Page 11 of Existential

“Nope.” Beth shakes her head, moving to the next sofa. “Wherever you like, just make sure you get all the surfaces.”

“Okay.” I figure starting at one end makes most sense, so head for a lamp table beside the window. “So, um, do you get paid to clean or something?” Maybe there’d be work here for me.

“No way.” She chuckles, placing her ragged hand on her hip. “I wish I did, but the housework is sort of like me paying lodgings, you know?”

“I guess.” I wipe around an ornate table lamp, being sure to catch the dust in each ridge of its base. “Are you an old lady?” I’ve heard the term before, but never actually been close enough to bikers to have met one.

“My, you are full of questions.” She shoots me a curious glance as I do my best to ignore her without looking too badly like I’m trying to.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She fluffs a cushion, placing it in the corner of the sofa she just wiped. “I’m not an old lady yet, but I hope to be if things work out right.” Her eyes become faraway and dreamy before she snaps back to action.

“Fair enough.”

“And you?”

“Do I want to be an old lady?” I frown as I glance over at her.

“No, darlin’. I meant, what’s your story?”

“Oh.” I scrub harder at a stubborn mark. “No real story. I drift from town to town.”

“Must be nice seeing the sights, is it?”

“A little. I’ll settle down somewhere, just haven’t found the place that calls to me yet.”

She nods, and we work in silence for the next while, moving around each other to finish our respective tasks. The air between us thins, and I almost feel comfortable enough to give a bit of light banter a try when Heather enters from a door off the side of the bar. She lifts a hand to her hair, sweeping it out from her face as she watches me stash the cleaning supplies away, her lips downturned.

Beth sighs, hand on hip, and frowns at the waif. “Let her alone, Heather.”

“She’s not supposed to be here.”

“Says who?” Beth bites back.

I look for a shadow, a dark corner, anything to hide me. I hate confrontation with other girls; it never ends well.

“Hooch. He told Digits to get rid of her as soon as possible.”

“I’m going as soon as they’re done,” I fill her in. Fuck knows why. It’s not as though I should have to defend myself. I guess more just to diffuse the growing situation than anything else.

“Good. Don’t need freeloaders like you around here.”

“Uh,” Beth interjects, forcing Heather to shut her mouth before she can say anything more, “I think out of the two of you, you’re the freeloader, Heather.”

“What?”

“Wasn’t you I had in here helping me with the cleanin’ now, was it?”

Heather’s icy eyes darken as her face contorts into a furious scowl. She takes a step forward, backing me into the cupboard door. “You sucking up now, too? Think you can charm your way in here?”

“Why the hell would I want to stick around when so far I’ve been grilled by the president, and given nothing but trouble by some psycho stick figure?”

Her nostrils flare, jaw grinding, and I flick my gaze to Beth to gauge her reaction. Maybe I took things too far with that last snipe? Beth smirks at me, her eyes alight with humor.

“Go suck on a carrot stick, Heather. Leave us alone.”

The outnumbered girl stomps off through the entranceway, to where, who knows or cares? Beth steps forward, bumping her closed fist into my shoulder playfully.

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