Plasticity Read online

  Her first, and only, table so far, was finished and they had left her a two-dollar tip. “That's not a tip, that's an insult.” She whispered as she wiped the table off and carted their half-empty plates back to the sink in the back room. She was surprised to see that Alan was not there. She had assumed the only consistent shift at the restaurant was Alan being the morning dishwasher. She checked this week's schedule and, sure enough, he was supposed to have been there for an hour at this point. Charlie shook her head. He was going to get fired if he kept showing up late, like this.

  She nodded to Jim, the mustachioed day-cook, on her way back into the dining room, in time to watch a car pull up outside. More customers was a good thing, especially if they were going to be tipping so poorly, today. Her bleak optimism was quickly shattered when she saw that it was Thom, and he was just sitting in the car, staring. At first, she thought he was staring at her, but as she moved across the dining room, pretending to wipe down the tables, again, his gaze did not follow. She did her best to ignore him, but there were only so many times you could wipe down tables and check on the coffee, before you were just going in circles of contrived tedium.

  Finally, he came into the restaurant and stood at the kiosk, waiting to be seated. Charlie poured herself a cup of coffee, and leaned her back against the counter, looking at him. He made no move to approach her, but he pleaded with his eyes for acknowledgment. After letting him stew for as long as she thought she could get away with, she informed him that it was self-seating in the daytime. She shook her head, assuming he couldn't see her doing it, as he walked to the back corner and took a seat, placing his hands one on top of the other, on the glass tabletop. She poured a cup of coffee for him, without asking, and set it in front of him. Even if he had not wanted it, it was an easy way to pad the bill, and she knew he was unlikely to complain or refuse to pay for it.

  “Hey, Charlie?” He looked like a lost puppy, which usually endeared people, but in his case, it only exacerbated Charlie's dislike.

  “What can I get you, Thom?” Curt, but not impolite. Professional, but distant.

  “You didn't happen to see Hayley again, after her parents' house, yesterday, did you?”

  Charlie looked him over, unsure what response he was looking for from her. “No, why? You lose her, or something?”

  Thom's eyes told her that she was close to the truth, although she had only said it because it sounded like an absurd idea.

  “Hmm, just wondering is all.” He stared down into his coffee, noting the rainbow sheen that coursed along the top. Maybe soap, maybe not, but it didn't belong in coffee. He set the glass down and did not pick it up again.

  “So, what can I get for you?” Charlie was working to hide her impatience, but it was coming through.

  “You know, I think Portland misses you.” Thom had not intended to say this, but his mouth didn't care want he wanted, sometimes.

  “Good.” Charlie was going to follow that up with something else, but couldn't find the way to word it, so she left it at that. She did not like the feeling she was getting, thinking about Portland missing her. She absolutely did not want to feel like she was missing Portland, but there was something there, down inside, under the scars, buried beneath a decade of active shoveling, and it was beginning to claw its way out.

  “Yeah, I guess.” Thom slumped further into his seat, but did not reach for his coffee.

  Charlie was working out a way to excuse herself, when she was saved by the arrival of other customers. Clearly literate ones, because they read the sign on the kiosk, and promptly sat themselves down. “I'll be back to check on you in a few.” Her words came out only half as condescending as she had intended. But, Thom stood up as she started to turn away.

  “No, that's not necessary.” He set a twenty on the table. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

  Charlie actually felt bad, watching him mope out the door. She had always been put off by him, but it wasn't like it was really his fault. Just something about him annoyed her, and she wondered if it was really him at all, or if it was something else. She decided, halfway through helping her other customers, that she should apologize to him, but, of course, by that time, he had driven away. She let that guilt merge with her fear that she might actually miss Portland, and she wrapped herself up in that for the rest of the day. Thom's was the best tip she got that day, but that wasn't much of a surprise. She hadn't even made a ticket for his coffee.

  Chapter 15: Margot Becker

  Portland was livid. It's not like she was in love or anything, but that wasn't the point. Being part of her in-group meant certain protections. Not getting kidnapped was certainly one of those protections. Being safe in Portland's apartment was supposed to be a guarantee. She had never literally killed anyone. Hell, she didn't even get into as many fights as people credited her for. But, she could throw a punch, and all she cared about right now was who that punch would be directed toward. She'd worry about how far she was going to take it, when it came to that. First, she needed to find out if Hayley was the target, or if she was just collateral damage. They had not left any demands in the apartment, so Portland was leaning toward Hayley being the actual target, but she didn't want to rule out the possibility.

  She knew she was unlikely to be able to fix this by herself, and she doubted Thom was going to come up with much in the way of answers, so she was starting a little farther behind the curve than she would have cared to admit. Worse, she knew very little about Hayley. Tracking people she knew were, even incidentally, attached to Hayley meant she'd have a list of about six people. That, of course, included herself, which was probably more than a little useless, but she was trying to be objective. Ruling herself out would cut off options before they'd even been considered. Better for now to assume everyone on the list could be equally important in creating a web of contacts. Hayley's parents were on the list, too, but Portland didn't know thing one about them, either, so she would leave them for last. Thom was out gathering intel, as far as she knew, and that only left her, Charlie and Charlie's mother. She sighed, and resolved that she was going to have to make amends with Charlie before this was all over. For now, however, she would talk to Margot. She had, perhaps absurdly, always had a better relationship with Margot than she'd had with her daughter, and she would still consider them friends, although they hadn't spoken in a while. She scrolled through her contacts, and cursed herself for not keeping a number for Margot. Five or six phone upgrades, and she just stopped importing the old, unused numbers at some point. Margot's number may not have stayed the same over the years, anyway, but she could have at least tried to call. That just meant she was going to have to go to the house, and hope she still lived there.

  Portland stood in front of her closet for several minutes, naked and not really feeling any of her clothing options. Well, she wasn't going to show up at Margot's house for the first time in ten years naked. Margot was always pretty accepting of Portland's eccentricities, but that was probably pushing it a bit too far. Still, maybe something that was a little sexy, but easily hidden. She smiled, forgetting her anger for a moment, and picked out a skin-tight cotton t-shirt. It was at least two sizes too small, but long enough to reach below her waist. She slid it on, constrictive at first, but quickly stretching to a comfortable hug. She flicked her nipples, to make sure they were clearly visible and poking the shirt out the appropriate amount. She, then, slid on a simple pleated black skirt and cute ankle socks. Leaving her room, she made her way to the coat closet beside the parquet flooring in the doorway. She rifled through a few options, but landed on a silvery, cropped bomber jacket, and she pulled a pair of black canvas shoes from the top shelf. She zipped up the jacket, after all, the sexy parts weren't for Missus Becker, and slipped her feet into the canvas shoes. She wished she had a mirror out here, so she could check herself out a bit before she left, but didn't care enough about seeing herself to take her shoes off and walk back into the bedroom, where her full-body mirror was.

  She op
ened the door to leave, and paused to take one last look around her place, feeling like she might be forgetting something. Nothing came to mind, so she closed the door, hearing the comforting vacuum sealing noise and single beep, and headed down the hallway. Half-way into the elevator, she stopped with a start, and lashed her arm out to block the doors from closing. “Shit, keyfob?” She jammed her hand into the right pocket of her jacket and felt the small, squashed-egg-shaped lump of vacuum-formed nylon and buttons. She must have pocketed it without thinking. “Good girl.” She smiled, before realizing there were people in the elevator, and they were looking at her like she was a crazy person. Of course, these people were her neighbors, and they were already thinking that before she had her little outburst. A matter of semantics, at that point.

  “Day going well, Miss Portland?” Asked the neighbor who took the form of a middle-aged woman.

  Portland squinted slightly at her. Her neighbors were all shape-shifters. Formless blobs of flesh, indistinguishable from, and interchangeable with, each other, in Portland's mind. This one would be, let's see, Miss Havisham. No. Wait. That's not her name. Ah, yes, “Missus Tombley, today, huh?”

  The woman cocked her head in silent query, and the male blob beside her cleared his throat, but Portland did not elaborate. “Um, yes, same as every day, really.” Portland loved seeing their confused faces. Almost made it worth the elevator ride with them.

  “Then, yes, today will be a grand day, indeed. I might get to kill someone.” Her words came out like a jaunty hat, or the chorus in a sea shanty, and she was surprised to find that she was actually in a pretty decent mood, all things considered.

  Her fellow elevator passengers took to their horrified faces, and kept at it until the ride stopped and the doors opened. They could have held those faces all day, as far as Portland knew. She didn't give them a backwards glance as she strolled out of the elevator and whisked through the lobby doors. If the universe wasn't going to give her a good day, then she would just have to take it for herself. She never was much for waiting to be handed things, anyway.

  She drove with her usual aplomb, and it still took forever to get out to Charlie's mom's house. Living in the suburbs was bad enough, but Margot lived out in the boonies. Well, not really the boonies. Portland felt more like the boonies were east, in the forests and plains. The west had hills, the hills weren't the boonies, and Margot lived in the hills. Although, that made it sound like she was some kind of hillbilly. Portland paid little attention to street signs, and managed to pull up at the foot of Margot's driveway by feel alone. It may have been a long time since she was last out here, but she was convinced it could have been millennia, and she would have found the house just as easily. Even still, she had found a way to forget that the driveway, itself, was dirt and rock. The years had not been kind to this driveway, and it felt like a dozen people with hammers were tattooing the bottom of her car. She gritted her teeth and tried to reassure herself. “There's a price to pay and a consequence...” When she finally reached the paved section of the driveway, she balked at the step up from the dirt to concrete. Exasperated, she stopped just short of the concrete, and considered that good enough.

  As she got out of the car, she heard a call from front porch, and she was instantly set into 'talking-with-adults' mode.

  “Arakawa Portland! How you been, Girl?” Margot was as friendly as ever. If Portland were to be honest, she'd admit that there was a good chance she would marry Margot Becker in a heartbeat, if she asked. Impropriety be damned.

  “Miss B, how're things round the farm?” Portland had delighted in calling this a farm, despite Charlie's protestations. Margot found it appropriate enough, and she seemed to enjoy the humor in it at least as much as Portland. Some crazy bastard had built this farmhouse back a hundred, maybe more, years ago. In the rocky, wooded hills. A nice wooden farmhouse-style house, that could never serve a function as a farm. Purely aesthetic. Margot and her husband had added a detached garage some years back, and, in honor of the house, and maybe in no small part inspired by Portland's taunt, they had built it in the shape of a three-quarter-scale barn.

  “Come inside, please.” Margot smiled at Portland.

  “It's a wonder you only had two kids.”

  Margot's smile shrank a little in confusion, but only for a moment, then she blushed bright and shining. “As bad as ever, I see.”

  Portland followed her into the house, declined her offer of water, and sat at the kitchen table. Margot joined her after pulling a soda from the refrigerator. She just sat and smiled for a good several seconds, as if Portland's arrival was an early holiday gift.

  “So, really, though, how have you and the kids been?” Portland leaned her elbows on the table and batted her eyelashes at Margot.

  “Well, it's been so long a time, now, I gotta think back a while to where I should start. Well,” She leaned back in her seat, sipped from the soda can, set it on the table and closed her eyes, “Tanya's been married for almost as long as you been gone. She's got two kids, one boy and one girl, and if you didn't know any better, you wouldn't know which one was which. Her husband's been lucky enough to stay employed at the 'Multi-conglomerate-that-shall-not-be-named' despite Charlie's constant needling about it. Tanya's been working at Esme's Cafe just up the road a ways from here, and she's good people. And Charlie, well, she's not a whole lot different.” Margot sort of half-winked, like she meant to wink, thought better of it, but didn't get the memo out in time to stop before it was too late. “I don't know if you heard, or not, but she got in a motorcycle accident back, oh what year is it? I guess it's been about six or so years ago, now. She mangled herself good, got her right arm caught up in between the bike and the car that pulled out in front of her.” Portland's eyes widened. She had not heard about this.

  “Wow, that sucks. She seems to be okay, now, though, huh?”

  “Yeah, but, my god, you'd think the apocalypse was upon us when it happened. She was gonna Valkyrie people left and right, according to her. You know how she was. Every little thing was a personal attack, so you can imagine how she took it when someone jumped out in front of her and made her crash. She was acting like they had done it on purpose, to assault her.” Margot chuckled. “She moped around here for a while, once she got out of the hospital. She wouldn't eat, wouldn't work, just kept complaining about her missing arm. I'd give her a task, anything to keep her occupied, and she'd quit before she even started. Now, I love my girls, you included,” Portland wished she could blush, but was caught unawares by other areas activating. She looked away, quickly. “But, I was about to lose my damn mind with her shuffling through here, whining and pontificating. I set up an appointment, sold Harold's old car, for a pittance, and bought her that new arm.”

  Portland hummed and thought back to the night at the restaurant, when she didn't know their waitress “Charlie” was her Charlie. She thought about it a bit more than she had before this point, but Charlie seemed to be doing pretty well these days. She had always been pretty, but the weight-loss, which Margot's story could account for, had made her almost unrecognizable. Back in the day, Charlie had been, maybe slightly Rubenesque, but at the restaurant, little remained of that figure, save for a bit around the thighs and buttocks. And her face had thinned, which is what had thrown Portland off the most. Portland realized that Margot was staring at her. She must have been silent for a while, or maybe the things she was thinking about were showing on her face. That wasn't impossible.

  “And, and what about you, Miss B? You got any hot mans coming round here, these days?” Portland spoke without too much thought, then wondered if she was possibly bringing up a sore spot, and maybe she shouldn't have asked that. Or at least, maybe not in the crude way she had.

  “Oh, no, not 'these days' these days. It's been a good year or so, but my god, that last one was good enough to last a while.” She smiled ear-to-ear.

  “Oh, really? What happened to him, or should I not be asking?”

  “Naw, it's
nothing too bad. He finally got smarted up, and went back to his wife and kids.”

  Portland, if she could have, would have gone dead pale, at this. She had never considered Margot to be a homewrecker type of person. “Hmm, questionable ethics, but who am I to judge?” She smiled weakly.

  “They were estranged, Portland.” She gave Portland a chiding look. “I mean, I'm good and all, but that's not the same as a family, you know.”

  Portland did know. She had gone to great lengths to try to fill the void left behind when her parents had died, and she knew she would have traded anything in the world to have them back. Margot could feel the sadness emanating from Portland, although it didn't show on Portland's face, and she tried to lighten the mood.

  “His cock, though.” She took on a dreamy look. “I'd sack Rome for that thing.”

  Portland laughed, and Margot was pleased it had worked. Margot's face drooped a little into a more serious expression, and she leaned forward, matching Portland's elbows-on-the-table stance.

  “So, what have you been doing all these years? Charlie says you've gone full prosthetic, and judging by your beautiful eyes, I'd believe her.”

  “Yeah, there's that.” Portland shifted in her seat. “Let's see if I can edit this into a brief description. Charlie left, I wandered the Earth a bit, gathering followers, you know the story, the Mi-Go still chant my name, bought a house, ruled over my empty kingdom with occasional visits from my loyal servant, Thom,” She winked. “Then I got into a... career... that played well to my strengths, so to speak, sold my house to go full prosthetic, escaped the bounds of the mortal meat-cage, and since then, I've been a post-human whirlwind of violence and treasure hoarding.” She paused for a second, as if thinking about it for the first time, “Huh, I'm basically an actual dragon. Minus the fire breathing.”