Super

by Jones, Princess

  I clicked open my email and start browsing through the pile of messages I’ve received in just a few short hours since I logged off the day before. “What did I miss?”

  “In the meeting?” Mellie tossed her long dark hair as she laughed. “Nothing. Just the regular bullshit. Sell more. Sell more, sell more, sell more.”

  “So basically it was like every other meeting we’ve ever had in our entire lives.”

  “Yeah. Nothing you couldn’t miss. If Larry asks, just tell him I gave you my notes,” she said.

  “I guess we’re pretending you take notes now?”

  “Yep. I may not be around much longer but I want to keep my job for as long as I want it. And you know how he loves to see us taking notes. Even if he’s not saying anything important.” She grabbed a few more pieces of candy and threw me a sly smile. “New subject!” she announced. “I know you got my texts but you didn’t respond to them. What’s up with that? You don’t want to meet his guy?”

  I gave her a dirty look. “Um, because I already told you I’m not interested. Wait. You didn’t give him my number did you?”

  She rolled her eyes. “No. I wouldn’t do that. Well, I wouldn’t do that until you were on board.”

  “Why are you always trying to get me to go out on dates with these random guys you come up with?”

  “When did you last spend time with a guy?”

  I leaned back and squinted my eyes, pretending to think. “Um, the last time I got a speeding ticket, I think. The cop was a dude. That counts, right?” Come to think of it, I still hadn’t paid that ticket. Damn!”

  Mellie balled up a piece of a paper and threw it at me. “No, it doesn’t count!”

  I sighed. “I have a lot going on right now. I don’t really have time for a relationship.” That was the truth. I just didn’t mention that fighting crime was what was taking up so much of my time.

  “Do you have time for sex?” Mellie asked.

  “Um—”

  “With someone other than yourself?” she added.

  I could tell my face was really red. “Ok so let’s put my vagina on a list of things we don’t need to talk about ever again.”

  She laughed. “Ok. But a date isn’t a relationship and it’s not sex. It’s just a couple of hours where some guy is nice to you and buys you something to eat.”

  Actually that didn’t sound bad. Someone being nice to me and buying me something to eat is kind of my idea of heaven. But I wasn’t fooled. There had to be a catch. “Something has to be wrong with this guy if you have to sell him this hard.”

  “I don’t have to sell him. He’s great. I’m selling you the idea of a date. For some reason you have no faith in yourself.”

  “Can you blame me?”

  She thought about it for a second. “No, but let’s just hope for the—”

  Suddenly Mellie stopped talking, made a weird face at me, and walked past me quickly. Her face reminded me of a horror movie, so I already knew what was behind me. I swiveled slowly in my chair to see my boss Larry standing there.

  “Audrey, can you join me in my office for a chat?”

  ***

  Larry leaned in the chair behind his desk with his feet up and his arms crossed behind his head. He was a big guy so the pose took some effort. “You know, when I started this company, I knew that I was doing something a little crazy. My wife begged me to keep my job at Merrill Lynch but I just couldn’t do it. I knew I could bring something new and refreshing to the world of paper. A personal touch.”

  It was everything I could do not to fall asleep right there. I’d heard this speech before. In fact, I’d heard this speech multiple times a day since I’d started working there.

  I paused. Did Larry just say something important? “Huh?”

  Larry ran his fingers over his salt and pepper mustache and grunted. “I was saying that this merger with BK Office Supplies is going to take us to the next level. That means we need next-level people, Audrey. You understand what I’m trying to say here, right?”

  “Um, uh, yeah?” It came out as more of a question than an assurance that I actually knew what he was talking about. I remembered hearing about a possible merger with an office supply company. There was a lot of talk about synergy and customer base. But it all came down to the fact that nobody will call up one company for paper and another for pens when they can use Staples or OfficeMax to buy all kinds of office supplies in one trip. “Yeah,” I repeated, trying to sound more aware of what was going on. “The merger. Mmhmm.”

  The look on Larry’s face said that I’d failed. “Audrey, let’s be honest here. You haven’t had a great track record with the company so far. You’re late a lot--”

  “My car got stolen today.”

  “Sometimes you’re distracted—“

  “I have undiagnosed ADHD. They wanted to diagnose me but it was like a two-hour test and I didn’t think I’d be able to concentrate long enough to finish it.”

  “Then there was the incident with the broken toilet—“

  “I’m pretty sure that wasn’t me. I mean, I know I was the last one in there but everything was fine when I left. I would have certainly noticed if the toilet was broken.”

  Larry went on like he couldn’t hear me. Probably because he’d heard all of these excuses before. “Now, if I were a different man, you’d be out on the street by now. But I believe in giving people chances. Just because you’re an odd duck doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have a chance to become a swan. So I’m assigning you to be the sales liaison between us and BK Office Supplies during the transition. The merger is a done deal. But you’ll work with their sales liaison to make sure that our entire sales force meshes together smoothly. That involves training, moving offices, etc. You’ll be my point person.”

  I nodded with feigned confidence. “Yes, sir.”

  Larry leaned over his desk and gave me a serious look. “Let me be clear here. If there is the tiniest bit of trouble with this merger, you better get on Craigslist or something because you won’t work here anymore.”

  Less confidence this time. “Yes, sir.”

  Chapter 3

  The most misunderstood part of the whole Super thing is the wardrobe. If you went by the movies and comics, you would expect bright, shiny spandex ensembles. But in the real world, that shit brings too much attention. And the last thing a Super wants is attention.

  My work outfit is a spandex/polyester blend in dark gray tones that fits me like a glove. It’s made well so it doesn’t rip easily. I can move in it and it doesn't get caught on sharp corners or branches. And it has a matching detachable cape that can be anything from a parachute to an extra layer during those cold NYC winters. I can leave it at home when I don’t. It’s the most expensive piece of clothing I have ever worn.

  Notice I didn’t say that it’s the most expensive piece of clothing I’d ever bought? Right. Because my parents bought it for me when I got my Super license. If I ever had to replace it, I’d be shit out of luck.

  My suit is also the only thing I own that has to go to the dry cleaners to be cleaned. I have a strict no iron, no dry clean policy when it comes to my clothes. My suit is the only exception.

  If I were smart, I’d use a Council approved dry cleaner. My suit is one of a kind. It was made just for me. I should take it to someone who understands the challenges Supers face. But I’m also financially disadvantaged, which is just a fancy way to say I’m broke as hell. So I use a cheap dry cleaner down on Fulton Street. It’s a good long walk from my job to the cleaners but I needed to save the $2.50 I’d spend on a subway ride. Besides, it gave me time to think about everything that had just happened.

  It was just so weird that Larry was actually asking me to do anything. I’d been working for the guy for six months, pretty much under the radar the entire time. Sure, I was known to be late. Yeah, I broke that toilet. But no one ever paid too much attention to me. Why now? There are those who would be very excited that their boss was taking an interest
in them. It could mean more responsibility, more money, etc. But, I was not one of those people. He was either greatly overestimating my abilities or setting me up for failure. Either way, I was terrified.

  SoSo Cleaners was named for the Vietnamese family that ran the place. It was just a coincidence that the name also described the customer service you could expect to get there. The bells on the door jangled as I walked in. I recognized the lanky guy leaning on the bulletproof Plexiglas encased counter reading the paper. He looked like a tollbooth operator.

  “Hey, Tommy. I’m picking up.”

  He didn’t even look up. “Ticket.” It wasn’t a question.

  I dug into my pocket and pulled out a quarter, a Tic Tac, and a paper clip. No ticket.

  “I think I left it at home.”

  Again, Tommy didn’t even look up. “No ticket. No pickup.”

  “Come on, Tommy!” I pointed to the rack behind him. “I can totally see my suit right there. Just give it to me. It’s not like you don’t know who I am. I come here all the fucking time!”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said, waving his hand in the air, but still not looking up. “You come here all the time. And when you come without your ticket, you don’t pick up.”

  I stared at the top of Tommy’s head for a moment and wished fervently that I had the power to shoot fire from my eyes. I would burn down this entire place, including Tommy. The thought of him crackling for a bit made me a little less pissy.

  I sighed. “I’ll be back.”

  “Ok,” he said, still not looking up. “Bring your ticket with you.”

  Chapter 4

  It was a long trip back to Queens. By the time I stepped off the F train, I was exhausted. It felt like I hadn’t been home in a week even though it was just a few hours ago. The subway wasn’t fun. Well, it might have been fun if I only had to go two stops and it was all clean like it is on TV. Maybe it would be fun if I were a tourist who thought the novelty of standing in a puddle of piss while a homeless man berated me for money was worth the risk of being knocked over by a pair of kids breakdancing for money.

  But I lived in Jamaica, Queens and I worked in Brooklyn so it took me about an hour to an hour and a half to get to work by subway. Also, I seemed to always pick the car with the crazy homeless guy wearing no pants, trying to convert me to his religion. But it’s not like I had a choice. It’s not like I could fly or anything.

  The truth was that I should have lived in Brooklyn. It’s where I’d been assigned by the Council. Actually, my original assignment was in Bayonne, NJ because my licensing scores were low enough to embarrass my parents. But that was just too depressing so my dad pulled some strings and got me closer to home. He was retired now and living in the city with my mom. He said that Brooklyn was just far enough that he didn’t have to worry about me but close enough that he could worry about me when he needed to.

  I would have lived in Brooklyn if it wasn’t so damn expensive these days. All the Manhattanites were moving to escape the high rent, but they just brought the high rent with them. I had the choice of living with four starving hipster artists in a Brooklyn loft or living alone in a tiny basement apartment in Queens.

  I chose to live alone. The last thing I needed was a bunch of nosy roommates asking why I have a cape in my closet.

  I liked my apartment. It was a studio with a small kitchenette that went mostly unused, a tiny bathroom, and a futon that folded out into an uncomfortable bed. There was a TV and an illegal cable setup that let me watch the Real Housewives of Wherever whenever I needed my fix of drama unrelated to myself.

  On the way to my place, I stopped at the bodega on the corner to buy a bunch of junk food and a cream soda to wash it down with. As I rounded the corner and walked down the alley, I noticed that my front door didn’t look quite right. I got closer and realized that there was a piece of paper taped to it. I reached up, ripped it off. It was an eviction notice.

  Two minutes earlier, my mind was ready to shut down for the night. Now, it was moving at the speed of light. The notice said I had five days to vacate the apartment due to nonpayment. I tried to think back to how much money I owed. It couldn’t be that much. Could it? I knew I’d gotten behind but I didn’t think it was that bad.

  I dug my cell phone out of my bag and dialed the landlord’s number. It went straight to voice mail. Why wouldn’t it? It’s what I’d been doing to him every time he called me. How many times had he called me this week anyway?

  There was nothing left to do but go inside. At least my key still worked. . . for now. I took a quick look around the one room apartment. Dirty clothes spilled out of a couple of laundry bags in the kitchenette corner. The unmade futon along the wall featured a jumble of sheets, the faded tee shirt I slept in every night, and my ancient laptop. Everything seemed just like I’d left it this morning.

  I spotted the dry cleaning ticket sitting on the coffee table on top of the pizza box from last night. Sighing, I stuffed it into my bag. I’ll deal with that later, I thought. I’ve got bigger fish to fry.

  I turned to my roommate, Crash. Actually he wasn’t much of a roommate, actually. More of a fish. I’d won him in a street fair a few months earlier and decided to keep him even though I could barely take care of myself. He kept his shit in his bowl and didn’t eat my yogurt. There were far worst roommates in the world.

  Crash swam in quick circles with a shocked look on his face. Apparently he had no idea we were this far behind on the rent. “Ok so maybe you didn’t notice this but we’re getting evicted.”

  I sat on the futon and thought about what to do next. I could file an insurance claim on my missing car but I hadn’t paid my insurance bill in a few months so I doubt they would care. I pulled out some of the mail piled up on my coffee table. Bills and more bills. I turned the eviction notice over and calculated what I owed. Too damn much. Then I figured out what I’d probably get paid next week. Too damn little. Maybe I could get a payment plan or something.

  I dialed the landlord two more times. Still no answer. “What are we gonna do, Crash?” I could have sworn he gave me a little shrug. He was as clueless as I was.

  Chapter 5

  Before the Council, Supers were free agents. They did what they wanted, when and where they wanted. But that was a long time ago. The Council brought order, and with it, a shitload of bureaucratic tape.

  One of the first laws the Council made was that each Super is responsible for a district. Small, quiet, or under-populated areas have only one but the bigger or more dangerous districts may have several Supers working them. You can work it however you like. The Council judges your work by the crime stats in your area. As long as your numbers stay down, no one bothers you. If your numbers rise, suddenly the Council is all up in your business. And the last place you want the Council is up in your business.

  The best district assignments are coveted and competition is fierce. The right assignment can make a big difference in the quality of a Super’s life. How do you get the right assignment? You make sure that your licensing scores are good. You know the right people. You don’t make waves. You do what the Council asks you to do.

  That’s why I was working outside of my district that night. I’d been asked to do it. More like I got a notice saying I was required to work tonight outside of my district. It wasn’t that big of a deal actually. It was only three blocks from my apartment and I could always use a good word with the Council.

  I hopped in the shower and changed into a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a hoodie, all in black. With no suit, I had to make do with what I had on hand. As I laced up my Chucks, I reminded myself that what I am is in my DNA. Not the suit.

  I said goodbye to Crash, transferred a bunch of stray clothes from the floor of my apartment into a laundry bag, and headed out. A few minutes later, I was walking down Merrick Road, past my bodega, which has already stopped allowing customers inside. If you wanted a pack of cigarettes or an egg and cheese sandwich after midnight, you’d have to yell it
through the Plexiglas window. I kept moving.

  I walked past the 24-hour chicken shack on the corner of Baisley and Merrick. The chicken could be pretty salty and I think I once bought a Snapple in there that was meant to be sold ten years ago. But I liked the way it made the neighborhood smell. Sometimes I’d be in bed and suddenly get a whiff that forced me to go for chicken in my pajamas.

  I crossed the street and stood before my destination: the Baisley Laundromat. The Council’s notice said I needed to take a watching shift there. Most Super work is done as we go about our everyday lives. But sometimes we need to be at a specific place at a certain time. Maybe there’s been a lot of crime in a certain place lately or maybe something is expected to happen. So a Super will just kinda hang out some place and watch for anything bad to happen. What better way to that than to do some laundry? Two birds, one stone, and all of that.

  I checked out the surroundings as I walked through the door. After midnight, this laundromat still got its share of business. Partly because it’s a less busy time to visit the place. Tonight’s crowd included the woman who ran the laundromat, a couple of women gossiping over the folding tables, a single guy blasting his music through his oversized headphones, an older guy who practically had weirdo stamped on his forehead, a young woman with two small kids, and a drag queen with a dog. In other words, everything seemed pretty normal.

  I got started with my own clothes. After throwing the pile into a washer, I realized I hadn’t brought any detergent. I also realized I didn’t actually have any detergent to bring in the first place. I could have bought some from the laundromat but there was a 50% markup when you bought it there and I wasn’t in the mood to get taken advantage of. I looked around, this time trying to figure out who would be the best to approach for a handout.