Super (Book 2): Super Duper (3 page)

Bam-bam-bam! BAM-BAM-BAM!!
The insistent knocking at my door woke me up from
the nap I’d fallen into looking at my old yearbook. My phone
said that it was after five. Even though my gig as the building
super was mostly a piece of cake, having people knocking on
my door or calling my phone any time was a drawback.
I staggered over to the door and looked through the
peephole. I didn’t recognize the clean cut brown skinned guy
in jeans and a t-shirt on the other side. But I hadn’t met all
of the tenants in person yet. Some were still just names on
checks that were slipped under my door once a month.
I opened the door. “Yeah?”
His almond eyes narrowed. “Where’s Yuri?”
“Yuri?”
“Yeah,” The guy eyed me suspiciously. “He’s the super
here.”
“Oh, Yuri. Yeah, he doesn’t work here anymore. I’m
Audrey, the new super. How can I help you?”
He was still looking at me suspiciously. “I’m Mike. I
live in 3A. And my garbage disposal is acting up. Can you
look at it?”
No
, I thought.
I don’t know anything about disposals.
I’m actually kinda iffy on what garbage disposals do.
But on the
outside, I tried to sound confident as I said “Sure. Let’s see
what the problem is. Let me get my tools and I’ll be right up.”
I grabbed my hand-me-down toolbox and followed
him up two flights of stairs to his apartment. 3A looked a lot
like my apartment. It had the same set up. But it was obviously
inhabited by someone who did dishes and laundry. I stood
in the doorway for a moment looking at his comfy worn in
furniture and the collection of art and family pictures on the
walls.
Oh, so this is what it would look like if I was an actual person.
“Ahem.” Mike cleared his throat and pointed to the
kitchen. “I believe what you’re looking for is over there.”
“Oh, yeah, the disposal.” I lugged my toolbox over to
the sink “So what seems to be the problem?”
“Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t,” he
deadpanned.
“Right.” I flipped the switch on the garbage disposal.
Nothing. “How long has it been doing this?”
“A couple of weeks, I guess. I’m not home much. I
work a lot.”
I pulled out some tool I couldn’t have named for a
million dollars and stuck it in the disposal. As I was poking it
around, I made conversation with Mike to distract him from
the terrible job I was doing. “What do you do that keeps you
away from home so much, Mike?”
“I’m on the police force. The 68th district. I’ve been
getting a lot of overtime.”
“A cop?”
“A detective, actually.” He paused. “Hey, I don’t want
to tell you how to do your job but maybe you want to check
the motor.”
I stared at him blankly.
He spoke a little more slowly, as if he thought it might
help me understand. “Maybe the motor’s going and that’s
why it will turn on sometimes and not others.”
“Yeah. . . that’s a good idea. But I don’t know if I have
the tools necessary to take apart this counter.”
Mike gave me a funny look. “It’s in the cabinet under
the sink.”
“Oh yeah. Exactly. That’s, um, exactly what I was
doing.” I got down on knees and opened the cabinet. Then,
I started banging on what I assumed was the motor with my
unidentifiable tool. “How long have you been a cop?” I yelled
from under the counter.
“A detective,” he corrected me again. “I’ve been on the
force for five years. I’ve been a detective for almost three.”
I stood up and flipped the disposal switch. Nothing
happened. I put my tool in the disposal and banged it around
inside the hole. Nothing happened.
I keep chattering nervously with Mike as I banged
some more with my right hand and flipped the switch with my
left hand. “And how lonARRGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!”
I screamed when the disposal roared to life, mangling my
hand in the process.
The scream was involuntary. It didn’t matter that I
knew I’d be good as new in a few minutes. It hurt like hell! In
the time it took for Mike to run over and turn off the disposal,
I yanked my hand from the sink and put started running cold
water over it.
He was clearly freaked out. “Are you OK? I don’t think
water is going to do it. You might need to go to the hospital.”
“Oh no,” I said, maneuvering my body so that it
blocked him from seeing what I was doing. “No, it just nicked
me. It’s basically a paper cut.” I was lying. From my view, I
could see that my hand looked like hamburger meat. It was
bloody and misshapen.
Doubt was all in Mike’s voice. “You didn’t hurt
yourself? You screamed and everything.”
“Oh that was more being surprised than anything. I
promise you, I’m fine.”
Or I will be in a couple of minutes
, I
thought. I could already see the flesh on my hand regenerating.
I just had to keep him from seeing it. I needed to distract him.
“Are you single?” I blurted out the first thing that came to
mind.
“What?” He was clearly confused by stalling.
“Are you single?” I repeated.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah? Sounds more like a question than a statement.
You don’t know if you’re single?”
Suddenly, his voice was right behind my left ear. “No,
I don’t know what you’re doing. Let me see your hand.”
“Um, hold o— “
“No,” he cut me off. “I think you need to go to the
hospital. Let me see.” He reached over, grabbed my wrist,
and pulled me toward him. We both looked down at my hand
together. It looked puffy and bright pink, but it was whole.
I breathed a sigh of relief. “See? I told you.”
Mike held my brand new, dripping wet hand in his.
He turned it over to examine it and then turned it over again
to examine the other side. “Audrey?”
I licked my lips and met is almond brown eyes. “Yeah?”
“You gotta call a plumber.”
“I think you’re right. I’ll let you know when he gets
here.” And with that, I grabbed my tools and made the fastest
exit in the history of home improvement disasters.

Tap. Tap. CRASH!!!
For the second time in two sleeps, I was awakened to
the loud sound of someone trying to get my attention. This
time, it was at my bedroom window. I rolled over to see glass
surrounding a large rock on my bedroom floor. It matched
the big hole in my bedroom window perfectly.
I struggled out the bed and rushed to the window.
Down on the ground, Outside Bob waved up to me from the
sidewalk. “Good morning, Audrey!” he called up.
“What the fuck, Bob?! You broke my window?!” It was
both a statement and a question.
“Yeah,” he shrugged. “This building has thin windows.
In my experience, most windows can take a few rocks without
breaking all over the place. You should talk to the owner
about that. It’s probably a building code violation. “
“Bob, why would you be throwing rocks at my
window? That’s insane.”
Bob shrugged again. “Hey, I’m not the one who is late
for her appointment.”
I looked at the time on the alarm clock on my nightstand:
8:07. “FUCCCKKK!!!! I’m late!” I yelled. I didn’t even think to
ask him how he knew about my appointment.
“See? I told ya!” Bob yelled back.
But I wasn’t listening to him. I ran across my bedroom
and grabbed some clothes out of my closet. The day before
I’d come back from apartment 3A, made another call to the
plumber about the wonky disposal, and ordered Chinese
food. Then I’d spent the rest of the evening watching reality
TV and trying not to freak out about this appointment. I’d
even set my alarm to wake me up a little early so I could get
to Miss Fine’s office early. You know, start things out on the
right foot and all of that.
But as I stuffed myself into a pair of nice jeans and a
dressy top and pulled my hair into a somewhat neat poof, I
realized that wasn’t going to happen. “Wish me luck, Crash,”
I yelled at the fish swimming in unperturbed circles. I grabbed
my bag, my phone, and my keys, and opened my front door,
where I promptly stopped in my tracks at the sight before me.
Standing in my doorway, with her hand raised as if to
knock on the door, was a little girl with two long black plaited
pigtails in a pink shift dress. “My mom said for me to use
your bathroom.”
I exhaled as I realized who this was. “Little Cindy
Pham, right?” She nodded. “I told your mom that you guys
could use the extra toilet in the basement. It’s that door right
next to the washers and dryers.”
She shook her head. “My brother is in there.”
“Then wait for him to get done.”
She shook her head again. “My other brother is gonna
use it after that. And then— “
“Your other brother needs to use it,” I finished for her. I
took note of the way she wiggled as she stood in the doorway
in the unmistakable pee dance that every kid has ever done
more than a few times in her life. I had to go, though. “Listen,
you can use my bathroom but I have to go. I’m late for a very
important appointment.” Cindy hopped up and down and
nodded her head. “Just make sure you lock my door before
you go. Just turn the lock on the knob and close it when you
leave.”
“Ok,” she said as she pushed past me and made a
beeline for my bathroom. She slammed the door and the lock
clicked. “Audrey?”
“What?”
“You’re almost out of toilet paper.”
I just shook my head, shut my door, and ran out of the
building.

If you believe the movies and TV shows, Supers are all
loners. They spend their entire lives working alone—unless
it’s time for a multi-brand movie where they all work together
for a short time and a big box office payoff. But in real life, the
Super Council manages all of us. We get our training, licenses,
and our assignments from the Council. It’s a sprawling
organization with numerous departments, committees, and
boards working every day from a big building in midtown
Manhattan.

Even though I rushed, it was still 9am before I made
it to midtown. I was sweating like a hog even in the cool
October morning air. The whole ride there I was nervously
going over all the scenarios possible for the meeting. None of
them seemed like something I would want to participate in.

By the time I got off the train I realized that I should
have called the number on the card Miss Fine had left me
to tell her I was still coming. But what if she told me not to
bother coming because she’d already decided on my case?
No
, I thought.
I’d rather just go up there and explain. I’m always
better at explaining in person.

I’d only been to the Super Council building once
before. Super licenses were given out in mass oath swearing
ceremonies—sort of like citizenship hearings. Other than
that, I hadn’t had a reason to visit the building again. . . until
now, that is.

It looked like any other of the big office buildings that
lined 6th Ave from the outside. Inside, the lobby was bare
except for one desk with a security guard sitting behind it. As
I approached the desk, he eyed me with interest. “Can I help
you?” he said, his voice indicating that he had no desire to the
help me at all.

Miss Fine.”
“Name?” His tone hadn’t gotten any warmer.
“Audrey Hart.”
He checked his computer. “You’re late.”
“I know. I overslept because— “
“4th floor.”
“Excuse me?”
“The auditors are on the fourth floor.”
“Oh OK.” I walked over to the elevator and pressed

the up button. On the fourth floor, directly across from the
elevator doors was a receptionist at her desk. I walked over and
gave her the same information I gave the guard downstairs.
She instructed me to wait in the reception area and picked
up her desk phone when I did. She was talking low and her
voice didn’t carry across the room. When she hung up the
phone, the receptionist raised her voice significantly and said
“Auditor Fine will be right out.”

I nodded and gave her what I hoped was a confident
smile. Inside, I thought
Those are the least comforting words in
the world.

I considered leafing through one of the magazines
on the coffee table in the area but I was too nervous to scan
through seven ways to plump my butt right now. My butt
and its degree of plumpness were the last things on my mind
at the moment.

Miss Fine came around the corner, raised two fingers,
and used them to indicate I follow her. She didn’t wait to see
whether I did—just turned and made her way back down
the hallway, leaving me to hustle behind her to keep up. She
stopped in front of one of the doors that lined the hallway,
opened the door, and indicated for me to go in

Once inside, she sat behind her desk and began
shuffling paperwork on her desk. I felt stupid standing there
while she sat so I sat down on one of the chairs on the opposite
side of the desk. She still didn’t speak to me. She was much
more interested in ordering and reordering her papers.

I waited a few more moments for her to start. And
then I just figured that maybe she was waiting for me to start.
“Listen, I’m sorry— “I started to explain.

“You’re late.”
“I— “
She raised her hand. “Don’t interrupt,” she said.

“You’re late. But I knew you’d be late. According to your file,
being on time is not something you think is important.” She
pointed to the paperwork she had been shifting on her desk.

We sat there for a moment in silence in an apparent
staring contest. Finally, I realized she was waiting for me to
say something. “Um, well, I don’t think I don’t think that it’s
important exactly.” I sounded stupid. Her raised eyebrow
told me she disagreed with me.

Miss Fine shuffled more paperwork on her desk until
she found what she was looking for. “You’re always late. Your
district numbers are abysmal. Your work is unprofessional.
You are not an active part of your community. You’ve been
late by varying lengths on your dues since the day you
received your license.” She put the paper down and slid her
glasses down her nose. “You’re a failure, Audrey.”

I felt my mouth drop open involuntarily. It’s one thing
to know you’re not exactly the world’s best Super. It’s another
thing to hear someone call you a failure. It’s like when your
jeans don’t fit and you think
Hey, Taco Tuesdays are becoming
a problem
, only to have someone else say “No, you’re fat.”
It might be true. But hearing your worst fears coming from
someone else’s mouth is no a small thing.