Chapter Text
Louise finishes washing her hands, grabs at the paper towel dispenser on the wall, and realizes it’s empty.
Crap.
She makes to wipe her hands on her pants, but catches a glimpse of herself in the big mirror just in time. There’s no way in hell she’s using her new suit as a makeshift towel! Her new expensive wool suit, the one that’s eaten up any money she’ll make working this gig and then some.
Double-crap!
Louise waves her hands, wondering if using one of those disposable toilet seat covers will help or just exacerbate the problem, when a toilet flushes and Leslie appears from the middle stall. About ten years older than Louise and almost a foot shorter, Leslie is her supervisor, dressed in a modest chocolate-colored skirt and pink twinset.
“Again?” Leslie shakes her head. “I know we’re early, but—”
Leslie has helped managed various conferences at Wharf Arts Center, and, Louise has discovered, is worth watching, as she knows all the little ways and work-arounds. Leslie motions for her to wait, then washes her own hands. She gives the gives the left cabinet under the sinks two quick, sharp bangs near the lock, and the door swings open, revealing a stash of toilet paper and paper towels.
“Thanks.” Louise grabs a couple and dries off. Leslie offers her some lotion from her bag, and Louise accepts eagerly; her hands are always rough and grateful for any lotion, though Louise could do without the floral smell of this one.
Leslie glances at her phone. “Doors open in…four minutes, twenty seconds. Better get in place. Any questions?”
Louise plants a bright smile on her face. “Nah, we got this.”
Leslie grins back and leads the way to the door. Louise’s smile instantly drops. This weekend is gonna be…something. When Louise Belcher joined the Fischoeder Family, she expected to do lots of things, but petty bureaucracy to further rig an already rigged dance competition was certainly not one of them.
***
Two weeks earlier, Louise occupied one end of the curved, cracked red booth, all but vibrating with barely-contained excitement. Zeke was perched at the other end, as alert and tense as a guard dog, with an unobstructed view of the door. Mr. Fischoeder, calm, aloof, a bit amused, sat between them.
Mammina Caterina’s Cibo Casa—not affiliated with Ken’s Mojo Dojo Casa House, as Louise joked—was a small, dingy, but authentically Italian restaurant run by a small, dingy, but authentically Italian cook in a small, dingy corner of Seymore’s Bay. Louise met Mammina Caterina once before, months ago, while shopping at the farmer’s market with her dad. Mammina C’s English was limited, but her son, Lorenzo, needed to do little translation; Bob and Mama C spoke the shared language of food. The looks Louise exchanged with Lorenzo spoke a different language. Finally getting to eat at her place made this meeting even more special.
Lorenzo rounded the corner with a wide tray. Tall, handsome, and almost thirty, he had the dark, sultry looks of a movie star, his long black hair pulled back from his face in a perfect mussed pony tail. His eyes brightened with recognition when he spotted Louise, and they shared a broad smile. Louise pretended not to hear Zeke pointedly shift in his seat, making the plastic squawk.
“Signor Fischoeder, è un piacere rivederla, benvenuto! Dovrei portarti il solito?”
“Si grazie.” He turned to Louise. “Zeke has eaten here many times before, but you have not, I think?”
Louise shook her head.
“You will like their spaghetti. You can’t come here and not try Mammina’s homemade pasta” he said, a plain statement of fact, and turned back to Lorenzo and completed their order in Italian.
She frowned; there’s ribeyes and lamb chops on the menu, she can have spaghetti any time! At the very least, she’d prefer to make her own choice. But, she reasoned, a free meal is a free meal, and she’s pretty sure he mentioned calamari, so there was hope she wouldn’t eat a huge carb bomb for lunch.
Lorenzo filled their water glasses and dropped off baskets of warm bread, all the while openly admiring Louise, who did nothing to shut him down.
“So,” Mr. Fischoeder began once they were alone. “I have an important assignment for the two of you.”
“I’ve gotcha,” Zeke muttered, unfolding his napkin with a viscious shake and placing it on his lap.
“I do too.” Louise shot him a repressive look. This is her first big Fischoeder meeting, about her first big assignment, AND they’re holding it in the back of an Italian restaurant, just like in the movies! Could he not be a big pouty baby? It’s not her fault Lorenzo thinks she’s hot, jeez!
“Good. I chose you two partly because I would need two operatives who could work as a team. That won’t be a problem.” Again, Mr. Fischoeder wasn’t asking a question, which he made clear with the firm stare he gave each of them.
“Aw, no sir.”
“It’ll be fine, Mr. Fishoeder.”
So, over a lengthy lunch that began with calamari, moved on to the best spaghetti Louise ever ate, followed by the longed-for lamb chops with mashed potatoes and veggies, and ended with fresh fruit, hearty slices of torta de la nonna, and espresso, Mr. Fishoeder unfolded his plan.
As part of the promotion of their reunion tour, Boyz 4 Now was holding a nationwide search for four undiscovered, non-union dancers to join their troupe. Their fourth and final audition was scheduled to be held at the Wharf Arts Center, with a short concert to cap off the event.
“I understand you bought a ticket for the Saturday evening concert,” Mr. Fischoeder said, cutting a sly look at Louise. “Sell it, you won’t need it.”
“What?”
“I will need the two of you behind the scenes. You, Baby Belcher, are going to help me ensure Jimmy Pesto Junior wins the spot. And you, Ezikiel, will keep FUPA in it’s place.”
Louise snorted a little into her glass of wine. Good wine; for the first time, Louise understood why Linda liked her wine so much.
“The name is funny, but their objective is not. Fathers Undermining Progressive Agendas is not the sort of group I will allow to metastasize in this town; they can pout in their little corner, but a thriving community of artists and eccentrics like ours needs to remain LGBTA…LGBQT…Rainbow People friendly.”
“You got it, Mr. Fischoeder; I’ll git me a good team of guys. They ain’t pullin’ the sort of stunts their kind’ve pulled in other cities. I reckon you can git us behind the scenes doin’ security n’ whatnot.”
“Good. I know Baby B will help coordinate any problems she sees on her little one-woman mission.”
Louise licked her bottom lip, determined to word this carfully. “I’m really glad to have this assignment,” she starts. “But I have some quest—”
“You want to know why you, and why this?” Mr. Fischoeder’s smile was gentle, slightly condescending. “Simply put, it’s good for business, and you are a clever young woman. Let’s see what you can do.”