BabyFace

Part 2

Part 1: BabyFace

Things were going gangbusters.

Until one day, Harriet noticed she had a small red pimple near her left nostril. She rubbed a little extra Babyface™ on her flawless skin and thought that would solve the problem. It didn’t. The next morning, Harriet, who you know was never a pretty woman, now had a serious case of pizza face.

She summoned Bob and demanded to know what was going on. She’d been using the latest test version of Babyface™. The one that promised an extra glow. Was there something wrong with the formula?

Eventually, Bob confessed he was experimenting with a radioactive isotope, but he insisted the quantity was so small it couldn’t be the problem.

What Bob didn’t know was that I messed around and added an extra dose of isotope to Harriet’s jar. She was on my case all the time because of me constantly banging Charlie and stringing Bob along. Jealous women are so annoying and dangerous. I should know.

She was exasperating, and I wanted to give her something else to think about besides following me around like a shadow at high noon. I was hoping I could get Harriet to glow in the dark. Picture this: dark-minded Harriet giving off a nice green glow. Justice served. What I didn’t know was that radioactive isotopes are very unstable and can cause unexpected results. Oops. Lesson learned.

I wish I’d mastered juggling because now I had four balls in the air: Quint, the loan shark, Charlie the sex addict, Bob the mad scientist, and Harriet the boss lady, who stood in my way if I wanted to take over the Babyface™ empire. And you know I wanted that real bad.

Harriet was screeching mad at Bob and kept telling him he had to “do something” – Bob kept saying he would work on it. He would fix it. But Bob was a curious man, and he was fascinated watching small pieces of Harriet’s face flake off, leaving red oozing divots. He was as interested in the effects of his latest concoction as he was in finding a cure for Harriet’s situation.

In his naive, confused way, Bob was just a science nerd who’d stumbled on the cream pot of youth. The only way to keep Bob focused on the business was to keep him broke. I was doing my part, begging for all sorts of presents, but I needed help, so I introduced him to Quint. And Quint was able to keep Bob supplied with young penguins. Expensive young penguins. I was feeling pretty good about the whole situation. I had Bob dangling right where I wanted him. Quint was making bank off Bob, so he was willing to extend the terms of my loan.

Sadly for Harriet, Bob was having trouble figuring out how to reverse the effects of the radioactive isotope. I’m not saying I had anything to do with keeping Bob distracted, but slowing Bob’s research down seemed like a smart idea. At the time.

Harriet’s face was melting, like horror show melting, and apparently, it hurt a lot. Or maybe Harriet was just being a big sissy. She wasn’t used to sucking up pain like I was. I got sick of her moaning. It would drive anyone crazy.

I set her up with Quint and he set her up with all the feel-good drugs she wanted. The problem was Harriet had a huge tolerance for fentanyl, so he started giving her tranc, which isn’t meant for humans, and it left huge open sores on her arms, which made her groan and moan even more until even Quint couldn’t take it anymore.

I was shocked Quint would give up on an all-you-can-eat meal ticket like Harriet, but even he had his breaking point.

Yesterday, he told me he tossed her into his shark tank. Said it was a mercy kill. I see his point. It was one less ball for me to juggle, and now I knew the shark had recently been fed, so I had more time to repay that loan. I started daydreaming about buying some fabulous shoes for strutting down Easy Street.

Thinking about all the money I was going to be making, I took my eyes off the balls in the air. What I didn’t see coming was Charlie’s reaction to losing Harriet. He went into a panic, thinking he was going to have to run the business. It took some time, but I calmed Charlie down and started taking over the operations of BabyFace™.

Charlie was so grateful and so very trusting. He said seeing numbers on paper gave him a headache. I told him never mind. I had ways to make his headache go away. I told him about how much I love creating relational databases. That part is true, surprising, I know, but let’s keep it our secret. And I had the pleasure of watching Charlie’s eyes glaze over at the mention of a database. The man was a pile of Play-Doh in my capable hands.

I was a satisfied woman.

That’s about the time Bob started acting strange. He was more needy than a Labrador Retriever slobbering for a meat treat. And then, he overheard some rough stuff going on between me and Charlie.

Hey, it was consensual, and yeah, I can be loud sometimes. Don’t judge.

I’d gotten sloppy. Bob being jealous of Charlie hadn’t crossed my mind. I’d let another ball drop, and that wasn’t a good thing. Which is how Charlie wound up lying at my feet.

Bob decided he would be the dashing hero who saved me from the rough stuff with Charlie. He bust in while I was on my on my knees and Charlie was getting his good time on. Picking up the poker by the fireplace, he bashed Charlie’s head like he was Roger Federer winning the Grand Slam. I barely had time to get out of the way before Charlie hit the floor.

Then Bob gets all handsy and smoochy, thinking I’m going to swoon and be grateful he had saved me. No one puts his lips on me unless I want it. That’s the rule.

I’m mad, and I start shouting, “Bob! What the hell were you thinking? That I was going to jump into your arms? Well, think again, Buttercup, because I never wanted to play penguin with you.” I’m too pissed to stop, and I know I’m saying more than I should. I’ve got two dropped balls with Harriet and money-maker Charlie, and Bob is about to be ball number three.

Looking like he’s just been crushed by Wiley Coyote’s anvil, Bob slinks out of the room, leaving me with the corpse of Charlie. And that’s where you found me at the start of this story.

My only option is to call in chips with Ball Number Four: Quint. He’s a fixer extraordinaire, and that’s what I need right now. He’ll take care of Charlie, and I’ll make Bob pay. It’s his fault we’re in this situation. Now he is the heir to Babyface™, and I’m back to being the hired help. Bob’s got the damn purse strings, and I’ve got nothing but a headache.

Taking another sip of Charlie’s good brandy, I think I might have one more move left in this game.

I happen to know Quint needs a business front to launder his money. Don’t ask me how I know, that’s my business.

I also know Bob can’t run this operation all by himself. He’s an idea guy. I’m operations, and Quint would get to be the banker. It plays to all our strengths.

This is going to put Bob & Quint’s balls back in play. (Metaphorically speaking. Get your mind out of the gutter.)

I’m going to give Quint a few good reasons to go into business with Bob. Specifically the seafood business - featuring squid, anchovies, and whatever the hell it is that penguins and sharks eat.

This could work - they get to keep their pets happy. Bob leaves me alone so he can tend to his feathered friends, and I’m free to keep BabyFace churning out money.

Yeah. I like it. I think this could work. I mean— what could go wrong?