The bus ride to Seattle's north end filled to capacity as it wound its way through downtown before merging onto I-5. The Amazonians all packed in when the bus stopped at Jeff Bezos' monuments to untaxed predatory capitalism. David was fortunate that his stop was early on in the route, before the out of state Amazon hordes crammed in. At his early stop he always had several available seats to choose from. Most of the other passengers glued their eyes to their phone's screen, a few read, and others sat back and zoned out, listening to whatever sounds were generated by their headphones.
There would be no doubt, with even a momentary observation, that there was one passenger who didn't fit the mold of the others, but putting your finger on the exact reasons why, beyond his youth and ragtag attire, would be a bit difficult to define; that is, at least until David began his usual bus-ride routine. Then the difference between he and the other riders would have an easy scapegoat. He withdrew the large, well-worn Yellowpages directory from his backpack, along with a notepad and pencil. In an almost trance like state he started to record business names and phone numbers. Information he would need for later. This uncommon practice drew glances of curiosity from the other passengers, but David's attention was so fixated on the task at hand that he wouldn't have noticed the odd looks he was receiving unless someone had explicitly altered him to it. While engaged in this activity he was deeply focused, to the exclusion of the outside world, his expression was like that of a kid totally spellbound by a video game. He excitedly searched names and numbers, recording them in a sequence that only he could understand.
Katy sat in bed with her back against the headboard, reading Heart Sick by Chelsea Cain, and feeling not so heartbroken, but rather jealous and a bit spiteful of the exciting lives lived by the characters between the pages. She couldn't help but compare her life to theirs, and feel that her reality was more than a bit bland and boring. Why couldn't she be a sexy serial killer, or a detective trapped in a race against time to save the lives of future victims, or an investigative journalist searching for truth in a world built on lies?
Katy had been obsessed with crime and darkness ever since she was a kid. She used to binge watch real crime TV shows after school, always outwardly rooting for the bad guy, often dreaming about it, but never knowing exactly how to cross the line into criminality in her own life. Even before sex she had lusted after a life of crime. It wasn't until she was nearly an adult that she started to realize just how out of the ordinary these desires really were. When she was just fourteen, she thought it would be a good idea to go dressed-up as Alonzo from the movie Training Day for Halloween. She painted on the goatee and concocted a suitable outfit. Being a big strong man, carrying a gun, living above the law; she used to fantasize about life as a dirty cop, answering to no one, playing both sides and making idiots of everyone, until bad luck and karma finally caught up and ended her story in a blaze of glory. This, she thought, would be a life well lived. Her openness about these dark desires caused more than a few teachers and school counselors to privately note their concerns. When the class was asked what they wanted to do in life, Katy would casually blurt out- rob banks, sell drugs like Pablo Escobar, be like a real life Alonzo from Training Day. The innocent teen girl giggle that typically followed these outbursts would work to excuse any concerns about psychopathy that had started to percolate in the minds of those who heard her words and questioned the soul of the speaker. She essentially slipped through the cracks, no one wanting to risk offending the girl or her family by questioning the sincerity of her often troubling remarks. Undoubtedly it would have been better had someone stepped up and asked some questions. Perhaps if they had allowed their concerns and conscience to guide their decisions instead of fear and conformity then maybe the nightmare in that house could have been stopped, or at least temporarily interrupted. But no, the girl would suffer in silence under the assumption that the world just didn't care what happened to her. She'd continue to see evil doers as some sort of role model, believing that heroes didn't exist.
She fell asleep with the book on her chest. The last thing she remembered reading was of a beautiful manipulative murdering woman giving a jailhouse interview. She felt a certain connection with the strong female psychopath who killed dozens without remorse. Katy envied this life of crime and adventure, everyday an all-in competition against both the police and the next unsuspecting victim. Part of her wanted to know the thrill of killing, but she didn't think she could stomach the gruesomeness of the whole thing. And the idea of doing it from a far felt too impersonal, like it would be a waste. Not that she would ever do it at all, but if she did, she would want it to be up close, using her bare hands or a knife or a gun at close range.
Waking up, she marked the page of the book, stretched her arms and legs, and then got out of bed with a new found sense of possibility. If other people could construct the lives they hoped to live, then maybe she could too. Her bare feet felt good against the cold hard floor as she walked to the kitchen and turned on the coffee machine before sitting down to her computer resting open on the kitchen table. She had a few junk emails and a response from a salon that she'd emailed the day before regarding a position as a receptionist. Why had she inquired about this job and barely any others? It was close to her apartment, but besides that there wasn't much to grab her attention. It was a poorly written ad with few details, but something inside her had said that she might as well check it out, so she decided to send her resume. She honestly doubted that she'd ever hear back, which is why it so surprised her when she saw the subject line in her inbox less than a full day later. She opened the email, assuming it must be good news or they wouldn't have taken the time to respond.
"Hi Katy,
My name is Richard Wiseman, Jr. but friends just call me Junior, sort of like Ken Griffey. Are you a baseball fan? Sometimes I take the team here to games. I know people don't normally think of beauty salons as teams, but I run things a bit differently. I'm not in it for the money. I started this business nearly a decade ago to help a friend in need and it has grown into more than I ever imagined. Today we are a team of 4 beauticians, myself and a receptionist. Anyway, our current receptionist is having a baby and we'll need someone for the next six months. Come by anytime, ask for Junior, and we'll have a chat about getting you set up with some work.
Cheers, Richard Wiseman, Jr."
This has to be a scam. But what kind of a scammer writes an email like that? Well, what kind of salon owner writes an email like that? Katy questioned.
She was worried that she would show up to the salon and no one would have any idea who Junior was or what she was even doing there. It was still early enough that she could stop by before she had to be at the restaurant for her evening shift alongside Jason and Maggie.
Should I do it? What's the worst that could happen? I guess the owner could start masturbating during the interview. Been there done that. I'll take the chance, she thought as she came to the conclusion that she'd show up for the unscheduled, informal job interview and just hope for the best.
"Hi, is Junior here?" Katy asked to the overtly pregnant woman who must be the one needing a replacement for the next six months.
"Oh, Hi! Are you Katy? We were hoping you would show up. Junior got a really good energy from what you wrote him. I don't know how someone can pick up on positive energy from an email, but he just has a way with things like that. Junior! Katy is here. Come quick."
From a back room in the salon emerged a fairly normal looking man in his forties, dressed casually but in clothes that a discerning eye would recognize as out of place in this middle class neighborhood. His classic Ferrari parked in the back would be yet another clue that this salon owner was no small time business man trying to humbly squeeze out a living for his family. In fact, Junior had no family besides the people at the salon, and he treated them as such. Nearly everyone who had ever come to work there still did, they loved it. It was warm and friendly. Junior always putting the needs of his team ahead of his own.
He bought the building and converted it to a salon when the woman who cut his hair had mentioned that her usual place of work was closing down. It started with just the two of them and had organically expanded in the following years, giving opportunity and a healthy work place to many and a surrogate family and sense of purpose to the reclusive millionaire.
"Nice to see you again," said Junior
"Oh, I'm sorry, have we met before?" asked Katy, taken aback by the unexpected greeting.
"I had a vision of you when I read your email. You're just as I imagined. And would you believe it if I said I somehow knew that you would be showing up not just on this day, but at this specific hour? Ask Beatriz... Beatriz!, tell her. What did I say to you this morning?"
Shouting from across the room while scrubbing a client's foot, Beatriz replied, "A tall blonde named Katy would come in today around three and start work here tomorrow."
With a self-congratulatory smirk, Junior continued, "See, you're the one. It's meant to be."
Katy, thrown a bit off guard, but charmed by the eccentric character, remarked, "So, I guess I start tomorrow?"
"I think that's right. How does twenty-two an hour sound? That's what everyone here makes, for now. Salaries are calculated from profits and adjusted quarterly. Your schedule is noon to eight Wednesday to Friday. Saturday and Sunday ten to six. And Monday and Tuesday we rest."
She took a moment to consider the offer, more than twenty bucks an hour to sit in a salon and answer the phone, I'll probably make a little less here than at the restaurant without the tips and all, but at least I won't have to live through anymore days of watching Jason and Maggie fondle each other right in front of me.
"Sure, sounds good to me. I start tomorrow?"
"Sure thing, Katy. Welcome to the team. We'll see you tomorrow. The next few days you'll sit with Mary and she'll show you the ropes before she takes her leave next week. Then you'll be on your own."
"Wow, that was easy. Thank you. I look forward to it. Can't wait."
Walking out of the salon Katy couldn't quite believe what had just happened. Only hours before, the idea of leaving her job was a distant thought buried deep in her imagination, now it was a done deal. This would be her last night at the restaurant, and tomorrow she'd start living a whole new experience. Maybe it was that easy, taking life into your hands, making the changes you desired manifest in reality.
She drove to the restaurant trying to determine the words she would say to Jason... 'Hey loser, it's my last day and if you want to bitch and complain about me not giving notice then maybe I'll just go ahead and file a workplace sexual harassment suit. Or maybe... Jason, honestly I can't keep working here. Seeing you and Maggie is just too painful... No, no, not that. Maybe... Hi Jason, I've really enjoyed my time here but I just got a new job offer and I'm going to take it. The hard part is that it starts tomorrow. Please forgive the short notice. Best of luck. Bye.'
The options abounded.
Katy arrived and passed by Jason without saying a word. She worked her shift, made more tips than usual which caused her to momentarily reconsider her decision, and then left without announcing anything to anyone.