My minions (i.e., loyal, paid employees) stroll into the building, lining up to punch in at the time clock, i.e., write their time of arrival using a pencil stump on manilla folders cut in half, because I’ve only had five kids working here at a time, and now that Tansy and Cooper ran off, I’ve got three. (Inara doesn’t count because she’s off the books.) Which means I haven’t invested in fancy programs and tech for us to keep track of our time. I probably never will.
And when it’s opening time, I’m pleasantly surprised to find our first group of gamers are lined up at the door, kicking off a surprisingly busy night. I find out why when they hit the alien game room: they’re Inara’s brand new fanboys. When they all flash their discounted business cards I passed out today, I make a mental note to put in an order for more discount cards, especially if I’m going to tool around town anywhere with Inara.
Judging by the stack of turned-in cards Stacy waves at me, her grin sharklike and thrilled, I’m going to need a big damn re-order. Way to go, Inara.
When I catch her between entertaining her gaming groups, I hold up my hand to give Inara a high five—and she lights up in delight, apparently having seen this ‘human greeting’ already. She digs it.
The group of adventure gaming hopefuls next in line are watching us, and they eat up Inara’s and my interaction, just like she’s putting on a cute little show with me, and not like she’s a real damn alien enjoying her first gimme-five.
Instead of heading for the Centaur Stable escape room, they ask Stacy if they can make a last-minute switch. When Stacy confirms that they can, just like every group before them, they jump at the chance to go to the escape room with Inara.
Not once did Tansy and Cooper get this kind of reaction. Despite the fact that their costumes cost a fortune and they were cool looking, there’s something about Inara… a genuineness, I guess. And it’s evident to everybody who sees her, even if they don’t believe she’s the real deal. They still sense it.
And as if thinking of Cooper and Tansy has conjured them, Stacy hollers, “Tansy just called!”
Speak of the wayward pair of newlywed runaways. “Yeah? Were their ears tingling or something? I was just thinking about them.” I amble out to the front desk. “You didn’t transfer the call to my phone because…?”
Stacy purses her lips and folds her hands on the desk in front of herself, giving me judgemental eyes. “Because she was afraid you’d yell at her.”
“That was not for you to be concerned about.” I match her concerned stare with an unforgiving one. “That was my opportunity to say my piece to one of my employees who ran off with one of my other employees, no notice, leaving my ass in the lurch with a pre-registered group on their way to see said employees perform the role I paid them good money to perform.”
Stacy pauses, glancing down as she considers my side of this argument that she doesn’t need to be sticking her nose in, and she inclines her head, conceding my point.
Although she did it nonverbally, I verbally acknowledge the point she gave me. “Thanks. Now. Next time, should there ever be a next time?”
Stacy sighs. “I’ll transfer them to you so you can yell at them.”
I lean in until Stacy leans back, her startled eyes flying up to mine. “Next time, you transfer her so I can say what I want to say to her. And now you can call her back and ask for her to give you their address if it’s different than what we’ve got on file.”
“Why? Their paychecks are direct deposit,” Stacy doggedly goes on. Her loyalty is admirable. “You don’t need to mail them—”
“Fuck,” I say, grabbing the bridge of my nose. “Sis, when did I make you the boss?”
Stacy sounds like she’s both rueful—as she should be—and smiling, which she definitely shouldn’t be. Damn twit. “You didn’t.”
I snap my fingers and straighten. “That’s right—I didn’t.” I give her a meaningful look. “Address. Get me it. Then call the florist. Get them something nice, including a congratulations card.”
I turn and head for my office.
“Really?” Stacy asks my back, clearly surprised.
“Do I need to repeat myself?” I call over my shoulder.
“No! Just… what do you want me to have them put in the flower shop’s card?”
“‘Congrats, you two. From: All of Us?’” I suggest.
“You got it, boss. You’re a good man!” Stacy chirps.
“Stop it or you’re fired,” I order before I shut my door to block out her chipper voice chatting up the florist.
***
I’m not settled behind my desk ten minutes before I get a new notification. And I’m not talking Facebook.
My computer bleeps at me, and a surprise popup reads: Safety sprinklers have engaged.
...Excuse me?
The popup window is something I’ve never seen—I was aware of the possibility of receiving this notification, of course, because I paid for the program to alert me to shit like this, but we have never had a fire here, not in any of the escape rooms. Yet this message claims a sprinkler’s gone off.
I pound my finger on my desktop’s mouse, left-clicking like a madman for details. Like WHERE?
It’s the alien escape room.
I fly down the hall.
You know how in movies, when the sprinklers activate—the fire department is automatically alerted?
Yeah, small businesses can’t always afford that. Me, I thought about it, I really did. I want everyone safe. But in the end, I shelled out for the single station system which alerts me to the problem, but not the authorities—because I was stupidly optimistic that if there was a blaze, we’d be able to hit it with extinguishers and all would be well.
Fire doesn’t care if you’re optimistic.
My heart is racing and my stomach twists in horror as I realize I may have made a bad call. A call so bad, people could be hurt. Perfectly innocent customers who trusted this entertainment to be safe—and my employees, who trust me to provide them with a place that won’t burn them to death while they work. They’re kids, for the Lord’s sake.
And Inara.
I ignore the red sign on the employee side door, the one that warns all the wonderful kids I employ that I will personally dismember them and serve them up as a side show in a new room if I catch them interrupting someone else’s escape room.
Shoving my shoulder into the door, I burst into Inara’s escape room.
Five men whip around. “Uh oh. Told you the sprinklers would get us caught.”
“What the…” Seeing a circle of men with guilty faces? A new fear is triggered in me. “What the FUCK is going on?” I snarl. “Inara?”
“I’m here,” Inara says in a contrite tone that does not match the scenarios whipping around in my brain. She steps around the men, into view, whole and seemingly safe enough. “I set off the alarms by mistake.”
“How?” I bark. My adrenaline has me sweating and my muscles jumping. Fear and the vision of Jason, Sal, Stacy, and Inara plus groups of people who came here for fun, not a reenactment of the movie Backdraft where humans get turned into crunchy, burned hot dogs, is still playing in a loop in my brain. I blink and try to focus, try to calm down. The men with Inara are a group of thirty-somethings. Good customers, actually. They’ve been regulars enough that I recognize them. Every time we get a new room, they hit it.