“Hi Melody.”
“Oh good, you’re awake.” She chortles happily. “Glad I caught you.”
“How are you?” I ask.
“Fine, fine. Listen, we need to meet at my office when you can.”
“Oh yeah?" I know what’s coming.
“Mm Hmm. I found a new case for you to look at.” I should explain here that curing my amnesia is Melody’s pet project. She combs through missing person’s cases from all over the country looking for ones that could be me. Then she calls me up and makes me drag my happy ass down to her office to see if I remember any of the people in the files. It’s an exercise in false hope. She used to call the families sometimes and ask to run DNA tests or set up meetings. After my sixth opportunity to be the disappointment of a lifetime, I kindly requested that she cease and desist on the grounds that it’s humiliating and cruel.
“Okay.” I say without enthusiasm. Thump, ch, thump, ch.
“The girl’s from Florida. She went missing on spring break the year you turned up. The picture’s fuzzy but it could be you.”
“Okay.” I sigh. I’m curious. I always am. It seems like such a good idea, finding my identity, but it never pans out. “How’s next Thursday?” I always say next Thursday. It sounds good.
Melody laughs, which she likes to do. "November 3rd, good. I’ll stay late at the office for you.”
I nod, she always does. “Thanks, six?” It’s always six.
“Great.” She says. “So how’re you doing?”
“Fine.” It’ not a total lie. I pour some coffee.
“Job okay?”
“I love the job.” I say.
“Still like nights?” She asks incredulously. Why she has to ask is beyond me, I’ve worked at Flagship for two years. Obviously, I like nights.
“Easier on the eyes.” I answer, taking a sip and burning my tongue. “What’s the girl’s name?’
“Oh.” She pauses. She likes to save that for the big reveal but if I ask she’ll tell me. “Why, are you having memories?”
Do I tell her people have been recognizing me? No, I do not. “Just feel like knowing this time.” Thud, ch, thud, ch.
“Oh... Cameron Murphy.” She answers.
“Huh.” I say. I move to the bathroom and stare in the mirror. “I don’t really look like a Cameron.”
“Try Cammy or Ronnie.” Melody offers.
“Ronnie?” I sneer at myself. “Not my favorite. Not for me anyway. What’s the middle name?"
I can practically hear her glowing into the phone “Morgan!” she announces victoriously. My eyebrows shoot up. Melody has a theory that I was drawn to my chosen name because it struck a chord deep in my subconscious. The more ardently she believes it, the more reasonable it sounds. At least until we hang up. “Okay.” She says brightly. “See you Thursday. Don’t forget.”
“I’ll try not to.” I answer. “Have a good night.”
“You too, bye.”
“Bye.” I stare at myself for a few more seconds and head back to the couch. Thud, ch, thud, ch. I’m looking forward to work.
***
I walk into Flagship and am accosted immediately by Doug.
"I need to talk to you." He says all low and serious. I feel an eyebrow twitch. He hasn't more than nodded at me since the night I got trashed and changed clothes in front of his band.
I make no verbal reply.
"Hey." he pauses. He seems to feel awkward. I would like to capitalize on that but I don't know how just yet. I see Fin as she's descending the escalator. She sees me and she smiles. It's like a shark smiling. I wonder what she wants. "So." Doug goes on. "Qasim talks about you a lot."
I sigh. "That's weird."
"No its not." Doug's tone is beseeching. "He's a mess. He knows he blew it. He can't stop thinking about you. He's written, like three songs for you."
I think immediately of Luis Finch and his electronica tributes to Madeline. It gives me chills. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because he really likes you." Doug says.
"No I mean like why are you telling me this? Are we in junior high?" I smile on the inside. I don't remember junior high, but I know this is the kind of thing people say in moments like these.
Fin closes the distance. She wraps her arm around Doug and addresses me. "You know how you are, Meegan. Qasim's afraid that if he comes here to talk to you, you'll ignore him like you did before."
I nod. "That's a valid fear."
Fin sighs like she's Mother Teresa and I'm hopelessly lost. "Don't be such a hard assed bitch." She says. "He's a good guy. You liked him. I know you did."
I cross my arms and look longingly towards the elevator. They're blocking my way. Fin steps closer, trying to get in my line of sight which is difficult for her as she's so short.
"Hey." She says.
I look at her trying to keep a pleasant face.
"You owe me."
I scowl. "I owe you?"
"Yes, you owe me." She stands even straighter. "I invited you to meet my friends, and you thanked me by getting plastered and making an ass of yourself. For some reason they like you. Francis keeps asking why I don't bring you back, and Carol smiles when we talk about you, which we do way, way, too much. Doug and I have agreed that you can't come back 'til you get things straightened out with Qasim. I don't care if you make him your boyfriend but at least you can go out with him once and make it all better, for me."
"Huh." I disagree with Fin's little speech on several points, and I'm about to tell her so when I see Ashley out of the corner of my eye. I turn to her. "What do you think?"
She seems surprised but not angry. A little flicker of hope stirs in my heart. "I don't know; I wasn't there."
"I wish you had been."
Ashley puts her hands in her pockets. "I was surprised you went in the first place."
Fin looks put out.
Doug has already disengaged. He's turned to browse the bookshelf we're standing by. It's a seasonal display and it’s packed with pumpkin carving how to-s, make up kits and ghost stories.
Ashley continues. "It might be good for you though, to go out with the guy. It’s the squeaky one from Monday, right?"
I nod.
Doug snaps his head to us. "Hey. You should hear his singing voice." He says indignantly to Ashley. "It's ethereal. Tell her." He nods at me.
Ashley smiles and I smile too. "It's ethereal." I say.
Fin puts her hands on her hips. "If you work it out with Qasim, then you can bring Ashley when you come back." She makes it sound like I've been excommunicated.
"You'd like Francis." I tell Ashley. She gives me a look I cannot possibly decipher and turns to walk away. I sigh. "I have to go to work." I say and we three follow Ashley to the elevator.
Once we've all put our stuff up and clocked in, Ashley corners me in the break room. "You'd want me to come?" She asks without looking at me.
My eyes widen. "I miss you." I almost whisper it.
She sniffs. "I think you should go out with him. I mean, you can't blame him for getting weirded out with all the shit you told him."
"You know?" I screech.
Now she's looking at me. "Yes I know!" She glowers. "Not that you told me any of that crap. What are you making shit up so you'll seem more interesting?"
"Christ." I say. "Who told you anyway?"
"Qasim told me." She sputters, her blond hair getting in her eyes so she has to toss her head which adds to the moment. "He believes you, even though I told him you were full of shit. If any of that junk was true you'd have told me." She glares at me.
"Why is Qasim talking to you?"
"You were full of shit right?"
I stare at the floor and feel my cheeks burning. "We're going to get in trouble, we've already clocked in."
Ashley sighs, turns her back to me and walks to the elevator. I follow her begrudgingly, wishing there were two elevators so I wouldn't have to ride up with her. God, she is such a girl. I thought she was goi
ng to make nice. I never know what's going on. We walk silently into the elevator and hit the buttons for our respective floors.
When the doors close Ashley says. "You never really told me anything you know?" Are those tears I hear in her voice?
I look at her.
"That's why you should give him a chance." She says. "If you liked him enough to tell him a secret, you should give him a chance." Oh great, now I feel like a total shit. The elevator dings and opens up on two. I get out without a reply. What could I say?
Trying not to think about it, I throw myself into work. I break a sweat. I go the extra mile. I straighten, and clean, and shelve, and alphabetize with passion. I'm riding the escalator a couple of hours later with a cart full of self help books. I've pretty much forgotten about how I'm a bad person, when I see a little flicker of darkness down amongst the biblical reference books. I head that way just to check it out. I'm nearing the aisle I saw it on. I come up on it. I crane my neck to see around the shelf.
"Jesus!" I screech.
"What?" It’s Doug, a real person.
I sigh. "You surprised me."
He laughs. "Found a concordance up in the art books." He says. "You're gonna go out with Qasim, right?"
I groan. "I never said."
"I gave him your number."
"Why? It's not like I'll answer."
"Look, he's gonna call you on break. Just answer. I told him you'd be nice."
I shake my head and push my cart on by to the self help section. A person should never tell another person that I will be nice. There's just no way to know.
Doug follows me. "If you're mean to my friend..." He doesn't know what to say. I guess he can't think of a good enough threat.
"If I'm mean to you're friend?" I prompt, noticing his eyebrows for the first time today; I must be slipping.
"That wouldn't be cool." It would sound lame. It probably does sound lame. It’s a mark of my heightened emotional state that the sincerity in his voice hits my guilt instead of my sinicism.
I roll my eyes. “I don’t want to be mean to him.” I say glumly.
“Cool.” Doug smiles and goes to the escalators headed back to his work area.
It takes me a while. I’m almost all the way through the alcoholism section, before I can forget about the situation again. It occurs to me that I haven’t seen any of my ominous spiritual advisors today. Huh. I wonder if I’m not interesting to them anymore. Now I chide myself, Attention whore. How much cosmic focus do you even think you could handle in one day?
***
Break time came and went. I won’t give all the awkward details, but I will tell you it was not a private conversation, and suffice it to say I’ll see the schmuck on Tuesday which is my next night off. Its 7 AM now, finally, and I’m one of the first to get to the basement to clock out. I absolutely never clock out late. They’re not gonna pay me for the one or two minutes of overtime, so why give it to them? I swipe my badge and head to the coat rack.
Ha! A shade! It’s hovering around my bag. So that’s where you’ve been hiding, I think at it. I’m happy to see him. I don’t know if it’s the same one as before but its glowing a bit blue. I smile with familiarity as I hoist the bag over my shoulder. I almost luxuriate in the icy chill the shade sends down my leg. I missed you guys today, I think at him. Why him? I don’t know. Because he’s blue?
By the time I get to the front its 7:03. I’m second in line behind Betty. She has to pick up her grand babies this morning so she’s not messing around. I shiver. The shade is jiggling my bag. Day shift management is moving at the speed of sleepy. It seems to take him forever to go through Betty’s purse. I sigh and hop up and down a bit, mature, I know.
When Betty’s finally done, she makes some see you later noises and pushes through the door. I wave and set my bag on the counter. The manager opens it, and wouldn’t you know the first thing he pulls out is a copy of Shakespeare’s Trollop by Charlaine Harris. Huh. I know I have that in hard back. When did I buy the soft cover? I don’t usually re-read little mysteries like that. The manager opens the book. No receipt. Oh fuck! I didn’t buy the soft cover. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The manager, a young short guy, looks up at me with a question in his eyes. “No sticker?” He asks dryly.
I turn red. “That’s not my book.”
His eyes bug out a little.
I feel I must go on. “I own it in hard back. I don’t have the soft cover. It’s not mine.”
“Why is it in your bag?" He asks reasonably.
I shrug, I should have lied. Why didn’t it occur to me to lie? “I have no idea. Somebody must’ve put it there.”
Short guy gives me a look. He picks up the phone and calls over the loud speaker. “Management to bag check please. Member of management to the bag check.” He looks at the line of night shifters behind me. “You’re going to have to wait for Sam.” There’s a general groan. I get some dirty looks. Well, balls. Short manager turns to me. “I’m going to have to ask you to come down to the office with me.” I reach for my bag but he grabs it first. “I have to carry this.” He says. I roll my eyes, excellent. He starts off and I dutifully follow him. Dread is beginning to converge in my stomach. I’m pretty sure this is going to suck. We arrive at the office and Short Manager points to a seat. I sit. He now empties the rest of the contents of my bag out onto the desk. He reddens a little when he gets to the tampons. I smile. I’m glad he’s uncomfortable, little prick. At last he’s done. He replaces the contents and sits across the desk from me. “Why was the book in your bag?”
I bite my tongue before I can snap at him for being repetitive. “I don’t know.” I say. “Like I told you, it’s not mine. I didn’t come in with it. All of my books have the receipts taped inside the cover. Ask anybody. One of my coworkers must’ve done it.”
He looks skeptical. “You know we’re going to review the tapes.”
“Please do.” I tell him. “Can we start now? I’d like to know who thinks this is cute.”
Short Manager drums his fingers on the table. “No. Management will do it when we have the time but it’s not priority number one. We have a store to run.”
I glare at him.
“So.” He says, not withering one bit under my glare. “I’m placing you on leave without pay pending the investigation.”
I sigh. “Bullshit. I didn’t do anything.”
He shrugs. “That’s the policy.”
“How do I know when to come back to work?”
“We’ll call you.”
Well shit. “So I should call up here every day until you tell me something; that’s what I’m hearing.”
He shakes his head. “If that’s what you want to do, won’t make it happen any faster.”
“How long?" I ask plaintively. “I mean, do I need to find another job in the meantime? Are we talking less than a week? What?”
“Depends on how busy we are.” He says. “And if you were stealing.”
I suppress a growl. “When you find out I’m not a thief, will I get my pay reimbursed or am I just screwed for the hours?”
He makes a noncommittal gesture. “According to the policy you signed, you are responsible for the contents of your own bag, so it’s not Flagship’s responsibility to make up your pay. You should have checked your bag before you let me check it.” He says, like a bitch I might add.
“Well, fuck.” I say standing up. “Are we done?”
“You don’t need to cuss Miss Jones.”
He knows my name... maybe I am famous. “Sorry. Wasn’t really meant at you, just fuck in general, at the situation, at the fucking loss of pay.”
Short Manager does not find me amusing. He stands up. “Let’s go. I’ll need your elevator key”
“Do I have to sign anything?” I ask, handing him my key.
“No. HR’ll let you know by phone if there’s anything else you should do.”
“Can I have my bag back?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “At the
door. And just so the issue isn’t clouded, you shouldn’t shop at this location until the matter is cleared up.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever.” I say walking to the elevator. When it opens, it’s full of bright, perky, day people. I try to contain my contempt. but I know it shows on my face. Fuck!
***
I am way too pissed off to even consider going back to my apartment to sleep. If I went there, and my neighbor was home playing video games, I would be forced to beat his door down and kick his balls in. So instead, I head over to Madeline’s college campus to see what I can learn. I must look like a true crazy person because on the way over I’m muttering things to the shades like: “thanks for trying to warn me. “ “Sorry I didn’t listen." “Please show me where to go and who to talk to.” I consider calling Schuyler, but the idea that he doesn’t want to father children with me is finally pissing me off. It’s called residual anger and anyone can get an earful of it this morning.
The bus ride up State Street goes by in an irrationally furious blur. The more I brew on it, the worse it gets. I keep running through my coworkers in my mind. Who wants me fired? Doug? I just agreed to go out with his dumb friend. What more does he want from me? Ashley? She may want me to go away, but I can’t picture her trying to get me fired. Then again I couldn’t picture her yelling at me so often before these last couple of weeks so who knows? How deep does her resentment go? Betty? Does Betty secretly not like me even though she pretends she does? I suspected as much. I know I’m not good enough for Betty anyway, but I don’t think she’d pull this crap. Fin? Yeah it could be the fucking Shelving Fairy, tiny, conceited, little bitch. I see her shark smile in my head and I want to blame her, but I stop myself. I’m always suspicious of my motives when I find a reason to dislike a person who’s built like a perfect little doll. I suspect it’s my subconscious jealousy. Oh great, now I’m thinking about my body issues. Fucking day. The rest of my coworkers I don’t even really talk to. Did I do something to piss one of them off without knowing it? It’s possible.
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