whipped off four fifties.
About forty-five minutes later, someone thumped on the glass doors. Nicole nodded to the security guard, who turned the key left in the lock, opening the door with a flourish. “Do I get some?” he asked.
“Sure.”
The delivery guy was so short that she couldn’t see his face behind the stack of pizza boxes. Nicole took five off the top and set them aside. “How much?”
“A hundred forty with the soda.” He went back outside to get drinks from the huge wire basket mounted on his bicycle. He must have balanced the insulated pizza carrier on top.
She handed him the cash. “Could I have a receipt, please? Take out twenty for yourself.”
The deliveryman seemed happy with his generous tip. One of the crew came running over to help, whooping as he took the boxes away.
The guy folded the money and stuffed it into his pocket, giving her the scrawled receipt and change in small bills. Then he tried to look over her shoulder when someone cranked the music to full-blast volume.
“You havin’ a party in here?”
“No.”
“Sounds like a party.”
She glanced in the direction of his gaze. A female freelancer was dancing with a slice of pizza in her mouth and a hammer in her hand, swinging it in time with the thumping beat.
“Looks like a party,” the deliveryman said hopefully. He eyed her, and Nicole wished she still had her baggy workshirt on—or failing that, a garbage bag. Hard to believe anyone thought she was hot with no makeup and her hair under a dirty bandanna.
“It isn’t. We’re installing new windows. Good-bye.” Nicole walked him backward toward the door and used it to move him out to the sidewalk. The security guard was chowing down on a slice and soda.
“Mmf. Sorry,” he said when he came back, chewing. “Good pizza. Get some before it’s all gone.”
Nicole went over to the others, selecting a cheese slice and devouring it.
Xandro clapped his hands when they’d all eaten. “Wash up, people. Time to dress our boys and girls.”
One of the freelancers had already taken apart the mannequins. A row of upturned legs awaited their ENJ jeans, socks, and shoes. The matching torsos would be stuck on and arms added, then dressed. Plaster heads, wigs on, were being artfully smudged with gray powder.
Nicole exchanged a look with Finn. They were probably thinking the same thing. The concept was depressing. Not a trace of red, no sparkle, not an iota of holiday cheer. But it was what they were getting paid to do.
Hours later, the installation was complete and the skinniest freelancer had squeezed between the Plexiglas and the store window to rip out the concealing paper. Not a soul was on the streets besides Xandro, videotaping the windows from the outside.
He came back in, shivering. “Stay where you are, everybody. I have to send videos of everything to Kevin Talley. Remember the name. He’s the CEO of Emperor. Which is ENJ’s parent company, in case you didn’t know.”
Xandro began to whistle as he plugged the video recorder into his laptop’s USB port.
“He is going to love it, just love it,” he enthused.
No one else seemed to share the visual manager’s passion. But then Xandro wasn’t totally exhausted and covered in dust.
The freelancers pulled off masks and gloves, filling up another huge trash barrel with that and the crumpled paper. Finn dragged out several vacuum cleaners from a utility closet and asked for volunteers.
The noise made Xandro look up from his laptop. “Can you keep it down?” he asked irritably. “Talley’s looking at the videos right now. Says he’ll get right back to me.”
He stared into the laptop again, its glowing screen reflected in his black-framed glasses.
Slumped on a folding chair, Nicole amused herself by looking at the twin reflections in his lenses. She saw him frown and his eyes widen.
“Oh no. He hates it. Absolutely hates it,” Xandro muttered. He typed quickly on the keyboard in
About forty-five minutes later, someone thumped on the glass doors. Nicole nodded to the security guard, who turned the key left in the lock, opening the door with a flourish. “Do I get some?” he asked.
“Sure.”
The delivery guy was so short that she couldn’t see his face behind the stack of pizza boxes. Nicole took five off the top and set them aside. “How much?”
“A hundred forty with the soda.” He went back outside to get drinks from the huge wire basket mounted on his bicycle. He must have balanced the insulated pizza carrier on top.
She handed him the cash. “Could I have a receipt, please? Take out twenty for yourself.”
The deliveryman seemed happy with his generous tip. One of the crew came running over to help, whooping as he took the boxes away.
The guy folded the money and stuffed it into his pocket, giving her the scrawled receipt and change in small bills. Then he tried to look over her shoulder when someone cranked the music to full-blast volume.
“You havin’ a party in here?”
“No.”
“Sounds like a party.”
She glanced in the direction of his gaze. A female freelancer was dancing with a slice of pizza in her mouth and a hammer in her hand, swinging it in time with the thumping beat.
“Looks like a party,” the deliveryman said hopefully. He eyed her, and Nicole wished she still had her baggy workshirt on—or failing that, a garbage bag. Hard to believe anyone thought she was hot with no makeup and her hair under a dirty bandanna.
“It isn’t. We’re installing new windows. Good-bye.” Nicole walked him backward toward the door and used it to move him out to the sidewalk. The security guard was chowing down on a slice and soda.
“Mmf. Sorry,” he said when he came back, chewing. “Good pizza. Get some before it’s all gone.”
Nicole went over to the others, selecting a cheese slice and devouring it.
Xandro clapped his hands when they’d all eaten. “Wash up, people. Time to dress our boys and girls.”
One of the freelancers had already taken apart the mannequins. A row of upturned legs awaited their ENJ jeans, socks, and shoes. The matching torsos would be stuck on and arms added, then dressed. Plaster heads, wigs on, were being artfully smudged with gray powder.
Nicole exchanged a look with Finn. They were probably thinking the same thing. The concept was depressing. Not a trace of red, no sparkle, not an iota of holiday cheer. But it was what they were getting paid to do.
Hours later, the installation was complete and the skinniest freelancer had squeezed between the Plexiglas and the store window to rip out the concealing paper. Not a soul was on the streets besides Xandro, videotaping the windows from the outside.
He came back in, shivering. “Stay where you are, everybody. I have to send videos of everything to Kevin Talley. Remember the name. He’s the CEO of Emperor. Which is ENJ’s parent company, in case you didn’t know.”
Xandro began to whistle as he plugged the video recorder into his laptop’s USB port.
“He is going to love it, just love it,” he enthused.
No one else seemed to share the visual manager’s passion. But then Xandro wasn’t totally exhausted and covered in dust.
The freelancers pulled off masks and gloves, filling up another huge trash barrel with that and the crumpled paper. Finn dragged out several vacuum cleaners from a utility closet and asked for volunteers.
The noise made Xandro look up from his laptop. “Can you keep it down?” he asked irritably. “Talley’s looking at the videos right now. Says he’ll get right back to me.”
He stared into the laptop again, its glowing screen reflected in his black-framed glasses.
Slumped on a folding chair, Nicole amused herself by looking at the twin reflections in his lenses. She saw him frown and his eyes widen.
“Oh no. He hates it. Absolutely hates it,” Xandro muttered. He typed quickly on the keyboard in
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