I followed Mrs. Gonzalvo into her unit, listening to her go on about the short causing her no end of troubles and how she really wanted a first-floor unit if one ever became available because she wasn’t able to shift and leave from her place. And “nobody wants to see this naked.”
While trying to reassure her she was a real trouper for even living in the city, where her hippo must have some difficulty blending in, and that I was sure she looked fabulous clothed or not, I followed the sizzling, snapping sounds through her large, comfortable apartment. I assumed that job thief Earth Hart or whatever his name was knew where to find the problem, but since he hadn’t exactly been forthcoming, I’d have to figure it out myself.
Tools would be helpful, but I could at least assess the situation while I waited. “Mrs. Gonzalvo, if you could direct me to the problem?” I hadn’t been lying when I said she was fabulous. She had dark, glowing skin enhanced by the colorful outfit she wore. Her hair hung down her back in long, silky curls. Shifters aged well, and sometimes, larger women could be stunning. As she was.
“Didn’t that rascal Earhart tell you? I gave him all the details.” She tsked, maneuvering her bulk with far more grace than an ordinary human of her size would manage. “Go right through to the bathroom, dear.”
The bathroom? Maybe those gossipy fellows in the elevator were onto something.
I paced through the living room, admiring the sunken seating area and beautiful, hand-carved wood tables. “What lovely furniture you have.” I flexed my fingers to keep from running them along the gleaming satin finish of an occasional table. “Is it antique?”
She giggled, making her middle ripple a bit. “No more antique than I am. Those pieces are from East Africa, where my family comes from. They were gifts from my mother for my wedding.”
“So pretty.” Nothing in my past prepared me for much nice, but these were clearly special.
“Thank you so much, dear. You have an eye for quality, I can tell. Mr. Gonzalvo, goddess rest his soul, always loved the wood. Said it made the place feel alive.”
“Is the bathroom down that hallway?” I pointed, not wanting to have to discuss the fact I only knew quality because it was the exact opposite of anything in my experience.
“Yes, go on in and you’ll see the problem.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I might be new here, but I recognized an ally when I saw one, and this nice hippo shifter widow seemed very happy with me. If I could fix her problem and quickly, I could only improve on that, right?
If the living room was roomy, the bathroom was immense as such rooms went, and the tub! I froze in the doorway, looking at what could only be described as an indoor swimming pool disguised as a bathroom fixture. Were tubs fixtures? Either way.
The tub in question was filled with water nearly to the rim, and I could see the problem right away. Darn if those boys hadn’t been right. Gossip wasn’t always inaccurate as I’d learned living in a rural community. An extension cord traveled from a plug by the sink, across the room and over—over the filled tub! The plugged-in appliance was clearly something you shouldn’t use around water because it was a plugged-in appliance. And while my experience with such things was limited, I knew enough to recognize a giant vibrating dildo when I saw one. Even if a frayed part of the cord did lie across the top of the bathtub, less than an inch from the surface of the water.
Hmm. How to deal with this. I’d gone in prepared to deal with something more traditional. But when I turned and saw Mrs. Gonzalvo standing in the doorway, wringing her hands, cheeks flaming, I understood why she seemed so happy to see me in particular. “Can you handle this?” she asked hopefully. “You don’t need that young man, do you?”
Because she didn’t want a “young man” to see her sex toy. It would be humiliating. It was already embarrassing, but it would be worse. I truly could use a hand, since it was more a matter of moving things around and staying grounded than anything technical, but if I could do this, if I could save someone who was clearly an important person in the building—unless every unit was this huge and specialized—it would give me a real advantage over my competitor. Was he even one? Zelda had promised me the job. She’d made all the arrangements. Why hadn’t I called her instead of getting into this situation?
“No. I don’t need him. Would you mind going to the door and making sure he knows to wait outside?” I wouldn’t need the toolbox.
“Right away, dear.” Once again, she displayed admirable speed, her multiple bangle bracelets jangling, and I tried to remember how fast a hippo could move. I thought it was around twenty miles per hour, although most shifters were slower in human form.
I was figuring out my methodology when she returned. “He’s still waiting for the elevator, so I closed the door.” She smiled, rouged lips stretching wide. “Now, he’ll have to knock.”
Excellent plan.
“Mrs. Gonzalvo, it’s a little dangerous here. Why don’t you go relax in the living room while I take care of your problem?”
She turned away but then spun back. “Do you need anything from the tools he went to get? I have a few in my junk drawer in the kitchen. A hammer, couple of screwdrivers…”
“No, this is more about logistics. I’m good, but I’ll be better if nobody is watching me. I need steady hands.”
“All right.” She left, and I contemplated my problem. How to get across a floor spotted with puddles and remove a cord one small move away from electrocuting anyone who touched it.
She hadn’t really been planning on using that antique thing in the tub, had she? The woven covering on the cord was something I didn’t think had been made for decades. So…did that mean she always took it in there? And hadn’t died? Or was this an experiment? Maybe she’d just tripped and dropped it there.
Fifteen minutes later, the pounding got so loud, even Mrs. Gonzalvo’s embarrassment couldn’t withstand it. I heard her open the door and Mrs. Gonzalvo try to tell Earhart he wasn’t needed, but I could tell from the rising tones she’d had no success, and I had about twenty seconds to figure out how to fix this problem before I lost my ally when a man saw her jumbo-size vibrator. From the mid-twentieth century.
I eyed those puddles again. They didn’t cover the whole floor; dry patches dotted the black-and-white tiles. Really, the only thing I had to do was unplug the extension cord from the wall. Then the spitting and sizzling sounds would stop and nobody would die. But what if I grabbed wrong or was standing in the teeniest little puddle. I could rewire a lamp or a light fixture but saving someone from a giant nubby dildo?
Maybe, maybe not. I removed my shoes and stepped inside.