“You’re right. What else?”
I hesitate. “Where did the new guy come from, anyway? There’s just something off about him generally. I know this is unhelpfully vague, but he took this girl named Amber aside last night, and afterward she was crying.”
Becca’s eyes widen. “Did you ask her why?”
I shake my head.
“Well.” Becca looks thoughtful. “If Amber was late for work six nights in a row, he might have simply delivered a well-deserved warning. Or he could be a horrible man asking for sexual favors.”
I can’t even hide my shudder.
The boss taps the tips of her fingers together. “Listen, I have an idea. You are under absolutely no obligation to do this, though.”
“What is it?”
“Let’s keep you on the Ice Girls team for longer than this week. We’ll work in your other jobs around it. I’d want you to pretend to be really invested in advancement—tell Cavanaugh that you want to try out for the dance team. Tell him you’ll do whatever it takes.”
“Goodness!” I gasp. I’m afraid to know what it takes.
“Let me be clear,” Rebecca adds. “You are not to endanger yourself in any way, or to do anything that makes you truly uncomfortable. And meanwhile, you’re going to collect evidence to support the fact that he’s mistreating his employees. Buy a thermometer and record how cold it is where you’re standing. If he touches the girls, take a photo.”
I let out a bark of laughter. “Hiding my phone is going to be tricky. The skirt is about four inches long. No pockets.”
“Heidi Jo, you are the most resourceful person I’ve met in ages. Feel free to go all James Bond on this man. Find a camera on the internet that looks like a pen. Save your receipts.”
“Oh, wow.” Suddenly, I see the possibilities. “This could be a whole lot of fun.”
Rebecca gives me a devious smile. “This man was hired very suddenly last spring, after the woman who ran the program quit to move to Alaska with her girlfriend. Unfortunately, he has a multi-year contract. I need evidence if he’s created a hostile work environment. At the very least, I want to address the uncomfortable working conditions.”
“I understand.”
“Meanwhile, you’re going to have to fit in more of the work from your father’s list of jobs. But you’ll get overtime pay.”
That’s certainly good news.
“Oh—and what if I told your dad how amazingly helpful you are? I could let him know that your ability to work everywhere in the organization is working out so well that you and I are both giddy about it.”
“But—” I don’t want Daddy to think this was a great idea.
“Come on, don’t you have siblings? Reverse psychology, baby. You know it’s no fun to torture someone if they’re enjoying it.”
“Oh,” I say slowly. “You’re very devious, too, Rebecca.”
“I know!” She gives me a gleeful smile. “Hang in there, Heidi Jo. Not only are you doing me a big favor—one that I won’t forget—you’re also doing those other women a big favor. After you’ve been around for a while, maybe they’ll trust you enough to confide in you.”
“Okay.” Helping the other girls would be killer. And helping Rebecca isn’t such a bad thing, either. “Say no more. I’m in.”
Even if my boobs freeze off, it’s for a good cause.
29
November
Jason
“Heidi should keep looking,” Silas says as he zips up his suitcase for our road trip. He keeps his voice low as he adds, “That place is not the right apartment for her.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
Last night Silas accompanied Heidi to the Bronx to look at a rental. I’d wanted to see it myself, but Heidi said I was too judgmental. I’ve earned this reputation by pitching fits about the other three apartments I scoped out with her.
In my defense, every one of them was in a dark, dangerous spot and had poor security. “How bad was it?” I ask Silas.
He makes a disgusted face as he picks up the suitcase and carries it past me. I follow him into the living room where he sets it near the door. “A total dump. And in a shitty neighborhood.”
“There are safety bars on the windows!” Heidi yells from my bathroom—which is mostly her bathroom these days. “I took a photo to show you, Mr. Bossypants.”
That’s me in this scenario.
“It also has roaches,” Silas points out.
Gross. “Is there a doorman?”
Silas says “no” at the same moment that Heidi yells the opposite. “Well.” Silas chuckles. “There’s a homeless man who holds the outer door in search of tips. But he’s not exactly a union employee.”
“He was very nice,” Heidi insists. But then she sighs and changes the subject. “Guys, our car is four minutes away.”
“We’re ready,” I call, walking toward my bathroom. “What takes you so long, anyway?”
But the moment I spy her in the mirror, I forget the question. Heidi stands there in a short wool skirt and black tights. But it’s not only her curvy backside that’s so captivating, it’s the way she’s leaning toward the mirror, stroking some kind of makeup product onto her eyelashes, and humming softly to herself.
It’s her essence. She’s populating my bathroom with beauty products and taking over my dresser drawer with lacy little pairs of panties, and I don’t even mind the invasion. Because I love the way her arm curls around my waist at night and the sound of her raucous laughter when I tell a joke.
Every time I walk into a room where she is, I feel lucky. Life has been pretty kind to me for the last month.
Heidi, however, hasn’t had it so easy. In the first place, Rebecca still has her working on the Ice Girls team, documenting Randy Cavanaugh’s offenses. That means Heidi has skated in all eight home games this month.
And when the team is away, she does every other job her father invented for her. She’s cleaned the locker rooms at the practice facility. She’s stacked bandages for the training staff. She’s sold tickets in the box office. I get tired just thinking about it.
My life, on the other hand, has only gotten better. I come home from road trips to a fully stocked apartment and an affectionate girl in my bed. And it’s funny how easily I’ve slipped into the role of being someone’s boyfriend, even after all these years. It’s like riding a bike. When I’m in town, I take her out for dinner and rub her feet. I do my part to shore her up, but I can tell she’s feeling worn down.
This week, though, she’s heading out on a road trip with the team. So that’s new. “Are you about ready? I’ll carry your bag downstairs.”
“Almost. I have to finish my lashes.”
“No you don’t,” I argue. We still bicker all the time, and sometimes our arguments get heated. The dumber the argument, the more stubborn I become. I swear Heidi almost punched me last night when we were arguing over which pizza toppings are the most all-American.
I can’t even remember what position I took in this great debate. I think I made a speech about the importance of sausage, and she made a speech about the patriarchy. After we fought it to a bitter draw, though, the make-up sex was spectacular.
“You know, babe,” I say, instigating yet another argument just because I can. “Eyelashes don’t really matter. No guy ever turned to his buddies in the bar and said, ‘Look at the lashes on that one.’”
She doesn’t take the bait. She screws the cap onto whatever diabolical dye or paint or glue she was using and then turns to face me. And this is how I lose arguments, because she’s so pretty I get a little distracted. “Jason, the lashes aren’t supposed to be noticeable. But they’re part of the whole effect.” She makes jazz hands to emphasize this point.
And, fuck, I guess she’s right. Because the whole effect is making me wish we had a few extra minutes, so I could pull up that soft-looking sweater and…
She snaps her fingers in my face. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t make your horny face. It’s time to go.” She slips past me.
“I have a horny face?”