Four, page 13
“What is going on?” Ren asked.
“It’s just not me. You’re right, none of this is me! No matter what I get, I’m just going to be ridiculous, and I don’t really feel like fussing with this anymore. Just pick me out something you think will fit in. I’m a size eight unless I hit the doughnuts, and my feet are size ten.”
“Georgia—” he started.
“Look, you know this sort of event way better than me. I’ll just mess it up, so why don’t we call it a day? Bye!”
She left him standing on the corner shaking his head, but he made no effort to follow her as she wandered farther up the block. Once she was safely out of sight, she ducked onto a side street and flopped against the brick corner of a service alley. She made little fists and pounded her thighs. “What is wrong with you, Sutherland?” she asked. It was at that very moment that she saw the heartbreakingly familiar Mr. Doughnut sign across the street. “Of all the corners,” she muttered. She whispered a quick prayer of thanks that the late spring afternoon crowds filled the little shop and prevented any clear view of the staff working behind the counter.
She darted back onto Newbury and kept her eyes on the prize, the side street that led her to a subway station—only a few hundred feet away. She almost made it to safety when a voice behind her called out, “Georgia! Georgie, is that you?”
She turned to see electric blue now mixed into the mass of dreadlocks. She let out a sigh of relief as a girl unseasonably dressed in a black crepe dress and thigh-high bitch boots flagged her down. “Alice!” Georgia exclaimed as she awkwardly wandered back the other way.
“Where have you been, girl?” the chick in three layers of eyeliner exclaimed.
“Oh, you know how it is when you have someone new in your life,” Georgia said sheepishly.
“Do I ever!” she cried before tackling her friend with a sloppy hug. “Paul’s been getting into the submissive thing, and I never thought I’d find anyone willing to spend two hours in a ball gag while I watch the Sox play.”
“Well, I’m glad you finally found a gimp,” Georgia laughed.
“A willing slave who isn’t a Yankees fan—what more could a girl ask for?” she laughed. “So, how is that bit of aged cheese you’ve been slathering on your muffin? Is he as filthy in the bedroom as he is filthy rich?”
Georgia took a second to respond. “Oh, well, you know, I never kiss and tell,” she said weakly. “What are you doing down here?”
Alice raised her bag of pastries guiltily. “Sorry, I did get hooked when you worked there, and I need a sugar rush to get through the second half of my shift. One of Paul’s buddies is a designer, and she opened up a storefront. I said I’d help her out till she could get someone permanent.”
“Do I want to know what she designs?” Georgia dared to ask.
“Oh, it’s all recycled stuff—art . . . clothes . . . you name it. She does the whole trash-to-treasure thing, and I just lap it up. She made a towel rack for the apartment out of scrap metal and this bag here out of woven strips of billboard ads. It’s so fabulously ugly it’s gorgeous! Come on, you can come see.”
“You know I’ve not been getting any sleep—”
“Oh, he’s that good, eh?” Alice said with a wink. “Come on, you barely text. You haven’t stopped by. I mean, if you hadn’t sent the check for the rest of the year’s rent, I would have thought you never wanted to see me again.”
“You got a check?” Georgia asked.
“Heh, you can’t play coy when the check is in your name. You’re worried that Daddy Warbucks won’t be able to satisfy you forever, I can dig it.” Alice grabbed Georgia’s hand and led her down into a basement studio full of all manner of bizarre and brightly colored creations. A woman with a platinum buzz cut and prominent array of facial piercings waved as they came in.
“You better have something cream-filled for me, Alice,” she said.
“Don’t you know it? Lisa, this is my good buddy, Georgie. You know, the one that hit the gold-digger jackpot and left me with a two-bedroom all to myself for the next few months.”
The artist just waved and went diving for pastries. Georgia, however, was no longer interested in either of the women in the room as a swath of layers of aqua fabric on an old-fashioned dress form caught her eye.
Lisa quickly took notice and plopped a picture of a ridiculously hideous teal mountain of ruffles wrapped around several girls with very big hair and fuchsia lipstick. “My cousin was a sadist at her wedding,” she said. “I managed to get a mountain of the ugliest polyester you ever did see. My challenge was to take the worst of the nineties and make something fab.”
Georgia smiled at the aqua and rhinestones. “Have you got this in an eight?”
8
Georgia stared at the neat pile of parcels delivered in her foyer as her vampire employer tapped his fingers giddily at the prospect of one of the boxes being marked with next-day labels and a warning that it contained frozen pet supplies. He snatched up the bright white box on top with the glee of a child on Christmas morning. As he took a deep sniff, his companion rolled her eyes.
“What is all this crap?” she asked.
“Frozen rats,” Geoffrey giggled. He peered over the box hopefully until Georgia finally yanked it from him, carried it to the kitchen, and started pulling out his blender and favorite milkshake tumbler.
“Just one,” she cautioned him before dragging in the rest of the parcels from the vestibule. She furrowed her brows as she saw the name of several boutiques she had visited just this afternoon on a few of the tags.
“What the—?”
She opened the first box to see a pair of size ten black pumps. One by one she uncovered hose, undergarments, a selection of costume jewelry, and the very same sexy black dress she had left crumpled on the fitting-room floor. “You have got to be kidding me,” she growled. Just as she was reaching for the phone in her pocket, a little slip of white paper caught her eye.
“Size eight dress, size ten shoes, nothing else for you to worry about, Miss Sutherland – R. M.”
“Oh, the nerve of that—” she started.
“Georgia! It’s jammed again,” Geoffrey whined from the kitchen. After running to stab at a rat carcass with a chopstick, she came back to unwrap a few boxes containing a tux and shiny men’s shoes.
“He got you a suit,” Georgia said as she stomped back into the fray to clean up. “Ugh, you need to use a little bit of the pig’s blood to thin it out, Geoff.”
“Mix pig’s blood with my rat?” he snorted.
“I do it all the time,” she said.
The vampire sneered. “Well, I knew that. Anyway, of course, Stefano’s boy bought me a suit. I asked him to get us suitable attire for the ball. He should have spared no expense!”
“Yeah, I know, but, ugh, how does a guy know to get all this? He remembered to get a bra and pantyhose! Seriously, the guy knows how to do everything, and it’s annoying. We went out together this afternoon to go shopping, and I had to ditch him after a couple hours. I just told him my size and said to get what he wanted—”
The vampire plopped into one of the kitchen chairs and started slurping up his pinkish gray breakfast. “I don’t think I quite follow you, Georgia. Why are you mad when he has done everything you asked him to do?”
“It’s just . . .”—she stopped to dump the rest of the rodents in the freezer—“it’s just so frustrating! He wasn’t supposed to just take care of everything like that.”
“But is that not the job of any servant?” Geoffrey asked.
She raised a brow at her boss. “Stop being logical, I’m not in the mood,” she said as she yanked a bright red pitcher out of the fridge. She then started a new concoction in the blender with the initials G. S. clearly painted on in blue nail polish. As she peeled a banana and plopped it in, the vampire wrinkled his nose.
“That hibiscus tea is cruel,” he bemoaned.
“Oh come on, it doesn’t smell even remotely like blood,” she chided as she went back to the fridge for yogurt and strawberries.
“Well, sometimes I wake up with a stuffy nose,” he said in his defense. “How can you drink that? It’s like biting into a lady drowned in perfume.”
She poured her own pinkish, thick beverage and settled across the table. The vampire smiled his gap-toothed grin and raised his glass. After a quick clink, she couldn’t help but smile as they shared their unique little feast in the early hours of the night.
“You seem less squeamish than when I first met you, Miss Georgia,” Geoffrey noted. “You don’t even gag when cleaning the blender.”
“What can I say? I’m adaptable,” she sighed. “What about you, Geoff? You made it all the way to Lansdowne Street with only one little panic attack. You might be tougher than you thought.”
Mr. Lambley hopped to his feet and ran toward the foyer. He returned with a quivering lip and a bow tie in his hands. “The suit smells like plastic and paper,” he whined. “I think it might have the demon polyester in it.”
Georgia rolled her eyes. “You want me to text Ren and have him take it back? I’m pretty sure that every suit nowadays is gonna have something synthetic in it. We can’t put you in linen or cotton for a full night. I still have nightmares about the rash you got after sweating in jeans. That leaves silk, wool, and Mr. Polyester.”
“Maybe we could do something about the odor,” he suggested.
“Well, considering how you hate my candles, the air freshener, pretty much all detergent, and even the smell of toothpaste, what do you suggest? I could fry some bacon next to it.”
He gnawed on his lip for a few minutes. Finally he started nodding to himself. “I have it!” he said. “You could wear it for a few days.”
Georgia just sat there, cradling her smoothie. “You want me to wear your suit first?”
“You smell much better than plastic,” he said.
“I honestly don’t know whether to be flattered or creeped-out right now,” she said flatly . . .
“Um, so that is part of the job description still?” Gail interjected weakly.
“What, pureeing rats or wearing Mr. Lambley’s clothes first?” Georgia clarified.
“The clothes thing. I guess it’s finally sinking in.”
“Yeah, I had the exact same reaction. Gore is kind of easy to desensitize yourself to, but talking about how you smell . . . ugh, it does take some getting used to. It’s kinda like how you can watch a whole horror movie without flinching, but then be terrified when a dog is in jeopardy in a disaster flick. You never know what sort of crazy will freak you out in its ridiculousness, but don’t worry, it’s just when something is new or back from the dry cleaners. It’s not like he rolls it under his nose and leers at you when he sniffs it. You know, some of the Jaegers are far pickier—they only wear leather of men or beasts they killed themselves. Talk about a conversation starter at a party . . .” Georgia trailed off as she saw a slight green hue washing over her companion’s skin. “You know, maybe this isn’t quite the position for you, sweetie.”
“No! I just need a second,” she said. “Is the ladies’ room back there?”
Gail excused herself and made her way into the relatively calm oasis of black tile and sleek glass sinks. The music was dialed down enough for her to catch her breath as she splashed a bit of cold water on her face. Gail then quickly went to work, blotting wayward eye makeup and reapplying what she could from her limited purse supply. “This is crazy,” she whispered. Her heart nearly leaped from her chest as there was a sudden knock on the bathroom door.
“Pardon,” a sweet voice said. “Cleaning.”
Gail laughed at her shocked expression as a few moments later a round-faced little woman peeked through the door. Gail quickly shoved her lip gloss into her purse and shuffled by to let the small lady in a blue apron slip in with a mop and bucket. The cleaner smiled and gave a little wave as Gail passed her by.
Bolstered by a little fresh air and normalcy, Gail managed to tug her blouse down and once more face the bumping, thumping room inhabited by Georgia and the blonde vampire. As she returned, the blonde was nowhere to be seen, and the good-looking waiter with the perfect wavy hair was cleaning up some sort of spill where she had once been. The man in the gray suit had pulled a Houdini as well, but his jacket laid rumpled next to the now-empty sofa he had shared with the bloodsucker.
Georgia looked up from her phone. “If it’s too much—” she started.
“Where did, um, those two go?” Gail asked.
“Oh, Minnie got what she wanted, so she’s wandered off to get into her usual sort of trouble. I bet she’s dancing out there as we speak.”
“And her, um, friend?”
“She wore him out, I’m sure. Don’t worry, he walked out of here,” she said. “A couple painkillers and a steak, and he’ll be right as rain in a few days. Actually a regular like him will probably be fine in a few hours.”
“Oh,” Gail said as she settled back into her seat. “I guess I got overwhelmed for a second. It’s a lot to take in.”
“Oh, it’s just one thing after another. One thing I can guarantee is that if you take this job, you’ll never be bored. Well, sometimes it gets a little boring when you find yourself watching soap operas at four a.m.,” Georgia said with a little smile.
“So, was it awesome?” Gail asked.
“What?”
“The ball?” she asked as she picked up the fresh drink left for her.
“Oh, it was so much work to get Mr. Lambley ready. As for everything else, Mr. Matsuoka took care of most of the details. It was frustratingly easy to find a hotel and a discreet limo service to take us to a manor tucked away in upstate New York. In fact, he had everything so planned out that I simply had to throw a wrench into the works . . .”
“This isn’t me,” Georgia whispered to the stranger in the mirror. This reflection stared back with familiar bright blue eyes, but they were ringed with smoky dark liner and swaths of iridescent eye shadow. All human imperfection had been brushed away with layers of powders and smears of expensive cream. What little hair she had was swept and frozen in time in a golden caramel arch to frame this new mask that took the place of her normal countenance. A choker of brilliant faux diamonds separated her head from the body tucked into the glorious, curve-hugging, black silk, while her feet snuggled into shiny black heels.
Behind her, a rather squirrely little fellow in a shiny purple shirt and pin-striped pants beamed from behind his thick tortoiseshell glasses. He set down his can of hairspray to start clapping. “I think I’ve outdone myself this time!” he cheered. “Now that Beauty is done, I simply must finish the Beast. I think the mask should be just about set.”
“Thanks,” she choked out. She turned to see poor Mr. Lambley staring desperately from behind a half-inch layer of some sort of Peruvian skin mud, while his freshly detangled cropped ginger mop was tucked under one of the hotel’s shower caps.
“This had better be worth a pint,” the vampire snarled as the other beauty magician kept grinding down his nails with a veterinary buffer wheel. She wore even more makeup than Georgia, enough to mask the stubble and shade a rather prominent Adam’s apple.
“Oh, Nikki, you are a wunderkind,” Georgia’s makeup artist cooed as he surveyed the beautifully buffed left hand. “And how is our Beast this fine evening?”
“Oh yeah, can I offer you an aperitif before you head out?” Nikki asked as she tilted her head to the side and bared her neck.
“Now don’t be rude, darling. Our client is going through a rough patch, you know, up there,” the aesthetician hissed. He then reached into his bag and pulled out a syringe and cup. “However, if you’d like us to draw a snifter for you, I can assure you that our dear Nicolette is an exceptionally rare type AB negative that is well-seasoned, if you know what I mean.”
Georgia stepped toward them. “Sorry, he’s on a strict organic diet right now, but thanks for offering,” she said.
“Oh, I know what you mean. There are definitely some artificial colors and flavors in here, if you know what I’m saying,” Nikki said with a tittering little laugh. “Dear boss man, do you want a clear lacquer on these babies, or should I leave him au naturel?”
Her boss began picking at the edges of Mr. Lambley’s mask. “I’m going to take him to rinse off and get him dressed. Get the dentures and adhesives ready. I’ll decide on the hands once I get him more together.”
“Sure thing, Gordo,” she chirped as she got out of the way. “I’ll just clean up.”
Georgia walked in awe as the gangly six-foot-tall woman hopped deftly around in her stripper heels and skintight tube dress and packed up a vast array of toiletries, small appliances, and makeup containers in less than a minute. As the last of the supplies got tucked into her leopard-print case, she swept back one huge black wave out of her eyes and gave a wink to Georgia.
“Oh, it is so nice to be working for your boss, sweetheart. Usually I end up feeling like a toddler’s juice box on a long car trip right about now, if you know what I mean,” Nikki confessed. “Mr. Lambley is a real gentleman, a real old-world charmer. It’s really a shame about the teeth, you know. How long since he shed them again?”
“I, um, don’t know,” Georgia said weakly, turning back to marvel at her alien reflection.
“Well, it sucks to have ’em pop out right before a ball, but I hear they usually come back in a week or so. Poor guy just got a zit before prom, but we can fix it,” Nikki reassured the still-distracted Georgia. “Ugh, I am so low on adhesive. We might need to make an emergency drugstore dive. Oh, I could get us some gummy bears too!”
“All four fangs!” they could hear from the bathroom. “Oh, Mr. Lambley, that will simply be a half pint more . . .”
“You mean they get paid in blood?” Gail asked as Georgia showed her the next page of her contact book.
