Rouge the bat admired her reflection in the glass countertop. Only two weeks till Christmas, she thought, smoothing the eye shadow on her left eyelid with her little finger, then adjusting her wavy white fur. Shoppers crowded the aisles of the brightly-lit department store. The Christmas carols jangling out over the loudspeakers were nearly drowned out by the steady roar of voices, of shuffling feet, of ringing phones, crying babies, the whole electric buzz and whir of all large department stores at holiday time. Rouge leaned against the glass perfume counter, ignoring the blur of customers, her gloved fingers tapping against the glass, a nervous habit she rather enjoyed. She glanced up at the clock. Another hour until lunchtime, when she could escape her narrow, noisy prison cell.
What am I doing here, anyway? Because I can sneak jewels in my pocket! Rouge thought to herself.
Her cold aqua eyes focused on the makeup counter across the aisles, where two salesgirls, blond model types, had scurried to wait on a dumpy woman in a strained purple sweater-coat, carrying two brown shopping bags.
How tacky, Rouge thought scornfully. That woman is beyond makeup. She should go straight to plastic surgery.
And look at the bleach job on the one over there. Or is her hair naturally green?
Rouge snickered. Making fun of the customers was the only thing that got her through the day. They were all so pitiful. They just didn't have a clue.
She glanced up at the clock. It hadn't moved. I could be out enjoying my Saturday, Rouge thought. She rubbed the back of her neck, then pushed her fur into place.
Why do they have to keep it two hundred degrees in here? She wondered, shaking her head. She felt as if she were suffocating. I'm going to talk to the president about turning down the heat, she decided.
What was that awful song on the speakers? Not "The little drummer boy" again! Someone should pass a law against playing that song in a public place, Rouge thought, covering her ears.
She was startled by a tap on her shoulder. She spun around to see Topaz, the sales manager for the perfume department and Rouge's partner in the government. She was tall, tough woman who thought she was chic and trendy because she wore men's suits.
Yuck. Those tacky shoulder pads! Thought rouge. Is she going to try out for a football team?
"Rouge, do you have an earache?" Topaz asked, her face wrinkled in concern.
Rouge lowered her hands from her ears. "No. It's that song," She explained. "If you hear it once, it stays in your head all day and rots your brain."
"Well. I really don't think –" Topaz started to scold.
But Rouge interrupted her. "It's all the rum-tum-tums," She said. "I mean, really, how many rum-tum-tums can a human take in one song?"
Topaz ignored the question. "Rouge, I'll take the floor for a while. The channel reorder just came in. It's all in the back. In the cases marked Chanel. I'd like you to open them up and stock the display shelves, okay?"
"Gee, I can't," Rouge said, not sounding at all apologetic. "I just did my nails this morning." She stared hard into her partner's eyes, as if challenging her.
"What?" Topaz's small blue eyes widened with confusion. She didn't seem to believe what she had just heard.
"I don't want to wreck my nails," rouge repeated, holding up her slender hands, taking off her gloves, then wiggling her fingers to exhibit the deep magenta nails. "Sorry."
Topaz's expression turned quickly to anger. She sucked in her breath and drew up to her not-very-impressive height, glaring at Rouge, obviously trying to decide how to handle this insubordination. Gee, I hope she doesn't explode, Rouge thought, forcing herself not to laugh. Her shoulder pads might fly off and hit someone.
"Rouge, I'm not going to take this much longer," Topaz said, her hands balled into tight fists at her sides, her voice quivering.
Just two more weeks, Rouge thought. Then I'll be out of here.
She didn't say anything.
This seemed to make Topaz even angrier. "I really want you to unload those cases and stock the shelves," she said, saying each word slowly and distinctly.
"Maybe later." Rouge gave her a big phony smile. "This is really the last straw!" Topaz declared. She glared at Rouge, then spun around on her men's wingtips and stormed down the aisle, heading toward the main-floor office.
Rouge leaned against the counter and watched her until she disappeared in a crowd of customers. What's her problem anyway? She asked herself.
The president owns this store. He owns all of the president s stores. Why should I listen to a stupid old gal with shoulder pads bigger then her head?
A scene across the aisle caught Rouge's attention. A woman was leaning over the makeup counter while a five- or six-years-old boy tugged at her skirt. "Mom, mom, mom," he kept repeating, an impatient plea. Then he tugged so hard, he tugged her skirt down to her knees. The woman calmly turned around, pulled up her skirt, and gently paddled the boy across the bottom.
Kids are a riot, Rouge thought, chuckling.
"Hey, miss? Miss?" Out of the corner of her eye, Rouge saw a middle-aged man in a heavy brown tweed overcoat trying to get her attention.
She carefully turned the other way, avoiding his eyes.
"Hey, miss? Miss? Please?"
Let someone else wait on him. Where was Cosmo anyway? She was supposed to be back from break. The man wandered off. Rouge took out her lipstick from the drawer, pulled off the top, and twisted the tube. She turned the round countertop mirror so that she could see herself better, leaned toward it, puckered her full lips into a pout, and began spreading the ruby lipstick on them.
It took a second for the pain to register.
Then she let out a horrified shriek and dropped the lipstick.
Gasping in pain and surprise, she stared into the small mirror and saw blood pouring down her chin. Her lips throbbed with pain. She stood frozen in horror. So much blood! Frantically she grabbed up tissues, mopping gently at her lips.
I'm cut. I'm cut.
I can't stop the bleeding.
What has happened here?
Pressing a wad of tissues against her mouth, she saw large drips of blood on the glass countertop.
Breathing hard, she bent down and searched the floor for the lipstick tube. It had rolled under the counter. She snatched at it and brought it up to the light to examine it.
Trying to hold the tube steady in her trembling hand, Rouge saw at once what had cut her.
A needle. It poked out from the center of the tube. I've used this lipstick before, Rouge thought, feeling the warm blood still running down her chin. And it was perfectly okay.
Somebody put that needle in her lipstick.
But who? Who would do such a vicious thing to her?