Last time:
"What do you want?" he groaned, turning back. He was sure he was going to kick himself for this later.
"Not much," he said, handing him the promised money. "How well do you know Bulma Briefs, Vegeta?"
Chapter 2: The Stage is Set
"Are you sure you're okay, B?"
"Yes, Chi-Chi, I'm fine," Bulma sighed, and dropped her backpack to the floor next to her desk. "I just…It's going to take some getting used to is all. I know I made the right choice."
"I still can't believe you're leaving us to go to England. What snobby bastards live over there."
Bulma rolled her eyes at her other best friend, 18 Gero. In the event of Bulma's decision to end things with Yamcha, Chi-Chi and 18 were practically forcing her to spend the weekend with them. No boys allowed. Goku and Krillin, their long-time boyfriends, were none too pleased to be shunned for an entire weekend, but they complied. Bulma was, after all, their friend too.
"Shut up, 18," she laughed, shaking her head. "You know how long I've wanted to go there. Besides, my dad already said you two could use a company jet to come see me any time you want."
It was well into the night, around two in the morning, when the subject of Yamcha came up again. All three girls had consumed a number of cocktails, provided by Mrs. Briefs, who they'd watched several movies with in their home theater earlier that evening. When the lady of the house decided to turn in, the girls retreated to Bulma's room, taking their remaining glasses of strawberry daiquiris.
"I still don't get it," Chi-Chi said, thumbing through a photo album she'd dragged out of Bulma's closet. "This thing is full of pictures of you and Yamcha. And it's not the only one. You're telling us that after four years you don't love him?"
"Well I'm not a genius at everything," Bulma grunted into her drink. "Look at all those billionaires out there who marry women half their age and don't see that they're after their money. Smart people are idiots when it comes to love."
"Yamcha wasn't a gold digger," 18 laughed, and grabbed the album from Chi-Chi, tossing it aside. "His family has more money than they know what to do with."
"I never said he was," Bulma sighed. "I meant that I didn't know what I wanted. I liked him in junior high, and when he asked me out in high school I said yes. I don't know how four years went by so quickly, but before I knew it I was accepted at Claremont and I couldn't see Yamcha in the picture, no matter how hard I tried to put him there."
"What I don't get," Chi-Chi stepped in, shooting 18 a playful glare for taking the photo album from her, "is how you can't be upset over this. I mean, no matter your romantic feelings for him, he was still a part of your life for four years, B."
Bulma sighed and nodded, her bottom lip tucked under the top one.
"I told him I still wanted to be friends," she finally said, and there was no denying the sheen over her eyes was the cause of oncoming tears. "I said I wanted things to be the way they used to be…and he…he…" She burst into a fit of sobs so suddenly that Chi-Chi and 18 had almost no time to react. They wrapped a blanket around her and held her close, rubbing her back in slow circles until the sobs were reduced to a few soft sniffles.
"What did he do?" 18 asked cautiously.
"He said, 'Screw you, Bulma,' and slammed the door," Bulma said monotone, her eyes staring off, unseeing. "I left him to keep from hurting him…But, somehow, I hurt him anyway…Do you think…Do you think he…loves me?"
The sense of dread was so heavily laced through her voice that neither Chi-Chi nor 18 could muster the courage to tell her the truth. So instead they shook their heads and suggested another movie.
The money was sitting on his nightstand, an old plastic milk crate that double as a place to keep his records. He only had a few records, mostly ones he'd been given by the police station after they'd cleaned out his parents' house. One or two he'd bought himself, and a couple more his best and only friend, Goku, had given him. Not that he would ever admit to anyone that he associated with someone like him.
For hours he'd been staring at the money, turning over in his head whether or not he should do what had been asked of him. He'd been given the opportunity to take the money and think it over. If he wasn't "up for it" then he simply had to give the money back. The only problem was that he really did need the money. His hours had been cut back again at work and the rent was due soon. If he was late on another payment then surely the landlord would have a good enough reason to kick him out. He was already toeing the line; one more wrong move and he was homeless. And nothing could make him willingly endure that again. It had only been a few nights sleeping in the bus station, right after his parents died, but it was enough of a taste to make him do anything to avoid it.
With a heavy sigh, he grabbed three of the five hundred and stuffed it into an envelope marked: Rent-Ouji. Slipping on his coat over his two sweatshirts—because the building wasn't heated this early in winter, and hardly at all even then, and especially not the hallways—he headed for his landlord's room on the first floor. He didn't bother to knock, knowing that he wouldn't be a welcomed visitor, and slipped the rent under the door. But afterwards, he didn't go back to his apartment, not just yet.
The bodega a block from his apartment building had a payphone out front. He waited for the old woman inside to finish her call, then hurried in after her, stuffing two quarters in the slot to endure his time didn't run out. He didn't need to look at the slip of paper in his wallet to know the number. He'd been staring at it all day, trying to make a decision.
"Hello?" came a voice at the other end. There was some minimal noise in the background, like the person he'd called was at a restaurant or in the bathroom at a club. "Is this you, Vegeta?" the voice asked, with a little cynical laugh, when he said nothing.
"Yeah," he sighed, his forehead pressed against the side of the phone booth.
"Well, do we have a deal or not?"
For nearly a minute he didn't answer, the phone cord twisted so tightly around his fingers they were turning blue. But that could have been due to the early December air. It hadn't snowed in nearly a week and a half, but that didn't mean it wasn't going to. And when it did, Vegeta was going to have to prepare himself for another long, cold winter.
"Yeah," he said, dropping the cord.
"Perfect. When's your lunch break at work tomorrow? I don't want to discuss details over the phone."
"I don't take lunch breaks," he said through his teeth. He'd never taken lunch breaks because they ate away too much of the time he could use to make money.
"Alright." Yamcha was beginning to get a little annoyed. Maybe he wasn't the right guy for the job. "When do you get off work?"
"Eleven."
"You work from nine in the morning to eleven at night on a Saturday with no breaks?" He wasn't buying it.
"No." Since when did their agreement involve Yamcha knowing everything about his life? "I work from seven to three at Rick's (a hardware store) and four to eleven at SCC."
"SCC?" Yamcha laughed, and Vegeta could just see him throwing back his head. Little rich boy with no job and money getting thrown at him just for being alive. Why was he allowing himself to put up with such humiliation? "What the hell do you do working for the community college? Don't tell me you're teaching night classes, Ouji."
Vegeta gritted his teeth. Who did this guy think he was? Two days ago and he would have been walking on the other side of the hall to avoid him, flinching if they made eye-contact. Now he was blatantly mocking him.
"I can give you a nice black eye to match that stupid laugh of yours," Vegeta said, almost casually. "Make one more remark about me or how I live and I'll give you something to spend that money of yours on."
For a moment the line was silent.
"Where are you from three to four?"
"Sitting on my ass," he scoffed. "Walking from Rick's to SCC, you moron. What did you think I was doing?"
"Don't bother. I'll pick you up at the hardware store at three. I'll buy you lunch, then drop you off at the school. We can talk then. Alright?"
"No, not alright. I'm not going to be seen getting into a car with you, rich boy. I'll meet you in the parking garage across the street, second level."
"Is that really necess—"
"Do you want my help or not?"
"Fine," he sighed. "I'll see you then."
And the phone went dead.
"If you think I'm eating that you're out of your mind."
Goku rolled his eyes and set the steaming pizza box on the kitchen counter. If he left it here then Vegeta would eat it eventually, but never when he was actually there. He would never admit when he needed help, and Goku had seen the inside of his refrigerator. Orange juice and aging pickles were not going to cut it. He never asked, but he always wondered how Vegeta kept so physically fit with no nutrients.
"What are you doing here anyway? Don't you have a girlfriend to keep satisfied?"
"Is there a rule against coming to see my friend?" Goku asked. He took a seat at the kitchen table, which was stacked with school books and empty mugs with coffee stains. Since he was hardly ever home, he had little time to clean. He was either sleeping between jobs and school, or doing his homework. It was eleven thirty on a Saturday night and, if Rick's hadn't cut his hours, then he would be in bed so he could get up at six for work.
"We're not friends," Vegeta insisted, flopping back on his bed. His apartment wasn't exactly meant for having more than one person in it. It was one room with a big bed, kitchen table, three feet of counter space, and a fridge and stove. The bathroom was down the hall. "You don't need to come and check in on me, Kakarot. I'm not a child. I've been doing this for a long time."
"Just because you're used to being on your own doesn't mean you should be." He leaned back on two legs, the back of the chair hitting the counter. "Have you ever talked to 17 or 18 Gero?"
"17 works at Rick's sometimes. I've seen 18 at school."
"So that's a no?"
"Yes, mom, that's a no. Is there a point here?"
"I think you'd like them."
"Okay, Kakarot," he sighed. "Let's pretend for a minute that I have the luxury of free time, that I can see anyone outside of school. What makes them so special that I'd want to spend time with them?"
"Their adopted father died last year."
"How sad for them."
Goku groaned, but continued on.
"Vegeta, he was the owner of Gero Incorporated, the computer empire."
"So!" He was starting to get on his nerves. He could be doing something productive right now instead of listening blabber on about people he doesn't give a damn about.
"When he died the company went to them. They're doing great in managing the company while still in school, but they need more technicians. I know you get nothing short of A's when it comes to computers, and I know about the classes you're taking and acing at SCC." He took a deep breath and stood, a goofy grin painted across his face. "I already talked to them, and they said if you go in tomorrow at ten then they'll interview you."
"What do I need another job for?" he spat, though that wasn't the reason he was upset. How had Goku found out about his classes at the college? They were advanced courses, extensions of his classes at the high school, and fully paid for. From four to seven he took two classes there, and then stocked the book shelves in the library from seven to eleven. He felt so betrayed that he almost didn't hear his next words.
"It won't be another job Vegeta!" he cried excitedly. "It'll be your only job. They said the lowest position gets $15 an hour; head techs get $25. You'll be able to quit at Rick's and Satan Community College."
"You're assuming that I'm even going to go to the dumb interview. I have enough to worry about. I don't need to stress over whether or not I'm getting another job, Kakarot. You can tell your friends no. I'm not interested."
"Just give it a shot, Vegeta. What's the worst that could happen?"
"I could die," he bit sarcastically. "Now will you go? I have a ten page paper due Monday and I haven't even started it yet."
"Fine," Goku sighed, defeated. And he'd been so sure he would accept the interview. "But just know that they said a lot of people are due to retire after the New Year. That gives you a month to think about it."
"Thanks, Kakarot," he said, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "I'll be sure to think about it."
"Don't patronize me, Vegeta. I'm just trying to—"
"Help?" he laughed. "Incase you haven't noticed, I never asked for your help."
"Fine. I'll see you Monday."
"Don't count on it."
Vegeta was halfway around the corner, when he was pulled back, coming face to face with the last person he wanted to see.
"What do you want?"
"Just making sure we're clear on everything," Yamcha said. "If everything goes smoothly, I'll give you a check for one hundred dollars next week. And a check every week for as long as it takes."
"Why are you so hell bent on this?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.
"Just do what you're being paid to do." He suddenly tensed and moved to the side. "Now's your chance." He gave him a thumbs up and slunk away, but not before seeing the finger Vegeta had to show him.
She came walking down the hall so fast he had almost no time to prepare himself, to look casual. The first thing he noticed was not her hair, her defying characteristic, but the way she walked, with one arm at the side and the other bent and clutching her elbow, her head down, as if she weren't a confident young woman with everything in the world.
He stuck out his leg and waited to hear her fall, but nothing came. When he looked up, she was standing right in front of him, a strange smile playing on her lips.
"Why did you trying to trip me?" she asked, as though she were a teacher and he the student in trouble.
"I wasn't," he said a little too quickly.
"Alright, Vegeta," she laughed, confusing him further. What was so funny? And how the hell did she know his name?
"How do you know my name?" seemed to be the more logical of the two questions to ask.
"Who doesn't know who you are?" was her response. "Underclassmen are afraid of you, and the seniors know enough to stay away. Most of the rumors flying around this Kami forsaken place are about you. How's the striper wife and step-daughter, anyway?"
He tried to stop it, but the laugh escaped regardless. He covered his mouth and faked a cough, hoping she hadn't heard. But he wasn't so lucky. And he was definitely regretting his arrangement with Yamcha. Not that he couldn't do it, but something told him he was going to get more than just money, and not nearly as good as that.
"They're good," he said nonchalantly with a shrug. "She makes good tips." And it was then that it dawned on him. She was the first person outside of Goku and his co-worker and teachers that he'd actually talked to in so long he couldn't remember. And, against his will, he was actually enjoying himself. Maybe it was because he could see through her smile and that she was miserable just like him, and he could relate to that. Or maybe it was the money he'd received and would continue to receive. Something wasn't right. He could feel it. But it was too late to back out now.
"That's good," she laughed softly, though almost immediately her face went grim. "Shit." Vegeta looked up to see Yamcha coming down the hall, backtracking. For a moment he thought he was looking for him, when he winked, then looked away, and it clicked. He was baiting Bulma to react to his presence. Vegeta was the only one around and therefore the only one to "protect" her from Yamcha. And no matter how much he didn't want to admit it, Pretty Boy was damn good at this revenge thing. "Walk with me," she said out of the corner of her mouth, her entire body tensing. She grabbed his elbow and started down the hall in the opposite direction Yamcha was going.
They reached an empty corridor and she let go, sighing loudly.
"Thanks. I can't stand being alone with him. He's always staring at me."
"Uh, yeah." When was the last time he'd had female contact? Besides Kito, who hadn't been around in months and who he could care less about.
"I'm Bulma by the way."
"Do you really think that's necessary?" he mocked. And to his complete surprise she laughed.
"True." She glanced at her watch, then back at him. "You know, you're not as scary up close. Mind walking a girl to her car?"
The opportunity was too perfect to pass up.
"Only if you don't mind giving a guy a ride to work," he countered with a smirk.
"Deal," she said, snatching up his hand and giving it a quick shake. "Rick's, right?"
"How did you—"
"I'm friends with 17. I think he has a crush on you."
And to this all Vegeta could do was laugh.
"Is there a problem with that?"
"No," he sighed, trying to control his laughter. "Just a first."
"Good, because I won't tolerate homophobes."
"What do I care what other people do in their own beds?"
"Brilliant." And for the second time in less than five minutes she grabbed his arm and started leading him down the hall.
I had a bunch of free time today (being a day off from school), so I decided to write chapter two. Things are moving sort of fast for Bulma and Vegeta, but take into consideration that she's kind of vulnerable after her break-up and he's being paid to be with her, or at least be around her for now. He's a little OOC because he has to get Bulma to like him, this will change as time goes on.
REVIEW and I shall update :)
