door pushed open from the back hallway, and two of her sales associates walked in. They were laughing and joking—until they saw who was waiting for them.
“Which one of you closed last night?” Natasha demanded.
“Um, I did,” Erik volunteered, and Missy looked sheepish.
“Who was the senior person in charge of closing last night?”
“I was,” Erik answered.
“Can you give me a good reason why the displays look so awful this morning?” Natasha asked, folding her arms across her chest.
“Well,” Erik began, “each person was in charge of their own area. That’s the way we always do it.”
“So in other words, you’re not supposed to have any responsibility for this, even though you were in charge of making sure it was done properly. Even though you’re the senior person on the schedule, I’m not supposed to hold you or anyone else accountable, because you all stick up for each other, right?”
“The company does promote teamwork,” Missy volunteered.
“Missy? Did anyone ever tell you that perfume you’re wearing smells like bug repellant?” Natasha paused, and Missy blushed. “Would you like to wash it off, or have me call the Orkin Man to see if he wants a date?”
Missy fled, and Erik said, “You know, you don’t have to—”
“What?” Natasha interrupted. “Let her know that she smells like she should be wearing a fumigation tent instead of that horrible Kmart blouse?”
“Oh, you recognize it?” Erik got one dig in.
“Not as well as I recognize someone who pictures himself as an assistant manager but clearly isn’t qualified,” Natasha snarled.
Erik turned crimson at the mention of his submitting his name for the cross-department promotion as the assistant manager of Men’s Shoes. He obviously hadn’t realized that she knew about it. She’d never stand in the way of a valuable employee succeeding, but if the employee simply wasn’t up to the task of managing a department in a large, successful business, it was her duty to thwart him. Valuable was certainly in the eye of the beholder.
The door to the stockroom opened again. Natasha heard footsteps, which seemed to hesitate, turn around, then stop completely. “Hello?” a voice called.
“Can I help you?” Natasha answered.
“I’m looking for Natasha?” The voice spoke again with a note of uncertainty.
Natasha rose from her desk and stood tall, as though an invisible hand pulled her up by the crown of her head. “I’m Natasha,” she said.
She scrutinized the young man in front of her, first noting his expensive suit. Either he had money, or he’d been taking advantage of deep discounts as a retail employee. Other than his clothes, he was nothing special. He was shorter than she was, with mousy brown hair cut short, clear skin, brown eyes that watched her with apprehension, and a hesitant smile. Her split-second judgment categorized him as the warm and fuzzy type.
“I’m Derek Anderson. I was told to report here for work this morning,” he said tentatively as the silence stretched between them.
Great, Natasha thought bitterly, noticing the way Erik hovered protectively near Derek, as if eager to absorb him into the little group of friends who plagued her department. Why couldn’t she ever get an employee who had her drive, her vision, her devotion to hard work?
“I don’t remember asking for additional help,” she finally said. “I guess calling HR is just one more thing I have to do now. Erik, take him to the floor and show him around.”
After they left, she tapped her fingernails on her desk while she thought it over. Drayden’s procedure was to screen prospects, then let the department manager interview them and make the hiring decision. Since the usual channels had been subverted, Derek must have been placed with her by someone with clout. She’d have to find out who before she decided on her next move.
Natasha smiled. The only thing better than a normal Monday was a Monday that held the promise of a new power struggle for her to win. She brushed Derek aside as nothing more than a little bug who had whetted her appetite for larger prey.
6
Trying to Keep the Customer Satisfied
Vienna’s sandwich seemed to lose its flavor, so she dropped it and brushed crumbs from her hands, saying, “That’s not the worst of it. The little bitch’s mother came up and dragged her away, saying, ‘Come on. You don’t want her waiting on you.’”
“Ew!” Davii exclaimed. “How hateful.”
“Nasty,” Derek agreed.
“You never get used to prejudice,” Vienna said, shaking her head. She absently tore the crust from her discarded sandwich. “I’m sure I’m preaching to the choir.”
Derek and Davii looked at each other and grinned, singing, “Hallelujah!”
“I thought so,” Vienna said, finally smiling.
“Back home,” Derek began, after thinking it over, “boys in cars used to yell things at me. But nothing like that’s happened in a long time.”
“I hate it when guys do that,” Vienna said. “Why do they think people can understand them when they’re buzzing by at fifty miles an hour?”
“Because they’re stupid?” Davii guessed. “I used to get threatened all the time in high school. This one guy picked on me every day. I even had a girlfriend at the time, and he’d still call me a fag and throw things at me.”
“What did you do?” Derek asked.
“I slept with his girlfriend,” Davii said matter-of-factly.
“Rock on,” Derek said in awe.
“Solved all kinds of problems,” Davii said. “My girlfriend broke up with me. His girlfriend broke up with him. And even though it didn’t endear me to him, at least he stopped calling me names. Who wants to be known as the guy whose girlfriend dumped him for a fag? There’s always a way to fight back.”
“Reminds me of Darlene Patterson,” Vienna said. “I hated that snotty little bitch. She’d follow me around, making up new lyrics to ‘Four Women’ with my name in it. ‘My hair is nappy. My clothes are borrowed. What do they call me? They call me Vienna.’ One time she put gum in my hair. She thought I couldn’t do anything, because I was the preacher’s daughter. I had to love the sinner and hate the sin. All that crap.”
“What did you do?” Derek asked.
Vienna shrugged and said, “I hated the sinner and scratched her eyes out after school. I got a licking when my mother found out, but it was worth it to see that skinny-assed bitch run crying. I don’t approve of violence, but—”
“Oh, no. Not you,” Davii interrupted.
She glared at him, then continued. “Sometimes you have to stand up for yourself. If you’re being forced down, you have to claw your way up again.”
“When I’m forced down, I find that it helps to relax the muscles in my throat,” Davii said, and ducked when Vienna threw her bread crust at him. He pointed at her and shouted, “Oppressor!”
“Oh, please,” Vienna drawled. “You don’t know oppression. Oppression is putting lipstick on women with chapped lips. Oppression is doing someone’s eyeliner, then realizing she has pink eye. Oppression is putting polish on someone’s toes.”
“That can be sexy,” Davii countered.
“Maybe on a guy,” Vienna conceded.
“I’ve only been selling for a couple of weeks, and I’m already grossed out by people’s