. I have to finish my lashes.”

  “No you don’t,” I argue. We still bicker all the time, and sometimes our arguments get heated. The dumber the argument, the more stubborn I become. I swear Heidi almost punched me last night when we were arguing over which pizza toppings are the most all-American.

  I can’t even remember what position I took in this great debate. I think I made a speech about the importance of sausage, and she made a speech about the patriarchy. After we fought it to a bitter draw, though, the make-up sex was spectacular.

  “You know, babe,” I say, instigating yet another argument just because I can. “Eyelashes don’t really matter. No guy ever turned to his buddies in the bar and said, ‘Look at the lashes on that one.’”

  She doesn’t take the bait. She screws the cap onto whatever diabolical dye or paint or glue she was using and then turns to face me. And this is how I lose arguments, because she’s so pretty I get a little distracted. “Jason, the lashes aren’t supposed to be noticeable. But they’re part of the whole effect.” She makes jazz hands to emphasize this point.

  And, fuck, I guess she’s right. Because the whole effect is making me wish we had a few extra minutes, so I could pull up that soft-looking sweater and…

  She snaps her fingers in my face. “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Don’t make your horny face. It’s time to go.” She slips past me.

  “I have a horny face?”

  “Of course! All men do. Yours is sort of cross-eyed, and your tongue hangs out of the corner of your mouth.” Her phone pings.