Remember Me?
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Chapter 19
Think bitch. Think boss. Think Cobra, I survey myself in the mirror and put on some more lipstick. It's a pale gray-?pink shade that could practically be called “Bitch-?boss-?from-?hell.” My hair's scraped back and I'm wearing the most severe outfit I could find in my wardrobe: the slimmest pencil skirt; the pointiest pumps; a white shirt striped with gray. There's no mistaking the message this outfit conveys: I mean business. I spent two hours with Jeremy Northpool yesterday at his office in Reading, and every time I think of it, I experience a tiny thrill. Everything's in place: We both want this deal to work out. Now it's up to me. “You don't look mean enough.” Fi, standing by my side in a navy trouser suit, surveys me critically. “Try scowling more.” I screw my nose upbut now I just look like I want to sneeze. “Nope.” Fi shakes her head. “That's still not 344 right. You used to have this really chilling stare. Like, 'You are an insignificant minion, get out of my way instantly.'” She narrows her eyes and puts on a hard, dismissive voice. “I'm the boss and I'll have things done my way.” “That's really good!” I turn in admiration. “You should do this. We'll swap.” “Yeah, right.” She pushes my shoulder. “Go on, do it again. Scowl.” “Get out of my way, you minion,” I snarl in a Wicked Witch of the West voice. “I'm the boss and I'll have things done my way.” “Yes!” She applauds. “That's better. And kind of flick your eyes past people, like you can't even waste time acknowledging they're there.” I sigh and flop down on the bed. All this bitchy behavior is exhausting. “I was a real cow, wasn't I?” “You weren't as bad as that all the time.” Fi relents. “But we can't run any risks of people guessing. The meaner the better.” Fi has been coaching me for the last twenty-?four hours. She took a sick day yesterday and came over, bringing breakfast with her. In the end we were so engrossed, she stayed all day, and the night. And she's done the most brilliant job. I know everything. I know what happened at last year's Christmas party. I know that at a meeting last year, Byron stormed out and called me an arrogant nobody. I know that vinyl sales went up two percent last March, due to an order from a school in Wokingham, which then complained that the color was wrong and tried to sue us.
My head is so crammed full of facts it's ready to burst. And that's not even the most important bit. “When you go into your office, always slam the door.” Fi is still instructing me. “Then come out and demand a coffee. In that order.” The most important bit is that I come across like the old bitch-?boss Lexi and fool everyone. I put away my lipstick and pick up my briefcase. “Get me a coffee,” I bark at myself. “At once!” “Narrow your eyes even more.” Fi surveys me, then nods. “You're set.” “Fi...thanks.” I turn and give her a hug. “You're a star.” “If you pull this off you'll be a star.” She hesitates, then adds, a little gruffly, “Even if you don't pull it off. You didn't have to make all this effort, Lexi. I know they're offering you a big job, even if they close the department.” “Yeah, well.” I rub my nose awkwardly. “That's not the point. Come on, let's go.” As we travel to the office in a cab, my stomach is clenched up with nerves and I can't make small talk. I'm crazy, doing this. I know I'm crazy. But it's the only way I can think of. “Jesus, I've got stage fright,” Fi murmurs as we draw up. “And it's not even me doing it. I don't know how I'm going to keep a straight face in front of Debs and Carolyn.” We haven't told the others what I'm up to. We reckon the fewer people that know, the safer. “Well, Fi, you'll just have to make an effort, okay?” I snap in my new-?Lexi voice, and nearly giggle as her face jerks in shock. “God, that's scary. You're good.” We get out of the cab, and I hand the driver the fare, practicing my mean-?eyed glare as I collect my change. “Lexi?” A voice comes from behind me. I look around, 346 all ready to launch my scary-?Lexi face on some unsuspecting personbut instead feel it drop in astonishment. “Amy? What the hell are you doing here?”
“I've been waiting for you.” She smooths a strand of hair back a little defiantly. “I'm here to be your intern.” “You... what?” As the taxi drives away, I goggle at her. She's dressed in teetering high heels, fishnets, a tiny pin-?striped miniskirt with a matching waistcoat, and her blue-?streaked hair in a ponytail. On her lapel is a badge reading You don't have to be crazy to work here but it helps if you're a hot lesbian. “Amy...” I put my hand to my head. “Today really isn't a good day“ ”You said!“ Her voice quivers. ”You said you'd sort it out. I've made a real effort to get here. I got up early and everything. Mum was really pleased. She said you'd be pleased too.“ ”I am pleased! But of all the days...“ ”That's what you said last time. You're not really interested.“ She turns away and yanks her ponytail free. ”Fine. I don't want your stupid crappy job anyway.“ ”She might be a distraction,“ Fi says beside me in a low voice. ”It might actually be a good idea. Can we trust her?“ ”Trust me?“ Amy's voice sharpens with interest. ”With what?“ She comes over, her eyes shining. ”Have you guys got a secret?“ ”Okay.“ I make a snap decision. ”Listen, Amy.“ I lower my voice. ”You can come in, but here's the thing. I'm telling everyone I've recovered my memory and I'm my old self, to get a deal done. Even though I haven't. Got it?” Amy doesn't bat an eyelid. I can see her mind working furiously, taking all this in. There are some advantages to having a scam artist as a little sister.
Think bitch. Think boss. Think Cobra, I survey myself in the mirror and put on some more lipstick. It's a pale gray-?pink shade that could practically be called “Bitch-?boss-?from-?hell.” My hair's scraped back and I'm wearing the most severe outfit I could find in my wardrobe: the slimmest pencil skirt; the pointiest pumps; a white shirt striped with gray. There's no mistaking the message this outfit conveys: I mean business. I spent two hours with Jeremy Northpool yesterday at his office in Reading, and every time I think of it, I experience a tiny thrill. Everything's in place: We both want this deal to work out. Now it's up to me. “You don't look mean enough.” Fi, standing by my side in a navy trouser suit, surveys me critically. “Try scowling more.” I screw my nose upbut now I just look like I want to sneeze. “Nope.” Fi shakes her head. “That's still not 344 right. You used to have this really chilling stare. Like, 'You are an insignificant minion, get out of my way instantly.'” She narrows her eyes and puts on a hard, dismissive voice. “I'm the boss and I'll have things done my way.” “That's really good!” I turn in admiration. “You should do this. We'll swap.” “Yeah, right.” She pushes my shoulder. “Go on, do it again. Scowl.” “Get out of my way, you minion,” I snarl in a Wicked Witch of the West voice. “I'm the boss and I'll have things done my way.” “Yes!” She applauds. “That's better. And kind of flick your eyes past people, like you can't even waste time acknowledging they're there.” I sigh and flop down on the bed. All this bitchy behavior is exhausting. “I was a real cow, wasn't I?” “You weren't as bad as that all the time.” Fi relents. “But we can't run any risks of people guessing. The meaner the better.” Fi has been coaching me for the last twenty-?four hours. She took a sick day yesterday and came over, bringing breakfast with her. In the end we were so engrossed, she stayed all day, and the night. And she's done the most brilliant job. I know everything. I know what happened at last year's Christmas party. I know that at a meeting last year, Byron stormed out and called me an arrogant nobody. I know that vinyl sales went up two percent last March, due to an order from a school in Wokingham, which then complained that the color was wrong and tried to sue us.
My head is so crammed full of facts it's ready to burst. And that's not even the most important bit. “When you go into your office, always slam the door.” Fi is still instructing me. “Then come out and demand a coffee. In that order.” The most important bit is that I come across like the old bitch-?boss Lexi and fool everyone. I put away my lipstick and pick up my briefcase. “Get me a coffee,” I bark at myself. “At once!” “Narrow your eyes even more.” Fi surveys me, then nods. “You're set.” “Fi...thanks.” I turn and give her a hug. “You're a star.” “If you pull this off you'll be a star.” She hesitates, then adds, a little gruffly, “Even if you don't pull it off. You didn't have to make all this effort, Lexi. I know they're offering you a big job, even if they close the department.” “Yeah, well.” I rub my nose awkwardly. “That's not the point. Come on, let's go.” As we travel to the office in a cab, my stomach is clenched up with nerves and I can't make small talk. I'm crazy, doing this. I know I'm crazy. But it's the only way I can think of. “Jesus, I've got stage fright,” Fi murmurs as we draw up. “And it's not even me doing it. I don't know how I'm going to keep a straight face in front of Debs and Carolyn.” We haven't told the others what I'm up to. We reckon the fewer people that know, the safer. “Well, Fi, you'll just have to make an effort, okay?” I snap in my new-?Lexi voice, and nearly giggle as her face jerks in shock. “God, that's scary. You're good.” We get out of the cab, and I hand the driver the fare, practicing my mean-?eyed glare as I collect my change. “Lexi?” A voice comes from behind me. I look around, 346 all ready to launch my scary-?Lexi face on some unsuspecting personbut instead feel it drop in astonishment. “Amy? What the hell are you doing here?”
“I've been waiting for you.” She smooths a strand of hair back a little defiantly. “I'm here to be your intern.” “You... what?” As the taxi drives away, I goggle at her. She's dressed in teetering high heels, fishnets, a tiny pin-?striped miniskirt with a matching waistcoat, and her blue-?streaked hair in a ponytail. On her lapel is a badge reading You don't have to be crazy to work here but it helps if you're a hot lesbian. “Amy...” I put my hand to my head. “Today really isn't a good day“ ”You said!“ Her voice quivers. ”You said you'd sort it out. I've made a real effort to get here. I got up early and everything. Mum was really pleased. She said you'd be pleased too.“ ”I am pleased! But of all the days...“ ”That's what you said last time. You're not really interested.“ She turns away and yanks her ponytail free. ”Fine. I don't want your stupid crappy job anyway.“ ”She might be a distraction,“ Fi says beside me in a low voice. ”It might actually be a good idea. Can we trust her?“ ”Trust me?“ Amy's voice sharpens with interest. ”With what?“ She comes over, her eyes shining. ”Have you guys got a secret?“ ”Okay.“ I make a snap decision. ”Listen, Amy.“ I lower my voice. ”You can come in, but here's the thing. I'm telling everyone I've recovered my memory and I'm my old self, to get a deal done. Even though I haven't. Got it?” Amy doesn't bat an eyelid. I can see her mind working furiously, taking all this in. There are some advantages to having a scam artist as a little sister.
