Authors: Eryn Scott
In Her Way (10 page)
We head up front to pay, but I know the night's far from over. The realization churning in my gut that this threat is real and we have no police or Marshal backup means that I've got to turn this girl into a different looking person as soon as humanly possible.
11
I insist that Kaylee stay at my place Saturday night and after a good night's sleep, we tackle the rest of her physical changes. After a few different tries (and some intense -- and I'm guessing painful -- body scrub sessions), we finally find a tanner that makes her skin color fall in the Jersey Shore category rather than the Oompa Loompa one.
Instead of my normal Sunday clean my house and get ready for the week routine, I'm showing her over and over how to apply this super dark makeup we bought. I was right when I said she hadn’t worn any before. She really doesn't know how to apply the stuff, never having to rely on it. I resist an eye roll, jealousy, or wondering how she evaded the inevitable heavily-make-up-ed girl's night out during college.
"I thought people from New York were supposed to wear all this stuff. Like they invented it or something." I brush a particularly coal-like grey on her lids, blow the excess off her cheeks, and tell her to open her eyes.
She shakes her head. "Not everyone. Plus, I lived in Brighton Beach. It's basically the 'burbs."
Figuring she'd basically already spilled the worst part of the story and when Andrew hears that she told me she'll have to move again anyway, Kaylee spends most of Sunday morning telling me about her real life back home. Not that it excuses her gluten issues or many of her other idiosyncrasies, but at least this whole witness thing explains why the hell she doesn't seem to know where she'd "lived" and the fact that she is still mostly convinced we're living on an island.
"What about these?" I point to the dozen or so metal bracelets on her wrist. "Have you always worn those? Did they see you wear them during the trial? They could be a giveaway."
Kaylee's right hand grabs onto the group of bracelets on her left wrist, covering them defensively. "My mom gave these to me. It's all I have left of her."
I shake my head slowly. "If you wore them to the trial, it's one more way for them to identify you."
Kaylee slowly pulls the bracelets off her tiny wrist and places them next to her on the table. I look away when I see tears gathering in the corners of her heavily make-up-ed eyes.
"So tell me about your mom. When did she give these to you?" I know I sure need a distraction and I hope maybe talking about her family a little will help her feel like they’re still close.
"It was just me, my older sister, and my mom, actually. My parents divorced when we were young and our dad didn't really want anything to do with us, so he just paid the child support and moved upstate to a big mansion with his new wife. My mom worked two jobs to get us the things we needed, to keep up with the life she thought we should have. She loved yoga though, and her dream was to teach or start her own studio." Kaylee shakes her head. "But she was too busy for that. Hannah, my sister works for a bank in the city." Kaylee shrugs. "We're only a year apart, but we're not super close. Now I really wish I had worked on our relationship more."
We have to take a little break after she finishes telling me about her family, not getting to see them anymore, not being able to even call them, or keep any pictures of them. She full-on starts to cry and I find it physically impossible to watch a human tear up without doing so myself. Plus, I can't help thinking about how I might just dry up and die if I was cut off from my family. So we have a little bit of a weep and move on to lunch to cheer us up.
Ultimately, our hard work seems to pay off and I almost don't even feel nervous as I follow her into work Monday morning. Sure she looks much edgier and unrecognizable, but she doesn't look scary or unprofessional, like I was worried she would. I'm actually super proud of how seamless it all was.
I walk in first, finding the door unlocked; Em must already be inside.
"Hey! That you?" I hear.
"Yeah!"
"Come in the back!"
I weave through the office, stop by my desk to plop down my purse, then head into the lounge where I assume Em's voice is coming from. She's by the sink getting some coffee ready to brew. (Have I mentioned I love her?) I slump into one of the chairs.
"Why didn't you call yesterday?" She cocks an eyebrow up at me as she throws me a look over her shoulder.
"Oh! Dammit! Something came up and I totally forgot." Shit, not only am I a bad friend because I have to keep this secret from her, but I'm also a bad friend who doesn't call to ask about her date.
"It's okay. We had a good time." With a beep she sets the coffee maker and turns to face me. "Well, a great time, actually."
My heart feels light and bubbly for my friend. "That's awesome! Tell me all about it."
Em dishes about how kind he was, how he opened doors and asked her opinion on almost everything, and she maybe mentions how yummy he looked in a button up. I'm so enthralled in my friend's story, that I completely forget the fact that Kaylee coming in right behind me. New Kaylee. Looking-completely-different Kaylee.
That is, I forget until she walks into the staff lounge. My eyes go wide and I do a bit of an I'm-surprised jump (which turns out to be perfect since I had been wondering if I was going to be able to keep up the ruse).
"Sorry, miss, we're -- wow!" Em stops her story and is about to show this random lady back out the front door when she stops and mimics my jumpy-wide-eyed-ness. "Kaylee?"
Queue the sheepish smile. Yep, she's still the same sweet girl under the hard-looking exterior.
"You like it? I felt like it was just time for a change."
My fingernails press into my skin as I clench my fists together and wait for Em's had-a-second-to-take-it-in reaction.
Her smile widens. "It's kick ass, is what it is! You look totally hot!" Em looks at me and gives an approving nod. Then her face freezes. "Oh, shit, was that like harassment or something?" She puts a hand out. "I didn't mean it like that."
Kaylee laughs and waves a hand at Em. "Don't worry. I knew what you meant." She grabs a tea bag, fills a cup with hot water, and leaves the room, winking at me on the way out (remind me to talk to that girl about nixing all winks pronto).
Em points after her and mouths, "Holy shit!"
I nod. "Yeah. So different." I word it as a statement, but with a question-y tone to it. Then I wait for anything else Em wants to add, you know, after the girl's out of hearing range.
Em shakes her head, then nods. "I think our little business just stepped up a few notches on the Super Cool Scale."
Relief bubbles out of me in a laugh. "I think that using the phrase 'Super Cool Scale' is really low on said scale." I don't have the heart to tell her that we're going to end up losing Kaylee anyway when Andrew gets back home.
Em scrunches her nose at me and throws a crumpled sugar packet. I pick it up (because, owner).
"It looks like she and Avril Lavigne had some sort of Face Off situation over the weekend." Em places a hand on the counter and looks around with narrowed eyes. "Wait. Maybe the Canadians really are trying to infiltrate our country. And they're starting with our teeth."
We laugh and I make my own cup of coffee before heading out to get ready for my day. I hear Avril Lavigne start to play throughout the office and see Em giving me a thumbs up from down the hall. Turns out that Celine is not the only Canadian singer that Kaylee enjoys. She starts belting out the lyrics and I pull in a deep breath to steady myself for the day ahead.
12
We make it through Makeover Monday. I dub it as such because Kaylee's makeover is literally all anyone can talk about. Even new customers who never saw her old look are all gushy about how great her hair color looks. I don't mind one bit of it, however, because it's all positive. Em may have been right about that cool scale thingy.
Even though her new look has her feeling much safer, I insist that she stay with me again. I'm no less likely to shove this girl out on the mean fuzzy-haired-mobster-filled streets by herself now than I was when she first came to me for help. The fact that she eagerly accepts makes my throat tighten again and our conversation about her having no family, no anyone, pulls at my heartstrings all over again. What pulls even harder is the thought of her moving to another new place all by herself, but I suppose it's for the best and we won't have to deal with that until Andrew gets back at the end of the week anyway.
On Tuesday, we're almost getting into a fun-roomies groove. I rest my elbows on the front counter during a long break in my day. I watch Kaylee for a second and think about how crazy it is that I'm going to miss her when she leaves. Not crazy business-wise, she's always rocked at that and it's gonna suck to have to re-hire this early after our opening. No, like I'm going to miss her person-wise, friend-wise. I'm kinda growing to like this weird, gluten unsure, butter burning, trouble magnet.
"So it's been a few days since you saw Fuzzy." I keep my voice low so no one overhears. "Do you think we should go scope things out? See if he's still around. What do they call that? Recon?" I shrug. "Maybe he gave up, went home. I mean, technically the local cops don't even know you're here. Even if he was meeting with them, they wouldn't necessarily be able to tell him anything."
Kaylee tips her head to the side. The scared look from the other day gone. (Or maybe it's just the crazy amounts of makeup we've been slapping on her face each morning that makes her look aloof.)
"I suppose. He doesn't know my new name and now I look completely different. It couldn't hurt to go by the police station and see if he's hanging out there still."
"That's where you saw him? Right in front of the station?"
She nods.
I push the air out of my lungs so it whistles through my lips in a loud, I'm impressed way. "Fuzzy's bold."
"And while we're out, if we wanted to stop and get some food...?"
I raise my shoulders. "We'll already be out. It just makes sense."
Em's waiting for a call from some insurance company, so she tells us that she'll watch the desk, but we better bring her back something yummy in return. I drive while Kaylee focuses on looking out for our mob man. When I pull into the parking lot across from the police station, we start scanning (not that I know what
I'm
looking for apart from a vague description of the guy's hair).
Right away, I feel like this might be a bad idea.
"Aren't there laws about staking out police stations? Like do they have cameras pointed at us right now?" My heart starts to race. I squint, trying to focus enough to see if there are any cameras visible on the outside of the building. "Is there a less conspicuous place we should --?"
"That's him!" Kaylee points, yips, ducks down into her seat, and then tries to point in the direction she was before so I can see.
I see the hair first. Yep, definitely dark and fuzzy like Kaylee described it, but there's something off I can't quite pinpoint. I scrunch up my nose.
"Something seems weird..." I squint again and wonder if I need glasses.
"Yeah. Why you're not driving away. That's what's weird." Kaylee hits my arm from where she's crouched down in the legroom area even though Fuzzy’s back is to us. "Now we know he's still around. Let's get out of here." The panic we were able to smooth out of her voice with the makeover returns.
I nod and start the car. But I don't take it out of park. Yet.
A policeman walks out of the station and approaches Fuzzy. I don't know if it's the whole faux car chase the other night or the fact that I've basically been in my own crime drama movie the past few days, but I get the distinct urge to pull my phone out and get some freaking evidence of this transgression. Shame on these cops for helping murderers. I see flashes of myself sending this evidence in to a DA somewhere (even though, I'll be honest, the extent of my knowledge about DAs comes from the Batman movies, but they seem like they get shit done). Would they give me an award for ferreting the dirty cops from our city?
I snap a few, but from here in the car it could just as well be Batman and Robin for all my camera would be able to make out. I doubt anything will stick if I don't have a clear view of Fuzzy's mobster face. I take a deep breath, make a decision, and unbuckle.
"I'll be right back," I tell Kaylee and I hop out of the car before she can untuck herself from her latest turtle-hiding-hole.
I walk down the street a little ways, cross, and head back toward the station. Fuzzy and Dirty Cop are still talking as I approach. I pretend I'm texting, glancing over at the car and see just the top of Kaylee's head as she peeks out the window and watches me. I give her another one of those I-got-this nods.
Which would be a lot more bad-ass if I didn't trip and almost bite it on the concrete when I look forward again. But what I see when I look over at Fuzzy and the cop is too crazy confusing and my feet must forget how to work. Dirty Cop is leaning toward Fuzzy and then they start kissing. Kissing.
My eyes widen and I have to stifle a surprised yelp. Now you know I've got nothing against different life styles. You love who you love. My surprise comes from the fact that holy-goodness-this-cop-is-kissing-a-mobster; I guess love really does happen to all combinations of people. My brain reminds me that just because it's different doesn't mean it's wrong. Ugh. Shut up, brain. Right now, these two lovers are conspiring to kill my secretary and that
is
wrong.
I take a steadying breath and keep walking forward. Lovers or not, I still need this evidence to take them down (though I do hope they at least get sent to the same prison so they can be happy together). Fuzzy's short, chick-feather-esque hair blows in the wind as Dirty Cop pulls away and starts talking to Fuzzy's chest.
Okay, that's weird. Is Fuzzy wired? Wait. That makes even less sense. My brow furrows and I quicken my pace.
I approach them and try to simultaneously get a closer look, keep myself from tripping again, and look convincingly like I'm texting someone, not trying to take a picture of them. But before I can get a good picture, Dirty Cop turns back toward the building and Fuzzy pivots to face me.
And suddenly, it doesn't matter at all.
I almost start laughing.
Fuzzy, while bearing very dark and fluffy short hair, is now very clearly a woman. Dirty Cop is obviously her husband. And he wasn't talking to a wire on her chest, but a tiny baby, strapped into one of those scarf-like slings that hugs tight to the mother's body.
I close my eyes and take a breath of relief. When I open them, I watch the car window. I see Kaylee's head pop up all the way as she notices the same thing I just did. After looking both ways, I jog across the street and hop back into the car.
Kaylee's mouth is open. Every few seconds it flaps a little, like she's going to say something, but nothing comes out.
Then we start laughing. Laughing so hard we're crying.
"He was a lady." I lay my head back and clutch at my stomach.
Kaylee shakes her head. "Gosh I was so freaking sure it was him." Her face scrunches into a grimace and she adds, "Sorry lady-we-thought-was-a-man. No hard feelings."
That makes us laugh even harder.
We decide that we're famished. Now that we're mobster-free I drive without constantly checking my mirror and Kaylee relaxes back in her seat, looking ahead peacefully. We grab salads at a local deli, staying there to eat, knowing the office won't be talk-about-what-just-happened friendly.
"I was so shocked when they started to kiss." Kaylee takes a bite and shakes her head. Then she holds out a hand. "Not that there's anything wrong with two men. I totally support --"
"I know. You don't have to convince me," I say, stopping her from making the same rationalizations as I did.
Kaylee suddenly puts her fork down and says, "Please don't tell Andrew."
I stop chewing and try swallowing, not sure if the lump in my throat is masticated lettuce or foreboding feelings.
"What?" is all I can get out after the most intensely difficult swallow of my life.
Kaylee's brown eyes focus on mine. "Now that there's not actually any danger, please don't tell him that you know about me. If he knows I told you, he'll have to move me. That's the rule. Please. It can be our secret." She smiles at me hopefully with the bottom of her face, but the top half appears to be in pain.
I pick at my fingernails and focus on breathing slow and steady. And thinking.
"Won't the Marshal office tell him?"
"I doubt it. If they didn't take me seriously, they won't bother him about it."
I don't know much about this whole Witness Protection thing, but it does make sense that if she's compromised herself by telling me, Andrew would have to move her. When I thought she could be in danger, her moving only made sense. It was life or death at that point.
Now? Well, now the only person she's told is me, and there isn't anyone I trust more. I don't even
know
any mobsters. I won't tell a soul. Sure it'll suck having to keep secrets from the people I love, and from Andrew, but I don't want to lose Kaylee. As a secretary or a friend. Plus, she lost her whole family, and she seems to be fitting in here. She needs us. I pull one last thoughtful breath into my lungs, hold it for a moment, and then I let it out.
I nod. "Okay. I won't tell him."