Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball. I'm just giving them all real jobs.
Setting: 2000s, Louisiana
SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious.
I awoke Thursday morning to a steady stream of sunlight filtering in through my bedroom window. Startled by the amount of sun, I sat upright in my bed and, seeing that it was ten o'clock, promptly panicked thinking I'd overslept. It took me a few seconds to remember that not only would my sleep schedule be different, but the entire plan for my day—as well as for future days —would be different for the foreseeable future. Deciding I had a few more minutes, I laid back in my bed.
My interview with Marnie Stonebrook was scheduled for three o'clock. My plan was to get there a bit early—maybe two o'clock—and find an unobtrusive spot in the hotel lobby where I could just sit, listen in, and see if I heard anything amiss. It wasn't the best plan. I didn't like casting a wide net, but I figured just having the time to observe the goings on at the hotel—before I had to work there— would be helpful. Of course, I'd probably have to report for work right after the interview. But once I was on staff, people would know who I was, where I was supposed to be, and where I wasn't supposed to be. They'd wonder about it if they caught me staring at them. I figured whatever opportunity I had for anonymity would be gone once I sat down for my interview with Marnie so I'd better make the most of my time.
In any event, although I was far from ready to get up—it was slightly past four by the time I tumbled into bed—I forced myself out of bed at the sound of a vehicle coming down my driveway. Looking out my bedroom window, I saw it was a rather non-descript sedan. While I had no idea whose car it was, it still was oddly familiar. That it wasn't a delivery truck meant it wasn't my clothes. Wondering at the identity of my early morning visitor, I threw on a pair of sweats and a loose sweatshirt over my Mickey Mouse nightgown and made my way to the front door. Before swinging open the door, I put out a mental feeler to see if I could figure out who it was. Bobby Burnham. Great. He was just what I needed before even having my morning cup of coffee. I opened the door.
"Good morning, Bobby." I forced my lips upward into a smile. "How's the new job treating you?"
It actually appeared that the new job was not treating him particularly well since he looked like he hadn't yet been to bed. I was pretty certain he was wearing the same outfit I'd seen him in the previous night at Fangtasia. So it seemed that Eric had kept him very busy on his first day. But—peeking in—it seemed Bobby was already counting up his overtime pay, so he was okay with the long hours.
Recalling how late I'd gotten home the night before, I wondered for a brief moment if I ought to get overtime pay. But then I reminded myself Eric was being more than generous with me. I was getting the healthiest paycheck of my life—heck, it was downright robust—and my thinking anything else was just me being greedy and my Gran wouldn't have had any patience for that.
Bobby hadn't yet replied to my greeting. He just continued to stand outside my door looking rather surly. I noticed he was carrying a briefcase, a rather large shopping bag, and a much smaller bag. Though he wasn't a vampire, I still felt wary at inviting him inside. I guess in the same way you wouldn't want to share a lifeboat with just anybody, there's some folks you just don't want to invite inside your home.
Sucking it up, I finally invited Bobby inside. "Won't you please come in?"
Making a face, he still hadn't said a word to me. He just nodded and entered the house.
"What's all this stuff, Bobby? Should we go sit at the kitchen table? Or should we just sit in the living room?"
At the prune-faced expression he'd made in response to my suggestion that we sit in my kitchen, you'd have thought Bobby was a vampire and that he was right up there with Bill Compton in not wanting to be reminded that people have kitchens and need to eat once in a while. I wondered if he survived on health shakes or a liquid diet. Maybe he only drank prune juice and that accounted for his sour look. Maybe he survived on bug innards. I giggled at the idea. At the sound of my quiet snicker, he just turned to look at me with a frown.
"We don't need to sit at a table," he finally replied. "The living room will do just fine."
"All righty, then." I led the way to the living room and directed him to sit on my Gran's old recliner while I sat on the couch across from him. Waiting for him to explain, I just stared at him expectantly.
Setting the bags down on the floor, he sat down on the recliner holding onto the briefcase. Balancing the briefcase on his lap, he opened it, pulled out a manila folder, and then snapped it back shut.
"Here is your new driver's license," he said as he removed a smaller envelope from the folder. "It's not a fake. It's real."
That I didn't understand at all. "What do you mean? How is it real if the name is fake?"
Bobby rolled his eyes like it was the stupidest question he'd ever heard. I felt like punching him.
"It's a fake name but it's not a counterfeit license. It's really from the State DMV."
I made a silent "O" with my mouth. Glancing at the picture, I frowned. "That's a terrible picture of me!"
Bobby glanced at the license and then looked up at me and shrugged. "I think it looks like you."
Now I wanted to kick him. I refrained, satisfying my inner hostility by just glaring at him instead, and refusing to say another word. After a moment, he went on to explain my new driver's license protocol.
"You need to leave your real one home when you're going out. You're just asking for trouble if you carry both."
It was my turn to roll my eyes. "Of course. I get that."
"You need to memorize the information on that license. The address, especially."
"Whose address is it really?"
"I haven't a clue." He dismissed my question without a further thought. "Here is your resume."
"Oh." I accepted the manila folder from him and made a face at its thickness. I wondered momentarily what the hell Pam was up to until I realized she had just printed up a bunch of copies and it was on thick resume paper, not regular printer paper.
That Pam. Incredibly thorough job search skills. Who'd have thought?
Opening the folder, I glanced at the resume on the top of the pile and smiled. Running my fingertip along the paper, I felt its crisp wove finish. It was a really nice resume stock. When I looked up, I realized Bobby was studying me.
"Is the paper okay?" he asked. "Does it meet with your approval?"
Sarcastic jerk. "Yeah, it's fine." Desperately wanting coffee, I realized I had to get Bobby out of my house. His presence was doing nothing for my disposition and I had a busy day ahead of me. "What are in the bags?
Bobby leaned over and picked up the small one. "This is your Tiffany eyewear."
"Oh," I nodded. I took the bag from him and noticed the blue box the eyeglasses came in. Funny. I knew Tiffany stuff came in a "little blue box" but somehow I'd always pictured a deep royal blue. This was a turquoise. Popping open the box, I removed the eyeglasses and put them on. They felt okay. I figured if I could get used to sunglasses, I should be able to get used to these. The lenses were non-prescription glass so they didn't affect my eyesight at all. Jumping up I ran to the mirror by the front door to take a look. I still wasn't used to the auburn hair but I thought it seemed to fit well with the eyeglasses. I definitely didn't look like the me I was used to seeing, but I thought I looked okay. I returned to the living room.
"How do I look?" I asked Bobby before I could stop myself. Then, although I had an urge to do so, I somehow restrained myself from dipping into his head.
Looking at me, he shifted his head several times so he could peer at me from different angles. Finally he was ready with his assessment.
"I'd say you look maybe a little smarter."
Asshole. It was becoming apparent to me that Bobby had decided to get around the discomfort of my being able to read his mind by antagonizing me so much that I'd never want to read his mind. I couldn't say it wasn't a good idea. If Bobby's primary objective in coming to my house that morning was to piss me off so much that I'd never want him anywhere near me, I'd have to say he was hitting pretty close to the mark. Honestly, he was pissing me off so much, I was ready to stake Eric for sending him over to begin with. Bobby needed to leave and Sookie needed her morning coffee. I decided to push this little visit along.
"What's in the big bag?"
Bobby reached down into the large bag and pulled up a box. At first I thought it was a hatbox but then I realized it was a wig box.
A wig box.
A wig box?! I gasped.
"Are you kidding me? Why the heck did they make me cut off all my hair if they were going to turn around and just make me wear a wig anyway? I knew those two were old, but I didn't realize they were senile!"
At my outburst, Bobby gave me another unhappy look. Like he'd just walked into the foulest smelling bathroom he'd ever encountered. Irritated by his faces, I decided to delve into his brain. He was thinking I was a freak and that it was a disgrace how disrespectful I was to the vampires. Hmmm. He was trying to cover up his thoughts by singing ABBA lyrics in his head.
"Dancing Queen?" I asked him. His face went white. "You know what I can do, Bobby. You might as well get used to it. We both work for Eric, so we're kind of like co-workers. Might as well get used to each other and make the best of the situation." I just looked at him. "You might want to listen to music you're not ashamed of folks knowing you listen to, while you're at it."
Bobby's facial expression, in the meantime, didn't change. He'd make a good vampire, I decided, given how bloodless he was.
Shrugging, he opened the wig box. Seeing the blonde hair, I reached into the box and felt it. It looked familiar somehow. Uh-oh.
"Bobby, they had a wig made using my own hair?"
"Yes," he nodded.
I couldn't decide whether I was more touched or more creeped out. "Why? Do you know something more that you're not telling me?"
"You are to report to Fangtasia after your shift at the El Dorado each night."
"Yeah," I nodded. "Eric told me to come by tonight." I figured they'd want me to check in regularly. Considering the matter, I let out a breath. I thought I was beginning to see where this was going. "My disguise doesn't mean a thing if anyone spots me going into Fangtasia dressed like Michele Landers."
"Yes."
"I guess I can understand that."
"That's also the reason why you're getting a second wardrobe."
"What?" I was still living in dread of the first wardrobe. Second wardrobe? "What second wardrobe?"
"The second wardrobe is for when you come into Fangtasia."
Well, that didn't make any sense. I didn't understand why I couldn't just wear my own clothes. Pam!
"Why can't I just wear my own clothes?"
Bobby just looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't have an answer for you."
"I'll tell you why! It's because Eric and Pam got it in their heads that I'm their life-sized Barbie doll, that's why!" I had no idea why I was sharing my ridiculous suspicion with Bobby. He just stared at me, with his standard grimace, seeming to ponder it until finally he had something to say.
"Maybe they don't like your clothes." He said this with a straight face. "Maybe they think you walking into Fangtasia dressed in your own clothes is bad for business."
My eyes widened at his audacity! [I found my word of the day calendar was really useful in helping me accurately classify the assholes in my life so that I knew exactly why it was I regarded them as assholes.] "Bobby, are we done? I haven't had my coffee yet and I'm feeling like I could really use some."
"Well, there's one more thing."
I didn't even bother to try to keep my eyes from rolling. "What?"
"These are your car keys." He handed me a set of keys.
Thunderstruck, I just stared at them for a few seconds before I could say something. "What? I don't understand! I've already got a car!"
Bobby just made his sulky face at me. "Hold that thought." He opened up his briefcase again and took out an envelope that he then handed over to me.
Looking at the papers inside, all I could do was shake my head. "I was so tired when I signed these last night. Eric didn't explain I was required to use a company car for insurance reasons. I'm sure I would have remembered him saying that."
My buddy Bobby just gave me a blank look. I was really ready for him to go away.
"If you were so tired, why are you so certain you'd remember him telling you that?"
"Bobby, can you just tell me where I'm supposed to get this damn car?"
"Moffitt Volkwagen is delivering it. It should be here by noon. The registration and insurance are in the name of Michele Landers."
"Great. Thank you. Can you show yourself out?"
"With pleasure."
So much for my first day of my new job with new colleagues. So far, I'd take Arlene—even with PMS—over Bobby any day of the week. As trying as that had been, I hadn't even left the house yet. I couldn't imagine what the hotel might have in store for me. Working with Marnie had to be better than dealing with Bobby, right?
ooOOOoo
A half hour later, I sat in my kitchen sipping my second cup of coffee. After broody Bobby had finally taken his leave, I was able to put up a pot of coffee. Ten minutes after Bobby's car pulled out of the driveway, a special courier service truck pulled in. The delivery consisted of three large boxes and four garment bags. My two new wardrobes.
Although I felt a little childish—like I was an impatient ten-year old who couldn't wait for Christmas morning—I immediately tore open the packages. Anxious to check out my assigned clothing, I spread everything out all over my living room, using every possible surface. I draped clothes across the sofa and the chairs and hung hangers on doorknobs and book shelves. I figured I needed to see what I had so I could plan my outfit for the interview.
As it turned out, I need not have bothered. I quickly discovered a really nice black pantsuit with a crisp white shirt that was perfect for the job interview. How did I zero in on that to wear for my first day? Pam had pinned a note to it, which said 'Michele—Wear this for your first day.' I shook my head. I could not believe her. It was a really nice suit, though. Trying it on, it seemed like it was made for me. This thought brought back Bobby's comment about my clothes and an insane thought popped into my head that the whole thing with the bombing and the vamp murders was just a ruse Pam and Eric had cooked up to get me a new wardrobe.
Frowning, I looked at my clothes assignment for later. 'Sookie, Michele would be distraught to change from her nice clothes to your ragamuffin street urchin wear.' I had to stop reading there. Ragamuffin street urchin wear? I wondered if Pam had watched the movie version of 'Oliver' lately. Did Pam even like musicals? She and I never talked about cultural preferences. I guess we were always talking business. Who attacked whom? Who kidnapped whom? That kind of thing. I turned my eyes back to her note. 'Wear this outfit when you come to Fangtasia tonight. It would be best that you blend in.'
Uh-oh. 'Blending in' didn't sound good. I didn't want to blend in at Fangtasia. I pulled the outfit out of the box.
It was black.
Filmy.
Lacey.
Damn that Pam! She knew I wouldn't be caught dead in a nasty outfit like this—it had a plunging neckline and I couldn't even imagine how I was supposed keep the girls indoors. Maybe those pasty things they sell at the drugstore? No! I couldn't believe I was even allowing my mind to wander in that direction.
I decided that since Sookie—not Michele—was going to Fangtasia that night—complete, even, with Sookie's hair—she was going to wear Sookie's clothes
Pam and Eric would just have to deal.
AN: Poor Sook. A new job and she has to start the day with Bobby Burnham. Is anyone else sorry CH offed him? I thought he showed potential. I promise not to kill him off.
As always, thank you for reading.
