Plug Suits and Penguins

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Chapter 8: Uncompensated Dating

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The smell punched her in the nose. It was the first thing she noticed during the interview, before the cloying pastel wallpaper or the tinny piano piped in through crackly speakers or the noisy ill-tempered menagerie of her coworkers. Technically, the term coworker was usually reserved for people, human beings, not the eight cats prowling the café by her and under her and around her and sometimes on her. Also technically, they were paid and cared for better than her, so she might be working for them as opposed to only Ms. Oshima.

Kodama never considered herself an animal lover. Or an animal hater. She existed comfortably between the two poles, neither seeking out nor avoiding their contact. She had a hamster ages ago, before Hikari was born. Kodama named it Meatball. Of course, proper, competent pet care is a big lift for a three-year-old. Proper, competent pet care from Dad was a bigger lift. He brought it home as a favor to a coworker, so the story went, and Mom was just promoted and just found out she was pregnant again and just hated hamsters. So it fell to Dad. And then one day while cleaning Meatball's cage Meatball simply disappeared. Gone. Vanished. De-existed from the Horaki household. Kodama barely recalled any of it, but for years afterwards Dad referred to being on the outs with Mom as "in the cage."

That episode along with the associated costs and stresses of three kids spoiled the appetite for more pets. So Kodama grew up without, but not yearning for. Some friends or neighbors had a dog or a cat here and there, and that was fine. They'd take a sniff and be on their way. She'd offer a polite pat on the head. Mutual disinterest was their shared mantra.

And yet, here she was. Waitressing, yet again, was that the only job available in this damn city, in a cat café. The owner Ms. Oshima named the establishment Neko Wafers for some reason and seemed intent on blowing through her retirement funds trying to entice Tokyo-3 to love her cats as much as she did. So far, it was failing with Kodama. Again, not an animal hater. But spending evenings and weekends in a tiny, dead eatery, cleaning more litter boxes than waiting tables, wearing an uncomfortably warm, fuzzy, vaguely feline-inspired homemade apron complete with a tail, sucked.

And the smell. She could not get used to it. The wait staff room was walled with litter boxes of differing types and brands, sometimes due to sales and sometimes due to which cat preferred which kind, on top of scented candles burning from opening to closing with abstract fragrances like "Thursday." On top of the very limited menu of snacks and teas. On top of Ms. Oshima's perpetual coffee breath as she sang along with the instrumental-only piano music playing for all eternity.

Kodama could live with all of it except the odor. Crazy proprietor, awful environment, long hours, loosening grip on self? Nothing new. The smell? Maybe not quite worth the early-onset dementia financial generosity of Ms. Oshima.

To distract herself as best she could Kodama spent the hours of no customers mentally sketching the cats in the café. Like a government agent profiling potential serial killers. Or possible victims.

Lulu: the runt. Unable to let go of her inferiority complex after she fell between the counter and wall that one time and was lost overnight. Bullied. Might snap.

Spud: the bully. Big, vaguely potato-shaped. Casual violence was his abundant currency.

Hansel: a mature grey Ms. Oshima "rescued" in a residential neighborhood a few days back, and decided to adopt after he followed her home. Never mind the cat treats lining her pockets at all times. Or the fresh indent of an absent collar.

Smooshie: actually in love with Ms. Oshima. Will not give her a moment's peace. Follows her into the bathroom. Licks her eyebrows if given the chance.

Mumsy: the talker. Any movement from any thing was cause for a throaty meow or three. Or no movement from nothing.

Fandango: the jumper. Insisted on being higher than everyone else at all times. Kodama had to feed her on a floating shelf over the entrance.

Pepper: what an uncompromising bitch.

Salty: Pepper's brother, unusually clumsy for a feline. Possible inner ear problem. Kept misjudging his leaps. The veneer on tables three and five were checker boarded from his claws.

And Ms. Oshima. Might rue not being born a cat. Might not. Humanity was a grab bag of various undiagnosed neuroses, after all. She was short, wiry, seemed to glide as she walked as if on roller skates. Prone to wearing flowing print muumuus and chunky sandals. Two unsharpened pencils, minimum, in her tied-back, bone-white hair at all times. Glasses bigger than Kodama's. Spoke with a subtle lisp. Weird, but not in a threatening way. Just off slightly, and not solely because of the whole cat café thing.

"Kodama deary," Ms. Oshima crooned, deviating a note or two from the piano track.

"Yeah."

"Have you seen Pepper?"

"No."

"Oh. If you do, give me a holler, will you?"

"Sure might."

"Delightful."

She slid back to the kitchen, rustling up nonexistent orders for nonexistent patrons. As Mumsy gave a breathy, low meow for each step she took. While Hansel trailed her, hoping for a handout. Right behind Smooshie, Ms. Oshima's overweight, four-legged shadow. Lulu batted at a stain on the carpet beside table two. Before Spud gave her an open-paw whack on the face, nonchalantly, as he passed by. Under Fandango, snoozing above the door. Pepper was, worryingly, still not to be seen. Salty was perched on the floor, judging a future misjudged jump.

And Kodama, at the bottom of the totem pole. Remembering she did indeed need oxygen to continue living. So she breathed. In and out. Deep or shallow didn't really matter. The stink was inescapable. Reality was a trap.

That briefly unsnared her as the front door opened, catching a gentle bird-shaped wind chime hanging from the ceiling. Customer? Kodama's litter-soaked brain prompted. Customer=money=good. So she walked around from the register. And nearly tripped over a black streak of cat.

"God shitting damn it, Pepper," she hissed under her breath as the animal sprinted, full-tilt, right in front of her. She almost forgot where she was with how unbusy the place normally was. Like she wore this get-up in public for fun, not profit.

So she pushed Friendly Smiling Hostess Kodama to the forefront and greeted the potential patron, the first for two days.

"Hello! Welcomeow to Neko Wafers aw bags of shit."

"Is that any way to speak to a customer?" the young man asked, flashing a toothy grin.

Kota Suzuki. Two (three?) ex-boyfriends ago, they were an item. A brief, incompatible item. Before he grew four inches over summer break, dyed his spiky hair orange and his dad's floundering construction business struck proverbial gold when the Angels started hanging out in Tokyo-3. Now he was well-off, comparatively speaking, and Kodama, on occasion, entertained thoughts of reigniting that old flame.

Until she looked at him. Or spoke to him. Or thought longer than three seconds about him. He, naturally, was always looking to hook back up. Kodama was his first girlfriend and boys were tragically melodramatic about love.

"Cute getup," he said, passing his eyes over her frumpy, ill-made, ill-fitting fuzzy orange cat apron.

Even love wearing this.

What a catch I am, Kodama thought, feeling all the weight of the outfit. Why was it so damn heavy?

"Die in a fire."

"Heh." Kota smiled, genuinely amused. "Same old Kodama."

She hung her head back and groaned. "Why are you here? No, how are you here? There is no possible way you frequent cat cafés for fun."

"How?" he asked, idly petting Salty as he tried and failed to leap onto a table by him. "Fate."

"Try again."

"Destiny."

"I swear to shitting God—"

"Okay, okay. Keep your tail on. Mitsuki mentioned your new job and I wanted to see for myself."

Mitsuki? Mistuki Aino? Her Mitsuki Aino? Her bubbly classmate since grade one? Also, the girl she was paying to cover for her not attending the cram school she was supposed to be attending? Her?

"That duplicitous bitch."

"Whoa," Kota said, holding up his hands, drawing vocal attention from Mumsy. "Uh, I think it was an accident."

"No, the 'accident' hasn't happened yet. But you'll read about it in the papers."

He looked worried. Good. "Actually, I was sort of pestering her about why you always duck out of school right after last bell lately, and I wouldn't let up, even when Sho tried to ask her out and she got super upset with me and kind of blurted it out and…"

Kodama shook her head. Kota wasn't a bad guy. Just incredibly simple. So loath to play along. Still, there would be hell to pay for Mitsuki's indiscretion, even if she was dating Sho now. What a steal.

"Fine. Stop. Stop talking. Now."

"Okay."

Kodama kept shaking her head. "Why are you here? I'm busy."

"I wanted to see you."

"Well, you saw. Now leave before—"

On cue, like she was laying in wait for the perfect opportunity to make an imperfectly grand entrance, Ms. Oshima wheeled out of the kitchen, Smooshie and Hansel in tow.

"Hello~oooo!" she boomed, the eye of a feline hurricane, as cats swarmed all around her. "Welcomeow to Neko Wafers! What would you like? Tea? Cake? We're offering a special today, half-off our feline-inspired pinafores! Kodama deary, what are you waiting for? Seat the customer!"

She briefly eyed Kota's designer skinny jeans, then the cat hair-infused chairs at every table, then the excruciating reluctance etched over his face.

"Uh," he began.

"He's a takeout order," Kodama rescued. "He was just on his way to cram school and needed some sugar. He cannot and will not stay. Right, Mr. Customer?"

"Huh? Oh, I guess. Right? Gotta go cram some school in my head."

Ms. Oshima took that information in. Processed it. Frowned. She watched Kodama pack up the least furry of the pinafores in a box, tie the ribbon around it impossibly into a cat shape, receive payment, and escort Kota out as she announced she was on break. Ms. Oshima called after him.

"Did you like the cats?"

Less a question, more a plea for validation. He craned his head back as Kodama shoved him back outside. "Uh, I'm more of a dog person."

The front door shut. They were outside, on the curve of a downtown avenue between a leathery sports memorabilia shop and an exotic fish restaurant. The air was thick with car exhaust, oil, noise and the bounty of the sea. Kodama breathed deeply, gratefully.

She sighed. "Enjoy the crappy cake. Also, never tell anyone what you witnessed today or I will cut out your tongue."

"Yeah, yeah. Like the time you were working retail at the healing crystal shop."

"What were you even doing in there?"

"Dad's girlfriend is into that stuff. It was her birthday. But man, you sure blow through jobs fast. Weren't you at some other restaurant before this? Why'd you leave that one?"

"A difference of opinion with the management." Mainly, her opinion that skimming off the top of the Crow's Nest payroll was okay, and Hiro's opposing view that she should be in jail. To avoid the countersuit regarding his employing underage workers, they decided to go their separate ways.

"Too bad."

"No, not really."

Kota looked at her. "Hey. Let's go out when your shift is up today."

Kodama's poorly abused last nerve frayed ever closer to snapping apart. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"That isn't a reason. That's a word."

"Because I do not want to."

"Why not?"

Because money might paper over a lot of things but not you. "Because I'm seeing someone else."

Kota appraised that, felt it possible. "Who?"

"We're keeping it on the down low. People might not understand. It's an intense, passionate love. Like I'm drowning in marshmallows and honey."

"And who is it? Not Yoshiyuki. You very publically turned him down."

"No, not him."

"It's not Sho, is it? Mitsuki will be heartbroken."

"Nope."

"Then who?"

She spotted him across the street a minute ago, through the front window of a vintage music store. Intently searching the retro tape section, unaware of his impending romantic fortune.

"Shin-chaa~aaan!" Kodama hollered as loudly and sweetly as she could as he exited the shop.

He paused. Paled a tinge, like someone just walked over his grave in a vaguely feline apron. Shinji Ikari triangulated the owner of the voice, saw Kodama Horaki across the street flailing at him, and cautiously waved back, hoping that was the end of the interaction.

Kota was not convinced. "What is he? Like, ten?"

"He's mature beyond his years." She sent smooches and hugs to him. "He understands me in a way you can't."

"Well, I got to meet him."

"Uh…"

She didn't have the opportunity to rethink or protest. Kota was jogging across the road, then talking to Shinji, then pulling Shinji back across the road.

Huh, she thought. I did not plan this very well. Who knew all the sleep deprivation would catch up with her? She at least had the wherewithal to look at Shinji, hard, communicating the grave need to play make-believe with her.

She trusted her own acting chops implicitly. She was after all running fairly successful long-term scams on her family and several former and current employers. Shinji's ability was suspect. He already looked rather bewildered. Why couldn't guys just roll with the punches?

"So you two are dating?" Kota opened, returning to Kodama.

"Sure are!" she gushed, closing the distance to Shinji and looping an arm around his neck.

He, to his credit, did not immediately throw her off and bolt. He just froze, like his brain was still crossing the street.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Really."

A stealthy jab at his lower back informed Shinji, yes, really. "… Really."

"Huh." Kota said.

"Oh, stop," Kodama said, playfully coy. She hugged him closer. "You'll embarrass him. My Shinji is a shy guy."

"Huh."

"Yeah," Shinji said, prompted by another jab. "I am."

"Where'd you two meet?"

"It was—"

"I'd like to hear from your Shinji," Kota said.

To convince him, for the sake of the performing arts camp she attended one summer when she was eleven and was kicked out of for adlibbing every one of her lines on stage, Kodama relented. She nodded against the top of Shinji's head, giving him the green light.

"… We met at her house," he replied.

Shit, Kodama thought, nearly breaking a thumbnail on the back of his neck. Not the truth. Anything but the truth.

"Her house?"

"Yeah. I was delivering some homework for her sick sister, Hikari. I'm in her class."

Kota was nodding without meaning to. Damn. Kodama having a sister checked out.

"And I helped her make soup. And we got to talking."

"What did you talk about?"

"She was tired from midterms."

Double damn. Kodama being tired checked out, too.

"Wait. You made soup together? Why?"

"… It was close to dinner."

Well, eating at a designated mealtime made sense.

"What kind of soup?" Kota led, as if the answer would confirm or deny everything.

"Vegetable. A bit bland but it turned out okay. Uh, even with peas. She hates peas."

Triple damn.

Despite the halting, mechanical delivery, she was impressed by Shinji's recall. Kodama forgot most of that visit. And Kota appeared to buy it all. Because it was the truth. Well played, Ikari.

"And then we started dating," she stepped in. Her index finger traced a variety of shapes on his chest. "We just had so much in common, what with our mutual love of liquid meals, our abhorrence of certain vegetables… And, I mean, come on." She cupped his chin and shook it. "Just how cute is he? So cute. Like, unfairly so. Criminally so."

"Please stop," he said.

"And still so shy. What a package."

Kota eyed the pair of them, like he was inspecting their words as they lingered in the air. He shrugged. "We should still go out. Sorry, Shinji. I'm not giving up on our Hot Cup of KoKo."

Would Ikari rat on her if she just, like, murdered Kota Suzuki with her bare hands on a public street? Strangled him with her fuzzy orange tail? Surely, NERV could pull a few strings for the girlfriend of a pilot.

"Hot—?" Shinji began.

"Do not repeat it, Ikari," Kodama snapped.

"Wait. Wait." Kota turned to him, like he was a phantom. "You're Shinji Ikari?"

"Uh, yeah."

Kota frowned, glancing away. He ran through possible avenues of continued protest and found nothing but dead-ends. His unflappable teenage charm and father's construction business were of little merit now. He sighed. He stood tall and looked him in the eye. "I see."

"Huh?"

He clapped Shinji on his free shoulder firmly. A man's concession. "Take care of Kodama, okay?"

"Um…" Kota was not letting go of him. Shinji nodded. "I will."

"Okay. It's a promise, now." He retrieved his hand. "Ms. Horaki, I'll see you at school."

He turned and left, carrying his pinafore cake box in one hand, the other slung in the pocket of his overpriced jeans. Reluctant benevolence in defeat. He left.

Kodama stared. He really did leave, as in, walking out of her love life. Finally. Kota was too simple to give up on anything, be it chasing her affections or trying out for the baseball team he had no business even attending games for or booking entire afternoons in the karaoke bar (the soundproofed walls were not soundproofed enough). It wasn't that he was stubborn or a poor loser, he just did not know when to quit. Until competing against the teenage mecha pilot they all owed their lives to.

Her head tilted to Shinji, watching Kota go. He looked baffled, and put out, and a touch embarrassed. Kodama's last frayed, sleep-deprived, raw nerve blinked out for a split-second and in pure, uncontrollable gratitude she leaned down and kissed him on the cheek.

"Thank you," she breathed in his ear.

And then he finally blushed. A blush that encompassed his face, ears, and most of his neck. Maybe his chest. Instant, deep sun burnt red. Except it was overcast all day, Kodama recalled. She observed his wide, deer in the headlights eyes, his mute gulp, his sense of social decorum absolutely shattered by her thoughtless gesture of goodwill.

Oh, no, she belatedly thought. What have I done?

She debated how to play it off. She never got the chance. Shinji managed to look in her general direction, clutching the side of his face like he was secreting it off from the rest of the world.

"Ihavetogo," he got out.

And he left, too. And Kodama was alone on a public sidewalk wearing what was technically clothing.

"Well, shit," she said.

She massaged her aching temples and remembered her hands were clad in gloves with fuzzy paws embroidered on the knuckles. She recalled why she was wearing this uniform and the responsibilities entailed therein.

Kodama walked back into Neko Wafers. And into the wall of stink she somehow forgot about. A mushy wall she had to claw through. But it just kept going. There was no end. She was tunneling through a Mobius strip of olfactory trauma.

Were the cats used to it? Weren't they supposed to have a good sense of smell? What the shit?

The cats of the café greeted her return. Fandango flicked her tail at her head, still lazing on the floating shelf above the door. Hansel trotted over, then away when no food was proffered. Lulu was shrunk into a corner of architecture, eyes trained on Spud, patrolling a route of potential violence only he could see. Mumsy snored in his sleep, noisy even when unconscious. Salty hung on the edge of table two, clawing desperately to stay on, hind legs splayed wildly. Pepper looked on with an expression that could only be described as bitchy. Smooshie and Ms. Oshima came gliding towards her, standing under the front door. Forcing all the air from the back room into her nostrils. The stench they were all blind to.

"Kodama deary—" Ms. Oshima began, still gliding.

"I quit," Kodama said.

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Author notes: This chapter got away from me. Sorry. But writing Kodama is fun time.

Next chapter: Francois, le Pingouin Vert.