Sidekick Returns

by Auralee Wallace

  ‘Friday?’

  ‘Oh, didn’t I mention I was invited to that museum event too?’ I gave myself a mental high five. Now that was some quick thinking on my part. Sure, Ryder had gotten away from me tonight, but there was no way I was letting Pierce slip out of my grasp.

  ‘No, you didn’t.’

  ‘Huh,’ I said. ‘Well, I am. Been on my calendar for months. You know, it’s almost like the universe is trying to tell us something.’

  He stood and moved to pull my chair out for me. ‘Yes, like I am in so much trouble.’

  ‘It’s open to interpretation,’ I said, getting to my feet. ‘Oh, and Pierce,’ I added, shivering as he placed his warm hand on the small of my back, ‘one more thing.’

  ‘Mm?’

  ‘Does everybody get mail?’

  ***

  Like a true gentleman, Pierce opted to take me home in a cab before he went to the office. I was truly grateful. My life as a pampered socialite had not prepared my feet for the amount of walking a struggling crime fighter had to do in an average day.

  As the cab pulled in front of my building, I felt Pierce’s hand tighten around mine. At first I thought he was being romantic, then it hit me. He had never seen my place before. I had always made excuses to avoid this moment.

  I scanned his face. ‘Pierce?’ His eyes moved to meet mine.

  ‘Let’s move in together.’

  ‘What?’ My heart skidded to stop.

  ‘You can move in tonight.’

  ‘Um, I thought we had some issues to work out?’

  ‘Meter’s running,’ the cabbie said over his shoulder.

  ‘I can’t let you sleep in this place.’

  I patted him on his knee. ‘Oh, it’s fine.’ I realised my patting had turned to caressing and quickly pulled my hand away.

  ‘Are those bloodstains on that building?’ he asked, leaning around me to peer out the window.

  ‘No,’ I said with a scoff. Wait … were they? ‘No, no. There’s too much of it. Don’t be ridiculous.’

  Pierce turned his rounded eyes on me.

  ‘Really,’ I said. ‘I think this is like Mr Pushkin’s territory. If anyone made trouble, it would be like starting a mob war.’

  ‘You are not making me feel any better about this.’

  He leaned across me again to get a better look. I kissed him on the nose. ‘A friendly thank you for the dinner we didn’t get to eat,’ I said.

  He closed his eyes. ‘Really? Because it felt more like a don’t worry your pretty little head about this.’

  ‘You two are adorable, but I got a serious haemorrhoid that’s starting to itch,’ the cabbie shouted back. ‘What are we doing?’

  I opened the door. ‘I’ll be fine Pierce.’ I stepped out onto the grimy street. ‘Really.’ I shut the door before he could get out.

  He rolled down the window. ‘Bremy, wait,’ he said, leaning out. ‘About the museum. I don’t … I don’t want to lead you on … or lead myself on. I …’

  ‘Let’s talk about it Friday,’ I said. Surely I could think of something to convince him we were meant to be by then.

  Pierce crinkled his forehead sceptically, but smiled.

  I leaned down closer. ‘I forgot to say thank you for the cab.’

  He looked like he was about to say something, but I cut him off with a kiss. Hot tingles ran over my body. Kissing Pierce was like bathing in melted chocolate.

  ‘Seriously! I have Vesuvius on my ass!’ the cabbie yelled.

  I leaned back and watched the taxi pull away, giving Pierce a final wave before turning to the door. I let out a happy sigh. Sure, a crime fighter and a reporter seemed like an unlikely mix, but maybe we could set a precedent.

  I hurried over to the door, unlocked it and stepped into the foyer of my building. I took a moment to really look around. I had never lingered there before, given the ever-flickering fluorescent lights overhead, but a thought was niggling in my brain.

  Boxes!

  I ran over to the wall filled with all little inlaid cubes with keyholes. I could have sworn they had never been there before. I peered into one of the cloudy plastic windows.

  Mail!

  So I did get mail. Sure, I could have beaten myself up over this, but, really, I grew up with an army of servants, excuse me, domestic workers, who catered to my every need. How was I supposed to know how the real world worked?

  I ran my fingers along the boxes, peering into the tiny plastic windows on each. Hmm, they all had numbers. Of course! My apartment number! I scurried over to the one I figured must be mine. Huh. It was stuffed. What could all that be? I tapped lightly on its little glass window, but it wasn’t revealing any of its secrets.

  Now, how to open it?

  Suddenly the building’s front door opened, startling me. In walked a petite young woman, dressed like an adorable nerdy bookworm with a pleated shirt and knee socks. Her gaze popped up to mine. ‘Oh, hello.’

  ‘Um, hi.’

  ‘I’m new in the building. Just moved in,’ she said brightly. ‘I work at the library down the street.’

  I narrowed my eyes at her. She was awfully friendly. ‘Not the best building,’ she continued, eyes darting up to the flickering fluorescent lights. ‘But the price is right.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ I said, thinking, Sure, the price is just great … if you’re making library money. Some people.

  A moment of awkward silence passed. ‘Well, have a good night,’ she said, putting a hand on the metal stair banister. I turned back to my mailbox. Perhaps I should have asked her how to open it. She did seem kind of nice and cute, but I had already hit my limit of how stupid I could look in one day.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the girl’s voice called out again. ‘But you look really familiar.’

  Uh-oh.

  I watched her penny loafers come back down the stairs.

  This was not good.

  ‘You must be mistaken,’ I said, turning my face into the corner.

  ‘No. No way! You’re Bremy St. James!’

  Chapter 8

  ‘What!’ I stepped back, bumping into the opposite wall. ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘Yes, you are! I’m a huge fan.’ Then I heard the computerised click. The click of a phone taking a picture.

  I rubbed both hands over my face.

  Now what was I going to do? I needed to get that picture. Aside from my father issues, I just couldn’t give the tabloids the satisfaction of seeing how I was living. I just couldn’t. I needed to make something of myself first … something respectable. I spun to face her. At least she was little. I sighed and started to push the sleeves of my windbreaker up my arms. A girl had to do what a girl had to do. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked, looking at me quizzically, while still beaming.

  ‘I’m going to have to take that picture from you.’

  ‘What?’ she asked, moving her hands to her chest. ‘By like force?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘That’s so cool!’ she shouted with a little hop. ‘But you don’t have to do that. I can delete it.’ She looked down at her phone, made a few swipes, and poked the screen before flipping it around to show me. ‘It was rude of me anyway.’

  ‘I don’t? You can?’ I slumped back against the boxes. ‘Oh, thank God. But wait, why are you being so nice?’

  She slow blinked a few times. ‘Do you want me to be mean?’

  ‘Are you new to this city?’ I asked, cocking my head. ‘You could’ve probably sold that photo for thous—I mean, never mind.’

  ‘There are all sorts of ways to make money,’ she said, waving a hand. ‘Besides, I told you. I’m a big fan. What have you been doing lately? Your sister is all over the news, but you’ve just disappeared. And you’re here?’

  ‘I, uh, just wanted to try living in the real world,’ I said, scratching the side of my head, ‘before I, uh, commit to my life of being rich and famous.’

  She nodded. ‘You mean like the Amish with their Rumspringa?’

&nb
sp; ‘Right,’ I said with a point. ‘And a ring a ding, dinga, back at you.’ Who was this girl?

  ‘Okay.’ She cocked her head again. ‘Anyway, I’ll let you be. I don’t want to go all fan girl on you.’ She waved her hands in the air. ‘But I just have to say, that Spring Break Special? With the beer pong polo? I wish I had as much fun as you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I smiled at the memory. ‘Once that purebred stud got a taste for the good stuff, he was never the same.’ I shook my head. ‘Actually, I feel kind of bad about that.’

  She kept on smiling before saying, ‘Anyway, I better go before I do something embarrassing like ask you to hang out.’

  It took everything in me just to smile and nod. I really did kind of want to hang out. I mean, as of late, most of the people I met didn’t exactly … like me. And it was so nice to be liked. But I didn’t know this girl, and she now knew me. I had to be smart about this.

  Her smile drooped an insy bit when she realised I wasn’t taking the bait. ‘Well, I hope your break doesn’t last too long.’ She grabbed the stair railing and mounted the first step. ‘The world needs more Bremy St. James.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I brushed my hair back from my face. ‘I will keep that in mind.’

  She walked up a few more steps, so I could only see her pulled up socks. ‘By the way, your apartment key opens the mailbox.’

  ‘Yes!’ I lunged for the box. Then I remembered I was being rude. ‘Thank you!’ I shouted, turning back to the stairs, but she was already gone.

  I quickly slid my key into the lock and swung the little door open. I pried the overstuffed contents from their prison and pinned the stack to my chest. Mail! A lot of mail! I had no idea I was so popular. And now, I actually had something to do in my apartment other than dream about Pierce and crime-fighting greatness.

  I hurried up the stairs. I only made it a step or two down my hallway before I heard the death metal blaring. Queenie.

  Neighbour. Misanthrope. Designer of kick-ass outfits. And maybe girlfriend of my one other friend in this city, Bart. At least, I liked to think that Queenie was my friend. But I’d never tell her that. She might hurt me. She was also Korean, but I wasn’t sure anymore if I was supposed to mention that … or think it. Hmm, did Queenie describe me to people as Caucasian? Or maybe, that white girl? And if so, what did that mean to them? Whoa. I gave my head a shake. I never used to ask myself these questions in my old life. I was blowing my own mind. Either way, Queenie was just the person I needed to talk to.

  I marched over to her door, mail still pinned in my arms, and kicked it with the toe of my boot.

  The door swung open.

  ‘Oh,’ I gasped. ‘Queenie, no.’

  She didn’t move. She just stared back at me with dead eyes. No, really, she was wearing contacts that whited out her irises. I was used to her dressing in frightening mash-up outfits, but tonight she was picking on one of my childhood favourites.

  My eyes roved over her blue and white checked dress with apron overtop. Sure, it was shredded in places and splattered with blood, but with the pigtails … there was no mistaking who she was supposed to be. Then I recognised the lyrics of the song.

  ‘You can’t be a zombified Dorothy,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘And “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” is a happy song.’

  She still said nothing, but she hadn’t slammed the door either. It showed how tight we’d become.

  Suddenly, my hand flew to my mouth, sending a few envelopes fluttering to the floor. ‘You didn’t!’

  Queenie said nothing.

  ‘That is wrong!’ I pointed at the necklace she was wearing. It was hard to be sure, but it looked like it had a tin, a fur, and a straw ear as charms. Still nothing. ‘Okay, moving on.’ I shuffled my feet. It seemed rude just to come out and ask for a favour, so I started with, ‘How’s it going with Bart?’

  The door came swinging towards me, but I straight-armed it. I knew Queenie’s modus operandi. ‘No! What did he do? I’ll kill him.’ Queenie inhaled … angrily. ‘Do you want me to pick up some food? We can have a girls’ night. You know, talk it—’

  ‘What!’ Queenie suddenly screamed.

  I startled. ‘What, what?’ I asked.

  ‘What do you want!’

  ‘Oh … you know what?’ I said, angling my face towards the safety of my apartment. ‘It doesn’t seem important now. I’ll just—’

  Her eyes widened to terrifying proportions.

  ‘It’s just that I’m going to this fancy masquerade at the museum,’ I said, looking up at the ceiling briefly before daring to peek at her face, ‘and I was wondering if maybe you knew where I could get a lead on a dress?’

  This time I let the door slam in my face.

  ‘Is that a no?’ I shouted.

  I struggled to hear over the blaring music. Finally I caught, ‘Bring me something to work with.’

  Hotdog! I slapped the letters pinned to my chest. She couldn’t admit it, but Queenie totally loved me. I bent to pick up the rest of my mail. Suddenly a crash sounded on the door, like Queenie had kicked it right at the height of my face.

  Loved me in her own unique way. Once inside, I flopped onto my bed by the toilet and sorted through the mail. This was so exciting. I had never received my very own mail before. It was also kind of disturbing seeing as I was supposed to be living on the DL—not the married man having sex with other men DL, but, focus, Bremy, nobody was supposed to know where I was. I still couldn’t help myself from happy squirming though. This pile of letters proved that I did in fact exist. I quickly shuffled through the envelopes. Huh. It wasn’t exactly the existential proof I was looking for. Not a single one of the missives seemed to be labelled with my name. Somebody named Occupant, however, was very popular. Oh well, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  I really believed that until I found one with my name on it. Actually it was addressed to Brenda St. James, my secret identity. I tore into it. At first I couldn’t quite figure out what I was looking at. I turned the page sideways, gave it a good squint, then righted it again. Nope, that still couldn’t be right. I then tried turning my head from side to side. It still said the same thing, but that thing made absolutely no sense. It said I owed $230 to the cable company for two months of the all-inclusive package, but that couldn’t be right, because I didn’t have cable. I gave the paper my best inquisitor glare, but it gave up nothing, so I threw it on the bed, and moved on. I had more important mail to find.

  I quickly sifted through the stack, but not a single envelope had Choden as the return sender. There were, however, lots of flyers, especially for a Tex Mex slash Asian fusion restaurant.

  Well, didn’t that just beat all. I threw the paper in the air and flopped back on my bed.

  ***

  I woke up in the morning feeling exactly like one might expect someone to feel who had gotten into a fight with a best man and his twin, two gorilla duck hunters, and a couple of shots of vodka. Okay, I didn’t exactly fight with the vodka, but we were in the process of breaking up … and it hurt.

  I glanced over at the clock on my nightstand toilet. Hmm, it was later than I thought. Mr Pushkin hadn’t called to wake me. Mr Pushkin! I groaned and covered my face with my hands. How did I keep losing his money? I was kind of surprised he hadn’t called to set up my date with the Grim Reaper yet. Oh wait, that’s right. He said I could bring him the money later today. I flopped my hands back on the bed. Well, that gave me an entire day to figure that one out. Plenty of time. I swung my legs over the side of my cot that drooped in the middle and sat up. Blood pounded unpleasantly in my head, but it seemed to pump some fresh ideas into focus. Something had to be wrong with Ryder. I mean, fine. She had never really wanted to be my mentor. And sure, she had run away from me before when big things were a’happening, but I thought she had finally given all that up when she realised I wasn’t going away. So why was she giving me the cold shoulder now?

  I tapped my big toe against the gritty floor and squinted my eyes. I ne
eded to talk this over with Bart. At least he still believed in the dream. I was supposed to go over to his store anyway because … because … oh my God! Because today was the best day ever! Today, I would get my cape.

  Chapter 9

  ‘There’s no cape.’ The bells on the door of Dreaming of Electric Sheep hadn’t even finished jangling when Bart greeted me with the news.

  ‘What?’

  He shoved half a sandwich, which looked to be solely filled with bacon, into his mouth before answering. ‘There’s no cape,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Why? Why is there no cape?’ I walked over to the counter that Bart was stationed behind. ‘There was going to be a cape.’ I poked the counter with my finger. ‘An awesome cape. A cape that you said you could trick out in ways no cape had ever been tricked out before.’

  ‘That I did,’ Bart said, lowering his voice, sending me a warning dart with his eyes over to a teenage boy browsing the comic book section. The kid’s hands were holding a glossy edition, but his eyes were on us. ‘It’s not done.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He brushed some crumbs off his chest. ‘Queenie hasn’t called me back.’

  I closed my eyes. Of course, Queenie was to be the seamstress in this operation. I shook my head back and forth. ‘I thought something was up with her.’

  ‘Something?’ he snapped back. ‘What something? What did she tell you?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said, moving a hand over my face. ‘It was more of a feeling.’

  Bart cocked his head to the side and leaned forwards, staring awfully intently at me with his left eye. ‘What kind of a feeling?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I stammered. ‘Just a feeling that maybe something wasn’t right between you two.’

  Bart furrowed his brow and leaned back. ‘Elaborate.’

  ‘There’s nothing to elaborate on! It was just a feeling!’

  ‘But something had to have given you this feeling. Something she said or did,’ he added quickly. ‘You’re not a psychic, you know.’