X-Ray Vision Ch. 04: Extolled

But now my first desk-filler was here! If I worked this right. If they stayed for more than a couple of days. If they trusted me.

Anyway, shake off the self-doubt. I could feed them, maybe find them a room. Or a bus ticket home, if that was the right answer. A job would be gravy.

I peed, washed my face, decided on the beach shoes. Grabbed a wad of cash from the fishbowl. Scribbled a note to Greg by the phone, saying where I was, when I'd likely be back. Folded it, leaned it against the toaster. Picked it up, stuffed it down the couch cushions just for fun.

I spotted them from the boardwalk, just hanging out looking at the posters. Food-motivated, couldn't look away. I'd been there. Stomach aching, looking at food, so near but so far.

We'd not exchanged names. Had I? I think I answered Jillian, but never heard a name from the other end. I walked up behind, made some noise.

She turned. A woman! So now I knew. "Hi! Jillian." She saw my hand, reached to shake belatedly. Cold hands; must have been hanging outside most of the day.

"Let's get in, order. I'm starved!" Not really, I would actually eat later with Greg, but would order something to be sociable, make them not feel so conspicuous.

I found an idle cashier, turned to, um, "What's your name again? Sorry, my mind is a sieve."

"Nick."

"Ok Nick. They have great brisket, but I hear the chicken is good too. Oh, ribs! That sounds nice. You're not vegetarian?"

Nick shook No decisively. "You been here before?" No, again.

"Let's do it this way, a quarter pound brisket, a quarter pound pulled pork. Chicken too. Box of biscuits, coleslaw too. Two drinks. And pickles! I love their pickles." This last aside to Nick.

Cashier took my order, took my money, gave me a little flag for the table, two empty cups. We headed for the drink robot, waited our turn.

Nick loaded up on high-sugar soda, mixed several kinds. No ice, more fit in the cup that way. I got a diet something.

Nabbed a table away from the others, in a corner by the window. Door just behind us, so Nick could feel free to leave at any time.

I set the little flag on the end of the table. Sipped at my cup. Let Nick fill up on pop, clearly needing fluids, clearly running on empty. She emptied it, went back, refilled, came back to the table.

Dickie's is fast! Our tray came, a pound and a half of protein, carbs and vegetable matter. I unloaded it, nabbed two empty plates from the service station.

"Dig in! We finish this, there's always more."

Nick dumped half the brisket on her plate, got a hot biscuit, dug in. I let her be. She'd had a rough time, and talk could come after. I nibbled on some chicken, crunched a pickle, sipped my drink, just observed.

A leather jacket, knit shirt under, plain, no band logo or ad. Not from the strip shops; must have arrived in these clothes. Some kind of half-boot thing, zipped up the side. I like boots.

Short black hair, narrow face, small features. Over five feet but not by much. Rangy, some meat on her, might be strong. Not effeminate at all. I could see why Trevor took the risk on me - Nick looked like she could take care of herself.

When she stopped stuffing for a moment, took a drink, became aware of her environment again I tried on some conversation.

"So how you know Trevor?" I knew how; I was just making small talk.

"Trevor is cool. I just met him the other day, asked for work. He didn't have anything, the season is pretty much over. After a couple days of this he said Call Jillian! She might have work. Here I am."

I listened, nodded. "I do. It's a phone desk, answering calls from pushy lawyers and their clients. A Bail Bond service, I work there too, half-days on phones, half-days recruiting. Lots of turnover, not a great job but hey."

Her gaze flickered over my outfit, back, not giving anything away. But she knew I didn't dress like this on minimum wage.

"I'm the office manager, work for the boss doing what she doesn't have time for. But we're shorthanded, so I work the phones too."

That made sense to her. She eyed the remaining food, aware she'd eaten most of it. I nodded, go ahead. So she dumped the remainder on her plate, took her fourth biscuit, waded back in.

When every single crumb was gone, the pickles included, she sat back with her cup, finally content. Burped, looked alarmed - was that uncool? I laughed, "Good one." Friends here.

"So, I don't have a place."

That was often a deal-breaker for employment; she was laying her cards on the table.

"I know a place, some of the gals live there. Kelly for one, she introduced me to the Pham's, the couple that run it. A room upstairs, old Victorian house up the hill. Beautiful place, older but well-kept. Bathroom in the hall, dinner on the table every night."

That last sold her. Regular food meant relief from pressure to find a job, to get her life sorted. She nodded.

"It costs maybe your first week's pay, but due at the end of the month. I know! Mrs. Pham has her ways, us mortals not to question."

She laughed, easy and comfortable. I think she was sold.

"You have to pass her muster to get in." Some concern. "She wants polite people, respectful, for her and Mr. Pham. He's a victim of the war, lost a leg. That a problem?"

She shook her head, no problem.

"I'll take you by later, if you're still interested." A nod. "But first a few things."

She got wary at that. This was where I might lose her.

"You got people around here? Somebody worried where you are?"

"Nobody. I came out with the band, a roadie, the van belonged to my girlfriend." A challenging look at that; I wasn't gonna bite. "Go on."

"The bar reneges, not enough customers, wouldn't pay gas, wouldn't pay anything. Put us up one night upstairs, a real dive. I woke up, she was gone, the band was gone, the van and equipment gone. My wallet was gone."

That sucked. I said so. She shrugged.

"Folks back home? You want to make a call?"

"They called me a dyke, threw me out with nothing. No, I don't have anybody I'm gonna call."

I nodded again. "This next one might seem odd. But I want to take you to my condo, mine and my boyfriend. Get you washed up. Maybe get you some clothes."

She pushed her chair back, ready to flee. "I'm not gonna be your girlfriend, your toy. I'm a dyke but I'm not for sale. You want that, you picked the wrong gal. Thanks for the food! That was cool, but I think I've gotta go."

I made no move to stop her, but I had to say something. "You leave, you stay, your call. We're in this for our own reasons, Greg and me; it's not about sex. Just about helping folks out on a limb."

She didn't leave, just stood there. Looked out the window at the evening coming on, the air getting colder.

"I don't need a girlfriend; Greg and I have each other. We know how hard it can be, here at the end of the world, having nobody, nowhere to go. We've been there.

"And Mrs. Pham's interview would go easier, if you smelled better. That's all."

She looked down at her clothes, offended. Looked back at me. Surprised me by laughing.

"Ok, I'll go. I guess I gotta trust somebody. I trusted Trevor, he trusts you, I guess that means you aren't a perv. Right?"

I smiled, agreed. We got up, dumped our trash, headed off the boardwalk and across the sand.

"What's the deal with the phone job? Why the turnover? Will I have to suck up to noxious rich dudes?" She was honestly interested.

"The opposite. You get to tell them nope! it's not gonna work like that, you're gonna have to pay for what you've done. Can you do that? Tell entitled jerks they're gonna have to pay? Take their shit and dish it right back?"

She looked like she'd found a door to heaven. "Fuck yeah! I mean, yeah! I can do that!" I believed she could do that. I believed Nick was going to work out.

...

Greg liked her, I saw it the moment we came in. He smiled, put out his hand, introduced himself.

"So, Nick? Get washed up, I'll put some frozen pizza in the oven, be ready when you are, we'll talk then."

She gave him a grateful look, made a beeline for the bathroom.

"Where'd you find this one?"

I explained the Trevor connection, he smiled at that, impressed. Heard her story as I remembered it while he fired up the oven, got out some canned drinks.

"How is she?" My question, and he understood what I meant.

"Healthy, nothing urgent. What did you feed her? Looks like she swallowed a small animal. Nothing for days before that. Anyway, she's relaxed, she trusts you. Unarmed. No money, no ID, not even a wallet."

Getting the Greg-radar picture of a person was so helpful, I kissed him before answering. He didn't complain, just accepted my casual affection as his due.

"She says she woke up over a bar, some back-alley place, Eastwood's? and it was gone."

He nodded, unconvinced. "How about I check that out, while you two settle in. Tell her she's staying tonight, sleep on the couch. Easier to bond if I'm scarce. I'll be back in an hour. Tomorrow, I'll take her for a fitting, then this rooming house you found?"

Since I manned phones in the morning that seemed the best solution. Get her settled, comfortable, confident. Signed up as an employee! Have to figure that out, my first new hire!

He split, Nick came out all wet-haired and looking human. We drank pop on the porch, got up when the pizza went Ding! Fetching a slice apiece we retired back to the porch.

"Greg split? He work nights?"

"Nah, he's off... finding something. Be back in an hour he said."

Nick looked curious but unworried. Getting used to our different ways I guess, no longer suspicious. I remember how things looked different when warm, fed, housed.

"Greg asked if you'd stay on the couch tonight, go with him to the tailor tomorrow, then find that rooming house. While I get you squared away at work, get you signed up anyway."

"Tailor? I got no money. Howm I gonna pay for that?"

I considered giving her the better-clothes-gets-better-job spiel, thought maybe no. She'd figure that out in her own time.

"The tailor is my sister, Khang. She'll do this for us." For full rate, Khang was not gonna do a freebee for anybody. She had a business to run. But Nick doesn't have to know that.

Nick accepted that, finished her pizza and drink. "Maybe I'll sack out for a bit? I'm pretty bushed." It was exhausting being homeless. Bad sleep, cold all the time, sore from benches and cement.

I got her a pillow from my room, under the bed. An extra blanket. She took them, arranged herself on the couch, was out like a light.

...

Gregory

"Hey good morning!" Nick had slept maybe 12 hours. It was already nine, Jill off to work long ago. "Bathroom's available."

She nodded groggily, staggered off to pee. I had made a peanut-butter bagel just in case, knowing she was about to wake from the state of her bladder.

I had my coffee, poured one for her when she reappeared. Had scrubbed the sleep away, still not fresh because her clothes were pretty rank.

She eyed the bagel, took it when I tilted my head Go Ahead. Coffee, and she was pretty much back to normal.

"I found this!" I had her wallet in a kitchen drawer, pulled it out, handed it over. She raised both eyebrows, maybe impressed.

"In a trash can, front of Eastwood's."

She frisked it, found her license, ID there, some pictures. No cash.

"In front? The stairs, van was in back. Seems like I was wrong about the band robbing me. They snuck out in the night; front would have been locked."

"Pickpockets hang out in Eastwood's. You were likely an easy mark."

She agreed but still annoyed at being abandoned. They likely didn't know her wallet was gone; didn't know she was gonna be left homeless. I'd let her figure that out herself.

"You haven't asked me how I did that." I was just curious.

"Well, you're the Finder, right?"

Ahhhgh. Does everybody know my deal, now? I've thought I was some big secret for years. It seems every homeless girl knows. I nodded, resigned.

She saw my disappointment. "Hey, Trevor told me. Said Jillian and you were an item, good people. A famous beachcomber with a sixth sense for finding valuables, always saving people's good time, getting their stuff back. Thanks for doing that for me, by the way."

Ok so I had maybe not been very discreet. Every time I found something with an ID, I looked for the person or turned it in at a bar or club where I was known. I guess that makes a reputation.

"You ready to head out? We have a tailor to visit, get you into some work clothes. Something else to change into anyway."

She seemed willing, not going to be surprised by anything. I had a sense it was important to her, to look like she was cool with any situation, a woman-of-the-world. I could work with that.

"It's not far. Busses not so crowded this time of year, but it's a beautiful day, lets walk?"

We headed down, across the sand, through the strip, two blocks further and turned on the Nguyen's street. This was new territory for Nick, she was a little intimidated, tried not to show it.

Through the door with the little bell, Phuong greeting me effusively, sized up my companion as I spoke.

"Mr. Nguyen, would you be so kind as to fit my young friend Nick with something appropriate for work, something for leisure? Whatever she might need."

He smiled, called "Customer!" through the beaded doorway, playing the face-of-the-shop to Khang's seamstress-employee, emerging from the back with cloth tape measure around her neck.

"Full suit first, Miss Nick? Something for, hm, an office?" Nick looked at me, unsure. "Yes please. She's working with Jillian now."

Khang had her remove the leather jacket, took it from her, fingered it for a moment, clearly interested. Putting it aside she had Nick turn once, seeing everything, missing nothing. And I suspected, appreciating what she saw.

Khang disappeared in back, returned with several dress shirts, no collar, three button. Not quite formal office wear, still very presentable. Probably a good call; Nick didn't seem the frilly linen shirt sort.

Phuong picked through them in his critical way, observing Nick under his bushy eyebrows, stopped when he got to one that Nick reacted to, selected that one. Simple placket, no lapel, double-sewn. Khang made notes.

"Trousers!" Khang disappeared, reappeared with twill tapered trousers. No frills, but good stuff. Phuong compared the selected blouse against each pair, selected a pair with button fly, unhemmed.

"Please to check the fit?"

Khang took Nick in hand, ushered her through to the back for a fitting.

"Shall we sit? Enjoy some tea?" I took Phuong's invitation gracefully, sat after him at his small tea table, accepted a cup.

Answering his unasked question, "Jillian's new friend! Jill's recruiting staff for her office, found this young lady at loose ends on the strip."

Phuong understood that meant 'homeless and hungry'. "Have you observed, in your way, anything of note?"

I considered. "She's had a rough life. Some broken bones, collarbone, healed well. Perhaps a bicycle accident? Tough woman. So she was taken care of at some point. But on her own now, for some time I think. Been hungry lately. Her family was not tolerant of some life choices."

Phuong tsk'd and sipped his tea. Neglecting your family, especially children was a capital crime in Phuong's view.

Meanwhile the ladies were going through the fitting routine. Nick stripped, braless, not really needing one, tried on the shirt in front of a mirror. Khang touched, tugged, pressed the shoulder, arms, hips with professional concentration.

At the same time she managed to feel every inch of the contour of Nicks torso. Nick seemed agreeable, watching it happen in the mirror. Her pulse quickened a bit, blood flow to her skin increased. Arousal? Cool, nice for them.

Phuong enjoyed our tea ritual, commenting on his latest local sport betting, a win on an underdog in the league. I made the appropriate noises, admiring his keen judgement of sporting form, asked what matchups were imminent.

The pants went much the same, tugged up over significant calves and thighs, skin-tight. Fitted around her hips, buttoning snugly. Binding here and there, I noticed as Khang noticed, running her hands down her waist, her butt, her legs. More notes in her book.

The leather jacket was produced, commented on. Nick was smiling, proud of what was apparently a significant piece of apparel. Khang's comments provoked some laughter. The jacket was put aside, carefully.

Time for a work-jacket? We'd made no selection but Khang seemed certain it was necessary. She produced a long-sleeved high-waisted fitted jacket with shoulder pads, a strap collar, a short zipper down the front. It was similar to the twill shirt in style but shorter, almost what I'd call Toreador length but closed in front.

Nick struggled into it, snugged the zipper. She looked fantastic, stared at herself in the mirror, mouth slightly open, twisting this way and that to see it from all angles. Made an appreciative comment to Khang, who was well pleased.

Coming out, Khang proudly, Nick shyly, we admired the fit as Nick turned slowly, finally assumed a model pose, getting used to the attention, grinning.

"Nick that looks like a million bucks on you! Mr. Nguyen, you have again outdone yourselves."

Phuong beamed, well satisfied.

"We will be pleased to have three suits and that jacket prepared at your convenience? In colors you deem compatible."

Khang made the note.

Phuong clapped, "Casual wear! Will we be wanting fall weight? Winter weight? Button-down? Perhaps a knit?"

Nick was out of her element, deferred to Khang, already aware she was the expert here. Khang did not hesitate, retreated and returned now with cotton tops, heavy cloth, again no collar. Phuong took them one at a time, considered them while considering Nick, looked for a reaction.

The no-sleeve strapped-shoulder top was a no-go; the turtleneck got a recoil from Nick; Khang frowned, apparently thought Nick would look good in that. A simple butch oval-neck long-sleeve got the best reception; Phuong selected it.

Khang fetched a selection of pants, various lengths, no belt loops. Of these Nick seemed ambivalent until Phuong got to a straight-waisted tapered-leg pair with a pinstripe, really a pattern in the weave. She lit up, and Phuong requested a fitting.

Back to our tea. Phuong returned to the subject of my protégé. "Has Nick proved a reliable young person?"

I considered my answer. "I've known her only a short time, a day really. I know she survived hardship in good spirits. Was prepared to refuse my help, our help over matters of principle. And she has been a courteous houseguest."

Phuong accepted that. I knew those things would resonate with him. Attitudes about hardship, principle, courtesy ranked high in his esteem.

"I pry, only because Khang is showing interest in this woman. You may have noticed? Of course, more so than I. I have learned to be cautiously optimistic regarding Khang's choices in.. friends. Jillian is of course a spectacular example of her good taste!"

I smiled broadly at that. Phuong wanted Khang to be happy; that was his only goal. In his old-fashioned view that included parental involvement in social affairs. That meant, vetting her girlfriends.

I was unaware of any possible previous poor choices. Khang was a firecracker, impulsive, emotional, violently creative. I could imagine some of her adventures may have had a rocky end.

Meanwhile Khang helped Nick out of her clothes, in the guise of being careful with the cloth but clearly enjoying running hands over shoulders, arms, legs. Not so much hips; Nick didn't seem to have any!

The new clothes went on without a hitch. Struggling into the top, Khang openly admired Nick's bare chest, stomach. Once she'd pulled her head through the neck-hole Nick caught sight of Khang's stare, colored prettily.