X-Ray Vision Ch. 02: Revealed

Khang nodded, regretted it. "I'm glad. Tonight is for us."

She thought some more, clearly an effort.

"Greg is a good man. Discipline is important. Self-control." This from a woman who'd just put down half a liter of expensive high-octane alcohol.

"A good man. Husband. A good husmand-ban." She had a brainstorm. "You should fuck him!"

I was scandalized, turned two shades of red. My shirt had gone somewhere, you could follow the flush down my chest to my bra.

"How do, how, how do you know I haven't, haven't, fucked him? Huh?" I thought that was a brilliant come-back.

She waved me off, poured another shot glass from the bottle, missing at first but finding the glass finally.

"I'm gonna make you a dress! Greg can take you out, bring you home, rip it off you. Fuck you."

I was impressed. That would be some dress. I had another thought.

"I can pay for it! I have money!"

"Nah. Greg will pay. He has an, an account! You have anything you want." She looked seriously at me, over the shot glass. "You want this dress."

She downed the shot glass, handed it to me. I tried to drink it but of course it was empty. So was the bottle. That seemed sad.

"Is there enough? On account." That seemed very important somehow.

She waved away the thought, like it was flies buzzing around her head. "Prolly not. So he will pay some more! That's what boyfriends are, are for.

He will want to pay. Only the best! You are the best for him. So he will pay for the dress. And rip it off."

I finished for her. "And fuck me!" That seemed terribly funny for some reason. I started laughing like an idiot. Soon Khang was laughing too. "And fuck you!" Hilarious.

She struggled up, grabbed her hair brush, held it upside down like the handle was a microphone.

Crouching, shoulders hunched, elbows out like some gangster, rocking from side to side, making gang signs with her free hand, she started rapping.

I'm one of those hot nasty bitches,

Guy crosses me I leave him with stitches!

Take their moooo-nay and spend all their riches!

Won't scratch me where my body itches!

Suck my va-jay-jay! beeyitch!

Suck my va-jay-jay! beeyitch!

swiveling her hips, fingers in a vee and tonguing the 'crotch' lewdly, flapping her knees open and shut, flaunting her crotch like a weapon. No panties on, her red slash flashing me, wet.

This was way too much. I fell over, laughed until I lost consciousness.

My last incongruous thought: I have a sister!

"What?" Greg was talking too loud. I'd just told him about my sister, and he didn't understand. He was pulling bottles from the cupboard, hot sauce and mustard and soy sauce and such.

Cringing, closing my eyes against the hangover headache, I repeated myself.

"Got a sister. Khang. Figured it out last night."

He looked skeptical. "Before or after the quart of rice wine?" He was apparently familiar with Phuong's rice wine. Or maybe he just recognized it in my gut.

"Before! We were talking, she said I wasn't lesbian, dong tin-nu, we shouldn't fuck. I said, wish she was my sister."

He nodded, following so far. "So you want a sister like Khang."

"No! Is my sister. See, I don't have anybody, she dreamed she had a sister. Her parents are dead. So it has to be me."

An objection. "And not somebody else, because?"

This one was obvious, once Khang had explained it to me. "Because you brought me. Her lost sister. What you do, doofus. Find lost things."

Understanding, finally. He nodded, appreciating the logic of it.

"So what does this mean for us? Do I share you with your sister now?" He was figuring it out, playing along I think.

I leaned forward, over the breakfast bar, to kiss him. He figured that out too, came in for the smooch. That's nice. Boyfriends are nice.

"Yes. Share me. Have sister nights, talk sex, music, sex-music, drink too much and share clothes. She'll give me advice, she's older. Some other things; I forget. Grandparents! We share Phuong now."

He seemed to accept that. What could he say? Sisters have priority over boyfriends. Blood is thicker than water.

He was making something in a blender. Agony when he turned it on. It didn't take long, I didn't have to kill him.

Pouring out something vile into a glass, he handed it to me. I took it, downed it all in one go. I knew you couldn't dilly-dally these things or you wouldn't do it.

Good thing too; if I'd stopped to taste it I'd have spit it out.

He watched me, saw something that satisfied him. Maybe my juices squirting into alignment or something; who knows with him.

Almost immediately I began to feel better. The glowing in front of my eyes dimmed to a tolerable level. I could breath without my temples hurting. All good.

I leaned forward to kiss him again, but he backed away. I guess that stuff was pretty foul. He put a glass of fizzy water in front of me.

"Sip this until you can get up, then take a shower." Sounded like good advice. I sniffed my armpit, pulled back, offended.

Half an hour later, we're out on the porch in those glorious stuffed chairs, smelling the salt air and chilling, sipping soda water. I was halfway human again.

"So, is this how sister nights will be? Out all night doing god knows what, at lesbian theatres and clubs and Khang's apartment?

Coming home at dawn in a cab, barefoot, dressed in one of Phuong's old wife-beater shirts and precious little else? With the mother of all hangovers?"

Sounded fair. I nodded, carefully. "Sound just like Matron."

We stared at each other, then Pfffst and giggles just burst out of me. He smiled despite himself. I waved one hand dismissively over my head, like chasing flies.

Hey! Khang does that! We must be sisters, it's in the genes.

"Won't mind. You'll see. Khang is making a dress. So you'll ffff... take me out."

He seemed mollified by that, looking at me in a different way.

"Khang is pretty handy with a needle. I can see this working out. And of course, use your money any way you like."

Pfffst and a giggle again. I guess I was still pretty stewed. "Nope! Your money. Khang says, boyfriends pay for dresses. 'Cause it's for you, really."

He doesn't care about money, but he got the point, saw the important distinction. Smarter than he looks.

"Khang says a lot of things! Did she happen to mention what Phuong wants to talk to me about?

A note sent with the cab driver. I'm to show up, by royal command, at the shop. When you're at work tomorrow."

Work! I have a job! Incandescent joy. He laughed out loud when he saw that, saw me happy, happy from the inside out. He can do that.

He was happy, because I was happy. He is a good boyfriend. Maybe a good husband-man. We'll see.

We walked by the shop, once I could walk again. To pick up my clothes. They hadn't come with the cab.

Phuong met us at the door. Greg did all the talking for me. Apparently Khang was 'ill', couldn't come down. But Phuong had collected my 'mislaid items'.

He handed over my shirt, my pants. My bra, my tights, that new pair of shoes. My jacket. One at a time, like he was counting them out. Greg was starting to look like a pack horse.

Phuong gave me a very stern look. I hung my head, like a junior daughter should, contrite. He shook his head disapprovingly, then kissed me on the forehead, told Greg to take extra care with me today.

I could be 'ill' like Khang, it was apparently something going around.

Greg promised, made arrangements to meet tomorrow while I was at work, 'for tea'. Phuong suggested a bottle of sticky rice wine would go with the tea nicely.

I blushed. Khang had stolen it from Phuong's room. We were busted.

I spent the rest of the morning recovering, doing penance. I cleaned the condo - which didn't need much cleaning, he had an old Japanese man in every other week, left it spotless.

There was nothing to pick up, nothing down the couch cushions, behind the toaster, under the chair. How could there be? Mister I-can-see-through-walls never loses anything. So I dusted, which is always a good idea living on the beach.

I did laundry. My sisters'-night clothes, some stains that looked alarming, organic and gross-smelling. I didn't remember vomiting, maybe it was Khang's? Also sticky rice wine stains that were, well, sticky.

Did his t-shirts, shorts. About all he ever wore. Nice ones, but not Khang's. I wonder what he did get from the shop. I'd never seen him wear a single thing Khang made.

Did the sheets. I hadn't slept many nights in my sheets, but I'd been sweaty and gross and I just wanted all that gone and forgotten.

Used most of my quarters in the machine, the quarters my boyfriend majic'd out of the sand when we were walking. He had his uses.

Folding his clothes, putting them away, opening his drawers to find where everything went, I noticed he didn't have anything on top of the dresser. No pictures; no keepsakes; nothing.

Digging around, not really snooping, just curious, I found pictures at the bottom of his underwear drawer. Stacked there, put away, forgotten. Looked like his folks, an old guy, maybe his uncle?

One at a beach, not this beach, his folks looking younger with a baby on a blanket. Him? Probably. It was staring into space, maybe already some of his magic-eye stuff going on. Or maybe just a baby stare, they do that.

I was going to leave them, the memories were probably painful, it hit me. They weren't put away! He could look at them every day, any time he wanted. They didn't have to be on top of the dresser; it didn't matter where they were to him.

I took one out, the beach picture, propped it against the mirror. It mattered to me. I couldn't see them buried in a drawer. And I wanted to see them, see where he'd come from, the people who'd loved him.

He looked at me at lunchtime, scanning me, made a decision. We would go for Vietnamese, Pho, a salty soup that was supposed to be good when you were 'ill'. Sounded good; I was not interested in cooking today.

This place was down an alley, between a vacuum repair shop and a sewing store, just a sign jutting out with some Vietnamese writing. I was going to ask how he found it, knew it was even here. Stupid question.

The proprietor greeted him by name, 'The usual? And for the lady?' Greg ordered, I had no idea.

It came in seconds. A big steaming bowl of broth for each of us, like half a gallon, a puck of noodles hiding in the bottom, getting soft and unwinding slowly.

And all over the top, treats! Sliced radishes and strips of tender brisket. Some kind of meatball I learned was a 'fish ball'. Scallions and carrot strips and even a tiny, cute little boiled egg!

There were chopsticks in a bin; I impressed Greg by ignoring the fork, taking a pair and digging in.

The waiter delivered a tray of greens, some sliced peppers. I watched as Greg took a stalk of leaves, shredded them into his soup. Smelled divine; basil! I followed suit, then poked the shreds down to infuse the broth.

There were tiny dishes and giant squirt-bottles of sauce in a caddy on the table. You apparently mixed sauces together on a dish, dipped the treats in.

Greg ignored the bottle of hot sauce on our table, scanned the room, grabbed one from the next table.

I tried the bottle on our table when his back was turned; empty. Of course.

Greg squirted a blop of red sauce, then a blop of thick brown goop. I snagged a bit of beef with my chopsticks, dredged it in the brown.

Sweet! Kind of like fruit, maybe plums. The red was hotter; hot as a firecracker! I didn't mind hot but this was ridiculous. Getting another dish I squirted more, mixed them with a chopstick, tried again.

Interesting! Hot and sweet. Especially good with the fish ball. I gobbled mine down, wished there were more.

The tiny egg bobbed up, so I struggled with my chopsticks until I had it trapped, popped it in my mouth before it could get away. Tiny soft yolk inside, savory, scrumptious!

Once I had all the treats gone, all I could find without sticking my fingers in my bowl, I started on the noodles. They were rice noodles, firm and chewy, soaked in the broth they were yummy.

Halfway done with them, about all I could manage, I got inspired. Picked up the bowl carefully, slurped a long slurp of broth. Salty, savory, I could feel it filling up all the gaps, healing my insides. Doctoring up the damage I'd done with alcohol.

Greg looked on, approving, looking inside me and liking what he saw. I grinned at him, basil in my teeth, took another long slurp. Felt my muscles relaxing, the ache in my joints simmering down.

We finished, Greg slapped down some bills, tipping shamelessly. As we left the waiter girl called out "Thank you, SIR!" Greg raised his hand over his head, waved without turning around.

I slipped my arm in his, leaned my head on his shoulder. He crooked his elbow like a gentleman, walked slowly, not wanting me to pull away, enjoying the sun and air with his girlfriend. That's me.

Morning! Headache mostly gone; feel like a million bucks.

My first day of work, dressed to kill, Greg adjusting my collar, adjusting the shoulders so it all laid just right, he could see right away when something was crooked.

Running his hands over my shoulders, my hips, like he was checking the fit but really just checking me out.

Noticed my nervousness, the knot in my stomach, tension in my shoulders. Couldn't hide anything from him. Didn't want to. It was nice, a boyfriend totally in sync with my moods, knowing just what to say.

"You look awesome. Just one glance, folks will know you are good at what you do."

I smiled, kissed him carefully, not wanting to smear anything.

Started out the back, the street side, waste not a minute, don't want to be late. It's a long walk, and these aren't exactly walking shoes.

A panicky feeling when I got to the downtown district, did I even remember where the place was? But no worries, the Thai place was visible blocks away.

Into the lobby, pick a random elevator, lucky! It was here. I don't need Greg for everything.

2nd floor, down the hall to the windowless door, take a deep breath, and in I go!

Folks just settling in; apparently lawyers don't start calling until they get to court. Makes sense. The boss waved me back.

She had another girl in her office, chatting.

"Jillian! I want you to learn the business, bottom up. Man a desk for today, figure out the patter. Kelly will be your buddy this morning. Come back at lunchtime, we'll sync up."

I was dismissed. Smiling at Kelly, we headed to a desk at the back of the room.

"The trick is, make them think you're doing them a favor. Never accept their terms! They'll want the moon. Not their fault, it's their job to advocate for their client."

I nodded, getting it all, keeping up. Kelly was clearly a master at this. She showed me the slips, the rate sheet. How to operate the phone; how to pick up a call that came in.

"I sit ahead of you. I'll keep an ear out, hear if you're getting into trouble, something not on the term sheet, I give the high sign. You just say 'Ill transfer you to my manager', hit this button. "

She pointed to the row on the right of the phone gadget. Apparently I could transfer a call to any desk; the third button was her.

"Kelly, you seem to have this stuff cold. If I can learn it anything like you have, I'll be doing good!"

She flashed a smile. Actually friendly! So easy to resent a person coming in over you, and having to train them. I'd have to talk to her about that, soon, scope out the situation with the others.

Sitting down I set the pad of slips in front of me, tested the pen, laid the term sheet square with the edge of the desk. Waited for the button to light up.

It lit! But oops, somebody else got it; I saw it go out, and button 7 light up, my hand only halfway to the phone.

Have to be faster! Don't want anybody to think I'm lazy, not pulling my weight.

I missed the next three, but number five, I had my finger poised, nabbed it.

"Crinshaw Bonds! This is Jillian speaking. How can I help you?"

Kelly turned around, flashed me a smile, nodded encouragement, went back to her own phone.

It was a tame one, drunk-and-disorderly, 30 days for vandalism while under the influence. No flight risk, family man, after his son's wedding got wild and took down some traffic signs with his army buddy.

Bail, appear in 7 days, probably pay a fine. Lawyer wanted it for nothing, but I quoted the standard rate. He sighed, accepted.

I filled out the slip, got the particulars, estimated the check by this afternoon, said Thank You Goodbye!"

Kelly vetted my slip, pointed out I hadn't dated it, date calendar on the wall with today's date in large letters. That done, I trotted it up to the boss, knocked, went in, handed it over.

She was engaged on the phone, canvassing law firms, held out her hand and took my slip. I waited a beat while she passed her eyes over it, nodded to me with a little smile, went back to her deal-making.

I trotted back to my desk, took a deep breath, let it out. Kelly gave me another encouraging smile, pointed to the Incoming light flash! The desks were all busy; this one was mine!

All morning it went like that. Two hours of constant calls, lots of minor matters, nothing I couldn't find on the sheet. Kelly quit watching me so closely, turned her attention to her cases.

Then it slowed down. Still a light every minute or so. I tried to stay busy but it was harder, lots of folks beating me to the punch.

I observed a pattern to the lights. Number 12 was never lit. Made sense; one empty desk.

But number 2 was also generally dark, now that the calls were spaced out. Easy to get away with I thought, just let everybody else take the calls.

Which one of us was number 2? Observing the room, I made a tic-mark on a sheet of paper every time I saw somebody pick up.

Half an hour, I had it narrowed down to the hairy guy in the corner opposite, or a boy, probably not more than 19, middle of the center row.

Incoming lit, and hair guy picked up, started the routine. Number 9 lit.

So it was the boy. Yup, he was fooling with something in his lap, barely noticing the phone lights, letting the rest of us do the heavy lifting.

What to do? I was not in charge of anything yet. Just make a mental note, against the day I was responsible for efficiency.

The others had to know he was slacking. Why didn't they call him on it? I suppose everybody slacked sometime, exhaustion or a headache, not willing to say anything lest somebody call them on it.

And it was clearly hard to get anybody to stay, the empty desks proved that. When they were busy, every empty desk could mean a missed deal, a lost opportunity as the caller would give up, call somebody else.

So he kept his job for now.

Lunchtime! The incoming light went amber; the other lights winked out one by one as deals were closed. Finally the panel was dark.

Folks got up, stretched, put on coats one by one, headed out to lunch. I waited for the boss to emerge.

She didn't appear until it was just me. Had her jacket, hailed me.

"How about Thai? Right downstairs, and they're fast."

I smiled, I'd tried their pad Thai, it would be good to branch out.

We ordered, got drinks, sipped, relaxed for a few minutes.

When I judged the time was right I started in.

"Here's the rundown as I see it. Eleven desks including me, two hours of constant traffic this morning. At 4 minutes per deal, some a little faster, a couple pretty slow. That comes to maybe 30 missed deals, not counting the slow desks.

A full staff being paid the second two hours, need only maybe 6 or 8. That's a quarter-day pay for three to five, lets say four, something like 13% payroll fat right there."

She shifted in her seat, not quite happy. "I know all that."

I nodded. "I figure I'm like a pilot's navigator, a Captain's first officer. My job as I see it, is to tell everything I observe, even if you already know, especially what you already know. So you know that I know.