Someone Like You

by Timothy J Beck

  When he realized that Sheree was looking at him, he idly turned away. He was surprised a few minutes later when he heard her greeting the Aurora’s patrons from the stage. She wasn’t scheduled to go on for at least an hour. He turned around and saw her accompanist hastily taking the stage. Sheree spoke to him, then turned back toward the room and started singing.

  It took Riley a moment to recognize her lament as a Dolly Parton song. He was sure it was merely coincidence that Sheree seemed to be singing in his direction as she wondered whether a lover left behind would be waiting at the end of the road. Still, it unnerved him enough to make him leave the lounge. He wanted no reminders of the way he’d wasted energy on anyone as ineffectual as Natasha Deere.

  He looked at his watch. Hunter must have surely left the office, and Riley decided it was a good time to look at his boss’s e-mail for any clues about Drayden Lvandsson. The executive floor was quiet when Riley stepped off the elevator, but when he let himself into his office, light was spilling from Hunter’s doorway. Just as Riley started to back out, he heard Juanita Luna’s voice and froze. It was Riley’s job to schedule Hunter’s meetings with hotel employees. This one had not been on the calendar, which alarmed him.

  “Mr. Hunter,” Juanita was saying, “I know you didn’t ask me here to talk about Australia. You must have something on your mind.”

  “You’re right,” Hunter said. “I’ve been looking at the hotel’s financial reports with an eye to turning a greater profit.”

  Riley smiled, thinking of the recommendations he’d given Hunter. Maybe the blockhead actually intended to take his advice. It was possible that Riley’s wildest dream was about to come true and Juanita would no longer be an annoying part of the staff. His pulse accelerated at Hunter’s next comment.

  “I’ve been advised to cut staff. A five-percent reduction of some of our most highly paid employees would save us not only their wages, but the cost of their benefit packages.”

  Riley was gratified to hear his own words coming out of Hunter’s mouth, making it abundantly clear which of them should be running the hotel. He cursed the luck that had allowed Hunter to be born a Congreve.

  “That’s shortsighted,” Juanita said. “Congreve hotels are known for the service we provide our guests. If we cut staff, service will go down. Why would our guests pay premium prices for bad service? They might as well stay in a motel. And there are other reasons why it’s a bad idea.”

  “What do you think those are?” Hunter asked.

  “Our people need their jobs. They have families to support. Many of them are poorly educated. There aren’t a lot of jobs out there. And what about our college students? Where are they going to work? Will they need more financial aid? Will they have to drop out of school?”

  “My father would be completely unmoved by the human element of the equation,” Hunter said.

  “I’m not talking to your father. I know my audience.”

  Hunter laughed and said, “Good point. But pretend you are talking to my father. He’d like the part about guest services. What else would you tell him?”

  “Cutting costs is a negative solution. Instead, you should make more money.”

  “How?” Hunter asked.

  Riley clenched his fists as Juanita rambled on about creative bookings, working with economic development organizations and the universities, and seeking more nonlocal business and tourist dollars. In Riley’s opinion, she needed to spend more time counting sheets and towels, and less time spewing her half-baked ideas at Hunter.

  She echoed his thoughts when she said, “Mr. Hunter, you have an MBA from Yale, and I’m a hotel housekeeper. I’m telling you things that are like nursery school for you. What’s this really about?”

  Hunter laughed and said, “You’re one of the smartest people I know. I enjoy hearing your thoughts, and you’re right. Unlike my father, I always consider the human side of my business. That’s one of the things that makes me enjoy what I do.”

  “You’re a good person.”

  “Thank you. So are you. Which is why I hate to lose you as my housekeeper.”

  Yes! Riley thought. Fabulous! Hunter is finally wising up.

  “You’re getting rid of me?” Juanita asked.

  “I’m afraid I have to. I can’t stand to see potential wasted. I want you in our management training program.”

  Riley’s mood plummeted. Was Hunter insane? The woman was a maid.

  Hunter talked for a while about the management program while Riley seethed, trying to figure out his boss’s plan. Did Hunter intend to replace him with Juanita? Or was Hunter finally sending him out of this godforsaken hole to a hotel more deserving of his talents?

  “Mr. Hunter—”

  “Stop being so Third World.”

  She laughed and said, “I call you that because I respect you, not because you’re my boss. Of course I’m interested in your offer. But I can’t make a decision without talking to Consuela.”

  “Trust me, I understand and respect that,” Hunter said.

  After a brief silence, Juanita said, “I don’t think Derek meant to upset you by getting a job. He thought he was being responsible.”

  Can this get any worse? Riley wondered.

  “By wasting his potential?” Hunter asked.

  “He isn’t.”

  “Are you joking? He could be doing so much more.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with selling shoes.”

  “Putting aside the fact that his parents didn’t send him to college to sell shoes, he hates it.”

  “Then he’ll learn that he’s not a shoe salesman. Or anything else that makes him unhappy just to get a paycheck. That’s a good lesson.”

  “It’s a lesson that took him away from me.”

  “He didn’t go far. Derek is trying to be his own man. You should respect him.”

  “I’ve always respected him.”

  “Not if your respect depends on Derek doing what you think is right. You’ve been in his shoes, haven’t you?”

  “I’m not his father. I never asked him for obedience. I never threatened to withdraw my approval or affection if he made his own decisions.”

  “You left him.”

  “I didn’t leave him. I went away on business.”

  “So the timing was a coincidence?”

  After a long pause, Hunter said, “No. Sometimes the way I speak to Derek is inappropriate, especially if I’m in work mode. It sounds like I’m giving him orders. I didn’t want him to take the job, and I knew I had to step back. I thought some space would do us both good.”

  “It wasn’t good for him. He moved out. Was the space good for you? What did you get out of it?”

  “I was miserable,” Hunter confessed. “We haven’t been apart for more than a week at a time in years. I love being with Derek and seeing the world through his eyes. He’s my Scheherazade.”

  “I don’t know what that means,” Juanita said.

  “Scheherazade enchanted her husband with stories to keep him from killing her. I’ll get you the book. Derek is my storyteller. He takes everything he sees and hears, and turns it into stories. Whenever we’re out in public or we travel, I’m the audience for his imagination. Australia would have been so much better if he’d been there.”

  “Did what’s-her-name live or die in the end?”

  “Scheherazade? The sultan fell in love with her, so he allowed her to live. Good news for Derek. Bad news for me. He’s telling his stories to someone else now, and Indiana has lost its charm. I have to start thinking of my own story and what I’ll do next. I’ve kept you long enough. Say hello to Consuela—”

  Riley hastily backed out of the office and exhaled. Hunter was ready to move on, and if he was grooming Juanita to take over, he obviously had even bigger plans for Riley.

  He walked briskly to Stardate Tavern, to savor an expensive meal and celebrate his good fortune. There would be no more Lollipop Guild. No more Juanita Luna. No more Sheree Sheridan. No more
Derek, whose relationship with Hunter was deader than…

  Riley stopped midthought when he saw a vaguely familiar face across the restaurant. When he couldn’t place it after a few minutes, he decided it was because he was seeing the man out of context. He was probably a mall employee, and Riley began listing stores to satisfy his nagging sense that he was somehow significant. It wasn’t until the man took a long pull off his bottle of Budweiser that it clicked.

  DeWitt. The loser who’d told him about Natasha before giving him a great blow job. It was astounding to see him looking like he belonged in an upscale restaurant like Stardate. DeWitt’s hair and beard were clean and neatly trimmed, and his jeans were dressed up with an attractive sport coat. He was far more doable than when Riley had met him in Galileo’s Glass, and Riley’s gaze shifted to his companion, a handsome older man who was laughing at whatever DeWitt was saying.

  Riley’s regret over missed opportunities turned into a smile of self-congratulation. Obviously their fleeting encounter had been good for DeWitt, inspiring him to strive for a better class of man. If Hunter wanted to know about spotting a diamond in the rough and polishing it, he’d be well-advised to take lessons from his assistant.

  32

  One Shoe Over the Cuckoo’s Nest

  Natasha barely registered the chipped polish on her fingernails when she pulled back her long dark hair and wound it into a tight bun. One lock of hair simply wouldn’t stay put and kept sliding down her forehead, falling over her right eye. She coated it with hairspray in hopes of gluing it to her scalp. Then she put on her makeup and dressed in a cream-colored suit with an emerald green blouse. She brought her lukewarm coffee to her mouth too quickly and spilled the liquid down the front of her blouse and suit. After releasing a string of profanity and changing clothes, she swished some mouthwash around and spit, missing the sink and staining the wall.

  Mondays had always been her favorite day, but this particular Monday was proving to be a challenge. Instead of seeing herself as the driving force of her own destiny, she felt like a helpless passenger while her destiny skidded out of control.

  As she passed through the employee entrance into Drayden’s, Natasha didn’t notice the curled edge of the rug inside the door. She tried to maintain her balance after she tripped, but her heel broke, causing her to twist her ankle and fall down. The pain in her ankle was so excruciating that it took her breath away. Natasha lay on the floor, her mouth frozen in an O that made her look like a fish out of water. A single tear rolled down her cheek, leaving a trail of mascara. When she was able to compose herself, she got up and limped onward.

  She hobbled past the security desk, grimacing when the graveyard shift guard said, “Good morning, Ms. Deere.”

  “Right,” she replied with a curt nod, keeping her pace as steady as possible.

  “Had a good day yesterday, did we?”

  “Unghuh,” Natasha grunted in return.

  “Is everything okay, Ms. Deere?”

  She didn’t answer. Hot, salty tears started to stream down her cheeks, leaving black streaks that Natasha wiped and smudged with the back of her hands, not wanting to stain a second outfit.

  She turned the corner and went into the women’s restroom. When the door closed behind her, she leaned against it and slid to the floor, where she put her head in her hands and sobbed.

  How could this have happened? What sort of twisted individual had taken advantage of her in this way? She felt violated. Yet in some strange fashion, she blamed herself. As if she hadn’t taken enough precaution. She should have seen it coming.

  Impossible. Who could have known such a sicko lurked out there?

  Her home—her sanctuary from the hellish abyss known as Indiana—had been broken into. Worse, the Doll House had been molested, the dolls all removed from the safety of their home. Taken. Kidnapped, in fact. That was it; they’d been kidnapped. Who would do such a terrible thing? And what were they doing to Dolly now? Hundreds of Dollys?

  She let out another sob. She wasn’t aware of how long she’d been sitting on the floor until someone pushed on the restroom door and bumped the back of her head. She stood up, her ankle throbbing, and moved to a sink. Jonquil came into the restroom and did a double take upon seeing Natasha so disheveled.

  “Oh!” Jonquil exclaimed. “Natasha! Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” Natasha answered, taking makeup out of her bag and repairing her face. Jonquil left without another word, and Natasha followed shortly after, dropping everything on her desk. She took off her good shoe and placed it next to the broken pump she’d already slipped off. She limped from the stockroom to the sales floor in her stockings, holding a shoebox.

  “Would you ring this up for me, please, Erik?”

  He gave her a cautious look and said, “Sure. Do you want me to put it on your Drayden’s charge?”

  “Yes, please.” Natasha reached across the counter for a piece of scratch paper and a pen. She scribbled on the paper. “Here’s my account number. Just enter it manually.” She replaced the pen and took the shoes out of the box, carefully slipping them onto one foot at a time.

  She saw an improperly placed stiletto on a display and thought, I’ll fix it later. Then she tottered around the perimeter of the floor, barely noticing that Jonquil and Missy were frantically trying to straighten up from the night before.

  “Since the shrinkage manager will most likely be making a visit later,” Erik said, “I should probably let you know that we had a shoplifter last night. I was helping a customer try on a pair of Andrea Pfister shoes. She asked me for a larger size, so I went to the stockroom. She was gone when I came back. So were the shoes. Nobody saw her leave. She left her old shoes in the box. I’m sorry, Natasha. I should’ve been paying better attention.”

  “It’s okay,” Natasha answered dully.

  Erik stared at her. “It is? It’s a four-hundred-dollar loss. Are you sure?”

  “It could happen to anybody,” Natasha said.

  She continued her awkward walking tour of the department. Erik followed her as if on an invisible leash. When Natasha approached the table where Missy was cleaning and rearranging displays, Missy clumsily knocked several shoes to the floor. Natasha stepped over the shoes without uttering a single word. Then she stopped in her tracks. She turned and looked from Erik to Missy.

  “Which one of you closed last night?” she asked in a hollow tone.

  “I did,” Erik said. Missy looked scared.

  “Everything is fine,” Natasha said with no expression whatsoever.

  She returned to the stockroom and checked the previous evening’s sales figures on her computer. Good enough, she thought. Who really cares how many stupid shoes you all sell, anyway?

  She got up from her desk, feeling physically drained, although her day had barely started. She sighed and returned to the sales floor, meandering listlessly to the register area. She was indifferent to the sight of Drayden Lvandsson standing at the counter.

  “Good morning!” Drayden boomed.

  “Good morning,” Natasha answered tonelessly and absently tidied the counter area. The lock of hair she’d lacquered into place fell down again. It was firm and scraped against her skin. She didn’t care.

  “Well?” Drayden asked as Erik approached them.

  Natasha finished opening a new pack of sales slips, then looked blankly at Drayden, saying, “Well, what?”

  “How was Chicago? The seminar? What did you learn?”

  Natasha’s eyes again welled up with tears, and her hands shook. She heard an unintelligible and high-pitched whining noise, and was startled to realize that it was coming from her own mouth. Her hands were shaking, and she dropped the sales slips to the floor. As she staggered from the department like a woman possessed, the last thing she heard was Drayden Lvandsson saying to Erik, “Funny. My brother, Sven, had the same reaction after he attended that seminar.”

  33

  Chitty Chitty Big Bang

  Vienna couldn’t und
erstand what had possessed her to buy a dress with a zipper that she couldn’t reach. She had her arms twisted behind her, straining to get the zipper past the middle of her back. She finally shouted an obscenity, took off the dress, and hurled it across her bedroom, not caring where it landed. Frustrated, she removed a simple black pantsuit from her closet and put it on over a lace camisole. Just as she was slipping on a pair of Anne Klein pointed-toe pumps, her phone rang.

  “Hello.”

  “You sound rushed. Is this a bad time?”

  “Davii!” Vienna exclaimed. “How did you know I’m in a rush?”

  “My experience in the Zodiac Traveling Circus,” Davii replied. “I’m used to listening to harried models on their cell phones now.”

  “Plural? I thought you belonged to Sheila.”

  “Yeah, and if I’m lucky, she puts on my muzzle and takes me for a walk,” Davii said. “I belong—I’m employed by Lillith Allure. Sheila’s my number-one project. And get this—I have a team.”

  “Wasn’t that always a fantasy of yours?” Vienna asked as she applied mascara.

  Davii laughed and said, “Not that kind of team. There’s another hairdresser on the Zodiac shoots who does the other models while I get Sheila ready. I oversee her work and the makeup artist’s. But it’s temporary until the other guy comes back.”

  “The other guy,” Vienna mimicked. “Even I remember that poor man’s name. Rex.” She hastily blotted her lipstick and added, “I’m proud of you, Davii. And to think, a management position is something you used to eschew.”

  “Bless you,” Davii said. When he got nothing but her silence, he said, “I had to grow up sooner or later. What’s up? Where are you off to in such a hurry? Hot date?”

  Vienna paused, assessing her look in the mirror. She smiled and said, “If you can believe it, yes. I, Vienna Talbot, have a hot date.”

  “I knew you had it in you. You’re a hot lady. You deserve a hot date,” Davii said. “Who’s the lucky man? Wait. Let me guess. An ad exec who looks amazing in Armani, but even better out of it?”