Short days at work (only eight hours) seemed like days off and Joy and I weren’t too sure what to do with ourselves.
Second Floor, though much warmer and drier than the first floor of the Fish House, seemed boring. Making boxes, though necessary ( got to put those fish in something, after all), seemed like totally lame, screwing around non-work. This might have been because there were far too many of us up there.
It was fun to be around Tim and Clark again—who traded off throwing fish out of the freezer and into the glaze tank where they ( the fish, not Clark and Tim) then went to a grader and down a conveyor belt to the scale people who packed the fish into fifty pound boxes. Then the boxes went down another conveyor belt, were banded and stamped, and then Tim or Clark, whoever was not in the freezer, stacked them on pallets.
The grading job looked boring. I wanted to try the scale job, but was apparently still so new that I was only fit to tear plastic bags and stick them into boxes.
Jaimie and Enrico and several others were down on the first floor cleaning up black cod remnants and switching the tables and machinery to prepare for halibut. It was a nice break for those of us on Second Floor to be away from some of those people. Apparently Enrico had managed to get on more people’s nerves than just mine.
I returned from my second bathroom break, having felt a need to floss my teeth and let Hazel ( crusty old woman and the oldest of the old-timers) breathe. She’d started to squawk when Joy and I had completely buried her in boxes, lined and unlined ( i.e. with or without bags). Hazel was the official box stapler and no one messed with her. Except Joy and I, but that was honestly unintentional.
“Where’s Joy?” I asked Clark.
He gestured to the sliding door, “Screwing off on the balcony, gazing out to sea.”
I shrugged and went to hid back in the cardboard stacks. Hazel, completely ahead of the game, thanks to me and Joy, was back in the stacks, too. I watched her pull a little bottle of Rose Milk hand lotion out of her purse, look around, and then drink some! Huh?
“Hey,” said a voice right in my ear. I jumped, clutched my heart and spun around.
“Hey,” the guy said, “are you Petra?”
I nodded, still speechless.
“You’re supposed to show me the ropes. I’m Loki.”
“Loki?” I repeated.
“Yes,” he said firmly, “Loki.”
Spooky guy number two. This one looked like a descendant of Rasputin. What was it with me? I was a magnet. And why was I supposed to show anybody the ropes? That seemed asinine.
“Where did you come from?” I asked.
He smiled at me, “Does it matter?” Loki had long, braided hair, beard, moustache, was tall and wiry, clothed in all black ( like Johnny Cash). He had an earring, tattoos, and ankh and braided bracelets. Spooky eyes, yes, a little. But these eyes, though penetrating, were not cold or soulless. His ever-present smile and calm demeanor reminded me of someone doing a Jesus impersonation.
“Well, Loki, welcome to the ever-entertaining and stimulating world of cardboard and plastic. I will be your hostess and guide, former screw-up now working hard to be a good little worker bee. Back here,” I gestured, “ is the domain of Hazel, oldest employee and Queen Bee of boxing.”
Loki smiled.
“Yeah, well,” I said, “there’s boxing and then there’s boxing, but I imagine she might be a mean little featherweight. One minute ago, right before you scared the crap out of me, I saw her partaking of Rose Milk hand lotion.”
“Oh, no. Really?” Loki’s eyes were full of pity.
“Yeah,” I said. “But I can’t imagine it tastes good.”
“She’s got booze in that bottle,” he informed me.
I smacked my forehead. “God! I feel stupid. Of course. Wow.” I soaked it all in. I finished the tour and introductions. Joy eventually returned after Thelma had spotted her from the dock and yelled at her to get inside and back to work. “Old witch is still yelling at me,” Joy grumbled.
We wandered, we visited, we sang, and we made up games. There were too many of us up on Second Floor, but as Clark liked to say, “I’m not here to work, I’m here to get paid!” Management seemed to want it that way.
One day, when returning from bathroom break whatever, I could feel that the energy level had changed in the box area before I even got there. Excitement vibrated throughout the dusty air.
I should have guessed. Lauren. Lauren leaning over one guy’s shoulder, Lauren posed on the conveyor belt, head thrown back and emitting her deep, throaty chuckle. Lauren, whispering in another guy’s ear and giving his arm bicep a squeeze. Lauren reminded me of the girls in junior high who would read Cosmo and then tell their less sophisticated friends how to turn guys on.
And the guys on Second Floor? Like guys anywhere. Weak in the knees, eyes adoring, mouths slack—they were enslaved. Jealous? Yes, I was jealous. Damned straight.
“No need to be jealous,” a voice whispered in my ear, the moustache brushing my neck and giving me shivers. I whipped around and was face-to-face with Loki. He looked me up from head to toe and back again and there was nothing spiritual in his smile this time. Those penetrating eyes bore into me and he smiled even wider. “No need at all,” he said softly and sauntered off.
Damn. That man left me feeling disconcerted at the best of times.
“Hi, Sweetie!” Lauren called as I approached, “just the woman I want to see.” She untangled herself from Clark. He looked like a nerdy sixth grader fighting off an erection.
“A little bird told me,” she said sotto voce, “ that Second Floor will be getting off early today, so I thought maybe you and Joy could join me for dinner at my cabin. My boyfriend and his running mate are coming into town and I need someone to help entertain. A skipper for me and a skipper for you.”
“And what about Joy?”
“Oh, I have someone picked out for her,” Lauren grinned. “So, how about 6:00? I, unfortunately, don’t get off early.” She leaned over and whispered for my ears alone, “Jeff just chewed my ass yesterday for not keeping regular hours so I’ll have to stick it out until 5:00. Do you cook?”
“I love to cook,” I replied.
“Good. I’ll buy groceries and leave them at my cabin at lunch time. You and Joy can put dinner together after you get off and cleaned up and I’ll bring home some wine with me. The guys should be here by dinner time. See you. Bye, everybody,” Lauren the goddess called out and took her leave.
Joy came up to me outside the box area. What was that about?”
“We’ve been invited to dinner at Lauren’s tonight.”
“You’re kidding me!”
“No,” I said, “there’s just one thing, though.”
“What’s that?”
“We’re cooking it.”
Joy rolled her eyes, then laughed. I had to laugh, too. Typical Lauren. Makes you feel like she’s doing you a favor and then you do all the work.
A guy I’d never seen before walked up to us and stood waiting for us to finish. He was about five nine, dark hair, heavy-lidded sleepy eyes, three days growth of beard and about 35 or 40. We turned to him politely.
“Yes?”
“Do you two work up here?” he asked just as politely.
“Yes,” I said. “Do you?”
“Sort of,” he replied. “Do you think you could be a little less obvious and not stand in the middle of the floor? Just in case Jeff or the Japanese walk through? Maybe you could continue your conversation behind those tall stacks of fiber,” he suggested, pointing to the box area.
“Who are you?” Joy demanded, rather perplexed.
“I’m Malcolm,” the man said, “I’m the Second Floor foreman.”
Joy and I looked at each other. We hadn’t realized that there was a Second Floor foreman. Wordlessly, we turned and walked to the fiber stacks in the box area.
Before we took his suggestion and disappeared from view, I turned and called out, “It was nice meeting you, Malcolm.”
His eyes sparked with sleepy humor. “Oh, it was very nice meeting you, too, Petra and Joy.”
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