“I will translate them into English for you, of course,” David continues, “So you can read them. But your response is likely the only thing that will turn them off permanently and what I’m really looking for.”
“How long will that take?” I ask, “I really have to get back to Heaven.”
He arches a brow, but doesn’t say anything as he starts scanning each line with his finger. A slight blue glow makes the paper nearly-translucent.
“Done,” he tells me two minutes later, “Meet me in Chicago with your response in two weeks.” He hands me his tour schedule with an address on the back.
“Thank you, David,” I shove everything back in my purse, “I really do appreciate it. Two weeks – I can do that.”
“My pleasure, car – Claire,” he catches himself, “I see now why you’re not willing to massage my wings any longer,” he ruffles them slightly. They are still pretty beaten-up.
“I’m sorry,” I reach up and peck his cheek, “Hot shower?”
“They curl.”
“Bath?”
“They get water-logged.”
“Exercise?”
“The sweat makes them twist up more,” he sighs, “The only thing that ever helped was angel-dust and lots of sex, but the seventies are gone,” he chuckles.
“I’ll see you in Chicago,” I tell him, not knowing how to respond to that.
“Looking forward to it,” he kisses my hand in a surprisingly gentleman-like move, “And if it all doesn’t work out, I would happily be your second, caraid.”
I have no idea what just happened as I ride the elevator back down. Clark warned me that David was about sex only – and I’m fine with that. But David just sent off signals that indicated he wanted more.
More what?
I can’t lie – that angel’s voice does things to me that I’d really rather it didn’t do. But – beyond that – I really don’t think he and I don’t have a lot in common. He’s focused on show-business. I’m focused on getting Drake back and finishing out my last assignment un-locked.
And then becoming a mother.
Don’t think that meshes up with world-tours and album-releases very well.
When the doors open on the ground floor, I see Bishop sitting in the lobby, drumming his fingers against the arm of the sofa.
He stands without a word, but offers me his arm anyway and leads me out the door.
“We’re parked a few blocks down,” he says stiffly, “Would you rather I pull the car around for you?”
“No – that will probably take more time than just walking there,” I tell him.
“Did you get what you needed?” he asks me.
“Not really,” I say and tug his arm a little harder as my boot slides on a patch of ice, “Sorry.”
“Shorten your steps and watch where you walk,” he tells me, “Why not?”
“David wants my response to the letters so he can turn it all into a song,” I tell him, “He translated them into English and gave me two weeks to give him my answer.”
He scowls and guides me around another icy patch, “There are other seraphs, you know. Sounds like he’s playing you.”
“I know,” we stop at the corner and wait with the rest of the people for the light to change, “But I want to keep my personal life away from Heaven,” I continue in Angelic, “If it got back to Michael I’d be screwed.”
I’m actually surprised there’s a word for screwed in Angelic.
“I’ll have a contract written up,” he says and we move with the crowd across the street, “He can have rights to the song itself, but you get writing credit and a performance royalty.”
“I don’t care about that,” I tell him, “I’m just glad he didn’t ask me to sleep with him again for the translations.”
His brow draws down, but he doesn’t comment on that. What he does say is, “You should care about that, Claire. You’re not seeing the big picture here. He’s taking advantage of you – just like your diocese did. Or,” he pulls me to the edge of the sidewalk in front of a bookstore, “Just like that,” he points.
In the picture window, a display with books and posters and my viral shot of Father Jorge and me in a banner that must be eight feet wide, an easel is set up with an announcement, “Rescuer Nun tells all. Book Signing January 22nd 10-2.”
“What the hell?” I hiss. Bishop starts chuckling at me. I’m glad he finds it funny.
“Shall we?” he grins and takes my arm again.
I’m ready to confront her immediately, but he pulls me over to the little bistro area. An imp – dressed in a very nice suit – spots him and stands up.
“Everything taken care of, George?” Bishop asks him.
“Yes, sir,” George opens his briefcase and hands Bishop a thick stack of papers.
“Claire, this is George – one of my paralegals. George, this is the real Rescuer Nun. Standard set-up, I presume?” he asks George.
“Yes, sir. The woman in the black slacks and purple sweater is her publicist. There’s a copy for the publishing firm for her also.”
“And their contract?” Bishop asks.
“Publisher successfully hacked and the contract has been obtained. The woman’s real name is Jennifer Jensen.”
“Thank you, George,” Bishop smiles at him. A genuine smile. The very first I’ve seen him make. Even when he grins, he usually does it at someone else’s expense – more often than not, mine, “Stick around and take video evidence and then get back to the office.”
“Of course,” George nods, “Camera ready,” he points to his lapel, which shows a small pin – Two backward-facing B’s. One in silver and backed in black enamel and one in gold and backed by white enamel. The diamond between the two of them – when I look at it closely – is a tiny camera lens.
“You’re a lawyer?” I whisper as Bishop maneuvers us back to the front of the store and discretely picks up two hard-covers of the Rescuer Nun books. George circles and lines himself up to watch the action.
“How do you have an imp working for you?” I ask him in hushed Angelic.
“I’ve done several favors for several arch-demons over the years,” he chuckles, “The imps get good training on my dime and the arch-demons leave me alone. Stay behind George and don’t let them see your face. Trust me – I know what I’m doing. Stick with George.”
I scoot behind and a little to the side of George, where I can see but not be seen. All the same, I pull an over-sized art book off of a shelf and flip it open, ready to peruse behind my hair if they should glance my way.
He waits patiently in line, both books tucked in his arm with the suit-papers inside of each front cover. Like we have all of the time in the world. George keeps pace with him as the line slowly creeps up. I keep pace with George.
I can finally see my impostor now. She does look a little like me. Her hair is mousier than mine and shorter and she’s a good twenty pounds heavier than I was then. Now, she’s closer to thirty. And the skin starting to sag at her jaw line says she has a good ten years on me too. I start to growl quietly, but George lays a hand on my shoulder and shakes his head.
“Watch,” he mouths and returns to the action.
“How do you want these signed?” her Bostonian accent is clear. She sounds bored. She doesn’t even look up.
“To Bishop and Baron, LLP,” Bishop replies in a stern, no-nonsense voice, “Notice of suit received. Love, Jennifer Jensen and By Me Publishing,” he grins and opens her book with one hand and slides the other to her publicist.
I have to hide my mouth behind my book to keep my snorts from reaching their ears.
“Wha?” Jennifer Jensen lifts her eyes up to him and half-rises out of her chair. He scowls down at her. I bite my cheek to keep myself quiet.
“How dare you,” the publicist stands up.
“And here, ladies, is a cease and desist order signed by the New York Attorney General,” he slaps another paper down, “And notice that all previous sales have been reprimanded into probate pending conclusion of the suit. Have a lovely day, ladies,” he turns and starts to saunter out.
“Do not move,” George warns me, “This is the good part.”
Publicist snatches up the papers and races after him, “What proof do you have, mister attorney-man?” she stops in front of him and starts poking him in the chest with her gelled nail.
He looks down at her and frowns at her poking. I have to close the book over my nose and mouth now.
“I suggest Ms. Jensen’s and your company’s attorneys show up at the discovery phase to find out,” he says calmly and places his palm between her nail and his lapel.
“You’re making a mistake,” she hisses, but stops poking. Instead she balls her fists on her hips.
“I’ve lived a very long time. I don’t make mistakes. By your reaction, I think you have something to hide. A list of documents – including your full contract with Ms. Jensen – is detailed for the discovery review scheduled February twenty-sixth. And if I were you,” he glares at her as only he can, “I’d start sending out my resumes now – before this goes public.”
He steps around her and leaves the store.
A flurry of reporters rush in.
“Come on,” George grabs my hand and leads me down a side aisle until we hit another entrance further in the store. I have to remember to ditch my book at the last minute, leaving it on top of a display of Young Adult best-sellers.
“How,” I start as he tugs me along, “How did you set that up so fast? I was with David for maybe half an hour.”
“Bishop calls it ‘borrowing Heaven-time,’” he winks and pulls me around the corner, toward a parking garage, “All of his offices have a room that we go into when we need something now. We don’t let humans in there anymore, though – it tends to age them something awful.”
“All of his o-offices?” I skid on another patch of ice.
“Sure,” he pushes me toward the outside of the sidewalk – where the sun hits more and starts tugging me along again, “National and international. Bishop and Baron is global.”
Of course they are. Corporate civil-attorney by day, animal-lover by night. Diplomat by day – uh – something by night. I need to learn more about my future brother-in-law.
“Baron is a silent partner, of course,” George continues, “I’ve only met him once myself. Kind of an overblown bastard, if you ask me. But his international contacts are useful. Most of us are imps – except the receptionists, of course. They’re bi’s. He does do college internships every year for law students. Paid, even. And the scholarships too. He hasn’t been in the office a lot lately. Said something about looking into expanding into Miami. Don’t know why.”
I know why, but I don’t say anything.
He tugs me into a parking garage and hits the elevator button, “You really the Rescuer Nun?” he asks me.
“Guess you’ll find out in court, won’t you?” I chuckle when the doors open, “Never knew what happened to the video footage of our meeting, but their foresight has sure come in handy. Shall we?”
Bishop is still mostly silent – but in a better mood – on our drive back. Our fight isn’t necessarily forgotten, but has been pushed off for the time being.
“Thank you,” I tell him sincerely. He really is a big brother to me – always watching out for me and pulling my ass out of one mess or another.
“You’re welcome,” he replies, eyes still on the road, “I’ll do it.”
“You will?” I ask, “What changed your mind?”
“You did,” he frowns, “As I said in the bookstore, I’ve lived a long time and I don’t make mistakes. But I do occasionally have errors in judgment. I don’t like them being pointed out to me – especially by someone as young as you – but you are right. It’s time to put the past in the past and move on. I would have helped you anyway – because you are my little sister – but maybe with the right attitude this time I can kill two birds with one stone.”
When we get back to his house, Clark is waiting for us, holding a bag.
“Michael is with Baron, Claire,” he tells me, handing me the bag, “Put these on and let’s go.”
More super-slutty office attire. Goody.
I change and give Bishop his schedule and the remote login protocols for our VPN. “I’ll be in touch soon,” I kiss his cheek and Clark takes me back to work.
When I unlock our door and slip inside, I put my finger to my lips for Leslie and slip my shoes off. Then I grab my phone and motion to her to do the same with hers. Baron has Michael in my office and it sounds very buddy-buddy right now.
Which is exactly why I asked Baron to do this. That man could charm Lil herself.
I tiptoe into the conference room’s storage room. The back wall adjoins my office and is so thin I can listen to them through it.
“upgrades?” Michael asks, “Even your supply room is nicer than anything I have in my area.”
Phone on silent, I text Leslie: Where’s our guest?
Shower.
“Thank goodness for their foresight,” I sigh to myself.
“But old boy,” Baron chuckles, “We have asked for your input and you have refused. We certainly wouldn’t do anything without your input, so we were left with nothing to do to help you feel more fulfilled. But if you think this is something, you should see the break room between Bookkeeping and Accounting.”
“I’ve seen it,” Michael replies, a little testy, “What exactly is a smoothie and why is it important to have a bar of them?”
“Ah, the smoothie bar,” Baron replies, “Have you tried one? Brian is absolutely addicted to the raspberry antioxidant. We’re going golfing on Saturday – you should join us. Do you golf?”
“What’s that?” Michael snorts.
“Oh, you really should join us then. Will change your whole outlook on life. I’ll lend you a set of my old clubs.”
“Well,” Michael waffles, “That sounds good. But I really want to know what she’s doing.”
“Claire?” Baron asks, amused.
“Yes, her,” Michael snarls, “She’s planning something. So far I haven’t been able to find out what it is, but I thought I would take the opportunity with her out of the office to talk to you. You know – man to man.”
“Ah,” Baron chuckles again, “Well, let’s go discuss that at the smoothie bar, shall we?” I hear him pat Michael on the back in one of those bro-moves, “I promise you, once you taste their mango-banana, you’ll be hooked.”
Their voices fade and Leslie finally texts me the all clear.
“What did I miss?” I ask her, shoes still in hand.
“Well, here’s the memo cancelling all personal and vacation time until further notice,” she says, holding the mimeographed sheet up.
“Expected, but I am truly sorry for everyone else,” I sigh, “Luckily it will only be for ten days.”
She giggles.
“And here’s one freezing all of our pay at current levels until further notice,” she continues, “Aren’t you worried that Michael will try to sway Baron over to his side? I’ve seen it happen before.”
“Hardly,” I snort, “Baron knows exactly what he’s doing. What else?”
“A reminder that fraternization between coworkers is prohibited,” she shuffles through more papers.
“That would be directed at you and Warren, I’m guessing,” I say with a wink and she blushes.
“We’re just friends,” she says quickly – too quickly, “And one that says that all expenditures beyond standard office supplies must be approved by Michael in advance.”
“Good thing that I’ve already bought everything we needed,” I grin to myself, “Is that it?”
“Yes,” she nods, “It’s about time for my break.”
“Go ahead,” I tell her, “And stop by up front on your way back to pick up our surveys there. It’s about time to start loading them in.”
Baron and I are chatting – about Michael, Jojo and my visit with David and the aftermath – when Leslie comes back with a cart filled to overflowing.
“Allow me, Leslie,” Baron immediately takes the cart from her and I vacate her chair.
“I didn’t expect nearly that many already,” I remark, “Are Pete and Joan double-timing things or something?”
“No,” she giggles, “They’re still staying steady. But a lot of the souls are putting their surveys in the basket and then going back and sitting down. They’re talking to each other and getting into little groups and mixing all of the lines up. Not so much the older ones, but from the sixties back, they’re really making a mess of things. Joan said that Pete hasn’t said anything about it yet, as they still have a long time before they get that far.”
“Wonderful,” I smile.
“You planned for that too, didn’t you?” she giggles again, “But it’s going to take us forever to enter all of these surveys – and there’s still a lot more than these.”
“If we did them by hand, yes,” I agree and pick up a stack, “But we are going to use technology to enter them for us. Come see,” I tell her and lead her to the scanning station set up behind a partition on the other side of the room.
“You turn it on here,” I show her, flipping the switch, “And put all of these right-side up. Then you put them in this bin here – make sure they’re all even and tight to the front of the machine and the guides,” I add, pointing again, “And then you type in the program you want the results to go into on this computer attached to the scanner,” I show her, pulling up the Waiting Souls program, “And press the green button.”
I push it and the surveys start churning through the scanner. The OCR-reader was by far my most expensive purchase, but Matt assured me it was the best on the market and could do everything I wanted it to do and more. He and Jill programmed it and worked with Stacy to get it to tie into the database I built for Luc. There were several fields that had to be added, of course, and some pretty complex formulas to be written, but Matt was terribly impressed with what I had already done.
“No sense re-inventing the wheel,” he grinned at me, “Good thing you’re not on Luc’s payroll any more. This could have been serious competition for Employee of the Decade.”
“That’s – that’s amazing,” Leslie gapes at the monitor, which flashes the results of each survey in the table before going on to the next.
“Occasionally, it will hit something that it can’t read,” I tell her, “When that happens, it will reject the survey into that bin,” I point and one lands as I’m talking, “Those are the ones we will have to enter manually. But it’s guaranteed to have a ninety-eight percent recognition rate. I really want you to talk it up at lunch with your friends in the other departments.”
“Lunch? Aren’t I doing the lunch and learns still?” she asks me.
“It’s too dangerous now,” I tell her, “Now that Michael has finally taken an interest in what we’re doing, he’s going to be hanging around a lot. No matter how brilliantly Baron deflected him,” I wink at Baron, who smirks, “Michael hasn’t been top dog around here for this long without a heavy dose of paranoia. I’m new – I’m changing things. I’m a threat to his way, even if I’m not outright challenging him. So for your protection, I will conduct them from now on.
“Besides, it will help you gather information on what impact things are making. Tell them all about the machine and how much time it saves. And tell them that it’s too bad Michael put a moratorium on new purchases because we were planning on installing them in their departments too.”
“We were?” she asks me.
No, actually, we weren’t. This one cost me over half a million alone. But if she believes we were, then neither of us will be lying.
Baron, knowing the budget and knowing I’m skirting my truth-boundary, steps in. “Well, we had to test this one before just passing these out willy-nilly,” he chuckles, “Even by Earth terms, this is still evolving technology and we had to make sure it lived up to its promise, didn’t we?” he winks at me discretely.
“Oh, that makes sense,” Leslie agrees and I have a little whew-moment in my head, “But I don’t know if I could do that. It would sound like I was bragging.”
“Oh, it’s all in the phrasing,” Baron chuckles, “Let’s do a bit of role-play, shall we? I’ll be you and you be your friends,” he points her back to her desk.
“You’re staying?” I ask him in a low voice before he turns away.
“Might as well,” he answers, “I’d just have to turn around and come right back if I left now. Besides, I don’t mind helping you train your protégé. Mine doesn’t need it and there’s not much to go back to right now.”
As predicted, Michael does come to today’s lunch and learn. Which is about how to tactfully handle telling a coworker that they have an odor problem. Well, they all can’t be about holding a successful coup, and that is the number one most dreaded conversations supervisors report having. Besides, I made sure that the ones Michael would object to were played before he started poking around.
See – model employee still.
But that doesn’t mean that this video is boring. Mona, Gigi and Allison had a lot of fun making a very sensitive topic humorous while still getting the message across. The room frequently erupts with laughter as the girls do everything from a Mission Impossible spoof to an I Love Lucy parody. All, of course, showing how to do it the wrong way.
Then, as usual, they set up the scenario again and the video pauses on the first question:
How should Rob approach his co-worker, Dennis, about Dennis’ body odor:
A. Leave a bar of soap and a deodorant stick on Dennis’ desk when he’s out to lunch
B. Wave his hand in front of his nose and exclaim loudly, “Dude, can you save the exercise for after work?”
C. Start wearing nose plugs at the office
D. Take Dennis into a private area (preferably away from the office) and have an open-ended conversation with him
And it runs through several more questions like these, pointing out cultural differences than may be at play and emphasizing the need to be supportive and non-judgmental.
When the video is over, Michael scowls at me but doesn’t say a word. There really isn’t anything he can say.
“That was informative,” Blake – the first angel I met here – comments after everyone leaves, “But it wasn’t the planned one, was it?” His voice is low and he keeps glancing at the door.
“No, but I suspect you know why,” I tell him.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Claire,” he says, “So far you’re doing a good job of it, but the noose is going to get tighter and tighter, you know.”
“I know,” I nod.
“And no one is going to support you when it goes badly,” he continues, “Including me. I like you and I applaud your effort, but we all have to watch out for ourselves around here first. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I smile at him, “I understand. As long as you don’t rat me out to Michael, that’s all the support I need.”
Warren comes back with Leslie from her afternoon break.
“Michael wants a litht of all of your video titleth,” he tells me.
“Of course,” I smile brightly at him, “It would be my pleasure,” I lead Warren into the conference room and open the glass-fronted bookcase, “Here we are,” I show him all of the DVDs, “Here is the list and here are all of the titles.”
All of the titles on the list, that is. The controversial ones aren’t catalogued anywhere and are kept in a locked cabinet in the bathroom behind my feminine hygiene products. A lesson learned at the Vatican.
“Michael is welcome to come watch any of these any time he likes,” I tell Warren, “Please make sure he knows that.”
“Um – ok…” he looks at me puzzled, “You’re not going to object to thith?”
“Why should I?” I ask back, “I have nothing to hide here,” I sweep my hand around the room.
“He wanth a key to your area,” he continues.
“Oh, sure,” I nod and start toward my office, “He just needs to fill out a form and give a DNA sample, an iris scan and be fingerprinted. Oh, and provide a password, of course.”
“He wanth your key,” Warren adds.
“Oh dear,” I stop short, right in front of Leslie’s desk, “Well, I’m afraid that won’t do at all. All of our entrances and exits through that door are tied directly into the payroll system. No antiquated time-cards for us. If he had my information, it would make a huge headache for HR and Accounting both.”
Warren sighs and looks at Leslie for help.
“It’s true,” she nods, “You know how Kathy is. All those double-postings would drive her over the edge. Just give Michael this form – it really is the only way.”
Warren sighs again and picks up the form, “Heth not going to be happy,” he says.
“He’s welcome to talk to me about it,” I tell Warren kindly, “I will gladly explain it to him. It really isn’t a no. It’s a qualified yes.”
I smile again and lead Warren out the door.
“You heard all of that?” I call to Baron, who has been at the scanner the whole time.
“Change all locks to digital,” he chuckles, “Expand your cabinet in the bathroom and move our guest into it. Got it.”
“Leslie,” I sit down in front of her desk, “Your friendship with Warren,” I start.
“I know,” she interrupts me, “Complicates things.”
“Very soon, Michael is going to switch tactics and encourage that friendship instead of frowning on it,” I explain, “He’s going to try to use it to have Warren try to pry information out of you.”
“I know,” she tells me, “We’ve already talked about it.”
“You have?”
“Yes, Claire,” she chuckles at me, “I told you Warren is smart and you’ve taught me well. Taught me to think far ahead so that I don’t have to lie. So yes, we have talked about it.”
“And?”
“We’ve expected this,” she logs off her computer and takes her purse, “It’s past time to go. We’re heading to Disney World right now,” she giggles.
Oh – my goodness – I think I’ve created a two-headed monster.
I stick around for a while to make up my time and so I can finally meet Linda.
Who is every bit as efficient, confident, self-controlled and no-nonsense as Baron said she was.
I adore her instantly. She reminds me of Mary Poppins.
“Right – spit-spot, Baron,” she chuckles, “You get those locks changed out and I’ll start on Miss Saint’s locker in the loo,” she says, wielding a sledge hammer, “I do love a good work out.”
Well, maybe not so much Mary Poppins as Nanny McPhee, come to think about it.
I dial *7 to alert William that I’m ready for a shuttle pickup.
“Make sure Bishop and Maurice know to put those signal-dampers up in the main room and the waiting room tonight,” I warn Baron, “It’s not going to take long for them to figure out that they can get a weak signal out of HR and start trying to use it.”
“Bishop?” he staggers backward, hand clutching his chest like Redd Foxx.
“Yes, Bishop,” I sigh, “It was either him or both of us splitting shifts for the next six months. You do want to get back with Jojo, don’t you?”
“I don’t know how you managed it, and I don’t know if it’s a wise idea, all things considered,” he tells me.
“I know you two have had your – differences,” I tell him, “But he’s willing to try. You have an international business together – I know you can work together when you want to. And this is a common purpose,” I sweep my arm around the whole area, “Which you both agreed to. I need both of you and I need you working together or else I’m going to – and you might also be – locked here forever.”
“Oh, very well,” he huffs, “We’ll give it a go. You’d best go. I expect Michael around for round two of ‘chums’ any minute.”
When William’s shuttle pulls up, there is actually a line of late-leavers ready to go to Earth. I’m the last to get on.
“Claire,” William grins, “Thank you for the upgrades. They’re even better than I expected. That Maurice is one handy guy,” he closes the door and I have to grab at a pole when the bus pulls out.
There’s a disco ball in the center, too many speakers to count and the whole thing has been configured like a party-bus instead of just transport. I take a seat toward the back as the interior lights dim and the lasers start firing up.
I’ve just stepped back in time to Club 54. I expect John Travolta to strut out any second.
And I’m sensing that Clark came by to offer up a few suggestions.
“And what a fine evening to all of you ladies and gentlemen who’ve taken the Souuuul Train out for a spin tonight,” William announces through his blue tooth, “I am your driver never finer, your music master of disaster, the whole reason why Mama warned you away and I’m playing the music that’s going to get you in trouble,” he chuckles and punches up a song on his digital radio, “Claire, why don’t you start the evening out and give our other virgin-riders a taste of the good life on Earth. Here’s a little Donna Summer to get our trip tripping. A certain seraph I know told me you could sing like angels have wings.”
I am going to kill Clark, David and Maurice.
“Please,” I wait while the song loads, “Let it be Hot Love.”
“IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII,” starts up and I hang my head, “Of course it is,” I sigh, “Why wouldn’t it be Love to Love You, Baby? Why wouldn’t I be forced to humiliate myself any less?”
“IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII, love to love you baby,” I grab the mike and start swaying. My feet are killing me and I’ve had a very long day, but apparently I’m supposed to teach these angels how to party like it’s 1977. Even thought I wasn’t even alive them.
Thank goodness for YouTube.
Jojo had a brief love affair with the late seventies in high school. Retro was cool and guess who her dance partner was?
Yep – little old me.
She pulled all of Dad’s records out and I can’t even tell you how many times we watched Saturday Night Fever and Thank God It’s Friday. I can sing every part of More Than a Woman flawlessly – with a little warm-up.
I am sooooo going to kill Clark when all of this is over.
“When you’re laying so close to me,” I sing and pull a random male angel up, swaying and enticing him.
I hate myself.
But the song eventually ends after I’ve done vertical lap dances with nearly the whole bus.
“Weeel, wasn’t that something sugar-woogers?” William is back on the mike, “Claire has broken the ice and now we’re going to make it twice as nice. Let’s continue the party with K.C. and the Sunshine Band,” he chuckles and I want to puke.
I take a seat by the window and point the air conditioning vent in the ceiling above me directly on my sweaty head. There are video screens showing old clips of disco dancing – both movies and from shows like Soul Train, Midnight Special, Solid Gold and Dance Fever.
Most of the bus gets off when William pulls up to the Vegas strip. I have to wonder how Luc and Lil will feel about them invading their turf. But it’s not like the angels are here to cause trouble – well, not trouble for Luc and Lil, at least. I’m expecting to see a lot of hung over and/or late angels the next shift.
Some stay to be let off in the French Quarter in New Orleans. Mardi Gras is still a couple of weeks away, but the Big Easy always has a party of some kind.
A few are left, heading for New York. William lets me out at my corner before turning north.
Moira is peering out the front window, waiting for me impatiently.
“Where have you been, child?” she scolds me when I walk in, “You’re nearly a whole day late.”
“Had to make up some time,” I tell her, “I had my appointment with David, remember?”
“Oh, yes,” she nods, “I forgot about that. Your back and forth’s between Heaven and Earth are starting to confuse me,” she chuckles, “Go take a bath and I’ll have your food ready for you when you get out.”
Fed to bursting, I fall into bed. Moira has put up light-blocking curtains in my absence and I love them and the rods too. My room is quiet and cool and my bed cradles me in as close to an imitation of lover’s arms as I have right now. I’m so tired that the half-thoughts about Heaven and what’s coming up never fully take shape. They just drift away and for the first time since Drake and I broke up, I have an uninterrupted sleep.
That lasts sixteen hours. I wake to an alarm, reminding me Jojo’s birthday is tomorrow.
Yes, normally I would know that. But I have to put everything into my calendar now because I know how I am when I get back from Heaven. I’m like an early-onset Alzheimer’s patient. I close that notification and scan for anything I might have missed from Baron.
Everything’s fine, go back to bed, he had texted me about two hours ago.
It’s after eight, but still early enough for a run. Miami never gets cold-cold, but it does get chilly between November and March, so I pull out my running pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt to put over my tank-top and sports-bra.
“Crap, these shoes are almost shot,” I sigh when I lace my running shoes up. Then I pull open my closet and examine the rest of them. They too are at or past their expiration dates.
“Buy 6 pairs of running shoes,” I tap into my phone and carry five pairs downstairs to chuck. Goodwill wouldn’t even take these.
To someone who doesn’t run, this sounds ridiculous. I know that. But I put serious miles on these shoes – more than any others in my closet combined – and a marathoner is only as good as his or her shoes. Can’t be too new, can’t be too old. Running in the same shoes day after day is as bad as doing a marathon in a pair you haven’t broken in yet.
Besides, they tend to stink after a while.
“How did your meeting go?” Moira asks me, handing me a mug of coffee after I dump the shoes in the trash.
“Not as well as I’d hoped, but it wasn’t a flat-out no,” I tell her and start doctoring my mug with cream and sugar, “Thank you for the curtains – they helped a lot.”
“It was my idea, but Drake installed them,” she replies, “What would you like for breakfast this morning?”
“Whatever you pull out of the freezer is fine, Moira,” I chuckle at her, “Thank you for keeping up the house and doing my laundry and cooking for me, but you really do too much. I have a maid service, you know.”
“Not anymore,” her wings flare, “Caught them trying your shoes on the last time they came. Told them flat out that they weren’t welcome back and called their manager to complain.”
“That doesn’t mean that you have to take over,” I sip and do that cat-pant thing with my tongue. The coffee is way too hot still, “I know you have a life outside of mine.”
“Claire,” she puts her hand on my shoulder, “Have you wondered about why Heaven affects you so much and doesn’t seem to bother Baron at all? It’s because you are throwing all of your heart and soul into this and it’s sucking the life right out of you. To him, it’s just another scam. Another in a long string that he’s been involved in over his life. His only concern is making sure you don’t fail so that he can reap the rewards of his bets. For you – it’s personal. For him, it’s still a game,” she pinches a little and I wince, “He is a redeemer too. Not nearly as powerful as you are, but he wasn’t bred of the same stock as you. His life – your life – is here on Earth. Whether you manage to overthrow Michael or not – it really doesn’t matter. What matters is that you make it out on the other side in one piece.”
“I just figured it was because he was getting some,” I tell her and blow across my coffee.
She blinks at me, processing what I just said, and then bursts into laughter, “I suppose that could help too.”
After visiting one of my favorite little boutiques for Jojo’s present (they do free gift-wrapping all year long) I drive to another shopping center and park the Jeep. I keep my shades on and do my best to ignore the BOGO sign in DSW’s window.
I head into Foot Locker instead, wincing at how much six pairs of good running shoes are going to cost me.
“Hey, Claire,” Mike Nelson, the store manager, greets me, “Nice time on Race for the Cure this year.”
One of the many marathons that Drake ran for me.
“Thanks, Mike,” I smile at him, “Don’t suppose you’re running any sales this week?”
“Not on anything you’re looking for,” he shrugs, “How many do you need this time?”
“Six,” I tell him and head to the section of wall holding the serious running shoes. All of which are at least two hundred dollars, but the ones I like are closer to three.
“Wow,” he chuckles and follows after me, “Have a seat and let me get some boxes for you. Seven and a half, right?”
I decline Mike’s offer to use his employee discount. He won’t make any commission on the sale if he uses it and I know this will help. His wife Melanie died of cervical cancer a few years ago and he has two boys at home to take care of.
His commission on my sale alone is close to four hundred bucks.
We don’t hang out together or anything, but Mike is one of the two that regularly places with me. We talk after the races when we’re both cooling down and slurping vitamin-water.
“So, Claire,” he says as I’m signing my name, “Are you seeing anyone?”
Aw – crap.
“I – uh – just had a relationship end and I’m – um – taking a breather from the dating scene for a while. You?” I add to give him a polite way out of I was about to ask you out but you shot me down.
“Been thinking about it,” Mike says – still friendly, but won’t meet my eyes, “It’s been a couple of years now and Mel would want me to move on.”
“I’m sure she would,” I smile and take my receipt, “See you next month at the 5K.”
And then I scurry away with my two bags. Both things on my to-do today list done, I have three letters to read and a response to write.