Somewhere in Gatlin, the ladies of the DAR were turning over in their future plastic-flower-covered graves.
Ridley pointed at Nerd Warrior Nick’s chest with one long, red fingernail. “I need you to show me how to work this thing.”
“What thing?” He swallowed. Then he seemed to remember he was standing behind a long table full of the latest and greatest Nerdworld gadgets. “You mean, a tablet?”
Ridley nodded. “Yeah. The little square thing.”
“To be honest, it’s actually more of a rectangle.” Nick pushed his glasses up against his eyes.
“Are you kidding me?” She blinked at him. “Honey, if I say it’s a circle, it’s a circle. You got that?”
“Wh—what can I help you with? Seven-inch? Nine-inch? Memory upgrades? Are you in the market for a—”
Ridley sighed. “I’m thinking I might need a job.”
“Printing job?” He looked confused. “The tablet can wirelessly connect to almost any—”
“Nick.” Ridley shook her head, edging her way up onto the table until she was sitting all the way atop it, swinging her legs. “I’m talking about a job job.”
“Here?” He swallowed again.
“No, not here. Well, maybe. What is it you do here?”
“Fix computers and tablets and smartphones and—”
“And all the other little square things?”
“Rectangles.” She glared at him the moment he said the word, and he looked down, ashamed. “Yes.”
“No. This is a terrible job.”
“Well, actually—”
“For me,” Ridley said.
Nick looked relieved. “It’s not for everyone.”
Ridley thought about it. “I need something with a little glamour, a little style. Something exceptional. Something that only I could do. Something that would make everyone who ever met me—”
“Proud?”
Ridley looked at Nick like he was insane. “Hate me. In a fit of seething jealous rage.”
Nick stared at her. “Are you still talking to me?”
She smiled, tugging playfully on his incredibly short and unevenly cut hair. Nobody should pay for that haircut. There really wasn’t much to tug on. Still. She’d worked with less before. “Why don’t you fire up that little squ—rectangle of yours and find me what I’m looking for, Smarty-Pants?”
He was searching JOB EXCEPTIONAL GLAMOUR STYLE NEW YORK CITY before Ridley had to unwrap a single lollipop.
There was persuasion, and then there was Persuasion. Sometimes it was even more satisfying for Ridley to remember she didn’t need magic to be powerful.
She just needed red leather.
It felt good to be back in the game.
Nerd Warrior Nick had been a faithful soldier to the end, and now it was time for Ridley to cash in on his valiant Googling.
Even if that should be a made-up word.
“You don’t have to do this,” Necro said. She couldn’t even imagine going into a place like the one they were standing in front of.
“Yes, I do.” Ridley took a deep breath. “I can do this.”
Necro had been kind enough to walk Ridley to work, saying, “This I gotta see with my own eyes.” Now they both stared up at the sign over the door. Yesterday, it had seemed like the right thing to do. That was three phone interviews, one sleepless night, two pieces of pie—strawberry rhubarb and triple berry—and ten outfit changes ago.
Today, Rid wasn’t so sure.
Apparently, to get a job you needed to have had other jobs. It had taken Ridley a few phone calls until she figured out how to say the things people most wanted to hear, which was usually her specialty. She didn’t think of it as lying, not exactly. She thought of it more as charades. You had to pretend to be the kind of person who got jobs, to get a job. What was that jobbish-workery-going-on-elevators sort of person like?
Ridley learned everything the hard way. She learned that when people ask you to pick one word to describe yourself, you don’t say perfect. You also don’t say hot. After two misfires, Rid went with persuasive. While it didn’t exactly seem to persuade anyone, it wasn’t a conversation stopper, either.
Lesson learned.
She had also learned to apply for jobs Sirens could do in their sleep, for starters. She came close to getting a position as a SKILLED COSMETIC TECHNICIAN, but it turned out to be a gig applying makeup to corpses at a run-down funeral parlor in the Bronx, and Ridley had had enough close calls with the Otherworld as it was.
Rid had been excited about an opening billed as a COUTURE RETAIL EXPERIENCE—until it turned out to be at Connie’s Cat Couture. Maybe Lucille Ball would be fine with it, but Ridley couldn’t stand the thought of being a Cat Couturier. The owner had suggested that Ridley stop by to let Connie the Cat “sniff you and lick you and just love you until you get the hang of her.” Ridley had said she’d rather lick Connie the Cat herself than do any of the above. The owner had told her where she could stick that mouthful of fur, and the conversation had ended pretty abruptly after that.
By the time Rid got the hang of it, there was really only one gig left, and now she was standing on the sidewalk right in front of it.
The Brooklyn Blowout
It was a hair salon, but they didn’t call it that. This was supposed to be a party, or as the brochure said, a “Hair Experience.”
Ridley wouldn’t be a stylist. She’d be a Dry Girl, which as far as she could tell was like a Fly Girl, but with a hair dryer.