Melody's Day

Melody Sharpe had a perky bounce in her step as she sprang up the steps at the 77th Street subway stop. Of course, Melody pretty much always had a perky bounce in her step. She had spent years practicing the bounce she maintained in her step to ensure maximum perkiness. But today she didn't even have to affect the perk; it just came naturally. Partly it was the glorious sun on her face and arms, arms that were going bare outdoors for the first time in months. Mostly, though, it was anticipation for tonight.

Melody wasn't necessarily the smartest person, though she felt she was much smarter than people gave her credit for. She wasn't very curious, nor very athletic. What she was, was cute. She had been an adorable baby. She had been a delightfully precocious kid. And she had grown into a cute-in-a-sexy-way adult. Melody was accustomed to being the cutest thing in any particular room she happened to occupy.

Melody paused to take a look at her reflection in a shop window she was passing, as was her habit. She had hair down to the middle of her back, blonde, starting out straight at the top of her head, wavey in the middle, then curling up into little ringlets at the tips. For fun, she pulled on one and watched it spring right back into place. She smiled, which drew her attention to her full-but-small lips, narrow enough to be cute but plump enough to be sexy. And then there was her tiny nose, a perfect little triangle, with just the smallest upward turn at the tip, just enough to give her personality without looking like a snout. She had soft brown eyes and rosy cheeks, all on a face that was as close to a perfect circle as a human skull would allow.

And that adorable face topped a body that certainly didn't hurt in getting people to pay attention to her. Perky breasts that just seemed to stay up on their own; a flat, toned belly; long, slender legs; and, most important of all, an amazing butt. Melody took a lot of pride in her butt; she had described it on numerous occasions as her best physical feature. Two perfectly spherical cheeks, just a tad disproportionately large compared to her figure, but not so large as to look fat. Firm and muscley, but with just the right amount of give. Her fiancée, in a rare moment of softness, had once described it as "the perfect human rear end," and declared that it was a crime that a plaster cast had not been taken so that it might be displayed at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Thinking of her fiancée reminded her: She ought to send a reminder text to make sure her cutie pie remembered that they had a date tonight. On more than a few occasions, her sweetie had gotten so wrapped up in work that Melody had been stood up, without even a text to let her know what was going on. There she would sit, the cutest girl on the island of Manhattan, all alone at a restaurant. Just the thought of it made her a little misty. At least the food was usually free those nights; the waiters tended to take pity and pay out of pocket. After all, was anything more tragic than a cute girl all on her own?

She whipped out her cell phone with practiced ease and, with the skill of someone who has sent an average of a hundred texts per day for the prior ten years of her life, Melody dashed off a quick message: "Luv U, Huney! Knock 'em dead! SO excited 4 2nite! <3". She didn't expect a reply, really. Getting her fiancée to text was like pulling teeth. Still, a little text would at least remind her fiancée that this was their one-year anniversary and showing up would be important.

Melody stopped at the cupcake shop around the corner from her work. It was crowded, as usual, and Melody was running a little late. She shrugged, then walked straight to the front of the line.

"I'll take a chocolate cupcake with coconut frosting to go, please!" She smiled at the counter clerk, who stopped serving a customer mid-sentence to attend to Melody's needs. Behind her she heard people yelling and grumbling about her cutting to the front of the line. That was strange, people almost never got angry at her! Then she realized that they must not have gotten a good look at her. She turned around to face them, flashing a sheepish smile coupled with doe eyes, as though to say, "Oh, my! I hadn't realized there was a line! Pleeeeease don't be mad at me!" And, in defiance of every known principal of sociology and the lived experience of every battle-hardened New Yorker, the crowd's collective heart instantly melted. Some people actually had a difficult time making eye contact with Melody, so bad did they feel about their recent ill-considered angry outbursts.

Melody walked out of the shop and, while licking the icing off her cupcake with one hand, pulled out her cell phone with the other. To her delighted shock, there was a reply message from her fiancée: "I am excited for tonight as well. I will see you back at the apartment after work. :-)" This inspired a raised eyebrow from Melody. If it weren't for the stilted, formal grammar, that emoticon would make her think that her fiancée's phone had been stolen. Melody was clearly having an influence.

Melody rounded the corner and walked into the Clinton Rest and Rehabilitation Center, where she worked. It was located on the Upper West Side, a ten minute subway ride from the apartment she shared with her fiancée, which had been a huge perk to moving in. She breezed past security and into the exceptionally slow elevator, then pressed the button for the 9th floor.

She took the opportunity of the minute's peace in the elevator to think about tonight. They would be going to Le Cirque, one of New York's most expensive restaurants, then seeing Les Misérables from box seats; they would practically be on stage themselves! Melody loved Les Mis, especially the ending when Eponine married the surprisingly rich student who knew nothing about her except how good she looked, proving once again that adorableness conquers all.

She pulled out her phone to send another quick text, just to let her fiancée know how excited she was. "Do you hear the people sing?" She replaced her phone just as the elevator dinged, indicating her arrival on the 9th Floor.

Melody took a brief moment to survey her domain. Clinton Rest and Rehab was primarily an old folk's home, and Melody was the greatest social worker in it. Every day she brightened the lives of all of the clients who lived there by showing them that, yes, there was still beauty in the world, even if they were so very, very wrinkly and ugly. It almost hurt Melody to look at the clients, and it made her sad to think about all the time she was spending surrounded by such ugliness. Still, she was a social worker and accustomed to making sacrifices in the name of her poor, attractiveness-disadvantaged clients. If she could brighten their days just a bit by being the beautiful rose on their gravestones, well, it was all worth it!

"Melody! You're late again!" Melody heard the voice of the social work department head, Molly Spitz, calling out across the floor. She turned and smiled.

"Gosh, Molly, I guess I was just so excited about tonight that I took a little extra time making myself look extra-nice today! I think all the clients will appreciate it. Did I tell you about tonight? It's-"

"I know. It's your one-year anniversary. You told me yesterday as you were leaving. And also at lunch. And also when you were late yesterday morning. And also at lunch every day for the last month. I'm so excited the big day is finally here." Molly twitched slightly. She was basically a very nice and non-confrontational person. She always tried to find the good in everyone. But sometimes, with Melody, it was a bit of a struggle.

Melody turned her lip down into a concerned frown as she looked Molly over. Molly was wearing a pink-striped dress shirt, untucked in the back from loosely-fitting grey pants that were slightly frayed at the cuffs. She wore scuffed black flats that were starting to come apart at the seams. Worst of all, she didn't even wear any makeup or jewelry, which was unfortunate because she could really use something to conceal or distract from the bags under her eyes and the creases on her forehead and at the sides of her mouth. Molly was only about a year older than Melody, but she looked about ten years her senior.

"You know, Molly," Melody sighed, "you really should get more sleep. It would help with those bags under your eyes. And you should consider putting on make-up and just getting yourself a little more... together in the mornings..." she gestured to the back of Molly's shirt. Molly followed Melody's gaze, let out a disgruntled groan, then maneuvered the papers she was carrying into her left hand so that she could tuck herself in with her right.

"Sorry I'm not looking my best," Molly said as politely as she could manage after being dressed down about her appearance by a subordinate. She wanted to scream at Melody, but she called upon her years of social work training to repress her rage and calmly said, "I live pretty far out and I've been here late the last few nights filling out paperwork for the 9th floor patients. Speaking of which-"

"You should move closer to work! I live practically around the corner and it's great!" Melody smiled winningly, "Also, you should absolutely read this book I just finished, 'Be the Best You You Can Be,' it really taught me how to avoid self-defeating justifications, like all those things you just said." Melody looked pityingly at her boss, "I worry about you sometimes. I just think you could look so much better and be so much happier...."

Molly growled sub-verbally. She was fairly certain she could be a lot happier, as well, though her preferred route was to remove Melody from her life. She was about to reply as diplomatically as possible when the loudspeaker blared: "Paging Doctor Avery, Doctor Texas Avery, please call the front desk immediately."

"Oh, Jesus," said Molly, wide-eyed.

Melody just looked at the loud speaker, confused. She put a single manicured finger to her lips as her brow furrowed. "I didn't know we had a Doctor Avery..."

Molly just stared at Melody, flabbergasted. "Do you not know the code? Haven't you paid attention in the staff meetings for the last... six months?"

Melody just smiled, "I don't think the staff meetings are very relevant to my interests, and they're suuuuuper boring. I mostly just think about other stuff."

"Well, you're right, there is no Doctor Avery on staff. 'Paging Doctor Avery' is the code phrase. It's to let the entire staff know that the State is here."

"The State? Like, the State Inspectors?"

"YES, the State Inspectors, the State Inspectors that conduct a surprise inspection once a year. The State Inspectors that determine whether this facility is up to standards. The State Inspectors that could shut this entire facility down TOMORROW if they don't like what they see today. The State Inspectors that we have been on edge about for the last three freaking MONTHS and that we have been talking about every DAY because they could show up at ANY TIME. They are HERE. NOW. We are officially in CRISIS MODE."

Melody shifted to concern again. "You seem stressed. Maybe you should take some time off today and relax?"

"P-...P-..." Molly sputtered in disbelief. She simply didn't know how to process the words coming out of Melody's mouth. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and formulated her words as carefully as possible. Getting angry wouldn't solve anything, she just needed to get Melody to be a quasi-functional member of the team today. "I need you to do this paperwork. The inspectors will want to look at it, and it is not done. If they find that we are behind on our paperwork, they will issue a citation. If we receive enough citations, our facility will be closed. So please, please, please, just do this paperwork."

"I'm not sure that paperwork is..." Melody frowned. She struggled to think of the term she had just read in her book, "one of my core competencies. I think I'd be much better just helping out the clients, you know, showing that the facility has employees who are very well put-together and that we're creating a nice, sunny place for our clients to live in? Besides, I don't think it's fair that I should have to do your work for you."

Molly gritted her teeth. "This is your paperwork," she paused after each word, emphasizing in a staccato fashion, "I have been staying late doing it for you. I need you to finish it. Now."

"Oh! Well, if you've gotten it started, I'm sure you'll be much faster getting it finished than I would be!" Melody smiled, "Besides, I'm terrible with all that stuff, I'll bet you'd do a much better job." Melody noticed the vein starting to throb on Molly's forehead. She really wished Molly would listen to her advice about taking a mental health day, she really needed it.

"FINE. I will do it," Molly closed her eyes, "The inspectors probably won't want to look at my floors until this afternoon. I will be in my office. Don't disturb me."

Molly wheeled around and walked as quickly as she could manage toward the elevator. With a *DING!* the door opened and out walked the only person Molly disliked interacting with more than Melody: Francesca Chamberlain-Clinton, the owner of the facility.

Ms. Chamberlain-Clinton sashayed out of the elevator, wearing a black evening gown, designer heels, and a lavish amount of jewelry, her standard work attire. She looked at Molly. Her brain sent a signal to her facial muscles that they ought to try frowning, but her poor, paralyzed facial muscles, addled by botulinum injections, simply weren't up to the task. Instead, she flashed the same plastered-on smile that she gave everyone else.

"Really, Ms. Spitz, you should try running a comb through your hair once in a while. The state inspectors are here, and you look like you just rolled out of bed. You should at least try to make an effort." She grabbed Molly's chin and inspected her face, turning it to one side, then the other, and tutted, "You used to be so pretty before I promoted you. Now look at you. You simply must stop slacking on the job!"

Molly looked down, afraid to make eye contact. A lot of employees had been fired as a result of what they believed were casual conversations with Ms. Chamberlain-Clinton. She knew that arguing with someone who had grown accustomed to never being told "no" was a risky venture, particularly when she held your livelihood in her hands. "Yes, ma'am, I'll try harder."

Ms. Chamberlain-Clinton sniffed, "See that you do. Wouldn't want to have to let you go for failing to meet grooming standards."

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry ma'am. Won't happen again ma'am." Molly hurried past her onto the elevator, eager to end the conversation as quickly as possible.

Ms. Chamberlain-Clinton turned to Melody and stretched her arms out, grinning widely. "Ah, my favorite social worker! I'm so glad that YOU, at least, know what's important around here!"

Melody beamed as she rushed over to give Ms. Chamberlain-Clinton a hug and an air-kiss on the cheeks. She admired the owner. Ms. Chamberlain-Clinton had worked her way up from humble beginnings to become an activity leader at this very facility. But through all the long hours of calling bingo and leading arts and crafts and running the afternoon movies, she had stayed pretty and perky. And it had all paid off when she caught the attention of Dr. Andrew Bullworth Clinton, the previous owner of the facility. When he laid eyes on her, nothing could keep the two apart, not the considerable age difference, not workplace codes of conduct, not Dr. Clinton's marriage to his then-wife, nothing! The doctor divorced his wife and married Ms. Chamberlain, who became Ms. Chamberlain-Clinton, then died rather suddenly. A few years litigation between Ms. Chamberlain-Clinton and the doctor's ex-wife later, and Francesca Chamberlain-Clinton found herself a multi-millionaire and owner of the rest home where she used to work. A lot of Melody's co-workers said mean things about her, like how she had no idea what she was doing and had no training in either management or health care, but Melody found her inspirational!

"I'm doing very well, Ms. Chamberlain-Clinton. How are you?"

"MUCH better, knowing that you are here to keep these inspectors off our back. Now, I'll need you looking your very best and very sweetest today, so not a single whiff of stress to wrinkle that pretty brow of yours, okay?"

"No, ma'am!" Melody smiled. She never really had a problem with stress. Her co-workers always complained about how hard their jobs were, but she found it all quite easy. She supposed that her work friends just weren't as naturally caring and giving as she was.

"And who knows," Ms. Chamberlain-Clinton winked conspiratorially, "By next week you may be the head of the social work department. I must say you look the part far better than frumpy little Miss Spitz."

"Thank you, Ms. Chamberlain-Clinton! I won't let you down!"

"Excellent! I'll be sure to bring the inspectors here last. Always leave them with a smile!" She tried as best as she could to widen her grin through her botoxed face, but it remained rigid. She spun around with a flourish and walked back to the elevator.

Melody was bubbling. Not only was tonight her one-year anniversary celebration, she would also almost certainly be getting a promotion to head of the social work department. She felt a little bad for Molly, and she hoped Molly would just get demoted instead of fired. But, well, it was really Molly's fault, wasn't it? She just didn't pay enough attention to her appearance, and Melody had done everything she could to convince her to try and de-stress her life a little.

She turned and faced the floor. Time to get to work!

---

Leonard Frotzlemeyer was tired. But then, Leonard was always tired, these days. He had led a good life but, sadly, it seemed like it was going to come to an end here, in this rest home. He looked around and grimaced.

"I never heard of this Doctor Avery before. I wonder if he's new?" asked Ethel, the woman in the bed to his right.

"He's not a real doctor!" shouted Herman, the man in the bed to Leonard's left, "It's a code! Like they use in the CIA. My son's in the CIA. Did I ever tell you-"

"Yes, you told us, and no, your son's not in the CIA. He APPLIED to the CIA and got rejected. He guards a storage facility in Poughkeepsie." Leonard interrupted.

"Ah, what do you know? Anyhow, the code means the inspectors are here. They're gonna shut this place down and we can go home!"

"We're not going home!" shouted Ethel, "They'll just send us someplace else. We're stuck here."

"My boy would watch after me, but he's got those CIA missions he's always going on-"

"He's not in the CIA, he just lives too far outta town to visit!" Leonard wasn't exactly friends with Herman, but shouting at him was the closest thing he got to entertainment around here. He muttered quietly to himself as he shook his head. Then he noticed someone out of the corner of his eye. "Oy, here comes the klafte..."

There was Melody Sharpe, bouncing her way over. Pretty young thing without a brain in her head, so far as Leonard was concerned. That wouldn't matter as much if she weren't so lazy. They asked and asked and asked, and nothing they asked for ever got done. Yet she was always here, perky and fresh as a daisy. He'd even started talking, just cheap talk, nothing serious, with Herman and Ethel about how they might get revenge on her. But maybe things would be different with the inspectors here. Maybe with someone watching she'd start doing her job...

She was wearing an orange and pink sleeveless floral top, kinda billowy, maybe it looked expensive? And she also wore a hot pink skirt with a metallic gold belt. The skirt went down just above her knees and was kind of loose and poofy. In his day, no woman who wanted herself taken seriously would wear a skirt like that, but then, times had changed, so maybe this was appropriate work attire now. She was wearing some sort of shiny black stockings and some fancy-looking pink high heels. Leonard wasn't sure, he didn't know from shoes.