**************10

“So,” asked Soren as the convertible slipped along the highway heading north toward the neighboring city, “what kind of studies are these?”

“Cosmetics,” answered Duncan ambiguously. “Lots of them. We have four stores to do up here, and with both of us being paid for mileage…well, we should make more money today than we often do in a week. But, we’ll be working late, I’m sure.”

Soren pulled out the stapled packet of papers and flipped through them. “Dear god,” she exclaimed. “We have to count every single cosmetic in each of these stores. Every eye shadow, every lipstick, every nail polish. What kind of useful information could someone possible glean from this?”

“I have no idea,” answered Duncan. “I didn’t process stuff like this at Stacis.”

They rode in silence for a moment until Soren asked, “Where did the name ‘Stacis’ come from, anyway?”

“It stands for ‘Statistical and Technical Analysis for Consumer Industry Services.’”

“Sounds fascinating.”

“Sounds like what it is—a shell game. Though an accurate one, I’ll admit.”

“So that analysis really works?”

“Better than you would think it would. It’s almost like some mathematical miracle. But what is the point, really, in applying the most advanced statistical analysis available to the opinions of Italians on toothpaste? Was it before or after lunch? Was it a feast day? All of these things have to be taken into consideration. And then there’s the problem of responses which just fall too far outside the box.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, one time I was running this analysis on ready to eat pasta dinners from data collected in Europe. In American, it’s taken for granted that we’re supposed to want convenience, but in other parts of the world, it’s different. In Europe, for instance, just the idea of ready to eat pasta dinners is repulsive—sacrilege almost. So no one was able to answer questions like ‘What ready to eat pasta dinners are you currently buying now’ or ‘Do you prefer the new Brand X ready to eat pasta dinner over the one you are currently purchasing’ because they can’t imagine doing something so cruel to pasta. They’d just go out, but the fresh vegetables, make their own sauce, and perhaps even hand make their own noodles. We couldn’t even get enough of a response for me to run an analysis on it. But, we had to give the client something.”

“So what did you do?”

“Exactly what my boss told me to do—I made something up. Of course, with the understanding that we were to tell the client that, under the present conditions, this product would probably not go over well in the European market. Then there are the individuals who throw the numbers completely out of whack…”

“Like what?”

“Like during a survey on brands of toothpaste, there were two participants who said that they never brushed their teeth, thus skewing the data completely in one direction.”

“What did you do with that?”

“My boss’s words were ‘That’s gross—throw those numbers out.’”

“All of the numbers?”

“No—just the two people who didn’t brush their teeth. I mean, Americans just don’t want to believe that anyone would possibly do that. They forget that toothpaste is an invention of the twentieth century, along with deodorant, shampoo, and maxi pads. No one can remember a time before these products existed, so to them these products are a part of the given consensual reality—there is no reality outside of these products.”

They rode in silence for a few minutes, Soren occasionally glancing down at the study to figure out what all it entailed. “What other weird things did you see?”

“Well, I learned things like cranberries are always ‘tangy.’ They are not tart, sour and for heaven’s sake don’t even mention the word bitter. You’d be shocked at the things they’ve attempted with cranberries.”

“Like what?”

“It’s unmentionable. Let’s just say that the cranberry salsa didn’t go over too well in the test market. But at least it didn’t kill anyone.”

“Is that a possibility?”

“Anything is possible—that’s the one thing statistics don’t think about too much. No, the worst story I heard was about this scented fabric spray which was sent out to a whole slew of people. A couple of days later, some teary-eyed woman called to say that the spray had killed her dog. The worst part was trying to be politic about it when we had to call everyone on the list who had received it, ask them if they’d tried it yet, then try to talk them into sending it back without giving away too much information. The matter was settled quietly out of court and as far as I know, poor Fido was its only victim.”

“Good heavens!”

“Oh navigatrix…is this our exit?”

Soren looked down at the map and up at the exit sign. “This is it. Get off here, turn right, and the Glutton Mart should be on the left.”

They pulled into the multi-acre parking lot and found a spot in the sea of gleaming metal cars. Going into the store, Soren winced as her eyes were assaulted by the shiny fluorescent lights. She looked up shielding her eyes and hissed. Nearby a clerk looked at her askance.

“I need optical protection if I’m going to be in here for more than five minutes,” she said. “I think the dark shades are a bit overmuch—I’m going to go check out that rack of colored specs over there while you sign us in.”

Spinning the rack, she found the perfect pair of glasses with dark red frames and lenses tinted a shade somewhere between pink and purple. Duncan came up behind her while she was trying them on, and selected a pair with blue lenses with silver wire-rims.

“They look good on you,” she added as he was gazing in the mirror. “Can we expense these?”

“I don’t see why not. I’ll go pay for these if you want to find the cosmetics section.”

“Make sure you keep the receipt. See you in a minute.”

She shielded her eyes with her hand and scanned the signs hanging over the tops of the aisles looking for something which implied cosmetics. Aisle seventeen said “Beauty Aids” so she headed that way, at the same time opening the first page of the study and scanning the bar code.

Question 1: Does this store carry cosmetics?

That was one way to put it. One hundred and fifteen feet (they had to measure it later) of cosmetics hung dauntingly on the wall. She sighed and scanned “Yes.” This was going to take a while.

Shortly, Duncan joined her in the cosmetics aisle, handed her the tinted shades, and perused the situation.

“No wonder Duke was afraid that all this work couldn’t be done in the next two and a half weeks. We’ve got four of these to do today, though Duke said that this was the largest of them.” He sighed. “Let’s get to it.”

Scan. Count. Enter. Scan. Count. Enter. Scan. Count. Enter. Scan…

“What color, exactly, is Scoot? Or how about Zoom and Zippy? Do people really get paid to come up with this stuff?” Soren giggled as Duncan kept up a running diatribe.

“Raison Rage, Python purple—since when are snakes purple?—Magenta Minx, In the Red Crème, Latin Beat Frost…”

“Or how about these,” said Soren, joining in the fun. “We’ve got Pink in the Afternoon—apparently it changes color at night—Certainly Red, which it is. Then there’s Strobe—it’s on, it’s off, it’s on, it’s off—then the ever popular shade Pounce.”

“This isn’t just mascara—it’s high dimension lash highlighting with new light interplay technology for soft lit lashes.” He arched his eyebrows at her mysteriously. “It claims to come with a multi-dimensional brush. Now your lashes look longer in twenty-seven dimensions! The new mascara for the quantum age…”

“This one is called Raven red—since when are crows bright red? It’s next to a color called Deeply Chili—ouch! I wouldn’t want to rub that on my lips.”

“Oh, that’s nothing,” retorted Duncan. “I’ve heard that the bruised look is supposed to be sexy this season, but this is the first time I’ve seen a shade called “Shiner.”

“And here’s the line named after natural disasters—Earthquake, Tidal Wave, Typhoon…I guess it’s a good thing that they’re right next to Shazam. And huddling here in the row underneath them is Fearless Fuchsia.”

“Here’s a lipstick called Sandstorm—I guess cracked and bloody at the edges is the look they’re going for.”

“It’s not cover-up stick—it’s an Illuuuuusion Wand.”

“I can understand the phrase “naturally nude” but what, exactly, is Deep Nude?”

“Here in the Sexy Beiges we have Nude Velvet, High Beam Tan, and Animal Instinct—which is ostensibly a shade of brown in case you’re wondering. Mrrrow!”

“Cherries in the Snow—evocative yet mysterious…”

“Since when are Snowflakes Pink? And how do they get the descriptor Khaki Zing for what looks to be a mixture of blue and green? I think they’re taking liberties with the limitations of zing.”

“I love these lipsticks—Witty, Boast, Compelling, Sly, Striking, Breathtaking, Astonishing, Victim…I mean Vixen… Infatuation, Racy, Outrageous, Tempest. It comes with this great warning label that says “Stop use if rash occurs”—I though Rash was one of their colors!”

“Here we have the temporal anomalies—Limitless Lilac, Perpetual Plum, Timeless Tawny, Boundless Bronze, Forever Rose, Eternal Mauve…the list goes on forever…”

“And over here we have the movement is color line—Full Tilt, Resort, Frolic, Soar, Off Shore, Zippy, Speed, Bomber, Thrill, Presto, Orbit, Lickety Split, Dive Bomb, Skyscraper, Fleeting, Beat, Rhythm, Short Order, Snappy, Fire, Exhaust and Nightlife.”

“Exotika. With a K.” Duncan pursed his lips dramatically and kissed the air.

“Rouge pulp—pulp?—liquid lip colors…Feisty, Crush, Tempting , Forbidden, Seduce, Racy, Acid, Carnal, Yearning, Wink, Breathless, Skimpy, Exposed, Strapless and Blushing. Oh my my…are they allowed to sell these things to minors?”

“You know, I understand wanting to see the sparkle in her eyes, but Flicker and Glaze I’m not sure about…”

“Hmmm…I think I see a message in this one. Paranoid, Snob and Rage are right next to each other. In the next row, we have Passion, Desire, Slink, Sin and Aftershock. Kind of sounds like a made for TV movie.”

“Saucy Sangria and Naked Ambition duel to the death with Fawn Fatale.”

“You know what they say—Mauve It Or Lose It.”

“The add for this lipstick line claims that it has a ‘Flawless finish, won’t wear off.’* If you look at the bottom of the sign and find the astrix, it says * ‘with normal activity.’ I wonder what they consider normal?”

“Get Down Plum—it’s on my leg! It’s on my leg!”

“Vagabond mauve. Venus Pink. All About Pink. Grape Grape Grape…”

“Let’s not forget the ever-popular Beach Nut—I’m a psycho with a surf board, AND I’M NOT AFRAID TO USE IT!”

“Truly Burgundy. Even More Brown. And my favorite—Nudes for Life.”

“Oooh Chilly.”

The time passed quickly as they scanned and counted one item after another along the entire one hundred and fifteen foot department, laughing and receiving strange looks from more sedate shoppers. Soren finished the last section of nail polishes marketed for teen-aged girls while Duncan went on to the next section of the study and measured the length of the aisle with a ruler printed in the margin of the last piece of paper in the packet. That was it—they were done.

“One down, three to go,” Duncan said cheerfully as Soren rolled her eyes. It was going to be a long day, though at least it was a long day together.

The next three stores weren’t nearly as bad. One was a small, independently owned grocery store that had one very small section of powder and nail polish mixed in with the facial cremes and that was it. The other two put together were about the size that the first one had been by itself. All in all, it was a long day’s work—especially counting the hour each way from their house to this burg in the north—but they were together and well-compensated for their time. Near dark, they turned south toward home and their evening jobs, their mission accomplished. They still had this study to do in a few stores in their home town, but those could be done on some other day.

“So how do you like it?” asked Duncan on their way home.

Soren thought for a moment. “It’s all right. I mean, the work itself is meaningless, but that’s true for most jobs. The hours are great, the pay is great, and there’s no body here to yell at me for sexual harassment.” She reached over and tickled him while he squirmed away giggling, doing a very valiant job of staying in his designated lane.

“Yikes! Settle down, woman. You want I should make you hitchhike home?”

“Uh uh uh…remember—I’m on the clock. You set me out here and half of our mileage charge goes out the window.”

“Ahh…you’ve got a point, there.” He reached over and patted her leg. “Too much general public today?”

“No, not really. If I had been there alone it probably would have bothered me, but when you’re around, I pay attention to you and don’t notice that I’m surrounded by people.”

He squeezed her leg again. “My sweet little misanthrope…You love all people unconditionally and without exception—as long as they stay the hell away from you.”

“Exactly,” she smiled. “I’m so glad you understand me so well. It’s not that I don’t like people—quite the contrary—I just can’t stand to be around many of them for very long. It just doesn’t feel natural—so many people, all stacked on top of each other. I think I’m some kind of evolutionary throw-back to a time when you could name every single person you’d ever encountered. The world just feels so…full. It’s probably worse because I’ve lived in the city for so long—I wasn’t really cut out for this kind of life. I’m more the ‘hermit in the cave up on the mountain’ type, so modern culture is a bit overwhelming for me.”

“You hide it well.”

“Thanks. I don’t have anything against people—I can just only take so many of them at once. Sometimes being at the bar drives me crazy. It’s not so bad most of the time—at least I have a physical barrier between me and the unwashed masses—but still…fifteen hundred people sweating in the same room is a bit much. But,” she said sounding chipper, “it’s only temporary. I don’t plan to be slinging beer five years from now.”

They rode in silence for a few miles when Duncan starting speaking again. “You know…I’ve been thinking. Why don’t you cut back your hours at the Warehouse? Now, now, I know what you’re going to say,” he said, interrupting her protests. “But here’s the deal—I want you to write more than anything…”

“But…”

“But nothing. You know what you want to do, and I know it too. You’ve done a great job these past few years working your tail off in an environment which, to put it mildly, isn’t exactly conducive to good health. You put up with all kinds of bullshit there, and you’ve handled it very well. But we both know you’d be happier writing.”

For a moment Soren said nothing. He was right—she did know what she would rather be doing. “But I probably won’t make any money writing for…who knows how long, if ever. I don’t feel right cutting back my hours when you’re still working so much.”

“Well, I’ve already talked to Michael, and he’s coming down this week so that I can show him how to do everything. He’s filled in before and he’s worked with me on the busy holiday nights, so I think I’m going to give him Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and Thursday starting next week, so I won’t be working as many hours. And, I’m not working sixty hours a week at Stacis anymore. We’re fine financially, and as soon as we move onto Phase Three, well, there will be plenty of money. Frankly, when we get there, as far as I’m concerned you can quit the Warehouse altogether. Whatdoyasay? Will you talk to Tomm about it tonight? Just drop one or two nights if you still feel uncertain. It’s not like you can’t pick it back up later if you really feel like it.”

Soren thought about it. Boy, it sure would be nice to not have to be in that loud, dirty, crowded environment as much anymore. And Saturday nights just drove her mad—the crowd was unbearable on the weekends.

“All right. BUT, if at any time we need more money, I’m going back. Also,” she continued, “if I end up with a huge case of writer’s block, I just can’t justify staying home so much. And what about you? I know that there are things you’d much rather be doing with your life, too.”

“Frankly, I’m not ready. I still have about another year of practice before I’m going to feel comfortable performing on my own, and I’m no where near recording an album at this point. Since I’ve discovered all of these other areas and kinds of music, I’ve been on a big exploration kick and I’m not sure yet where it’s all leading. You, on the other hand, are already up to snuff and know what you want to do. I say you go ahead and do it.”

She leaned over and put her head against Duncan’s shoulder as they sped down the dark highway. “It’s so nice to have someone believe in me. It’s kind of scary, too. I mean, I’ve wanted this for so many years, and now that it’s being offered to me on a silver platter, I’m kind of nervous. What if I can’t live up to your expectations?”

“I don’t have any expectations,” he explained. “I just want you to write. I don’t care one lick about how much money you do or don’t make with it—I just want to see you doing what you love…”

He though for a moment and continued. “This is another thought I had, which you can consider and decide what you want to do with it. I also don’t think that you should take on too many hours with Wilson. I know you pretty well, and I think you’ll like this job just fine, but only if you do it on your own terms. If you start spending every single day in convenience stores, I’m afraid you’ll go crazy. Since we can do this stuff pretty much any time we want, you might be able to schedule things so that you were only working a day or two a week out in the field. I’ve been thinking…it seems as though Duke would like to hand off some of the big monthly stores to me, which I’m fine with. If he does that, it will mean that there is a LOT of invoicing to do every month. Since you seem to enjoy that…”

“I love invoicing. I don’t know why, but I find it relaxing. It reminds me of knitting.”

“I know. So I’m thinking that maybe you could do the minimal amount of work in the field, and concentrate mostly on doing the invoicing at home. That way…”

She suddenly burst across the front seat of the car and wrapped her arms around Duncan. “Do you mean it? Do you really mean it? Oh Duncan—that would be fabulous! Ever since I entered the workforce I’ve been dreaming of the day when I could leave it again. It’s not that I mind working, it’s that I mind being OUT THERE. I just find this culture sooo distracting—it’s like everybody is into all this stuff that just doesn’t make any sense to me, and being around it too much makes me forget what I do find important. Oh, that would be great! You’re a genius.”

He chuckled. “So you like my little plan? See, you’re not the only one who can scheme about our future. So is it a deal?” he asked, putting up his hand.

“It’s a deal,” she replied, smacking his hand where it hovered in the air between them in the dark.

************11


The next few weeks passed as Duncan continued training while Soren did her assigned stores and began getting into the groove of entering invoices one day a week. She had laid out her schedule between the two jobs to maximize the number of days she had off in any given week since she found large blocks of uninterrupted time to be the most conducive state for writing. Since her new bartending schedule had been cut back to include only Wednesday and Friday nights, she decided that Wednesday through Friday were the best times of the week to get her work done. At first, she had been anticipating trying to get as many hours as possible making Monday the most likely day to begin working, but with the new plan it made the most sense for her to compress her work into the end of the week.

Also, there were some times when she and Duncan were scheduled to pick up extra work, usually to accommodate people who were going to on vacation, so during those times she adjusted her plans accordingly. On most weeks, however, she worked Wednesday and part of Thursday out in the field then spent the rest of Thursday and all day Friday entering invoices. This gave her four days every week to concentrate on writing, with Sundays off from everything to spend time with Duncan.

She was really enjoying the new schedule and really starting to get into the idea of writing full time. For years she had fanaticized about the day when such a schedule would be possible, and it was hard for her to accept that that day was really here, now.

Discussing it with Duncan, she had decided that, for now, she was just going to get into the habit of writing. Rather than having some stringent schedule, goals or dead-lines for particular projects, she just sat down and wrote everyday without too much concern for where that was leading.

Duncan often still went out with Duke to count the large stores since Duke seemed to be under the impression that it would be almost too much work for one person to deal with. However, according to Duncan, he could have probably done the work much faster if Duke hadn’t been there. This, however, was not really a huge concern of his, always keeping in mind that he was paid for every minute that he was on the clock. So if it took longer, that just meant more money later.

One Friday afternoon, Duncan came home to find Soren busily typing away at the invoices. He had an unusual expression on his face, and Soren was sure that he was up to something. He began asking her unusual questions…

“So, how long does it usually take you to invoice these stores?” he asked. “On average?”

“Well,” she said slowly considering his inquiry, “it depends upon the store. For the big stores like Midtown Mart, it usually takes about three hours. For most of the rest of them it takes between an hour and a half and two hours. Why?”

“Have you transmitted any of the stores you’ve finished yet this cycle?”

“No, not yet. I’m done with two of them, but I hadn’t sent them in yet. I wanted to go over them and make sure that I’d done everything correctly. Why do you ask?”

“Well, today Duke brought up the bonuses that they give for speed. The thing is this—no matter how fast you go, there is a cut-off point for how much money they’ll give to anyone for any given store. It’s this really complicated mathematical equation that they run on the stores to figure out how long it ‘should’ take somebody to invoice them based upon the number of items that the store carries. He rattled off the details pretty quickly, but I listened closely enough that I think I can figure it out on my own. I’ve just been thinking… Do you mind if I look at the stores?”

Soren shrugged. “Not at all. What are you thinking?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know after I give them a look. I think I’ve figured something out…”

Soren handed over her machine to Duncan, then watched as he glanced through files, wrote down numbers, then poked at the calculator for the next hour. Apparently finished, he looked up.

“You’re too fast,” he began.

“But I like doing it fast. One of the reasons that I like this job is that once I’m done I’m DONE. I’ve always hated the other jobs I had because even though I could get all the work done in two hours, I’d have to keep sitting there for another six. With this job, I do the work as fast as I can and them I’m finished for the day. I don’t want to slow down…”

“And you don’t have to. That’s what I’m getting at.” He slid his scrap paper toward her and pointed to a long string of numbers. “See, this is how long the company figures it will take someone, anyone, to invoice a store this size. For every minute under that time, you get this much applied toward a bonus.” She nodded to let him know that she understood so far. “However, once you get this much faster than they expect, anything over that no longer counts toward the bonus since they have a cut-off for how much they’re willing to give for that.”

She nodded again but began to protest. “But that’s a couple of hours longer than it really takes me. I don’t want to dally just because…”

“You don’t have to. What I’m suggesting is this: On this paper, I’ve written out the amount of time which is the most financially beneficial, i.e. the fastest that you can go to get the maximum amount on your bonus while still getting paid for the highest amount of time and still get that bonus. You don’t have to enter the invoices slower, it just has to appear that way.”

“What, exactly, are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting that you go ahead and enter them just as fast as you can, but then when you’re done, keep the machine running until you get to this number. That way you’ll still get the biggest bonus and the most hours on the clock without it cutting into your life. While the clock is running, you can eat dinner, talk on the phone, take a bath…”

“Or write.” She started to grin. “Hell, even if no one else is paying me to write, BC Wilson will. Oh that’s great—I’m so glad that you’re so good with numbers.” She stood up to hug him. “This will work out wonderfully.”

“Yep. All you have to do is hit a button on the machine every minute—any button at all—so that the machine keeps running. Sure, it’s a bit of a hassle to drag it around the house with you everywhere, but getting paid that much an hour to just hit a button once a minute…”

“…is a pretty good deal. That’s fabulous!”

“I have more good news,” Duncan continued. “Today Duke mentioned to me that he’s ready to fire another one of his ‘problem children’ as he calls them, and wanted to know if we knew anyone else who’d be interested. I told him that I was pretty sure we did.”

“Ah haa…” she said twinkling. “The beginning of Phase Three. Are we ready?”

“I think so. We’ve got maybe one more day of work to do on the basement, which I was going to see if you wanted to do tomorrow. I was thinking of giving Thiel a call and seeing if he would be available to go out to brunch on Sunday so that we can discuss our nefarious plan with him.”

“Sounds good to me,” she said turning back to her machine and picking up the pile of invoices while Duncan went into the kitchen to get the phone.

On Sunday around one in the afternoon, Soren and Duncan sat in Kaldi’s waiting for Thiel to arrive. Kaldi’s, a bookstore and coffee shop around the corner from the bars where they worked just north of downtown, was one of their favorite places to eat. Full Contact Poetry had performed there a few times, and on the weekend evenings, they hosted some of the best live jazz in town. On weekends, they offered a wonderful brunch menu from ten until two, and since Thiel had to be at work at his job at a copy center downtown by three, Kaldi’s was the perfect place to have their little meeting.

A few minutes later while Soren was still looking at her menu attempting to choose between French toast and the breakfast burrito, the door under the giant sculpture of the goat’s head opened as Thiel stepped off of the brightly lit early afternoon sidewalk and into the mysterious gloom of the coffee house. Soren waived her menu in the air to attract his attention as his eyes adjusted to the drastically different light level.

“Over here,” she called. Finally looking her way and nodding toward her with his chin, Thiel wandered through the mismatched tables and chairs to where she and Duncan sat near the back. He was an intimidating looking man from a distance, not very tall but built like the proverbial brick shit house. An unruly mop of long curly black hair surround his stocky frame, a fierce but calm expression always on his face. On stage, he was one of the hardest hitting poets anyone had ever seen, but off stage he was a soft-spoken, highly articulate sweetheart. After settling in at the table and ordering a pot of coffee and a pastry, Thiel looked from one to the other of them.

“So, what’s up? You guys look like spies.”

They hadn’t meant to dress like undercover agents—it was just a habit they’d fallen into with the job. I mean, if everyone thought they were there spying, why not play the role to the hilt, right? Glancing at each other through oddly tinted shades, they wondered which one of them should begin speaking. Duncan began.

“Do you ever get the feeling that there’s never enough time or money for you to pursue the things that you love to do? Like write, for instance?”

Thiel looked at him. “Of course. All the time. The job at The Copy Center is Ok—I mean it does allow me to copy all of my chap books for free when I’m in there after hours, but I’ve been there for three years now and I’m barely making more than most sixteen year old kids who work at fast food places. It makes so little that I have to work at that damned chain coffee shop on the weekends and before my shifts at The Copy Center to make up the difference to pay my bills.

“I HATE it there—the customers drive me to the brink of homicide—but Starburnt is right next door to The Copy Center so that I can just go from one to the other. But, I do at least get one day a week off…but mostly then I just stress about how the hell I’m going to pay the bills and don’t get any work done anyway. I live in a four hundred and fifty dollar a month shoe box—I can’t play the guitar without the neighbors calling the cops, so if I want to practice I’m going to have to rent a studio. Still trying to figure out how to pay for that… Why do you ask?”

“Well, we have a sort of proposal for you. As you know, Soren and I have started a different job in the past few months. The hours are totally flexible, the pay is way better than average, and you’d never have to deal with another customer again. You could even still keep your job at The Copy Center if you wanted to, since it does have the late night fringe benefits, but you’d never have to make another vanilla latte for a snobby upper-class housewife again.”

Thiel looked from Duncan to Soren then back again. “Sounds too good to be true. What’s the catch?”

“There’s not one. We’ve been doing this for a while now, and it’s working out better than we could have imagined. Hell, I quit my job at Stacis a while back and I couldn’t be happier. There’s a bit more to this proposal as well…”

“Go on.”

“We’ve also spent the past couple of months remodeling the house. It was all stuff that we’ve been wanting to do anyway. The upshot of this is that we’ve fixed up the basement so that there are two bedrooms down there as well as a large open room that can be used as a practice space. We have a church and a YMCA behind us, a parking lot on one side, and a ninety year old lady who can’t hear anything on the other side. It’s not possible to make enough noise in our house for anyone to call the cops. I’ve already got my musical equipment down there and have set up a small recording studio.

“The proposal is this—the job at BC Wilson is yours if you want it, and if you’d like to cut down your rent costs to a fraction of what you’re paying now, you are welcome to move in. Use of the practice space and recording equipment is included in rent.”

“And,” continued Soren, “the first two months rent are free if you’ll help Duncan remodel the attic. After that, you can decide if you want the attic or basement as living quarters.”

Thiel sat there for a minute looking at Duncan and Soren, mouth partially open. “Are you serious? Why would you do this?”

“Because,” started Soren, “we’re both people who want to do something different with our lives. We have dreams, things we want to do, art we want to create. It’s really nice to know other people, such as yourself, who feel the same way. The problem for all of us has always been not having enough time or money to purse these things. Our thinking is, that if we all combine resources, it will enable all of us to pursue the things we really love. And, as you know, the more you’re around that kind of creative energy…”

“…the more energy you have yourself to create. Wow—this just almost sounds too good to be true. What would I do with all my stuff?”

“You live in an efficiency, right?” asked Duncan.

“Right. The shoebox.”

“Frankly, the space downstairs is big enough that you could probably fit all of your stuff down there. And there’s the shed out back if you need to store anything. There’s only one house rule…”

“I knew there had to be a catch.”

“The only house rule is no television,” explained Duncan. “It’s distracting and not conducive to creating things. And if Soren heard one in her own home, she’d probably run down the street screaming.”

“After smashing it to bits with a baseball bat,” she added.

“Any other rules I should know about?” asked Thiel.

“Nope. That’s it.”

“Then I’m in. My television is a fifteen year old piece of shit anyway, and you’re right—the box sucks the life right out of you. I’d be happy to toss her on the curb. I’ll think of it as an initiation ritual. So, when does the party start?”

“You can interview with our boss, Duke, any time next week. You’ll do some of your training with him and some of it with Duncan.” Soren slid a piece of paper across the table to Thiel. “This is his number. He’s expecting your call.”

“Cool,” he replied, taking the first bite of his almost forgotten pastry. “When should I load up the truck and bring my shit over?”

“Anytime you want,” answered Duncan. “I don’t know if you have to give notice at your current abode, but whenever you want to start bringing things over, feel free. Here’s a key.”

Thiel smiled between bits of icing. “Wow. This is just too good to be true. I think I’ll go give…Duke?” They nodded. “…Duke a call as soon as I’m done with my danish. Hell, if he wants to hire me, I’ll tell them tonight that I want to switch to part-time evenings. Mostly, I just want to keep the job so that I can publish my chap books. I’ve got a new one out, by the way.”

“How many does that make?” asked Soren.

Thiel looked up at the ceiling, silently counting on his fingers. “Sixteen so far. I don’t know why I put them out…”

“Nonsense,” interjected Duncan. “I think it’s great that you write so much and then put that writing out there. How else is anyone else going to read it?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s not like I make much money at it, but I just can’t stop writing. I think I’d go crazy and kill somebody if I did.” He paused with the danish part way to his mouth to take another long drag of coffee.

“Have you ever considered going back to journalism?” asked Soren. It was well known that Thiel was a “non-practicing journalist” as he liked to say. He had a degree in journalism, but found that the entire business was corporate run and full of censorship. Highly disillusioned, he had quite the industry entirely less than a year out of college.

“Humph. Not really. Though I have heard about a few publications which are supposed to be pretty good. Unfortunately, every time I try to get on one of the computers at work to check out what’s out there, the thing logs time and I get busted. I can’t stay on the internet for more than five minutes without an automatic bill printing up for the time.”

“Feel free to browse once you get to our place,” offered Duncan. “Up in the library we have two computers with Internet access hooked into an extra phone line. You can browse to your heart’s content.”

“Cool,” answered Thiel. “If I could find a few places I like, who knows? I might actually start writing articles again once I’m not killing myself working. Well,” he said wiping the icing from his fingers, “I’m going to go call Duke and see what the man has to say.”

Duncan and Soren looked at each other briefly, both beginning to talk at once.

“He’s…”

“You might find him…”

They stopped and looked at one another again. How could they possibly describe…?

Thiel was still standing there, one hand on the back of his now empty chair, waiting for them to continue.

“See…well…that’s the one thing that we should maybe tell you about this job. Our boss is…” Duncan fumbled for the right word.

“Unique,” Soren supplied.

“Unique. Yes, that’s a good way to put it. He’s easy as hell to work for and his heart is truly in the right place, but he’s a bit…different. Just thought you should be warned in case he went into a spiel about dolphins or something.”

“Dolphins?” asked Thiel in confusion. “Unique I can deal with. I mean, we’re all a little unique, right?”

“Oh absolutely,” Soren agreed. “It was just something that you should be aware of. He really is an all right guy.”
Still looking a little suspicious, Thiel walked toward the pay phone fumbling for change in his pocket on the way.

“Welcome to Phase Three,” said Duncan, holding his hand in the air.

Soren smacked his palm with hers and lifted her hot chocolate toward him in a toast to life. “Here’s to Phase Three.”

A few minutes later, Thiel returned to the table, a mixture of amusement and confusion playing across his face.

“Um, yeah. He’s unique all right. He mostly talked about a pet squirrel.”

Soren and Duncan started laughing—this was a new one.

“He asked me if I knew what kind of stuff he could put outside for it to build a warmer nest out of. I suggested polar fleece or some old flannel. What the hell do I know about building squirrel nests?” Thiel laughed. “But, he did offer me the job. He said we could start training any time.

“I also called the coffee shop and told them that I wouldn’t be coming back. Really, it’s for their own good. I don’t know what I might do if I went back knowing I didn’t need the job anymore…this is really the most humane thing to do all around. I don’t think that I’d poison anybody…but I don’t feel like gambling either. So, it looks like I’ll start training tomorrow morning. I’ll go ahead and work out my regular shifts this week at The Copy Center since I’m already on the schedule, but it won’t be a problem to cut back the hours for the schedule that comes out next week. I’ll also start bringing my stuff over next weekend, if that’s all right with you guys.”

He looked at them as they nodded in consent.

“I guess it’s all set, then. Wow—thank you both for swinging this my way.”

“Oh,” said Duncan reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket. “One more thing.” He slid the small round yellow shades across the table to Thiel. “You’re going to want these.”

Soren smiled at him warmly. “Welcome to the Kabal.”

*******************12

“Beep!!! Duncan, hi, this is Duke. Listen, I really need your help tomorrow. Word just came down from headquarters that the Dairy Barn is going to turn into a monthly store. You’ll still do beer there every week, but we’re going to start doing a monthly count on everything else starting this week. It takes a long time to get one of those stores set up… Thiel and I are going to go in tomorrow to start on it, so if your schedule allows, you can meet us there any time. About Thiel—I really like him. Do you guys know anyone who has an IQ under a hundred and fifty? It’s funny—the regional manager has started referring to you guys as ‘the beatniks.’ He’s working out great so far and …. Beep!!!”

Duncan walked into the Dairy Barn and immediately saw Dunk talking to the badger. Something had changed though.

“So how do you think the Egyptians did it,” Duke was asking as Duncan approached unnoticed.

Beverly looked around. “Well, if you ask me, I think they were helped by aliens. I mean, how else could they have moved all of those huge stone into place? Or come up with the math…”

“I agree,” said Duke in astonishment. “Most people just don’t want to think about the idea of alien influence on our world, but I think there’s evidence of it all over the place.”

“Certainly,” agreed Beverly. “I mean, look at the Mayans.”

“Exactly!” Duncan cleared his throat to announce his arrival. He could see the top of Thiel’s curly head above the candy aisle and the telltale rhythmic beep of his ScanWand. “Oh. Hey. When did you get here?”

“Just now. Where do you want me to start?”

“Hmm… I think Thiel has the candy aisle under control. Maybe you could start with the cooler.” He shrugged. “You and Thiel can work it out.”

Duncan walked over to where Thiel was counting candy while Duke turned back toward the badger and continued discussing the alien influences throughout history. He smiled as he approached his comrade.

“How’s it going?”

Thiel rolled his eyes. “Boy, am I glad to see you here. I’m supposed to be ‘helping’ Duke get this store set up. I don’t think he’s scanned one thing since he’s been in here.” He glanced over to where Duke was leaning on the front counter. “If you ask me, I think he’s got the hots for the manager. They’ve been talking ever since we got here. At first, I didn’t think she liked him at all, but then he brought up some anthropology books he’s been reading, and they’ve been yacking ever since.”

Duncan laughed. “Did he tell you any stories about ‘the badger’ before you got here?”

Thiel shook his head. “He mentioned that the manager here could be temperamental, but he thought it was just because she was too intelligent to be stuck working in a convenience store.” Thiel laughed. “He even brought in pictures of his squirrel with his house in the background, explaining that women love sensitive men who care about animals and that it wouldn’t hurt for her to see how big his house is.” He chuckled again. “I think he’s smoozing, the old dog.”

“So where are you on this candy?”

Thiel sighed. “I’ve done the top two rows, and some of the stuff is already programmed into the ScanWand, but some of the stuff isn’t. I know that we’re supposed to be adding the other stuff, but Duke hasn’t shown me how to do that yet.”

“Here,” said Duncan, scanning something from the bottom shelf which wasn’t in most of the stores, “I’ll show you how. See, they have a sort of default file that they use for new stores. A whole lot of stuff that you scan will already be in here, but you have to add the rest. When it says that it doesn’t recognize the UPC, just go to this menu, hit ‘new’, enter the information, then hit ‘enter.’ That’s all you have to do.

Thiel rolled his eyes. “That simple, huh? If I’d asked Duke he would have given me a twenty minute explanation after which I still wouldn’t have known what the hell I was doing.” He glanced over at Duke then back toward Duncan. “He’s quite a character. So, did part of your training involve going to titty bars?”

Duncan started laughing. “No… but I think that has to do with Duke’s odd sense of ethics. See, I’m a married man as far as he’s concerned so he would never take me someplace like that. You, on the other hand, are a bachelor and bachelors are supposed to do that sort of thing.”

“It was the weirdest thing…” continued Thiel. “There we were in this dark bar in the middle of the afternoon with a couple of beers brought to us by a topless waitress, dancing girls grinding away in the background to heavy bass funk, while we sat there beeping away on our machines.” He shrugged. “I’d never go to a place like that on my own, but for what I was getting paid an hour to sit there and drink beer, I can’t really complain.”

“So you think you can handle adding the new stuff?” asked Duncan. Thiel nodded. “Cool. I’m going to go start on the cooler since that will take a while, though most of that stuff should be in here. Corporate monopoly at least makes our job a little easier—they have the same pop everywhere.”

Thiel went back to the candy while Duncan moved onto the cooler, still hearing Duke in the background.

“…don’t you think that they’re trying to communicate? Maybe they’re trying to tell us something, something important.” He looked both ways then lowered his voice, Beverly leaning in so as not to miss a word. “I’ve been having dreams about them… the aliens. I haven’t told anybody about it yet…”

Duncan smiled and opened the first door, the sound of the refrigeration fans lightly drowning out the hushed conversation. Despite Duke’s fear regarding the time it would take to set up this store, they finished in about six hours. All finished, the two friends found Duke, still talking to Beverly at the front counter, to let him know they were ready to find the invoices.

“Really?” he asked incredulously. “Already?” They nodded in unison. “All right then.” He turned toward Beverly. “So, listen, what time is your shift over today?”

She glanced up at the clock. “In about forty-five minutes. Why?”

Duke looked a little sheepish, but continued, despite the fact that his face was starting to turn beet red. “I was, uh, thinking that maybe, uh, we could go get a drink maybe after you’re done. We’re almost done here,” he said turning toward Duncan and Thiel, “and I don’t have any other stores to do after this.” He seemed to suddenly remember something. “That is, of course, if Thiel here could get a ride back to his car with Duncan…?”

Duncan nodded and smiled. “Sure, no problem.”

Duke looked relieved. “So you see, my obligations for the day are completed, so if you would be so good as to accompany me…”

“That sounds lovely,” she said, seeming to greatly surprise Duke. “There’s a nice place right down the street.”

Duke smiled broadly, seemingly despite himself. “Great. Great. Well,” he said, turning toward the back room, “let’s get going.”

Duncan and Thiel had a hard time not giggling while Duke dug through the filing cabinet, trying to keep his mind on business but obviously distracted. Finally he looked up from the office chair to where they were standing, still grinning at him. He narrowed his look. “Not a word. She’s a really nice lady once you get to know her.”

“I told you so,” said Duncan. “Didn’t realize that you had common interests, eh?”

“No, I had no idea she was so smart,” said Duke. “I decided that just to, you know, kind of smooth things over with her that I’d read up on some of her interests. It didn’t occur to me that she and I could have so many things in common. Who knew?”

“Who knew,” responded Duncan, still unable to control his grin. “So I guess we shouldn’t tell her that you called her ‘the badger.’”

Duke shot them a look. “Don’t you dare. You’ll both be counting fish parts in Alaska if a word of that gets out.” He looked away thoughtfully. “She’s a strong woman. Hell of a figure. The kind of woman who could put me in my place…” He looked off thoughtfully and smiled. “Um, yeah. Why don’t you two take over copying these invoices. I don’t care which one of you does them. Or better yet—why don’t you do them together?” He turned to Thiel. “Duncan can show you how to enter these and do the reconcilliations at the end. When you’re done, email the file to me so that I can check it over before you transmit. That way if there are any questions about the stuff in the store I can answer them.”

“No problem,” answered Thiel. “I was going over to their place tonight anyway.”

“Oh that’s right—you’re moving into the ‘artists’ commune.’ Speaking of which, you don’t know anyone else who would be good at this job, do you? We’re going to be adding a whole slew of new monthly stores next month, and unless we all want to work fifty hours a week, I’m going to need to hire someone else.”

“Well…” thought Duncan out loud. “I do know one other person who’s been looking for a job. I can give him a call and ask him.”

“What kind of weird thing does he do?” asked Duke.

“He’s a musician and a toy designer.”

“Do you know anyone who has a normal job?” Duke chuckled. “If he’s half as smart as the rest of you, he can start work next week. If you don’t mind, I might send him with you sometimes, and I can train two people just as easily as one.” He stood up. “Well, I’m out of here, then.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Wish me luck.”

Unable to contain themselves anymore, they both broke into laughter as Duke disappeared through the swinging door of his destiny.

*****************13


By that weekend, Thiel had brought all of his stuff to Duncan and Soren’s house, deposited it in the basement, then began helping Duncan on the attic. Soren could hear them pounding away upstairs while she was writing in the library, the rhythmic hammering a kind of backdrop for the free jazz playing on her stereo.

She smiled. Everything was going according to plan. On Sunday night, Thiel went to work a shift at The Copy Center while

Soren made dinner for Augustus and his girlfriend Constance. She had known Augie for over ten years and his current significant other was by far her favorite. Constance spilt the difference between artistic and corporately mobile. She had a job at the local zoo in charge of the education department. It was the job she landed right out of college and was right up her philosophical alley. Part of what she did every day was to educate people about environmental issues and conservation, putting her intellectual efforts into something which was truly meaningful to her.

When she and Augie got together, it was a near perfect match. He had a degree in biology and a genuine interest in nature, so they had many common areas of interest. The only one that they didn’t seem to share was their differing ideas about work and career. Augie didn’t care a lick about money, convenience, or anything else along those lines. The antithesis of a materialist, he never wore clothes which hadn’t been purchased in thrift stores and rarely did the two socks on his feet match one another.

During most of the time that Soren had known him, he hardly ever kept a job for very long. Mostly he would work some job doing menial labor, saving enough to keep his head under the roof of whatever latest dive he was living. Then he would quit and be unemployed for a few months, happily making music and designing the toys which wandered through his head on a constant basis.

And never was something just a toy—on quite the contrary. Everything had an origin, a story, a symbolic meaning. The universes in his head were way too complex for anyone other than him to imagine or remember, and the stories he told of them were so rich and varied that one could almost believe that he was just telling the story of a place, time and characters which really existed. Meanwhile, his biology degree hung on the wall gathering dust.

The door bell rang and Duncan raced down the steps to answer. Soren could hear the greetings float to her from the front door to where she stood stirring a spicy vegetarian dish over the stove. Wiping her hands on a towel, she walked into the front room for greetings and hugs.

“Hey! It’s great to see you!”

“Great to see you too. Oh, something smells wonderful.”

“Long time no see.”

“Would you like a drink?”

Finally seated at dinner, Duncan asked Augie about his work situation. At the mention of the subject, Constance and Augie exchanged troubled glances.

“Well…” Augie began, “…um, let’s just say I’m between jobs right now.” Constance gave him a look, then returned her attention to picking at the rice on her plate. “Why do you ask?”

“Because,” said Soren, “we may have an offer which might interest you.”

“Really?” he asked around a mouthful of vegetables. “Doing what?”

“Working with us,” continued Duncan. “Soren and I have been working for a company called BC Wilson for the last few months, and Thiel just started recently, too. The job is dead easy, and the best part about it is that you can set your own hours, do the work at your pace, and you never have to deal with customers or co-workers again. The pay is excellent, plus the money paid for mileage. All in all it pays better than what I used to make working at Stacis, which is why I was able to quit my job.”

“Yeah,” said Augie putting down his fork. “I heard Tomm telling somebody about this the other night at the Warehouse. It sounded like you two were doing pretty well with it. I didn’t know that Thiel was working there too. Sounds pretty cool.” He continued chewing.

“How’s the roommate situation?” asked Soren.

Augie and Constance both rolled their eyes in unison. “Don’t ask,” supplied Constance. “He’s been coming over to my house almost every night just to get away from them. They’re animals.”

“Yeah,” Augie agreed. “I’m not exactly a neat freak, but these guys are just pigs. Sure, the place is cheap and I like that, but I’m just too old to appreciate ‘bachelor chic’ anymore. The place is a sty.”

“So, what are you paying, if you don’t mind me asking?” prodded Soren.

“About two fifty a month, not including utilities. I could almost afford my own place…almost…but not quite.”

There was an uncomfortable silence between Constance and Augie—apparently this had been some kind of issue between them.

“Well,” said Duncan, breaking the conversational pause, “that’s another part of what we want to discuss with you. For a little less than you’re paying now, you could live here with us.”

“Is this place big enough?” he asked, looking around. “I thought that you guys had pretty much filled the space yourselves.”

“We had,” added Soren, “until we remodeled the basement. We’ve started on the attic too. Oh—that’s the other thing—the first two months rent is free if you help out with finishing the attic. I think Thiel is going to take that room when it’s done, then you could have both rooms in the basement. And,” she continued knowing that this should make him happy, “there’s a practice space and recording studio set up in the basement now as well. You’re free to use it any time.”

“We only have one house rule,” interjected Duncan. “No television.”

Augie was nodding his head. “No problem there—I haven’t had one for almost five years.”

“See,” he continued, “we’re trying to create an environment here which is conducive for all of us to really work on the things we love—writing, music, designing, whatever. Instead of this just being a dream that we all have, we’re trying to bring all of this together to make it a reality. For all of us. A job like this, with its flexible hours and higher than average pay, is a great tool to use for such pursuits.”

Augie set down his fork and looked at Constance. “What do you think?”

“I think you’d be a fool not to do it.” She paused and considered. “I think that this is exactly the kind of thing that you need to get your career started. And while I understand and support your decisions regarding work, there’s still something to be said for financial stability.”

Augie lowered his head and said nothing. Apparently, this had been another issue in their relationship. “You’re right,” he finally sighed. He looked across the table at Soren and Duncan. “See, I would really love to move in with Constance,” he looked over at her and squeezed her hand. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me, and I look forward to spending the rest of my life with her. The problem has been that, well, let’s just say that I haven’t been the most responsible grown-up in the world up until now. And it’s not that I don’t want to be,” he hastily added. “It’s just that most of the opportunities I see for employment just seem to take over your whole life with meaningless nonsense. If I do them for too long, I just start to be a grouchy bastard.”

Constance chuckled and rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that the truth. I don’t want you doing something that makes you miserable but…”

“…but you also don’t want to be responsible for a financial liability either. Especially if we’re going to have kids someday.” Augie grinned, almost blushing by this public admission.

“I think that this job would be a good test run. It would give you the time you need to work on your music, and maybe you’ll finally feel confident enough to send out your designs to toy companies. Really—this job sounds like it has everything you’re looking for, and if I’m not mistaken, you’d get a lot more productive work done here than you’ve been able to at the sty. That place isn’t conducive to anything—except cock roaches, maybe.” She picked up her fork and started eating again. “But you do what you want. This is just my opinion.”

Augie looked up and smiled. “So, you want to show me my new room before desert or after?”