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Chapter 2

'This room is killing me.' I groan into the phone, lying spreadeagled across my bare mattress, my cheek pressed against the pillow. 'I swear, there's nothing more depressing than having to move in with your sister after nearly a year of failing miserably at life.'

'I know, babe.' He says. 'Hang in there, I'll see you soon, we can rag on everything and everyone in peace.'

'Sounds like heaven.' I roll over and glare resentfully at my surroundings. The room is small and cramped, dingy even despite my attempts to liven things up; posters on the walls, books in autobiographical order on the shelves, a few of my better paintings hung here and there. An uber-sensitive folk song plays through some crappy portable iPod speakers on the bedside table.

'Remember, you could always move in here.' I snort at this.

'Thanks, but sleeping on a blow-up mattress in a single room under a meth lab and above another meth lab is not the object of my aspirations. Besides, you just want someone to split the mortgage with.'

'Touche, mon amour têtu.' He pauses, and I hear him take a long drag from whatever he is smoking. 'You told your parents yet?'

'Not yet. But I will soon.' Then out of nowhere, a jam from deep in the Dirty South

cranks up, the booming bass rattling the tin cup of colored pencils over on the desk.

I sigh. 'There it is.'

'The dragon awakens. I'll talk to you later, babe.' He hangs up. Reaching over, I crank up my volume. Folksy goodness resumes. The rap music is quickly turned up in retaliation. In high dudgeon I head for the door, throw it open, and stare venomously at a bedroom down the hall, where the door is ajar, and I see that Drew is throwing shapes.

'Seriously?' Seeing me, Drew struts down the narrow passage, shaking her ass as if the hallway were one long catwalk. Not missing a beat, she drops to her ankles.

'Come on, Pipes. Get low!'

'Can we get crunk some other time?

'Fine. Keep listening to your weird pioneer music.'

'It's Lana Del Rey!'

'You lez.' We turn simultaneously as the kitchen phone gives off a harsh Brrrrr. 'Weird. The landline never rings.'

'It must be somebody old.'

I head into the kitchen (or at least, I assume it's the kitchen. It's hard to tell under the mountains of crap on every surface), and pick up the phone.

'Mclean's Mule Barn. Head ass speaking.'

'Hello?' I instantly regret picking up the phone.

'Hi Mom.'

'Sweetheart!' she croons, her accent smooth and vaguely French. 'So good to hear your voice! Have you been getting my texts?'

'No,' I lie. 'No, my phone is... it's um... so how are you?'

'We're in New York!' At these words, I begin to softly bang my head against the refrigerator door.

'Oh.' is all I can manage.

'I talked to Drew, and we've arranged to meet tonight! Isn't that exciting!' I have to hold the phone away from my ear. When my mom gets even the slightest bit excited, everything she says is said at a shockingly high rate of decibels.

'Oh.'

A wise man (well... a man, at least) once said "All change in America begins at the dinner table". Never have I felt so in sympathy with this phrase than right now.

'I'm so envious of you girls, living here in the city! You have so many neat little restaurants here!'

'Mom, this is a Red Lobster.' Drew sniggers, daintily eating shrimp off a long fork. I pick at my salad, trying not to pay close attention to the sound of people around me gorging themselves on whatever hapless ocean-dwellers happen to be available. I have been a vegetarian for twelve years now, and still my family have yet to take me to a place which serves a good salad.

'Can I ask what we're doing here? Usually we plan these sorts of things sooner. And we don't go to places with bibs, and mallets.'

A waiter skirts by carrying a thick wood-cutting board piled high with crabs in their shells. I notice his double-take upon seeing my father. Indeed, many people seem to be whispering behind their hands, and even pointing furtively in our direction. So far, we have all pretended not to notice the paparazzi leering at us through the window, though why else would my father have gelled his hair to perfection simply for a casual family dinner?

'Can't we just surprise our girls sometimes?'

'We're moving to France.' my mother says, leaning in close. The people at the next table over whack their crabs.

'Whoa.' I breathe.

'Oh wow.' Says Drew. My father looks scoldingly at my mother.

'I was gonna break it gently.'

'There's nothing gentle about this.' Another whack, and a big laugh from the table one over as they beat the daylights out of their dinner.

I do my best to wrap my head around this startling turn of events. 'Why?'

'Grandma doesn't seem to be getting any better.' my mother presses her index fingers to her temples and sighs. 'The nursing home doesn't seem to be helping any, so we are going to head out to take care of her.' my grandmother Dione was diagnosed with extreme senile dementia, as well as pancreatic cancer, and it hasn't been easy on our mom to be so far away from her aged and sickly mother.

'But, there is also some good news.' She takes dad's hand. 'Your father's movie got picked up.' The movie she is referring to is a project which has been stuck in post-production for the last nine years, a harrowing tale set in 1860s France, in which my father plays a young and rugged Pierre-Auguste Renoir.

'Okay, I'm processing this. When are you guys coming back?' Whacks, chortles, cheers issue from behind us. Drew throws the table a withering look.

'We're not sure yet. The doctors don't know how much longer she has left, but she's a tough old bird. And then there's the filming dates to take into consideration. We expect we'll be there for at least a year, if not two. Which is why we wanted to talk to you guys. Especially you, Pipes.' My dad turns to look me squarely in the eye.

'Me?'

'You know we were happy to help you get on your feet after you graduated.'

'Happy's not the word.' My mom interjects.

'But it's been eight months now...'

'You're still interning for free, and you haven't made a dime from your artwork.' I feel my face flush.

'You have to start as an intern if you want to be a designer.'

'And Piper has her first exhibition coming up.' Drew leaps to my defense.

'Oh. Where, honey?' My dad beams.

'At Drip. It's this new coffeehouse/gallery/wellness center -'

'Yeah, that's not gonna help.' Mom cuts in. I open my mouth to retort. Whack! A large piece of detached crab shell launches directly into my face. I turn irately to the table responsible.

'Could you just, you know, not?' Scolded, they put their mallets down. 'What are you saying?' My dad shifts uncomfortably. His eyes flick briefly to the reporters with their noses still pressed up against the glass. I can see his worry; if I make a scene, within a day every tabloid will be sporting the title Mclean Family Blowout!

'That you need to start taking responsibility for your own wellbeing. We can't support you any more.'

The waiter comes, tray piled high with drinks. 'Sex On The Beach?'

Drew squeals. 'Yay, right here!' For a moment, we sit in stony silence, watching her slurp her drink, before she speaks.

'Guys, don't even sweat it. I was going to wait until it was "official" official but I'm getting promoted to Regional Manager!'

'Honey, that's great!' my dad croons.

'I know, right? And I don't even know for what region! But they're giving me this ginormous raise, so I can totally take care of Piper. Problemo solved.'

'No no no. Problemo not solved.' I gaze at her disparagingly. 'I don't need you to rescue me, alright? Isn't it bad enough I have to live with you?' Everyone stares at me. Drew's lower lip begins to wobble, and my mother gives me one of her powerful glances.

'I mean thanks, is what I mean.' I mumble into my lap. 'But my internship is like seconds away from becoming a job. It's going to happen tomorrow.' There are noises of general surprise from the table. Honestly, I'm a little surprised myself.

'Really?' my mother asks, leaning forward and squeezing my wrist, as though checking for a pulse.

'Yeah, we have a big presentation coming up. At which I will be awesome, and then they'll hire me. So any and all rescuing is totally unnecessary.'

'Sweetie, that's great news.'

Drew looks supremely unconvinced. 'Why didn't you say something?'

'I guess I just wanted it to be a surprise.' I give a noncommittal shrug. 'Surprise.'

I walk into the bar, peeling the sopping wet raincoat from around my shoulders. I look up to see my boyfriend, the ever-gorgeous Dylan, sitting at the bar. His dark hair is quaffed to perfection, his grey eyes intense and saturnine as ever. He holds himself with a kind of casual grace that I can tell even when he is slumped forward with his arms crossed and his elbows on the bar. His lips are curled in their usual sultry smile. I feel my heart start to melt until I notice who he's talking to: Isabel, the waitress, and former high school rival. I inch closer. Not eavesdropping, of course not! But if I were to hear something accidentally...

'And then when I give the signal, we're all gonna jump right off the roof, and rappel down, unfurling our banners as we go.' Isabel rolls her eyes.

'The police will be waiting at the bottom.'

'I know. You think I don't know? But so will the TV cameras.'

'Awesome.' Having heard enough, I quicken my stride, snaking my arms around Dylan's shoulders and kissing him possessively before sitting down.

'Bonsoir.' He says, looking dazed.

'What are you planning?'

'The less you know, the better.'

Isabel winks at me. 'You'll see it on the news. Good to see you, Piper!' She lies.

'Great to see you too.' I lie right back. 'Could I have a beer?' Isabel continues to look at me. 'Like, now?' Sighing, she trudges off.

Dylan grins after her. 'Isabel's great.' I make a noncommittal noise, eying up Dylan's Manhattan.

'Are you eating your cherry?'

'Nope. Go fishing.' He slides it over to me.

'My parents are moving to France.' He seems to actually perk up at this.

'Génial! Sortez-les de cette merde-trou d'un pays!' I roll my eyes.

'Yeah, that's exactly what I didn't say. But I did tell them that I'm gonna get hired tomorrow, and I have no idea if that's true.' Dylan grabs my hand, which has been fruitlessly trying to grasp the cherry bobbing just out of my reach at the bottom of the glass, and kisses it, before fishing out the cherry himself, and feeding it to me gently. I feel my cheeks flush, and he tries his best to hide his smirk.

'I know what you're thinking,' I tell him. And you're wrong. I am not selling out. I'm just redirecting things.'

'But Piper, you've said it yourself, you've always wanted to be an artist.' I laugh half-heartedly.

'Yeah, like that was ever gonna happen. And besides, unlike artists, designers don't starve to death. Which I like. Everybody likes not starving to death. And before you say it, yeah I've wanted to be an artist since I was like, six. But what kind of sense does it make to let a six year-old choose your career? Do you know how many firemen there would be?'

Dylan isn't listening. He's writing with a Sharpie on the table: 'D.S+P.M'. I can't help but smile at this.

'Dylan...'

'What?' I give him the look. 'Oh.'

I awaken to the feel of Dylan's lips on mine. While occasionally comforting, and more often than not very sexy, today I just feel startled, and I know that I must have been sleep-stressing. Dylan pulls away and gazes at me, running his fingers through my hair.

'Morning.' His breath smells of smoke and something exotic, and I notice the clove cigarette in his hand. We are lying in his bed (actually just a mattress on the floor). The room's pretty bare; a couple of posters for bands no one's ever heard of, the odd environmental slogan scrawled on the wall, etc. The whole place smells of pot and aftershave. 'That was a great night. Great, right? It was great.'

I stretch, pushing him off me. 'It was good.'

'Good? Not great?'

I smirk at him. 'It was great.' I stand, and begin hunting for my clothes.

'Aw come on. Stay a little longer!' I shake my head.

'Today's really major for me.' Dylan flops onto his back, brings the cigarette to his lips and takes a long drag.

'You're a slave to the grind, Pipes.'

'That's easy for you to say. Your dad pays your rent.'

'Indirectly. He just writes the cheque. I deposit the money.' He rolls over to face me, looking sulky. It is then that I spot the alarm clock beside the bed.

'Oh god! Dylan, why the hell didn't you wake me earlier! I'm like twenty minutes late. Oh Hermes is gonna kill me.'

'Which one's Hermes?'

'My boss. The one with the snake obsession.'

'Pipes, take a chill pill. It's just a job.'

'Said the boy without one.'

'To the girl who works for free.' I glare daggers at him, before strolling towards the doorway out of this crummy little apartment.

'Not for long.'

'Piper!' a voice booms, making me jump. I look up and see my boss, a tall man in his mid 30's strolling quickly towards me. He is wearing a lurid green suit, and a tie decorated with two intwined serpents. I do my best to straighten out the creases in my shirt, but I can tell from his subtly horrified expression that I am looking more than a little flustered from my hurried commute. He grasps me by the shoulders, beaming.

'I'm so on right now. Are you on?'

'Y-yeah, I'm really on.' I stutter, quailing under the force of his manic energy.

'Good. Cos we're putting you in the game, kiddo.'

'What?'

'The model we hired got deported back to Wherever-istan,' I resist the urge to face-palm. 'so you're demonstrating the Intellichair.'

'What?' he sighs.

'Piper, this isn't hard to understand. You. Do chair. Happy client. Happy Hermes. Yay.' He turns at a sharp angle, heads towards the conference room at a brisk clip.

'I'm just not sure...'

'Listen, the Meridian people are already in the war room, tearing up the croissants like wolverines. So if you're sure you're on... let's go!'

Barely a moment later, I am shifting awkwardly in the conference room, trying my best to tuck in my shirt without drawing attention. A bunch of skeptics in suits are listening as Hermes, sparking like a hairdryer in the bathtub, gives his presentation.

'After the invention of the chair that becomes a flat bed, the major airlines pretty much gave up searching for improvements in their seating. Job done, they thought. But not you guys at Meridian. You came here. And said help us. Help our customers. We don't think it's possible to make the seats on our planes more comfortable. But d'you think we can make them less complicated?' He pauses for dramatic effect.

'Ladies and germs, I present to you ... the Intellichair.' I step forward, and with a flourish, pull the sheet off the large bulky object behind me. The sheet snags. Of course. Hermes closes his eyes in exasperation. I pull again, harder than before, and this time the sheet flies off, revealing a chair. It looks a lot like any other airplane seat.

'I know what you're thinking. It looks a lot like any other airplane seat. And yet look closer...' Everyone leans forward. I can tell they're into this. 'Three buttons on the armrest, just three. "Watch". "Eat". And "Sleep". Press, and the Intellichair does the thinking, and moving, for you. My lovely assistant Piper...'

I sit down in the "Intellichair" and beam round at everyone. There is a moment of silence, before Hermes clears his throat.

'And speaking...'

I blush. 'Oh. Right. Yes, feels good. Luxurious, even. I think I'll watch some TV. Oh look, a button marked "Watch".' I say theatrically. I hit the button. The chair goes back a bit, the footrest comes out. A TV emerges from a cubbyhole, turns itself on. And a remote appears magically out of the armrest. There are murmurs of appreciation all round. I continue.

'Is it time for food already? Okay, then let's eat.' I hit the button marked "Eat". The chair comes up a bit, a table unfolds itself, and a knife and fork appear out of a side drawer. Even I am blown away by this. Now there is even louder appreciation. This is going like gangbusters. I continue to beam at everyone.

'Well, after all that, I'm pretty tired. Time to sleep.' I hit "Sleep". The TV and tray vanish, the chair flattens out. A blanket flies up and lands right on my lap. I beam wider than ever (honestly, my cheeks are beginning to hurt).

'The Intellichair. A vision of the future, a luxury in the present.' I give a big phony yawn. 'Goodnight.' I close my eyes. And the light above my head goes out.

That's it. They're on their feet. They'd be reaching for their checkbooks right now, if only they could stop applauding.

Hermes practically glides forward, chest thrust out as if waiting for someone to pin a medal on him. 'Thank you, thank you. Piper? Take a bow with me.' I go to sit up. But as I rise, the head of the chair comes up with me. The applause stops. I firmly push the chair back down. All's good again.

Hermes attempts to brush over the awkwardness. 'There you go. Now why don't we adjourn to my office -' The TV suddenly rockets out of the cubbyhole, nearly braining me. I give a little shriek and flatten myself against the chair.

Hermes keeps going. 'Where beverages and assorted fingerfoods will be -' A blanket shoots out of the chair, and up into the air. Then another, then another. I'm under attack.

'And we're walking...' But no one's following him. Because now knives and forks are sliding out of the chair, like quarters from a slot machine. I yell louder as I do my best to avoid being skewered by forks or cut in half by knives. I am under serious attack.

Hermes practically shrieks. 'Let's go! Hustle hustle hustle!' He herds the executives out of the room.

As the door closes, the chair suddenly stops its assault. There's a moment of calm. Then the top and bottom of the chair slam up together, jamming me in. I'm an Intellichair sandwich.

'I thought that went okay.' I tell Hermes as he waves off the Meridian people with his usual manic enthusiasm.

'Hard to see how it could have gone better.' He says dryly.

'Listen, this may not be the best time, but we really need to talk about my future. I've been interning here a while now, and... and the thing is I just can't afford to work for free anymore.'

Hermes sighs. 'I get that. Well, we've really enjoyed having you here.'

I blink. 'Are you... Are you firing me?'

'Well, if you're not willing to work like this anymore - and let me tell you Sweetstuff, half of the graduating class of 2016 will be applying for your unpaid internship - then it sounds like you're firing yourself.' He turns away.

'Wait a second.' He turns back. 'Please...'

'Look, I'm sorry. I'm not sorry, but you know. You've done a bang-up job here, but it's just not in the budget.' He pats me on the shoulder. 'But hey, thanks for playing!' He turns once more, and walks away.

'You're making a mistake, Hermes. I'm going to get another job. A creative, rewarding job that I will be awesome at. Just watch, Hermes!' He doesn't respond. I just stand there, taking it all in. Oh fuck.

Please excuse the sheer depth to which this chapter sucks, on the grounds that I am still setting things up for the rest of the story. The Intellichair part was (as I'm sure you guessed) a homage to the late great Charlie Chaplin. Thank you for reading, don't forget to review and tell me what you thought!

Peace out!

Allislove123