gave Katy a doggie treat and thumped her gently on the head with my bandage. That sounded more likely, here at Mutant Wizards.
I glanced up to see what Liz, Mutant Wizards' real live lawyer, thought of Frankie's outfit. Way up, since that's where she was at the moment. The office was mostly a jungle of cubes with five-foot partitions. Even the few enclosed rooms – the reception area, the executives' offices, the lunchroom, and the central library – generally had partitions instead of real walls. Sturdier partitions that were eight feet high instead of five, but partitions, just the same. The only permanent rooms in the whole place were the computer lab, which had floor-to-ceiling glass walls, and the bathrooms, which had old-fashioned solid walls, thank goodness. And die therapists' offices, of course, which were off on a small side corridor that would have given them a lot more privacy if it hadn't led to the bathrooms.
On the plus side, the minimal number of real walls meant that every part of the office got a lot of natural light, which hot only cut the electric bill but also helped morale – the long hours the staff worked would otherwise have kept many of them from seeing sunlight for days on end. On the minus side, it made for a pretty noisy environment, and anyone who wanted to chat privately with one of his creditors or make an appointment with her gynecologist usually ended up dragging a cell phone into the John.
It also meant that when Liz was hitting the books, boning up for a complicated legal brief, as she had been for the last several days, I could usually see her, sitting atop a set of library steps, leafing through books from the topmost shelves, to which the legal reference works had been exiled. The lower shelves, of course, were packed with books on programming and military history, not to mention gaming magazines and obscure and incomprehensible comics and graphic novels.
I could see that she had looked up from her book and her eyes were following something down the corridor Frankie would have taken. She glanced over at me with one eyebrow raised, as if to say, “What on earth did you let into the office?“ I shrugged, and she rolled her eyes, shook her head, and returned to her book with a smile.
I turned back to the switchboard, also smiling. Liz was one of the few other females at Mutant Wizards. Also one of the few other normal people. And at the risk of being accused of female chauvinism, I confess that I didn't think this was a coincidence.
“I am a strong, self-reliant woman who makes her own decisions,“ a voice said at my elbow. I frowned. Not that I didn't approve of the sentiment, but it didn't sound quite normal when uttered in a voice that sounded like a kiddie-show host on helium. Spike didn't like it either, I deduced from the growl at my feet.
“Good morning, Dr. Brown,“ I said, glancing first at the bubblegum pink plush teddy bear and only as an afterthought at the more nondescript woman holding it.
“How do you like my new invention?“ she asked. “I call it an Affirmation Bear. Every time you press his tummy, he delivers another positive, affirming statement to his human friend.“
She demonstrated.
“I take care of my body by practicing wellness and exercising regularly,“ the bear squeaked. Spike began barking hysterically at the sound.
“Fascinating,“ I said. And meant it, actually; though what really fascinated me was trying to figure out what strange pranks the programmers would play if – no, make that “when“ – they got their hands on the Affirmation Bear. And was she just here to show me the bear, or was she about to lodge another complaint?
Dr. Brown was one of the six therapists who had a pre-existing sublease on part of the office suite into which Mutant Wizards had just moved. Liz, the lawyer, had negotiated valiantly to have them kicked out or bought out, with no luck. Thanks to the surrounding county's militant antigrowth policy, the office space market in Caerphilly was only slightly better than the housing market, and the therapists had no intention of giving up their quarters.
They had whined and complained their way through the build-out, but back then only Liz, Rob, and the real estate broker had to listen to them. Last Monday's moving day was a disaster. Liz had given the therapists ample warning and arranged to move as much stuff as possible over the weekend, to limit disruption during working hours. Maybe that helped a little. But moving day was the first time techies and therapists had to coexist in the same space. It was loathe at first sight.
Last Monday was also when I'd realized that I'd suddenly acquired responsibility for keeping the peace between the two groups. They'd quickly gotten used to running to me with their complaints and outrageous requests, like squabbling children running to their mother. I was already sick and tired of it.
But it's temporary, I told myself, forcing a smile onto my face as I looked at the garish pink bear. I can leave as soon as I figure out what's wrong, or reassure Rob that nothing's wrong. Or, more likely, as soon as my hand gets better. How can Rob expect me to get to the bottom of some kind of. wrongdoing if I have to spend all day minding the switchboard, keeping the shrinks and the geeks from killing each other, and listening to people's talking toys?
“Chill, Spike,“ I said. “It's only a bear.“
“Here, would you like to try it?“ Dr. Brown asked, thrusting the bear into my hands. “Just tickle his tummy to make him talk.“
I tickled. Nothing happened.
“You have to tickle a little harder.“
I finally got the bear to talk. It took a bit more than tickling; I'd have called it a gut punch.
“I am a calm, rational person who never resorts to physical violence to solve my problems,“ the bear reprimanded me. Spike settled for growling this time.
“Why don't you keep that one and try it out for a few days?“ Dr. Brown suggested. I glanced behind her and realized that she was dragging around a box larger than the one Dad's new monster television had come in. And it was chock-full of Affirmation Bears – all, alas, in the same ghastly shade of pink.
“Toodle-oo!“ she said as she left the reception area, trailing the box behind her.
My spirits rose – was it possible that she was going to wander around the office, passing out flamingo- colored teddy bears to anyone she encountered? That would certainly shorten the time it took for the guys around the office to turn Affirmation Bear into Withering Insult Bear, Dirty Limerick Bear, Monty Python Quote Bear, or whatever else struck their fancy.
I whacked the bear in the tummy again.
“I always try to see the best in every situation,“ the bear advised, and fell off the desk.
As I leaned down to pick him up, I saw a slender black paw reach out to bat at him. I leaned down farther and peered into the space where the drawer would have been if Rob hadn't removed it earlier that morning to make room for the latest addition to our menagerie: a very small but very pregnant black cat.
“If you want him, you can have him,“ I told her. She hissed softly and withdrew as far back into the drawer space as she could. I sighed. Cats usually warm to me much faster.
Then again, maybe it wasn't me. Maybe it was everything eke. Especially the number of dogs wandering in and out, not to mention having Spike caged only a few feet away beneath the other end of the desk.
While answering yet another line, I suddenly started. Someone was hovering at my shoulder. It was Roger, my least favorite programmer. He'd been hovering near me a lot, since my arrival – to the point that I'd begun to suspect he was working up his nerve to ask me out. Of course, to manage that, he'd have to figure out how to talk to me, instead of addressing random cryptic remarks to the ceiling of a room we happened to be sharing. I was only half joking when I'd tagged him “the Stalker.“ I made a mental note to bring in a picture of Michael and me together, so I could make sure Roger saw me gazing fondly at it. I pretended to be so absorbed in die switchboard traffic that I didn't see Roger, and eventually he wandered off.
The mail cart chugged through again, with Ted still draped on top. The switchboard routine worked so well on Roger that I repeated it with Ted, pretending the calls absorbed my attention so completely that I could barely be bothered to punch the switch to, set the cart in motion.
Spike barked hysterically until the cart disappeared. I wondered, briefly, what Ted was doing to set him off. But just then my pager went off.
I found the right button to silence its beeping and, after several tries, managed to read the message.
COPIER 2 OUT OF PAPER.
“That's it,“ I said. “Will someone please explain why they think it's easier to go back to their desks and page
