Someone Like You Page 6

  The door to the stockroom opened again. Natasha heard footsteps, which seemed to hesitate, turn around, then stop completely. “Hello?” a voice called.

  “Can I help you?” Natasha answered.

  “I’m looking for Natasha?” The voice spoke again with a note of uncertainty.

  Natasha rose from her desk and stood tall, as though an invisible hand pulled her up by the crown of her head. “I’m Natasha,” she said.

  She scrutinized the young man in front of her, first noting his expensive suit. Either he had money, or he’d been taking advantage of deep discounts as a retail employee. Other than his clothes, he was nothing special. He was shorter than she was, with mousy brown hair cut short, clear skin, brown eyes that watched her with apprehension, and a hesitant smile. Her split-second judgment categorized him as the warm and fuzzy type.

  “I’m Derek Anderson. I was told to report here for work this morning,” he said tentatively as the silence stretched between them.

  Great, Natasha thought bitterly, noticing the way Erik hovered protectively near Derek, as if eager to absorb him into the little group of friends who plagued her department. Why couldn’t she ever get an employee who had her drive, her vision, her devotion to hard work?

  “I don’t remember asking for additional help,” she finally said. “I guess calling HR is just one more thing I have to do now. Erik, take him to the floor and show him around.”

  After they left, she tapped her fingernails on her desk while she thought it over. Drayden’s procedure was to screen prospects, then let the department manager interview them and make the hiring decision. Since the usual channels had been subverted, Derek must have been placed with her by someone with clout. She’d have to find out who before she decided on her next move.

  Natasha smiled. The only thing better than a normal Monday was a Monday that held the promise of a new power struggle for her to win. She brushed Derek aside as nothing more than a little bug who had whetted her appetite for larger prey.

  6

  Trying to Keep the Customer

  Satisfied

  Vienna’s sandwich seemed to lose its flavor, so she dropped it and brushed crumbs from her hands, saying, “That’s not the worst of it. The little bitch’s mother came up and dragged her away, saying, ‘Come on. You don’t want her waiting on you.’”

  “Ew!” Davii exclaimed. “How hateful.”

  “Nasty,” Derek agreed.

  “You never get used to prejudice,” Vienna said, shaking her head. She absently tore the crust from her discarded sandwich. “I’m sure I’m preaching to the choir.”

  Derek and Davii looked at each other and grinned, singing, “Hallelujah!”

  “I thought so,” Vienna said, finally smiling.

  “Back home,” Derek began, after thinking it over, “boys in cars used to yell things at me. But nothing like that’s happened in a long time.”

  “I hate it when guys do that,” Vienna said. “Why do they think people can understand them when they’re buzzing by at fifty miles an hour?”

  “Because they’re stupid?” Davii guessed. “I used to get threatened all the time in high school. This one guy picked on me every day. I even had a girlfriend at the time, and he’d still call me a fag and throw things at me.”

  “What did you do?” Derek asked.

  “I slept with his girlfriend,” Davii said matter-of-factly.

  “Rock on,” Derek said in awe.

  “Solved all kinds of problems,” Davii said. “My girlfriend broke up with me. His girlfriend broke up with him. And even though it didn’t endear me to him, at least he stopped calling me names. Who wants to be known as the guy whose girlfriend dumped him for a fag? There’s always a way to fight back.”

  “Reminds me of Darlene Patterson,” Vienna said. “I hated that snotty little bitch. She’d follow me around, making up new lyrics to ‘Four Women’ with my name in it. ‘My hair is nappy. My clothes are borrowed. What do they call me? They call me Vienna.’ One time she put gum in my hair. She thought I couldn’t do anything, because I was the preacher’s daughter. I had to love the sinner and hate the sin. All that crap.”

  “What did you do?” Derek asked.

  Vienna shrugged and said, “I hated the sinner and scratched her eyes out after school. I got a licking when my mother found out, but it was worth it to see that skinny-assed bitch run crying. I don’t approve of violence, but—”

  “Oh, no. Not you,” Davii interrupted.

  She glared at him, then continued. “Sometimes you have to stand up for yourself. If you’re being forced down, you have to claw your way up again.”

  “When I’m forced down, I find that it helps to relax the muscles in my throat,” Davii said, and ducked when Vienna threw her bread crust at him. He pointed at her and shouted, “Oppressor!”

  “Oh, please,” Vienna drawled. “You don’t know oppression. Oppression is putting lipstick on women with chapped lips. Oppression is doing someone’s eyeliner, then realizing she has pink eye. Oppression is putting polish on someone’s toes.”

  “That can be sexy,” Davii countered.

  “Maybe on a guy,” Vienna conceded.

  “I’ve only been selling for a couple of weeks, and I’m already grossed out by people’s feet,” Derek stated. “I never thought feet were particularly sexy. Before this job, I might’ve been convinced otherwise. But now? No way. Some of the feet I’ve seen are just nasty.”

  “Please stop,” Davii begged, waving his sandwich. “I’m eating.”

  “We do what we have to do to get by,” Vienna said.

  “Amen, sister!” Davii exclaimed.

  “How does a woman with such religious parents end up living with a gay man?” Derek wondered aloud.

  Vienna smiled, thinking about her father. He was always her rock. Not to mention the buffer between her and her mother when they’d get into arguments. He was the kindest and noblest man Vienna had ever known, the ruler against which all the men in her life would forever be measured.

  “Daddy always said that love is love,” Vienna said. “Love doesn’t follow creed, race, or whatever mental roadblock you want to put in front of it. Love is from the heart and soul. It has nothing to do with our bodies.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Davii muttered.

  “I think that’s wonderful,” Derek said.

  “Daddy knows the Bible cover to cover,” Vienna stated, “and he knows a lot of people twist its meaning to fit their own agenda. He never preached hate, only acceptance. As long as two people love each other, what’s the harm in that?”

  Derek looked at his watch and groaned. “I have to get back to work. I wish Natasha had gone to your daddy’s church.”

  “Praise be to God,” Vienna said, rolling her eyes. “I still have a half hour. I’ll see you later.”

  As Derek left, Davii said, “I love to watch him walk away.”

  “It might help your agenda if you flirted with him once in a while,” Vienna said. “Especially when he’s actually at the table.”

  “I can’t help it if I’m subtle,” Davii said demurely.

  “Please. You’re about as subtle as a fox in a chicken coop with a red rubber glove on his head.”

  Davii pondered her words and asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Daddy would’ve said it better,” Vienna admitted. “Why do you need me to feel out the Derek situation? Why don’t you just ask him out?”

  “How do I say this?” Davii asked aloud. He thought for a moment, idly making trails in a blob of ketchup with a french fry. “Derek’s not like the guys I usually date.”

  “Fuck,” Vienna clarified. “I’m sorry, but you don’t date.”

  “Fine,” Davii admitted, dropping the french fry and throwing up his hands in defeat. “He’s not like the guys I usually pursue. He’s sweet, has integrity, and he’s smart.”

  “He has a boyfriend,” Vienna reminded him. “I’m the result of a broken marriage. I’m
not too fond of the idea of interfering in theirs.”

  “They’re not married,” Davii said.

  “Unfortunately, that’s not an option for them. But that’s a lunchtime topic for another day. I get the idea that Derek needs friends, not a new boyfriend. I know I said I’d help you, but—”

  “He makes me want to be a better person, okay?” Davii blurted. “There. Happy? I see Derek and want to be more like him. I’d like to end up with a guy like him. And from what you tell me, if this current boyfriend of his doesn’t appreciate him, why can’t I?”

  “Fine,” Vienna relented. When Davii grinned like a boy who’d worn down a parent to get a puppy, she added, “But I mean it—I’m not wild about interfering. Give me a little more time to feel out the situation.”

  “If you need any help feeling him out, let me know.”

  “I’m about to be late,” Vienna announced and began collecting her things.

  “Do you need another shot of Drayden’s Kool-Aid?” Davii asked.

  “Our customers are our neighbors, and we must always treat them as if we’re in their backyard,” Vienna intoned, speaking in a zombielike trance. She brightened and said, “Nope. I’m good to go. See you tonight at the Galaxy.”

  7

  Other People’s Money

  Christian Mercer rode the Galaxy Building’s elevator to the ground floor, where he accessed Mall of the Universe via the Light Year Passage. Space-age music played in the corridor, which was lit to resemble the winter sky over the Northern Hemisphere.

  Hello, Orion, Christian thought as he walked beneath the constellation.

  His phone vibrated on his hip, and he hit the SEND button and kept walking while a distraught client’s voice pierced his hands-free headset. “She quit! I’ve got a presentation tomorrow at ten, my slide show isn’t ready, and she just walked off the job!” Shauna wailed.

  Christian ducked into Comet Cleaners. Kate was in the back, and she nodded to let him know she’d be right with him before she darted into what he assumed was the employee bathroom.

  “Shauna, calm down,” Christian said soothingly. “Who quit?”

  “My secretary! I don’t even know how to open Power Point! Crap, hold on. My other line’s ringing.”

  Christian hummed along to the hold music until Kate joined him at the counter, having obviously brushed her hair and applied a fresh coat of lipstick.

  “Hi, Christian,” she said brightly, taking the pile of shirts from him. She looked them over and asked, “Do you ever actually wear your clothes? They look like you take them off the hanger and bring them here.”

  “I do,” he agreed. “It’s all an excuse to see you.”

  She laughed and said, “Right. Seriously, do you ever sweat?”

  “Like a Chinese fortune cookie,” he answered with sparkling eyes. When she looked bewildered, he added the popular fortune cookie ending. “In bed.”

  “I don’t have a spare secretary in my bed,” Shauna said acidly through his headset.

  “Just a second, Shauna,” Christian said, then asked Kate, “Day after tomorrow?”

  “Unless you need them back sooner. I can rush it.”

  “No need. You’ll be here when I come back, right?”

  “Whoever she is, don’t rely on her if she’s a secretary,” Shauna warned.

  “I’ll be here,” Kate promised.

  He stepped out of the dry cleaners and said, “Shauna, take a deep breath. You need someone proficient in Power Point. Anything else?”

  “Willing to work overtime,” Shauna said. “But there’s no way—”

  “Have you forgotten who you’re talking to? I’ll have a temp there before noon. Take care of what you can, don’t panic, and I’ll see to it that your presentation is in capable hands.”

  “What would I do without you?” Shauna said. “You’re saving my life.”

  “Keep it up and I’m adding ten percent to your bill,” Christian said. He disconnected the call and hit speed dial for Terre Temps.

  “Christian!” Debby said when she heard his voice. “It’s been too long!”

  He told her what he needed, and Debby assured him that she’d have the right match for Shauna well within his time frame. After they hung up, he took out his PalmPilot and made a notation on Shauna’s account. It was going to cost her, but she wouldn’t complain. No matter how daunting his clients’ needs, he always delivered, and they knew it.

  Fifteen minutes later, freshly shampooed, he sat back in a chair and relaxed, knowing he was in the capable hands of Davii. Davii was just about the only person who could tame Christian’s unruly auburn curls, not to mention that he knew how to properly tweeze a man’s eyebrows. The one time Christian had gone to Star Power Salon and Spa, he’d emerged looking like a four-year-old had scrawled brick crayon across his brow. He cared about his image too much to entrust it to an amateur. CosmicTology also carried more skin and hair products for men than any other salon in Mall of the Universe.

  “Who’s the lucky man?” Davii teased, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

  Before Christian could answer, his phone vibrated again, and he reached for his headset while Davii frowned. “Christian Mercer.”

  “Mr. Mercer, this is Emily-Anne Barrister.”

  Christian’s eyes widened, and he went into full work mode, saying, “What can I do for you, Ms. Barrister?”

  “Emily-Anne,” she said. “I’m planning an event, and everyone tells me that you’re the go-to person.”

  Yes! Christian thought. Emily-Anne was the wife of Cortlandt Barrister, whose family had founded and bought newspapers throughout Indiana, Illinois, and western Ohio, as well as other publications, including an oddly successful magazine titled Hoe & Sew, which was geared toward the wives of farmers. Getting the Barristers as clients opened up a new world of possibilities for Christian. He reached under the black smock and extracted his PalmPilot, saying, “I’m sure I can help you. If you give me some of the details—”

  “Oh, I’m not going to tie up your time on the phone,” Emily-Anne said. “I’ll make an appointment.”

  Christian checked his calendar, they settled on a day and time, and he disconnected the call after a cordial good-bye. He was startled when Davii not only removed his headset but took the phone and turned it off. “Hey!” he protested.

  “I realize you’re melded to that thing, but unless you want a nipped ear—or even worse, a bad haircut—while you’re here, you’re mine.” When Christian gave him a meek look, Davii smiled and repeated his earlier question. “Who’s the lucky man?”

  “You’re the only man in my life, and you know it,” Christian replied.

  “Oh, what a great liar you are. I’ve heard that one before.”

  “I never lie.”

  “Are you sure?” Davii asked.

  “Why would I lie?”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Davii said, staring pointedly at Christian’s reflection.

  “I guess there’s a shortage of available men here, but I’m afraid I won’t be any help.”

  “A boy can dream.” Davii sighed as a tight curl fell to Christian’s vinyl smock with a whisper, then said, “The prospects have improved. My roommate recently introduced me to one of her new co-workers.”

  “Cute?”

  “Edible,” Davii assured him, then chatted about other things while he cut and forced Christian’s hair into submission. He did a stellar job, as usual.

  Unfortunately, Christian could never re-create Davii’s stylishly disheveled handiwork. He eyed himself in the mirror, thinking that Davii had managed to make him look like a soap actor or someone in a fashion magazine. “Your talents are wasted here. Ever consider moving on to greater possibilities?”

  “Are you trying to persuade me to come to one of your seminars?”

  “No, not at all. I’m completely serious.”

  “Who knows what the future holds?” Davii asked with a shrug.

  Christian went to the cashier and p
aid. He discreetly slipped a substantial tip into a tip envelope, wrote Davii’s name on the outside, and walked into the mall, checking his watch. He wouldn’t have time to eat anything before his next appointment, but hopefully he could squeeze in a half hour for himself before his evening seminar. If not, he’d gone without meals before. He’d survive.

  While he headed toward Drayden’s, he called the Hotel Congreve and confirmed that his conference room would be ready that night. The popularity of the seminar mandated that he hold one every two months. Luckily, it was one of his favorites, titled, “The Importance of ‘Me’ Time: Fitting Your Dreams Between Soccer Practice and Work.” It was most rewarding when a busy career mom wrote him an e-mail to gush about how much his seminar had helped her. One woman in particular came to mind. A harried mother with four kids, Angela had decided to wake up two hours earlier than normal every day to experiment with baking pastries. After only four months, she had regular wholesale customers and would soon be able to quit her full-time job and work for herself. It was that kind of story that made Christian’s job worth it.

  He found Leslie Harper on Drayden’s second floor in Women’s Haberdashery and gently eased a red suit from her hands, saying, “Red is a power color, Leslie, but this will make your complexion look cerise.”

  “Is that bad?” Leslie asked with a stricken look. “I’ve got a promotion riding on this.”

  He deftly grabbed a charcoal gray suit from a rack and said, “This one. Trust me. Try it on over your T-shirt.”

  Later, after they paid for the suit and found a blouse and undergarments—when Leslie resisted, Christian reminded her that it was important to feel well-dressed from the skin out—he guided her downstairs to Cosmetics. The associate who helped them quickly allied herself with Christian while he gave Leslie makeup advice.

  As Leslie signed her credit card slip, she said, “I sure hope all this is worth it.”

  “It’ll pay for itself when you get your promotion,” Christian promised. “Shoes.”

  “I can’t afford to buy shoes at Drayden’s!” Leslie yelped, and the Clinique associate cast a sad look her way.