4.
A welcoming bass beat throbbed freely through the dimly lit bar. The after work crowd at Wolfram and Hart easily mingled with the nightly crowd of university students and young executives who assembled for their nightly ritual of restless recreation. Lately, the karaoke bars and underground pay-per-view pudding wrestling offered by some of the more disreputable establishments favored by the demon community lost their allure for Harmony Kendall.
She liked the bright lights as much as the next demon, but in her estimation pudding wrestling was one fad that needed to fade away fast. If the purveyors of that kind of sexist filth weren’t even going to listen to her helpful suggestion of equal opportunity ogling, Harmony figured they no longer deserved her patronage. She knew quite a few guys she’d like to see slathered and slippery in any number of flavors of pudding; further, the whole manful vibe struck all the right notes with her. It seemed, however, that was one market niche destined to remain untapped.
For a savvy gal bent on success, mingling with the corporate crowd was never a waste. Harmony preferred to think of it as networking; however, she mainly sat at the bar drinking fizzy non-alcoholic concoctions while chatting up anyone who wandered within earshot. Most Wolfram and Hart people kept their distance or simply smiled nervously when they saw her. It was understandable of course, given her important status in the company. As Angel’s secretary, she was among the upper echelon of employees and with that came a heaping dollop of intimidation. It was either a burden or a perk depending on your perspective. The little people needed positive role models of upward mobility and Harmony did her utmost to fulfill that inspirational role from her strategic perch at the bar.
Sometimes it was wiser to maintain a professional distance. Even though she knew Kelli-with-an-I from archives was sending hairy eyeball vibes from a corner booth, Harmony nursed her drink with poise and restraint. Not everyone from the steno pool lucked out as Harmony had done. Some hapless candidates got stationed in the basement vaults, light years from the pulse point of corporate intrigue. It wasn’t Harmony’s fault that she was a super achiever uniquely skilled in capturing and neutralizing threats from lard encrusted corporate stowaways. Some people were just meant for greatness.
“…It was tense there for a few moments until I…” Harmony spoke at a gallop to a Wolfram and Hart data input minion who made the mistake of volunteering to buy another pitcher of draft beer for his table and just happened to ask Harmony how it was going. That social nicety got him a spirited rendition of ‘How Harmony Saved Angel, Wolfram and Hart and America in General’ from the diabolical fingers of corporate espionage. “…Yep, one false move and Angel might have, you know, been attacked or something. It’s a good thing I was there to tackle the guy and get him into a headlock. Gosh, when I think of what might have happened I get the chills.”
The tiny trails of bubbles in the pitcher of beer the man was holding slowed their serpentine streams. His companions wolf whistled for his return. The sharp noise spurred him into action. “Wow, um, that sounds really cool.”
“Oh, it was, but then I’m no stranger to heroism.” Harmony opened her mouth to enlighten her audience of one. “Back in Su–“
“Look, I really should get back. I’ve got people waiting for their beer and…” He raised the jug, shrugged and started to retreat.
“Okay, it was great talking to you, Ned! We’ll have to do this again sometime.” Harmony nodded her head and flashed her brilliant smile.
“It’s Neil. Neil Anderson from–” Neil had already dropped from Harmony’s radar. He turned with a sigh and walked back to his table where he and his jug of beer were warmly received.
“Been a busy bee, have you love?” There was no mistaking that voice. Spike appeared from beyond a potted palm and sidled up to the bar beside Harmony.
She bristled at his proximity. “Yes, I have. Not that it matters to you.”
“Angel was in danger? From that little fart? I’d have paid good money to see that.”
“There you go, Spike. Judging, judging, judging. You’re just a big fat judging guy.”
“Careful, love, my ego’s on the line.”
“Humpf!”
“So you saved the company from corporate espionage?”
“Who knows what kind of information that guy might have gathered.”
“Right,” Spike nodded his head. “From what I heard it was more like: lard tasty, make good bed.”
Harmony’s eyes widened with incredulity. Spike was so clueless about the business world. “That’s what he wants you to think.”
“You think?”
She pursed her lips and nodded. “It’s called misdirection–that’s corporate speak for you civilian types. It’s a tactic used by your clever espionagers and magicians. Just when you’re expecting a fluffy bunny you get a pound of dripping lard instead.”
“I can see you’ve put some thought into this.”
“It’s my job to think, Spike. You should be so lucky.” Harmony took a final slurp of her drink and finished it. “What are you doing here anyway?”
“Free country, cheap beer,” Spike scooped up a handful of peanuts from a nearby bowl and tossed a few into his mouth. “Salty nuts.”
“I mean, shouldn’t you be at the office? I thought I heard Wesley say something about calling you.”
“Yeah. Lucky me. I was summoned. But then I got thirsty so I thought I’d let the old man stew for a bit. Can’t let him think he runs the joint now, can we?”
“But he does run it. He has a nameplate that says CEO.” Harmony had dusted it enough times to know for sure. “That means he runs it.”
“Yes, well…” Spike reconsidered small talk with Harmony. Perhaps finding out what Angel wanted would be less painful. He weighed the choices: Harmony versus Angel. It was a tough call. Angel had one thing in his favor though, his drinks were free. Spike downed the rest of his beer and left the empty glass on the bar.
“Don’t bother saying good-bye, Spike,” Harmony called after him. “It’s not like– Oh poop!” The glass door swung shut. She needed to be quicker with her sarcasm and she had a doozy for Spike even though the opportunity to zing him with it was lost. With a sigh Harmony consigned that brilliant jab into the doozy vault in her brain, there to lay in wait for another day.
After noticing her emptied glass, Harmony quirked her head to the side and smiled at the bartender. He was cute, quick with the drinks and obviously worked out. “Another, please.” Harmony caught his eye and twirled a tiny umbrella between her fingers.
The bartender nodded and reached for a bottle. Her attention was drawn toward his incredibly tight rear package–talk about buns of steel. Harmony figured platinum cheeks for sure. He turned back around and set the non-alcoholic beverage with festive umbrella decoration in front of her. Harmony reached into her purse and brought out a five dollar bill as her eyes sank down his torso, heading south to inspect another package that also did not disappoint.
“I haven’t seen you around here before,” she inquired. “Are you new?”
“It’s my first week.”
“Well, welcome to the neighborhood, neighbor.” Harmony tilted her drink and flashed a winning smile at the man. She didn’t have to have an agenda to be her normal sparkly self. Friendliness was always appropriate in social situations and there was nothing wrong with enjoying the tightly packed scenery. Harmony wrapped her glossy lips around her drink straw and sucked at the contents. She spun on her stool and spied a familiar face at the door.
“Hey, Fred! FRED!” Harmony broke into a wide smile and waved frantically toward the entrance where Fred stood silently searching the tables looking for her date. She spotted Harmony and reluctantly sauntered over.
“Hey, Harmony.” The bartender listened for Fred’s order.
“Aren’t cocktails the greatest?” Harmony relaxed against the edge of the bar. “They just ooze sophistication.”
“I guess.”
“Why don’t you join me? We haven’t had gal chat for a while now.” Harmony indicated the empty stool beside her.
“No, sorry, but thanks. I’m meeting Wesley for drinks. I guess I’m the first to arrive.” Fred did one more quick scan of the place to make sure Wesley wasn’t at a table already.
Harmony’s eyebrows slid up her forehead. Yes! Genuine dish at last. She was right. Wesley won out over that creepy, shifty-eyed Knox and his collection of polished graduated beakers.
“Drinks with Wesley? Excellent! So Knox finally got the heave ho, huh? I guess that’s for the best. I never did see why you’d give that guy the time of day, not with Wesley being all, you know, stubbly and yearning.” Harmony slurped another swig of her beverage.
“What? Yearning?” Fred’s cheeks flushed brightly. Had there been yearning that she’d not noticed? “No, there’s no– It’s not– We’re just fr–“
“Friends, I know. Wesley is one friendly guy. Yep. He is. But I’ve got a nose for these things, Fred. The guy’s got it bad: definite yearning with a side dish of throbbing.”
“Harmony!” Fred sputtered a cough and thanked her lucky stars for the racket that was blaring over the sound system.
“Trust me,” Harmony nodded, knowing she’d struck a nerve. Fred was simply a rusty heterosexual and it was time to utilize the Wesley shaped oil can. “He’s– Oh! Right there, at the door.”
Fred turned and caught Wesley’s eye. All she could think of was the words “Wesley” and “throbbing”. She thought her cheeks might burst into flames. Panic set in. “Um, Harmony,” Fred turned back to Harmony and spoke in a constrained pitch, hoping against hope that Harmony would get the message and keep her opinions to herself. “We’re just two friendly colleagues unwinding after a hard day at the office. It’s nothing big, really.”
“Got it!” Harmony recognized the touch of panic in Fred’s delivery. “I’m hip to the whole covert ops deal. My lips are sealed.” Unfortunately, Harmony’s exaggerated wink did little to calm Fred’s fraying nerves.
Wesley approached the bar and addressed the bartender. “Guinness, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Evening Fred, have you found a table? Oh, Harmony, hello. I didn’t see you there.”
Harmony stifled a giggle. “And I didn’t see you either.” Wesley was extra adorable when he was being covert. The mating habits of intellectuals were fascinating.
“What about over there?” Fred pointed to a table tucked under the overhang of some palm foliage.
“That looks fine.” Wesley slipped his arm around Fred’s waist and with a nod to Harmony led Fred toward the table. Harmony looked on with a feeling of satisfaction coursing through her. She had razor sharp matchmaker’s instincts. It was only a matter of time before those two tripped over each other and fell into a big, gangly pile of nerd love.
*
Harmony walked sprightly down the street swinging her pink feathered purse, the very picture of an upscale urban vampire. The night air was cool and inviting, perfect for stalking. Los Angeles had the most intoxicating homicidal vibe for those who were in tune. Even though Harmony was totally committed to her “Twelve Steps to a Less Evil You” personal growth plan, she could still appreciate the bewitching ambiance of a murky night sky obliterated by screaming neon signs and the evocative drone of homeless vagrants dumpster diving three alleys away. She stopped when her reverie was interrupted by an odd sound and an odder feeling.
Someone or something had its eyes trained on her.
“Ha-ha, Spike. You can’t scare me!” Harmony rolled her eyes and looked around. Silence. A stray scent wafted under her nose: beef jerky or turkey jerky. Curious. Another sound: the crush of aluminum cans. No, that was the dumpster patrol in the distance. Harmony screwed up her courage and went on the offensive.
“Okay, doofuses,” she announced in a loud voice. “This is your unlucky day. Not another gorgeous crime victim in waiting here.” The wind tickled her ear and made her swing about to face a seemingly deserted and shadowy alleyway.
“Attention muggers! I’ll have you know that I’ve had one hard-ass day and I’m so not afraid of you.” Harmony grit her teeth, ready to be ferocious if need be. A sound jostled the darkness in front of her.
“If you’re an actual creature of the night I’ll just say, hey, and go home if that’s all right with you. Okay? And, um, if you are now or have been a client of Wolfram and Hart, it’s me Harmony, executive secretary to Angel?” She bit against the side of her lip in hopes of an affirmative response.
The clatter of metal on metal screamed from the dank recesses before her as Harmony advanced into the alley. She wasn’t going to run. Technically, she was incapable of running. The elevation of her platform sandals eliminated running from the equation entirely. She could trot at a moderate clip but she would not risk her footwear for man nor beast. Whatever was in that alley she’d face with her legs looking devastatingly sexy and a mile long.
“Oh, this is ridiculous.” Harmony marched toward a dented trash can and paused with her fingers on the lid handle. It could be anything. She shifted into game face and hoped that whatever this something was there wouldn’t be fighting because she wasn’t so great at the fighting parts. Bravely, she removed the lid. A startled, gray tabby kitten with enormous eyes blinked at her and sneezed.
“Aw…Aren’t you the cutest thing?”
She scooped up the protesting creature and held it up to her face. “Bet you’ve had a bad day too, huh?” She pouted and stroked the mangy, matted fur of the pitiful waif. “This city is hard-core, I’m telling you. What kind of a maniac would throw away a perfectly good kitten?” Tiny claws clung to her skin as rheumy breaths indicated a compromised respiratory tract. “It’s okay kitty, yeah, I’ve got you. Everything’s going to be fine now.” Harmony cradled the kitten to her bosom and cooed at it all the way back to her apartment.
Once safely at home with her unexpected guest, Harmony sat on the sofa flipping through her television channels. The kitten curled into a fluffy terry towel on her lap. The unappealing viewing choices left a look of disgust on Harmony’s freshly washed features.
“Ugh, same old crap. Oh! Wheel!” Harmony snuggled with the kitten as they both watched the big money wheel turn. It was such a novelty to have a house guest that Harmony gushed an excited stream of one way conversation.
“This is a game show, pussy-cat. It’s loads of fun. That’s Vanna, she’s the game board goddess. I used to dream about having that job. I mean, after Vanna retired or was crushed under a piano or something unavoidable like that. I could stand and clap and flip the letters and act like I didn’t know the solution. That’s the biggest part of the job, acting clueless.” She pressed her lips together with a touch of chagrin at the wardrobe possibilities lost. “I could so have done that.” The tiny feline looked at the fluttering colors on the illuminated screen and then turned its dazed expression back to Harmony.
“The game board can be really hard but the contestant who cheers the loudest usually wins. Well, not always. Enthusiasm is essential but there’s other factors too. If there’s a cute chick with big boobs, she’ll get the big prizes, or some hot stud. You’d think being gorgeous would be enough, but there’s always somebody who wants to give you a trip to Crete or some gold doubloons or an SUV.” Harmony pointed to the screen. “See that girl in the baggy synthetic fibers? No way can she win. That cardigan is a crime! See? Bankrupt already. Hotness is key to game show victory.”
Harmony angled her tiny companion toward her face and closely observed it. “How are you doing little fella? Hmm? All comfy cosy? You know, I should probably give you a name. Are you a Mr. or a Miss?” Harmony opened the towel and eyed the cat’s rear quarters to try to ascertain the sex of the creature. Not knowing exactly what feline genitals looked like, Harmony squinted at mysterious bursts of fur between the squirming creature’s legs.
“Hmm,” she pondered. “I can’t really tell. Sorry about that. I think I’ll call you Mr.– Hey! What about Pussy Galore? That’s a sexy-cool movie name. Mr. Pussy Galore. There, that covers all the bases. What do you think of that?” The cat looked at her and rubbed its head against her palm as it elicited a droning purr of contentment. It was the most genuine display of affection Harmony had experienced in a long time and it overwhelmed her.
Mr. Pussy didn’t care if she was soulless or sometimes mixed up the alphabetical filing system at Wolfram and Hart. Mr. Pussy had simple needs. Shelter from the storms of chance and a lap to sit on were an unthinkable fantasy in that dirty alley but here in the arms of this squeaky creature the tiny kitten felt safe, secure and wanted.
The expired smoked salmon and spinach pâté from Harmony’s girl’s night in that Fred cancelled last minute was also deeply appreciated.