The Pike_Evermore Page 4

  He shrugged. “Cute, but not what... wait a minute, why are you asking?”

  He started to grin lopsidedly, and I exhaled and Gibbs slapped the back of his head. “Mind out of the gutter. Seriously, is that all men think about? No, I just thought she looked familiar is all.”

  He rubbed the stubble on his chin like he was contemplating something, then said, “Yes, I believe it is all we think about.”

  I shoved his shoulder with a grin on my face, then got out considering the man. He was keeping me on my toes and my mind off of whatever I had been dwelling on. He knew what he was doing, and I appreciated the effort from him. He was one of the few in my posse I could see being real friends with someday.

  We headed to the service door in the back, close to where we parked, the others trailed behind. I looked up at the almost gothic looking structure with a bit of pride. The Empire was mine. I had aspirations of restoring her to her former glory, then using her for organized raves and small concerts for people in the rock and punk scene here in the Emerald City. She'd be the crown jewel in my media and entertainment empire.

  I made the decision as we reached the door, and I told the others so that I would be held to my word, “I think this is the year. Time to restore this old girl.” I patted the doorframe, and the others looked suitably happy at my decision. It had been a long time coming as I have discussed it many times in passing with my crew.

  Kat, or Katherine, being a realtor for the rich and famous, keeps pointing out how the Empire was a sound investment, real estate in Seattle was, and always will be, a premium, and it can only increase in value. Though she recommends bulldozing it and putting up, ironically enough, a strip mall to capitalize on the market.

  No, the Empire is going to rise out of the ashes, and I'm going to make her great again. I'm going to breathe life back into her and she will shine like a diamond again.

  The others gave a little cheer, and I felt that familiar fire being stoked inside. I had a project to do again. I had been feeling like I had just been treading water, needing some change in my life. That's why I agreed to work with the news studio. But this. The restoration... that was my new project.

  I unlocked the door and disabled the alarm, and I found myself smiling as I marched past the backstage rigging to the door of my office, marked with the fading red letters which read, “Stage Manager.”

  I unlocked it, and we headed in. Where the outside of my office looked to be a relic of the past as the rest of the playhouse, the inside was a modern technological wonder. All my production gear was here, with the latest digital video and audio editing hardware and software. I even had a little sound isolation booth in the corner. My posse compares walking into my office from the stage to walking into Doctor Who's Tardis from nineteenth century London.

  I flopped into my ridiculously comfortable overstuffed office chair behind my desk as the others took their preferred spots all around the room. Spike slid into the chair at the editing station and just absently held his hand out, Brandon handed his phone over. Then Spike mumbled something about pulling some good promo from the footage as he went to work. It was so quiet I couldn't quite make it out.

  I couldn't imagine how insanely expensive his services would be if I actually paid him, or the others. Oddly, I didn't feel bad about it. I never once asked or expected anything from any of them. They all just sort of latched onto me. They get recognition and a boost to their own businesses just being associated with me. It is symbiotic, and we all get something we need or want out of the relationship. I just keep getting all the gear Spike suggests in his emails, and he's happy... like a kid in a candy store.

  I glanced over to the girls, in their corner on the couch I had wedged in there for them. They already had their faces buried in their cells. Kat was likely splitting time between social media and her clients. Before she had to run off to do a showing I prompted, “So Kat, is there a contractor you would recommend for the renovation?”

  She perked up. Her smile bloomed as she slid her cell into her bag to give me her full attention, then hopped up to make a beeline toward me. “You were serious about starting now? I was beginning to think you'd never commit.”

  She hopped up and sat on the corner of my desk, crossing her feet at the ankles and I noted the sinfully expensive heels she chose for the day. Too bad I don't normally wear heels like today, or I'd be wanting to borrow those. Even though I liked them, Na Na wouldn't be caught dead in them, and she always wins out.

  She leaned in a bit to look at the contractor web searches I was pulling up on my computer screen, being sure to show off a little cleavage to me. She's always being a tease to me, ever since she found out I was gay, even though she was as straight as they come. I think it is just built into her DNA to try to get people to look at her and want her. Though she's nice to look at, she's definitely neither my nor Na Na's type.

  She went into shop mode and said, “While the contractors I normally deal with are for upscale mansions and properties, I have had dealings with a few commercial contractors.” She placed a hand over mine on my mouse, stopping me from searching. “Before you do anything, let me make some calls.”

  I nodded, and she released my hand and hopped back up, pacing like a businesswoman as she dialed her phone, “Chuck? Katherine, I need to pick your brain...”

  I grinned at her then looked back at the screen. I really didn't know where to begin.

  Well, until she gets back to me, I'll just take a look at the segment I did today, it should be on the station's website by now. Speaking of, I'll have to contact Reese Qualls to get her to set up a renovation area on my website so I can keep the fans informed and create excitement for the project.

  There were other reasons I liked using Reese on my stuff, besides the fact she was second to none in the tech sector.

  I cringed at the first two seconds of the segment where I looked like a shocked buffoon over Karmin, but then that veneer slid over my expression, and it looked like I was channeling all the sarcastic confidence in the world. Ah, there she is, Na Na. I wish I really had her kind of confidence. I just kicked back to watch, putting my feet up on the desk.

  I needed these distractions since I didn't have anything else slated for the day, I didn't have a podcast until tomorrow night. Maybe I'll just blog about the experience today, or contact some potential advertisers for the site. It was slow days like this that I could catch up on all the minutia in managing my persona. So why did my mind keep slipping back to my newly assigned PA?

  I switched over to my email. Ah, she's as efficient as I believed. I already had multiple emails from her as promised. And also one from Porter. God, it was going to take some getting used to having to answer to someone other than myself.

  Suck it up Nala, that's how ninety-nine percent of the world operates, and you know it.

  Chapter 3 – Delivery

  Come on Karmin, think! I was going over my day in my head. I had misplaced some paperwork, that never happens to me. Never ever snever. But I had been so distracted this morning... Machinasai! The Pike! I must have left the papers there.

  I had been so overwhelmed with memories when I found out that I was being assigned as Personal Assistant to none other than Nala Dupree. Of all the people in the world, why her? I thought she had been sexy back in school, but now she's achieved a whole new level by remaking herself into Na Na Evermore.

  I was off my game as I watched her own the camera this morning. I did a quick lookup on my cell as I forwarded information to the station manager, the advertising department, and Miss Graves with my other hand on my iPad. Oh, and I needed to contact the office supply manager to get Nala's business cards, station ID lanyard, and stationary for the segment ordered.

  I started filling in the requisition forms as my cell rang. On the third ring, a woman answered, “Pike Bakery.”

  I grinned, it was the perky one, I instantly recalled her name and said, “Hello Miss Rand. This is Karmin Hughes with KVRL. Na Na Evermore's
personal assistant.”

  She chirped out, “Oh, the cute yellow hair ribbon?”

  That was just silly, I wasn't a hair ribbon. I touched my hair ribbon absently as I forwarded some correspondence to various departments at the studio while I spoke. “Yes, ma'am. I was wondering...”

  She blurted, “Does a duck use a tuning fork? Yes, of course we have apple dumplings.”

  Huh? Was she making fun of my propensity to finish other people's thoughts? I started, “Apple...”

  She giggled. Seriously I thought I was the only full grown woman in this world who giggled. I try to chuckle, I swear to you, but it always ends in a giggle. I was amused by so very many things.

  She clarified, “No, not you, sweetie. This brain trust of an officer here. She knows it is Monday, that means dumplings.”

  She covered the receiver, and I heard her say, “Can't you see I'm on the phone Officer O'Brien? Your stomach can wait.”

  Then she was speaking to me again, “Using my amazing powers of clairvoyance, I would say that you are in search of some paperwork with the KVRL logo emblazoned upon them and JiJi paperclips holding it all together.”

  I sighed in relief. “Oh thank the lord, you have them. I've been wracking my brains trying to figure out where I left them. How late are you open tonight?”

  Then I answered before she could, realizing there was only one correct response for the Pike Place Market shops, “Closing Bell.”

  She gleeped and then before she could say it, I said, “Thank you, I'll be right over.”

  She snorted. “Good, I'm glad we got that sorted.”

  I waved at the cell with one hand. “Bye.” As I composed an email to Miss Graves about ideas I had about Nala's segment with my other hand.

  I was about to hang up when Miss Rand asked, “Hey, how did you know it was me and not Raggedy Ann?”

  I shrugged. “You don't sound like Mrs. Torville. The cadence and timbre of your voice are distinctive no matter the other similarities and familial quirks.”

  She said in an almost silly tone, “Yeahhhhh... that's what I thought.”

  I had to grin as she said, “I gotta fend off the fuzz here. See ya soon.” Then she hung up, leaving me smiling.

  I rushed out of my tiny cubicle on the second floor of the station. I didn't have much else to do except aiding the other PAs who weren't as organized as me. Nala was going to be a huge draw, so they freed me up to work with her exclusively. Which was silly since she only had the one segment once a week. They just saw the publicity and advertising revenues that having her on the show would mean.

  As exciting as it was going to be to work with her, I was going to have virtually nothing to do for the rest of the week. She hadn't even called after the shoot to relay her list of expectations like all of the other clients I have been assigned to. It's like she didn't understand what a PA was for.

  Sure, my main job was to look out for the studio's best interests, and that generally meant I had to keep the high maintenance clients happy. Nala was never high maintenance anything, so my life was about to get extremely boring, extremely quickly unless I could convince the higher ups to give me another client or three or four to assist.

  I drove quickly to the Market. The parking structure was full, and the street parking was non-existent near the closing bell. So I reentered the parking garage and went into super ninja stalking mode. I followed a family of tourists from the elevators all the way to their car and waited, waving other vehicles past me. Then I pounced on their parking spot less than four nanoseconds after they vacated, faster than Naruto could summon his Rasen Shuriken attack.

  Then I was off. I only had a few minutes before the closing bell. I wished I had Haruhi Suzumiya's ability to reshape reality sometimes, then I wouldn't be late. I grinned at myself. Of course, I'd think of her, I was wearing an outfit inspired by her today.

  It turned out I didn't need her fictional abilities as I scurried into the Pike bakery with a few minutes to spare. I grinned up at the little bell that tinkled over the door when I opened it. This place really had such a quaint feel for someplace that seemed so insanely popular.

  The kids behind the counter saw me and the girl popped her head in the back for a second and the elder sister came out of the kitchen, her face smeared with flour as she wiped her hands on her apron. She looked to be maybe a five or so years older than me, and her sister trailing behind her was closer to my age.

  They smiled at me as I approached, noting they still had a few customers at the tables even this close to closing. The elder sister reached under the counter and pulled out my missing documents. I sighed in relief. It would have been my first misstep at the studio since I started last year when I moved back to the states from Japan. It would have been easy to reprint them and get the appropriate signatures, but then I'd look semi-incompetent.

  I've worked hard for my reputation at the studio and didn't wish to have a blemish on my record. I accepted them and gushed, “Arigatou... I mean, thank you. You're a lifesaver Mrs. Torville.”

  She winced. “That makes me sound old. It's just Zoey, or if you insist, Mrs. Z.”

  She seemed sad about the Mrs. Z name she supplied for some reason. It meant something to her.

  I inclined my head and beamed an energetic smile at her, “You got it, Mrs. Z.”

  This put that familiar smile back on her face. I added in all earnestness, “But seriously, thank you so much. If there's anything I can do for you just let me know.”

  Miss Rand spoke up at that. “Well actually...”

  Mrs. Z and the kids all blurted in unison, “Don't meddle!”

  She stuck her tongue out at all of them and crossed her arms across her chest obstinately.

  Then Zoey held up a finger like she had an idea. “Oh, actually, there may be something you can assist with. You're Na Na Evermore's personal assistant?”

  I nodded. She called her Na Na. Couldn't anyone see that Na Na was just a character Nala created? She was like an actor projecting a well-crafted persona. No, I think from her look, that Zoey was keeping up pretenses for Nala's sake. I nodded, and she said, “Great, could you do me a huge favor and deliver this to her?”

  She pulled out a little envelope that had 'Thank You' printed on the front. “Maxine here wrote a thank you to her for a gift she gave her today. Could you please make sure Miss Evermore gets it?”

  I nodded and smiled as I said. “My pleasure.”

  Then Miss Rand cleared her throat and thrust a plan paper bag at me while she eyeballed her sister like something was afoot. I stared at the bag and looked inside and giggled at the apple dumpling in it, whilst thinking about ducks and tuning forks.

  Then the younger sister made an ushering motion. “Now shoo, off with you, be fleet of foot, we're closing now.” She looked around and raised her voice, “Doors are closing in two minutes.” The other customers started gathering their things at that.

  I gave a little wave to the amusing family as I slid out the door, the little bell tinkling above it. I heard Miss Rand chastising her sister about meddling as the door closed.

  I hesitated and looked down at the thank you card and then smiled. This gave me a reason to see Nala again before next week, since I was sure she wouldn't contact me about the show until then. A thank you from a young girl was pretty important stuff that couldn't wait, right?

  I almost skipped to my car as I looked up Nala's address from the station records on my cell. I had one last delivery to make before calling it a night.

  This had nothing to do with an old crush which I believed long ago extinguished, bubbling back to the surface. That would be unprofessional and too much of a distraction in my detail oriented job. It would cause too many slip-ups... like... leaving important papers behind in a bakery. I cursed, “Kuso!”

  I pushed those thoughts from my mind as I returned to my car and drove through the stop and go rush hour traffic. It would have been rude of me to just show up unannounced, especially at her home,
so I used the hands-free to call ahead.

  My call went straight through to voicemail on the first ring. Her cell must have been off. Or more likely, she just screened all of her calls. She must have tons of fans determined enough to find her number even though it isn't listed. It really must be a pain to famous sometimes.

  I left a quick message that I was on my way with a delivery for her. I stopped at a convenience store to grab a bottle of grape juice along the way. Again, it would be rude to arrive at someone's house empty handed. Or was that just in Japan? After spending the last six years there... basically my entire adult life, I often wonder what customs are universal and which are just Japanese.

  I shrugged. I think I preferred the Japanese customs and manners in quite a few cases.

  I glanced at the grape juice as I slipped back into the driver's seat. Back in school, she never ate lunch for some reason. She just always took a back corner, stuck her head into her study books, and drank a bottle of grape juice. I had always wanted to ask about that.

  I had to double check the address when I arrived at a small reclaimed warehouse-type structure which had an eclectic bunch of storefronts on the first level. I looked up to the upper level. The building had been meticulously restored, gaining some of the nineteen forties charm of its original construction. There must have been condos on the second level.

  Not really where I would have expected her to be living. But then again, I wasn't expecting a lavish mansion either, that wasn't her style. She was all about being real, speaking plainly. About the only thing about her not genuine was the tough attitude she projected. I could see that was her brand, and a well-crafted brand at that. She definitely put her marketing expertise to work to devastating effect.

  Just to be safe, I checked the address one last time. This was the place, unless she gave us a bogus address on the contracts, which I seriously doubted. I noted a man on the street corner, leaning against a street lamp and holding a camera. A woman was sitting in a car across the street with the zoom lens of a camera resting on the open window frame of her car door.