Flotilla_The Temp

by Erik Schubach

  I giggled. No, I didn't giggle, you weren't there so you can't prove it. Well whatever you sodding wanker, I giggled. I pointed out the window at the dock. “See the row of tenant storage sheds? That lineup of SUVs? The work truck at the end is the runner vehicle.”

  She scrunched her head to her shoulders cutely and saluted with the keys, “Got it, boss." Then she said quickly, “Love your shoes, they're darling," as she scurried out of the cabin.

  I looked down at my Jimmy Choos, the ones I borrowed from June and never returned, making them mine, and smiled. I liked them too.

  Yup, I knew why Christine liked this one.

  I glanced out the window to see her making a spectacularly athletic vault to the dock without using the gangplank, then hustle toward the Tennessee like she had something to prove. She was going to fill the position nicely until we got our thoroughly married Speedy back.

  I turned back to my work and got lost in the melody of it all. If I was born to do anything, this was it. I loved the Flotilla and what I did here with a passion. Maybe one day I'd be able to push some of the responsibilities of managing it to someone else without having a mini panic attack. But today was not that day.

  I didn't realize how long I was lost in the entrancing music of my work until my best mate stepped in, calling out, “Hiya Paya!”

  I looked up, and Tabby struck a pose, hamming it up, as usual, the perpetual class clown. I waved and bobbed my head, holding up a fistful of paperwork as she said with a sigh, “Don't tell me you forgot about lunch with Teresa and me. You work too hard lady.”

  I glanced at the time on my mobile and hopped up like my butt was on springs. “Of course not." Ok, so I wasn't very convincing. She just rolled those unique copper colored eyes of hers, which matched her hair, and offered an arm.

  I bowed and took it like a lady and then we were hustling out and down to the main deck to head out to meet her girl for lunch.

  We met Captain McCray on the pier as he was passing by to head out to his own lunch as well. I inclined my head to the man. “Cap." I expected his normal head bob, he was a man of few words, and when he did verbalize, he was usually gruff.

  He had been the original owner of the floating slums that the water gypsies like Tabby lived on back before the Flotilla existed. But when Tabby became a famous singer with money to spare, she bought half ownership of the fleet and had the old grain barges renovated into modern floating condos for the poor and homeless. He captained the Flotilla and maintained the vessels for his portion of ownership.

  But instead of a grunt of greeting, he said, “That Reid bloke is a really good egg. Hard worker. He's done a couple runs for Mrs. Smyth and me already today. He's picking up parts for Beatrice right now for the barge repairs she's doin' for us. He just volunteered when he found out she needed some things." Then he nodded. Apparently, that was all he had to say, which was more talking than he had done in maybe six months, and I absently wondered if he had sprained anything in doing so.

  I squinted an eye in pain as I asked, “You didn't call Reid a bloke, did you? You know she's a girl, right?”

  He sighed, likely over the fact this required him to talk some more, then offered, “Of course I did Miss Doshi..." I didn't correct him about my name, I figure that if it didn't stick the first fifty-three dozen times, it won't now. He continued, “He's a boy. Don't let the makeup Reid is wearing fool you. He's just, what do the kids call it nowadays? Emo?”

  I hesitated. Oh lord, was I wrong, and Tina and Reid didn't want to embarrass me by correcting me when I called him a her?

  Tabby chirped out like a grinning loon who's lost the trolly, “Who's Reid?”

  I looked at her royal perkiness and explained, “Our new Speedy until we get Speedy back." Then I gave her my, I know something you don't, smug look.

  She cocked an eyebrow, knowing me all too well and prompted. “What? Don't make me beat it out of you, woman. Spill.”

  I exhaled loudly as we all walked, and said dramatically, “If I must." I let a second tick by before blurting out in a rush, “Reid is the one Tina's been all secretive about dating!”

  Tabby's eyes widened and glinted in excited mischief. This was a mystery we had all been trying to solve for months. But now we had another mystery. She snorted as we approached the line of Flotilla vehicles and asked the two of us like we were daft, “And you can't decide if Reid is male or female?" She looked at us dubiously.

  McCray growled out in his gruff manner, “See for yourself." He nudged his chin to where Reid had just pulled up and slid out of the truck with a couple packages in hand.

  Tabby looked intently, first one eyebrow started to twitch then the other. Neat trick. And instead of admitting that we weren't just slow on the uptake, she said cheekily, “Reid is sort of beyond cute.”

  I quipped, “Bint.”

  She shrugged and smiled and said smugly, “There's an easy way to solve this. Ask for Reid's middle name. Then it's case closed.”

  I volleyed back, “That's... well, that's actually brilliant." So I called out as we got to the vehicles, “Hi Reid, I need your middle name for the insurance rider.”

  I could almost feel us all mentally leaning in in anticipation as Reid smiled and said cheerily, “Sydney.”

  Tabby muttered, “Drat."

  And McCray grumped out under his breath, “Fuck.”

  I lightly slapped the back of Tabby's head and whispered, “Great plan, Einstein.”

  As Reid hustled past us with the parts for Bea, who we stole from Hart Heating as the mechanic for our foundation, I asked, “Join us for lunch? We'll make it a girl's outing?”

  I smiled smugly at the grumpy looking Captain when she responded, “That sounds great! I'll be just a second, Bea is waiting for these parts." Ha! She didn't correct me. I win.

  Then the Captain called out to the hustling girl, “Be a good bloke and see me in my cabin when you get back? I have a run for you.”

  Reid saluted back at us, “You got it, Cap!”

  The smug look of challenge on McCray's face when he slid into his SUV, started the engine, and pulled away, was infuriating because Reid hadn't corrected him either.

  Tabby summed it all up perfectly as she said as she cocked her head, “Blorp.”

  I just nodded. “Shut up and get in you manky bint."

  She just chuckled musically as we got into my SUV to wait for the enigma that was Reid Sydney Masterson to return.

  Chapter 2 – Bits 'N' Bobs

  I was startled out of my thoughts by my manager calling out, “Earth to Christine. You still with us?" I blinked and glanced over, then down at about the billionth text message from Reid which had me giggling again. It read, “Oh my god! Tabby flipping Cat is having lunch with me!”

  The other messages during the day were just as entertaining for me, such as, “Some huggy goth woman at London Harmony just handed me a check for Paya, and I swear to god, J8 herself came walking past and said good morning to me after the goth hug-bot squished her.”

  I sometimes forget my initial shock at learning of the circles my sister ran in. From a runaway living on the street to being close friends with some of the biggest names in music here in London... Lenny has certainly come a long way. But then again, maybe I'm not entirely surprised, Lenore was always the strongest of us Elgin kids. She always took the brunt of our father's drunken fury for us. She and McGrath are my heroes.

  I admit to internally squealing like a fan-girl each time she introduced me to some superstar or another like they were just friends from down the block. An analogy that I see now is more true than I would have believed.

  I've seen beneath all the fanfare and fame and glimpsed their humanity beneath, and they aren't much different than you or me. They just dress waaaay better.

  Now I see that they are more than just the idols they project, they are actually real people whom I can identify with under all that glitz and glamour. They're family and friends. So it is fun to see someone reacting lik
e this to remind me of how spectacular these people really are, and just how lucky I am to know them.

  Oh, the teasing that shall be had about it tonight is going to be so much fun. It's so very easy to coax a blush out of my Reid.

  I smiled at Mr. Jameson, my boss here at Notting Hill Bits 'N' Bobs, “Sorry sir, my mind is somewhere else today.”

  He smiled back in that way he had about him, which made you feel like you were with everyone's favorite uncle. You know the type, a jolly overweight and balding fellow who always brings the best and most unorthodox gifts to the holiday celebrations, and is always laughing and having a grand time of it. The type who always has a kind word and sage advice at just the right time, without being obtrusive.

  Jasper Jameson, or JJ as he likes to be called, is a great, if not absentminded man to work for here. Bits 'N' Bobs is the premiere prop supply house to most of Great Britain and Europe. If we don't have it in the three story warehouse, which used to be a pickle factory, then we can source it from countless other prop-masters and artisans in Europe.

  He smiled widely, causing his rosy cheeks to pooch up like a chipmunk who had squirreled away an entire tin of peanuts in them at one go. “Oh pish gnish, not a bother, we all get distracted from time to time. The Queen knows it happens to me on occasion.”

  I tried hard not to snort, I swear I did. I failed. The poor bloke had two pairs of glasses on at the time. Likely because he couldn't find the ones he had resting atop his head so he pulled out his spares to wear until he could find them.

  I mimed touching the top of my head, and he cocked his in return. I winged my brows up toward the rafters, and he furrowed his brow then brightened as he understood and patted the top of his head and then looked sheepish as he found his spectacles there.

  He pulled them off and looked at them accusingly and said as he slid them in the breast pocket of the tweed jacket he wore everywhere, “Right then, those have been hiding from me for hours.”

  I smiled fondly at the man, and he straightened and changed the topic back to the current project. “I was asking if you've seen the transonic wrench-y thing for the BBC project? Their runner is going to be here for their prop-master any minute, and you've got everything but that neatly packed up for them.”

  I rolled my eyes at him, he was being dense on purpose. He knew bloody well that it was a sonic screwdriver. Our prop service was a favorite of the studio who handled a certain time traveling 'Doctor' and his big blue box. We're under a non-disclosure agreement, so I'm not allowed to say just 'Who' it is for.

  They are working on an episode where multiple generations of the character meet up to take on a relentless enemy. Bits 'N' Bobs had bought the props off the lot from prior seasons, and this is exactly why. It will save their own prop-master valuable time reproducing the props. Instead, JJ sold it back to them for a tidy profit.

  I blinked at him. How had the poor man survived to the ripe old age of sixty-five without help? I sighed as I looked at his pocket where he had just placed his glasses beside the prop in question. I asked innocently, “Have you checked by the Dalek shells in the back on the third floor?”

  I tried hard not to smile, but my traitorous lips were quirking as he said as he slid his glasses up to the top of his head, “Of course. I spent the last fifteen minutes there searching."

  I nodded sagely and asked, “When was the last time you saw it? I'm quite certain I saw it on the packing list this morning." I nudged my eyes to his clipboard.

  He huffed and looked at the clipboard and squinted. Then patted his pocket for his glasses and hesitated as he looked down to see the prop in question and then pointed at me as he squinted an eye and said, “You, dear girl, are on the evil end of the spectrum. Teasing a feeble old man like this.”

  I snorted and stepped past him to try to locate a gas lamp for a steampunk film we were supplying props for, giving him a kiss on the cheek as I went by, “Old, yes, but feeble? Perish the thought, sir. You put men half your age to shame.”

  He called after me with fondness in his tone, “You don't fool me, young lady, I know you're teasing ways. Evil to the core." Then he said, “Why don't you take lunch? You've been at it all morning without a break.”

  Me? He had already been there and working by the time I arrived a few minutes early this morning. The man never stops. I don't think I've even seen him stop for tea in the four months I have worked for him.

  I remember the first time we met. I was hurrying back to the tube after a job interview the next block over, and he came out of his shop, his arms full of this and that as he tried to lock the door behind him.

  He was dropping items all over and would just drop more each time he bent to pick the prior spillage up. I scurried over to him and said, “Here, let me help. This is an awfully big load." I picked up what looked like a reproduction knight's helmet and some sort of space ray gun as he attempted to lock his door again.

  He started to bobble, and I placed a hand on his shoulder, “Here, allow me.”

  I put my free hand out, and he looked relieved and explained as he let me pluck the keys from his hand, “My grandson, Bernard moved off to Cardiff with his new bride last week, and I find myself trying to do both of our jobs now here at Bits.”

  I looked at the sign painted on the door. “Notting Hill Bits 'N' Bobs, Eclectic Knick Knack Supply, If we don't have it, you don't need it. Inquire within.”

  I smiled, thinking it a secondhand shop. I locked the door then turned to him, his hands were busy trying to tame the load of bizarre odds and ends.

  I asked him as I took a couple more items from the top of his precarious stack, “Where's your car, sir? I can help you load up.”

  He furrowed his brow. “None of that sir stuff now, girl. I look around for my father when I hear that. Jasper Jameson, everyone just calls me JJ." He went to offer a hand and bobbled his load but recovered, then carefully just wiggled his fingers.

  I reached over and shook his fingers with a smile on my face, the poor man was an entertaining sort. “Christine Elgin.”

  He nudged his chin to, I kid you not, a little sky blue and white Austin Metropolitan from the middle of last century, in good repair. I had to blink. We moved to the boot, and he looked at me expectantly. I realized I still had his keys. “Oh." There were only three on the ring, I tried the only one that looked like a car key and unlocked the boot, and we spent the next ten minutes trying to get everything to fit. I knew I had missed the next train, but I was having fun helping out Mr. Jameson.

  We closed the boot, and both turned to lean against it and exhale. I had to grin at the fact he had a silly sense of humor like me. He nodded firmly once, over our victory over the plethora of items we had defeated, and said, “Right then, shall we?”

  Then the odd man walked over to the passenger side and slid in. I stood there, just blinking, not knowing what was going on. I looked at the keys in my hand. He expected me to drive him? I looked back at the tube down the next block, then back at him in the car. I would be late for my next interview...

  I sighed in resignation and then almost timidly slid into the driver's side and sighed again in relief, seeing the ancient vehicle had an automatic transmission. Lenore taught me to drive a manual shift vehicle once, and we were both almost in tears by the end of the hour. I drove like she did in a manual.

  I couldn't believe it when he directed me to the BBC Television Centre back lot. The man had a pass. Was he famous like all of my sister's friends? My curiosity piqued, I asked, “Just what is it that you do, sir?”

  He shrugged and smiled as we got out. “Oh, just supply them with a little of this, a little of that. Props mostly." That's when I realized the odds and ends made perfect sense now, and he wasn't a secondhand store, he supplied props for shows on the telly and the cinema.

  What an interesting profession that must be. And to be able to see your wares on the telly in a show must be exciting and gratifying.

  I helped him unload, there were four yo
ung men and an older man helping, who wore a badge which read, Harold Greer, Prop-Master. Harold, a clean cut, and quite ruggedly handsome middle aged man, looked over a list on a clipboard and compared it to the items we brought. He picked up the ray gun dubiously and prompted, “Sub par, but...”

  JJ snorted and bantered playfully, “Don't be playin' with me you wanker, you know this is grade A shite.”

  Harold chuckled and then signed the bottom of the clipboard and handed it back to Mr. Jameson. “So it is. Here you are you cantankerous old fart. A pleasure doing business with you.”

  The old man winked at the man, and they shook, I could tell it was a firm shake the way their knuckles whitened and Harold looked a little strained. They let go, and I got the impression that the elder of the two won whatever testosterone fest they were conducting. They shared a chuckle and a smile as Harold said, “Now go, get off my lot before I have security drag you out by that outdated jacket.”

  They were nothing but grins as JJ got back into the passenger seat again.

  We discussed the prop business on the short drive back to his shop. I was enraptured by what he shared with me.

  When we arrived, I handed him his keys and prepared to make my exit as he unlocked the building which I was taking a good look at now. This was the only door, was the entire building full of eclectic stuff for productions?

  He opened the door, holding it for me. “Right then, don't dawdle, girl. We've another order to fill today.”

  What? I didn't wish to be rude or anything. I was on the fence about whether the man was as eccentric as he appeared or if it were an elaborate act. So like a git, I hesitated a moment then stepped in. He kept me busy the rest of the day. Every time I got up the nerve to let him know I had things of my own to do, he'd break into some story or another about this production or that.

  It was endlessly fascinating and I found myself enraptured by his tales. He ordered Chinese in for us to eat lunch as we worked. I was getting to understand the system behind the seemingly random groupings of items throughout the place.