Chapter Twelve
Marty was just leaving The Little Red Hen as I was going in. She took one look at me and changed her course from her car to step into line beside me. She eyed the stack of papers clutched in my hand curiously. "Ben," she said, "I didn't know you worked today."
"I don't."
She looked at the papers again, then back up at me. "Thought you were at the Backstreet Boy's house today?" she asked. Ah yes, she liked grilling me for information about my experiences at Brian's house.
"I was," I answered.
"And?"
"And now I'm here."
We walked into the main entryway and the doors parted and, as always, I thought of Star Trek. I don't know what it is about automated doors but they always made me think of Star Trek.
"You know, you still haven't arranged my meeting with Mr. Littrell," she said in an accusatory tone, wagging her finger at me.
"I still haven't agreed to arrange said meeting," I answered.
"Minor details, minor details," Marty replied, waving off their presence. She was getting out of breath. My gait was naturally almost twice as long as hers, so she had to scurry to keep up. "You're a man on a mission this afternoon," she noted.
"That I am."
"Where are we headed?"
"I am headed to Mr. Wilder's office."
"Why?"
"I need to request some time off," I answered.
Marty jumped in front of me. "Already? After a month working here? Where are you going?"
"I got another job," I answered, "And I need two months leave."
"Two months --" Marty's eyes widened like she'd just swallowed a bug or something. "Where are you going?"
"Out of town," I answered.
"Where in the hell did you get another job toda--" she stopped midword. I raised an eyebrow. She gasped, covered her mouth. "Oh SHIT, Ben, you're gonna be a Backstreet Boy?!"
I rolled my eyes, "Clearly, you've never heard me sing before."
Actually I had never heard me sing, but that's besides the point.
I stepped around her and started on my way again toward the service desk. I shook my head when I heard her scramble after me, panting and bursting with questions that she couldn't put words around beside little squeals that sounded like the very beginnings of words. "I'm gonna be a stagehand," I answered her unspoken questions, "You know. A roadie."
"Do they need another one?" Marty's voice was thick with hope.
"I doubt it," I replied.
We'd reached Mr. Wilder's office door and I knocked, Marty hanging right behind me. "Come in," Mr. Wilder called and I opened the door, about to step in, but Marty shoved by me. Mr. Wilder's eyes widened, "Marty, now what did you do?" he reached instinctively for a work injury form.
"Ben's gonna be a Backstreet Boy!" she gushed.
"What?" Mr. Wilder looked perplexed, "A - a - a Backstreet Boy? What?"
"You say yes to him Oz, or I swear to God..." Marty muttered, "I want my free tickets."
"What is going on?"
"A stagehand," I interrupted, "I'm going to be a stagehand on the Backstreet Boys' tour. Brian Littrell himself requested that I go along with them. And I don't think I can get free tickets," I said looking at Marty. "I already told you that when you asked me if the painting job came with tickets."
"Stagehand is more important."
Mr. Wilder looked even more confused, so I handed him a copy of the tour itinerary that Brian had given me. "I was hoping," I said as he looked it over, "That I would be able to return to the Little Red Hen when I got back?"
Mr. Wilder looked up from the page. "Wow," he said, "You're serious."
"Oz, you gotta let this happen," Marty gasped.
Mr. Wilder raised an eyebrow at her, then turned to me, returning the itinerary. "Despite your -er- cheerleader here," he said, "Your job will be here for you when you return, Ben."
"Thank you sir," I said.
"So he's going?" Marty clarified.
Mr. Wilder nodded, "Apparently so."
"YES!" Marty shouted. "I'm so going to meet the Backstreet Boys!" and with that jubilation, she trotted out of the office.
I looked at Mr. Wilder, "Wow," I said.
"I know," he said, shaking his head and neatening a stack of papers in front of him, "Who the hell ever would've guessed that under that serious deli-woman front lay a rabid teenager?"
I stood outside the cafe, staring at the doors. I could see Kim inside working. I was so excited to tell her, but at the same time I didn't really want to burst into the cafe yelling about working for the Backstreet Boys, just incase there were other seemingly-calm-adult-women-who-acted-psycho-upon-their-mention (ala Marty). So, I waited out on the sidewalk by the window until I was noticed. It took a bit, but eventually she looked up from wiping the counter down, spotted me, and smiled. I motioned for her to come out to me and she gave me the one minute finger, then turned away. I puffed out my cheeks and took a deep breath. A moment later, Kim stepped out of the coffee shop. "What's up?" she asked.
I took a deep breath. "A couple weeks ago, I was talking to someone and they asked where I was from and without really thinking about it I answered and I said California."
Kim's eyes were glued to mine.
"So that night I Googled California and looked through about nine hundred pictures until I found this one of the Los Angeles airport and, I dunno. I felt something, like it was familiar almost," I explained, "And I wanted to, you know, save money and eventually go to California and see if anything here jogs my memory."
"Okay..." Kim nodded, and I could see in her eyes that she was playing a game of connect-the-dots in her head.
"Today, I was at Brian Littrell's house," I continued, "And they're leaving for tour soon and they need a roadie... and..." I paused as dawn lit on her face.
"You got hired as a roadie," she said.
"Yeah."
"Okay, cool." She paused. "When um, when do you - do you leave?"
"Monday."
"Monday. As in two days from now, Monay?"
"Yeah, short notice."
"Jesus." She turned away and walked a couple paces, leaning against the brick building. "I'll say it is," she muttered.
"Its so perfect, I mean sure it's short notice, but what other chance am I gonna get to go see California and investigate this stuff?" I asked, "I mean, it's like they're paying me, even."
Kim nodded.
"Am I crazy? For considering doing this?"
"No," she answered, "No I mean like you said, when are you gonna get a chance to do this again?" she shrugged. "Well. I --" she smiled, "I hope you have a great time, Ben." She turned to the door of the cafe and grabbed the handle, pulling the door open.
"Wait. Why do you say it like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like it's goodbye."
"Right, you'll come in for your usual for the next two days, of course I'll see you then." She nodded. "I'll see you then, then."
"Yeah," I nodded, "And --"
"There's no and, Ben." Kim shook her head. She pushed the door to the cafe open and went inside. Her hand flew to her face and she wiped away what I assumed were tears.
It wasn't until that moment that I realized that the news might upset her.
After Self by Pengi
