June Exclusive - "Button" - Part 1

Sweeties store #093

When Andrew enters his office, he sees that Millie is there already. She has a Sweeties box beside her, probably filled with personal belongings. The woman must know that she’s about to be fired.

“You got an idea why I called you in here?” asks Andrew, taking his seat behind the desk.

The plump brunette gives her head a little shake. “No, boss.”

Seriously? Andrew looks down at his hands, as if inspecting his fingernails. And then he looks back at the woman. “Sure about that?”

The assistant – Millie has worked at this Sweeties since it opened nine months ago, which means eight months and three weeks longer than Andrew – grimaces, and then says, “Okay, you got me. But I can explain.”

She really can’t. The outcome is inevitable. He can’t turn a blind eye to illegal behavior, especially not in Sweeties, where the whole point is to make things better. Still, Andrew gestures for her to get on with her story.

“It’s my neighbor’s fault, to be honest,” Millie begins.

Andrew almost smiles. She’s really going to try and talk her way out of this. Truth is, Millie’s Sweeties career has about another minute or two to run, but she will also face criminal charges. What on earth was she thinking?

Millie is older than the average Sweeties customer, beyond the age-range most vulnerable to the virus. How do the mentally-adjusted see her? A fun aunt? A gentle baby-sitter? Her job is part-coach, part-tailor. She encourages the customers to relax into their new mental state, and she also ensures they’re dressed appropriately, to make sure the rest of the population knows while they might be adult-sized, they don’t have adult minds. She should be gentle and caring; she should have their best interests at heart.

That’s not what Andrew witnessed a few minutes ago.

Andrew prompts Millie, “So your neighbor made you do it? What, he forced you?”

Millie frowns. “No, I mean, he’s the reason it happened. I’m not blaming him, it’s just that he tested positive at home and so he had to follow protocol. You know how it goes.” She shrugs her shoulders. “And he’s my ride to work.”

The explanation is going nowhere. Maybe Andrew doesn’t need to hear it. Maybe he should just follow protocol himself. He glances below his desk to where the emergency button is located. Does he indulge the woman’s tale and then escort her off the premises? Or will he press the button instead; alert the Center and let the professionals clear up this mess?

Andrew leans forward and steeples his fingers under his chin. “Millie. Just tell me why you did it.”

She shifts in her seat. “I thought I’d take the bus, but the schedule’s messed up, like everything else these days, and so I was late getting in, and I got Julie to cover for me.” She shrugs again. “Boss…Andrew, I know, this isn’t a regular clothing store, I know we’ve got a ‘mission’, but it’s not like we’re ER nurses here.”

Andrew feels his jaw clench. The woman says ‘mission’ like it’s a joke. She even put rabbit fingers around the word. She has no respect for the work. But why is Andrew surprised, given what he saw her do?

He closes his eyes, thinks of his girlfriend, Dawn, how she had protested at the news of his new job.

I don’t know why you’d spend your day with those poor people. I couldn’t bear it.

Somebody has to. And the economy’s nuts right now, I’m not turning down a job with pay and benefits like this.

What if you catch it? I don’t want a child, Andrew, regular sized or adult.

Andrew had reminded Dawn of his APP profile: his blood type, no underlying conditions, in his mid-thirties. He had reminded her that Sweeties customers have already bounced. The chances of him catching the virus from them was next to nil.

“Look,” says Millie, pointing at Andrew’s computer. “Look at my reports, you’ll see.”

“I don’t need to look at your reports,” Andrew replies. It looks as though the woman is going to force him to say it out loud.

“Please,” Millie says, and she keeps pointing. “Look me up.” She pouts. “If you’re gonna fire me, you could at least check the facts, first.”

Andrew gives the assistant a cold look. How dare she act like the victim here, after what’s she’s done. The sheer nerve!

He glances again at the emergency button. If Andrew pressed it, Center staff would be there within 4 minutes. At least, that’s what they promised on his first day. Andrew had responded with raised eyebrows at the time. What kind of emergency could there be? The only possible crimes he could think of were Internet rumors that they had already assured him had no basis in fact. Like everyone, he’s heard about the saboteurs. Terrorists. Online, there are plenty of rumors that the whole virus is a setup, a ruse for something even worse. (Although, when he sees his satisfied customers, drooling and babbling adults dressed like toddlers, Andrew is hard pressed to imagine what could be worse).

Now, on his fifth day in the job, this had to happen. Conspiracy theories made true.

He sighs. He needs to update her staff profile anyway, for termination. Andrew looks at his laptop screen and mouses his way to Millie’s details. “Fine…I can see you work long hours.” He wipes his fingers together. Tacky. There’s a sticky residue on his mouse. He rolls his eyes. Who’s been using his computer? He folds his arms. “Your hours don’t matter, Millie.”

Millie continues to pout. “If my hours don’t matter,” she whines, “why are you so bent out of shape about me being late?”

Andrew holds up his hands. “Hold on. You think I called you in here to talk about punctuality?”

“Greg knew that I work longer hours than any of the others.” Millie folds her arms. “He would’ve given me a pass on this.” Millie produces a disdainful sniff. “But you just got here, so…”

“Dammit Millie, this isn’t about your hours! I saw you with the needle! You injected the blonde woman with something. I’m guessing the damn virus.”

Millie blinks. “Excuse me?” she says blandly, as if she’s really going to pretend it never happened.

Andrew laughs. The audacity of the woman! It’s his turn to point a finger. “I saw you! Just fifteen minutes ago!” He retrieves a Kleenex from his pants pocket and wipes at his sticky fingers. He looks straight at Mille. “I already called the Center.”

That will stop the woman’s nonsense. That will get her thinking. No one wants to end up there.

“Really?” Millie says, looking puzzled. “You haven’t picked up your phone since we’ve been talking.” She points at Andrew’s work cell which is sitting on the desk.

“I made the call before I came in,” lies Andrew. He manages to smirk. “Like ten minutes ago.” Which is partly true. He did make a call.

You’ll never believe it…I’ll tell you when I get home…Let’s just say, there’s a lot more going on here than they told me about.

Instead of looking panicked, Millie gives him a bland smile. “Sure about that??” She stands up. “Because if you did, I think they’d already be here. Supposed to be four minutes max, right?”

“How did you…” No, it doesn’t matter how Millie knows. What matters is how she walks from her seat and around Andrew’s desk. So calm, so nonchalant. As if she doesn’t have a trouble in the world.

Andrew pushes away on his rolling chair. “Stay away from me!” he cries out, abruptly furious and afraid at the same time. “I won’t let you stick me with that damn needle!”

Millie shows her empty hands. “Why would I want to stick you?” She looks almost wounded by the accusation. “I’m not doing bad things. It’s like we say at Sweeties, we’re on a mission. I’m just on a different one to you.” She shakes her head. “You thought I was hurting that woman? I was helping her. I’ve helped a lot of people here.”

“Jesus,” Andrew whispers. “How many people have you infected?” He thinks of customers who have come to Sweeties with a false positive test result. Women in their twenties who just a few days before would have worn elegant pantsuits and led sales teams, now skipping along in their fairy princess dresses. Young men who done the hard work of earning graduate degrees, ready to take on the world in finance or law, now telling their parents how much they love their Superman onesie, sticking their hands in the air as if they really think they could fly.

Andrew shakes his head. Now he knows; the poor souls never stood a chance.

“How many?” he asks Millie again, his mouth dry.

He thinks of the blonde from earlier, entering the store under protest with her parents.

“Mom,” the woman had said, “I’m all for following protocols, but this is ridiculous. I’ve make a presentation to the board this afternoon, I don’t have time for this!” Protocols. Ridiculous. Presentation. Said with perfect intonation.

He observed Millie taking the usual customer measurements, and then the woman had cried out, and Millie had told her sorry, had apologized for pricking her with a pin.

Except Millie hadn’t been working with pins. Andrew had seen the assistant pocket a hypodermic into the pocket of her Sweeties apron. Just a moment; if he hadn’t been looking straight at her, he would’ve missed it.

Just five minutes later, the blonde emerged from the changing rooms in a pink smocked dress, her hair tied in pigtails with matching pink ribbons. And how her tone had changed; the woman had sounded like an ebullient three-year-old, and when her parents had told her how pretty she looked, with her mother looking ecstatic and her father looking relieved, the infantilized woman had soaked up the praise and skipped along without a care in the world.

Now, Millie stands between Andrew and his desk.  How many times? She ignores his question in favor of one of her own. “Wanna call the Center again?” She picks up Andrew’s work cell and offers it to him. “I think they’re running late.”

When Andrew doesn’t take the phone, Millie peers at the screen, and after tapping with her forefinger, says, “There’s one outgoing call.” She frowns. “You sure you called the right number?”

Andrew wants to get up, he’d really like to get to his feet and push the woman done. The anger makes his hands tremble and his right eye twitch. How dare she come in here and act like she’s in charge? How dare she pretend that she knows better than he does?

He looks up at the woman. Has he ever felt this angry in his entire life? He says through gritted teeth, “I don’t need a phone, Millie.”

The woman raises an eyebrow. “Oh?” She smiles. “What do you do, Andrew, send out the Batman signal?” She taps the side of her head. “Use your psychic powers?”

Andrew glares at her. Why isn’t she afraid? Everyone is afraid of the Center.

Calm down.There’s a buzzing in his head, mild but noticeable, a tingling that coincides with the dimming of his rage.

Take it easy. He takes a breath, and then he welcomes the serene feeling that begins to wash over him. That’s better.

He looks at Millie’s smiling face, and he manages to smile back. There’s something she doesn’t know.

“There’s an emergency button.” He points with relish behind Millie. “Right there.”

Millie bends and peers underneath the desk. “Oh, hey, you’re right.” She straightens up. “I was wondering where that button was.” She raises her eyebrows. “So are you gonna press your special button?” She grins at him. “Because you’ve found out one of your staff is sticking customers with the icky virus and making their brains all smooshy and silly?” She sounds fake, she sounds over-the-top. “I tell you what, Andrew”, and her tone changes to something sweeter, lighter. “If you’re good, I’ll let you press your shiny, red button.” She beams at him. “If you’re a good boy.”

Andrew gets to his feet, shaking his head. “I already did it. You’re screwed.” It feels better to make threats, despite the ground seeming to shift underneath him, making Andrew feel as though he’s on a bus. Or a train, perhaps. A choo-choo.

He blinks. He shouldn’t think about trains, or silly names for things. He definitely shouldn’t think about how it would feel to wear one of Sweeties most popular pajamas sets; the soft yellow onesie with the red trains on the front. The red choo-choos.

He blinks again. He swallows. He glares at Millie. “I pressed it already.” The lie - naughty boy – is a satisfying one. “You’re going to jail.”

Millie’s hands fly to her mouth. “Oh no!” she cries theatrically. She looks behind her. “Are the men in white coats about to burst through the door and take me away?”

Andrew grins defiantly, even as the room continues to spin around him, even as the tingling increases between his ears.

“Thing is,” Millie goes on, tapping her chin with a finger, “I heard that the shiny, red button makes a sound when you press it. Nothing scary of course, not at Sweeties, just a little twinkling music around the store, so everyone knows someone’s being mischievous.” She tilts her head at Andrew. “Can you hear any twinkles, my mischievous boy?”

Andrew listens. For a few seconds, all he does is listen. To his own breath, the hum of the computer, the ceiling vent blowing cold air.

No twinkles. Of course not. Because he didn’t press the button.

To be continued...