Part 23 (1/2)
I was still whacking it when Ca.s.sie came out. She watched for a second and then borrowed the hammer. Little chips of plastic flew in all directions as she reduced what was left to sc.r.a.p. We would never have to hear Kirk or Spock sing again.
The woman had her points.
After truce was arranged, we all went in to have coffee. Ca.s.sie tactfully put the hammer away, and we sat around the kitchen table like civilized people.
”If it's not a secret,” I said, ”you might tell me why you're here. At this hour, the day after Christmas.”
”We're on our way to work,” Chip answered.
”Work? We were all fired a few weeks ago.”
”Well, that's just it, Dev. We're kind of un-fired now.”
Ca.s.sie rolled her eyes but didn't comment.
”Un-fired?”
Heather took over. ”It's Howard Abner. Jenner hates him. Ever since he found out that Abner won't let him have girlfriends...”
”Won't let him?”
”Doesn't want him to, I mean. He says it sets a bad example.”
”For who?” I frowned, debating whether it should be ”whom” instead, but finally decided I didn't care. ”It's an ad agency, not church camp.”
”Just let me tell it, will you?”
I gave up and let her. She always took twice as long as necessary to tell a story, but if you kept interrupting her, she took even longer to get to the point. The point in this case was that Jenner feared marital fidelity more than he feared lawsuits. Consequently, he was maneuvering to get rid of Abner, and his first move was to reinstate all of Abner's firees.
”'All,' as in all?” Ca.s.sie asked.
Heather nodded. ”You two especially. He's been after us every day to find out when you're coming back. I bet he'll reinstate you with big raises, if...”
”We don't want to be reinstated,” I said.
They all stared at me in disbelief.
”Sorry -- I shouldn't speak for Ca.s.s. I don't want to be reinstated. At least, not without a lot more information this time. She can do what she wants.”
”Not without you,” she protested.
I motioned to her to save it for private discussion. ”Is that why you're here, then? Jenner sent you to tell us the good news?”
”In a nutsh.e.l.l,” Heather admitted. ”He really wants you two back. But that isn't...”
”Tell him not to kill the fatted calf just yet,” I said. ”Now you'd better go. You don't want to be late for work.”
”OK, OK, we're going. But we've got a Christmas present for you first.”
”It's for both of you,” Chip added. ”From all of us.”
Ca.s.sie took the package from him, thanked him, and tore the paper off. For quite a while, she just stared at whatever it was.
”Something wrong?” I asked.
Too moved to speak, she handed it across the table. And then I understood.
”It has a Santa hat on,” I said numbly.
”Oh, come on, this is really cool,” Troy said. ”It sings 'Jingle Bells.' Push the red b.u.t.ton.”
Ca.s.sie pushed her chair back so fast that it tipped over. ”We will later. Thanks, guys. It was really sweet of you. Really.”
She went on to usher them out, leaving me alone with the fish. It was a while before I could look at it again. It seemed harmless. Stupid, but harmless.
I poked it a few times. Plastic. Nothing scary. I inspected the little hat. I pried open the mouth, to see what was in there. Furtively, I checked to see whether it was anatomically correct -- not that I would know one way or the other. Finally, and only for research purposes, I pressed the b.u.t.ton to make it sing.
Ca.s.sie came back to find me on the kitchen floor, howling with laughter. It took her a few minutes to get me to give up the fish and a few more to get me back upstairs, tucked into bed.
December 28 ”She's been in there how long?”
”Two days,” Ca.s.sie said, sounding weary. ”Give or take an hour or two.”
Already bored with eavesdropping on the conversation in the hall, I went back to flipping channels. When the knock came, I ignored it.
”Dev? It's Rita Sanchez. Can I come in?”
No. It was nice of her to stop by, and now she could go. Yawning, I switched over to the Cartoon Network.
The bedroom door opened anyway. Sanchez walked in, Ca.s.sie right behind her.
”You look awful,” Sanchez declared.
I shrugged. ”I'm on strike.”
”That's not what I hear.” She took a seat on the bed -- not too close, just in case I hadn't showered lately. ”I hear you think you've cracked up. Have you?”
”I went to pieces over a singing fish.”
”That doesn't prove anything.”
”It's a fish, Sanchez. It sings Christmas carols. How much more evidence do you need?”
Under her breath, she said something Spanish. I hated when she did that; she was from Illinois.
”I'm going along with her for now,” Ca.s.sie explained. ”If she wants a little time off from reality, I guess she should have it. She really doesn't ask much.” She reached over to pat my cheek. ”Do you, bunny?”