Sleeping with the Fishes (4 page)

"You probably did." Jonas was a chemical engineer for the
Aveda
corporation
. He was constantly struggling to invent a shampoo that didn't damage hair.
Which was problematic, as by definition, all shampoos did.

"Speaking of work…" He set an
Aveda
bag positively bulging with, she knew, hair care products, on the table. "Honey, those split ends. I love you, but I can hardly bear to look at you.
Seriously.
Tend to them.
Now."

"It's not my fault I'm wet more than I'm dry."

"Anything else go wrong today? Not that anything had to." The waitress set down two
appletinis
and he gulped at one thirstily. After a moment's thought, he slammed it down and began on the second one. "Actually, it's not picturing your mom, because she is an awesome-looking woman and I've had a crush on her since you brought me home after the fight…"

"Stop it," she said, but she was smiling. Jonas had proudly shown off his no-polish manicure on the first day of second grade, and two fourth graders had discovered rather large problems with their own sexual insecurity. Their solution was to take it out on Jonas. Fred, annoyed at being interrupted from her reading, had broken up the fight by tossing one kid into the monkey bars and dumping the other one, head first, into the sandbox.

Nobody had ever laid a finger on Jonas again through elementary, middle, and high school.

"—and there she was, a blonde angel of mercy, tending to my many wounds, and yelling at you because—"

" 'Violence
Isn't The Answer,'" they said in unison.

"Right-o.
So I don't mind picturing your mom in the buff, but Sam…
yech
."

"Then they do this whole song and dance about how I'm not Sam's biological child."

Jonas slurped again.
"Duh."

"What I said."

"I mean, you're a mermaid and Sam can't get himself out of the shallow end."

"I said."

"Then what?"

"Then I got my ass back to work and met the new water fellow."

"What the hell is a water fellow?
You scientists and your jargon."

"It's a marine biologist who travels around the world trying to explain to the bipeds that they're destroying the planet. He learns and teaches at every place and moves on after three months."

"Hey, hey," Jonas protested mildly. "I'm a biped."

A pretty cute one, too, and Fred was mystified that, at the ripe old age of twenty-nine, Jonas hadn't found someone to settle down with. He was tall, blond, lifted weights, had a black belt in aikido, was a brilliant engineer, was kind to children and small animals, and never judged Fred, not even when they'd gone swimming in the ocean a year after they'd met and he saw her tail.

Maybe it was because he was only eight at the time, and children were more open-minded about such things. Maybe it was because Jonas was generally open-minded about everything. Maybe it was because Jonas was—well, Jonas. Regardless, he had never judged her, he'd stuck staunchly by her, and she didn't have a finer, kinder friend on land or sea.

It made her sad that he was alone, and it drove her mother absolutely
batshit
. Because she couldn't understand why two people who had known each other forever couldn't settle down together. After all, she had married
her
school buddy.

"So, is he a nice guy?
This water fellow?"

"He talked about my hair."

"Well, people usually notice that first."

"About how green it was."

"But it's blue."

She sighed and took a gulp of her margarita.
"Never mind."

"So, did you order?"

"Yeah, I've got a salad coming."

"Waited for me like one pig waits for another, huh?" The waitress, as if sensing his need, again showed up out of nowhere. The two of them flirted outrageously while Jonas ordered the lobster and Fred tried not to yawn.

"So, what's next today? I mean, it could hardly get worse."

"New intern."

"Don't tell me: loved dolphins as a kid?"

"Still is a kid.
Perky.
Cheerful.
Gorgeous.
Enthusiastic."

"How awful for you."
Jonas managed to say such a silly thing with convincing sincerity. "Well, cheer
up,
She'll only be around for the semester, right? That's how long any of the interns stay."

"Six months is a long goddamned time to put up with Madison
Fehr
."

"That's her name?"

"And she used to cheer."

"My God!
I can't believe you didn't slit your wrists on the way over. What else?"

"I freaked out in the tank again."

"Swam upside down in your scuba suit?" he asked sympathetically.

"Yeah, among other things.
And I forgot the fish food. So I'll wait until the place is empty and go back and feed the little buggers."

"Are they still on hunger strike?
The fish?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I don't want to hear about it. I want to hear about how hot your mom still is."

"Nope."

"Uh…your love life?"

"What love life?"

"Right.
I'm in the same boat myself. My trainer ran off with my nutritionist."

"Tessa and Mari were lesbians?"

"Apparently so.
Leaving me high and dry.
My one chance to have a threesome," he sighed, "and it blew right by me."

"Aw. Don't say blew." Fred's salad came, and she picked at it and tried not to flinch as Jonas tore through his lobster.

"I'm not eating one of your pals, am I?" he asked, butter dripping down his chin.

"No. It just makes me slightly ill to watch you devour—"

"A fellow sea citizen?"

"Something I'm allergic to."

Jonas snickered.
"A mermaid allergic to shellfish."

"Shut up."

"Come on. It's kind of hilarious. I mean, if you lived in the sea, what the hell would you eat? Would you starve? Or would you slip onto shore, steal food, and race back to the water like the Loch Ness Monster, while people took fuzzy pictures of your bare ass? The only time you ever get sick—you have to admit it's funny."

"I'd like to get through the rest of this day without talking or thinking about bare asses, please."

"So this water fellow guy, what's his name?"

"Thomas Pearson."

"Well, other than needing to change his contact lenses, he seems okay. I mean, you've hardly bitched about him at all. And honey, you bitch about
everything
."

"He's all right. His hair is cute."

Jonas
froze,
his lobster fork halfway to his mouth. "Oh my God, you're in love."

"I'm not in love."

" 'His
hair is cute'? You never say anything nice about anyone. Coming from you, cute hair is a mating call."

"I talked to the guy for thirty seconds. And then he waved at me while I was in the tank."

"Holy fuck, you're getting married, aren't you!"

"Will you
simmer.?
I certainly am not."

Jonas tore through a claw, dunked the meat in butter, and slurped it like spaghetti. "You two were destined to be together.
A marine biologist and a marine biologist.
Meeting at an aquarium! What are the chances? It's, like, fate. God, what do they put in this butter—nectar?"

Fred pushed her salad away and pointed to his bread. "
You going
to eat that?"

"And fill up on empty
carbs
? Go on, take it. You'll swim it off anyway, you rotten bitch."

She grinned and grabbed the bread.

Fred crept back to the tank a little after midnight, let
herself
in by on of the employee entrances, climbed the stairs to the top level of Main One, stripped, grabbed a bundle of smelt, and dove in. She shifted from legs to tail without conscious thought; it was like breathing.

And in her mermaid form, it was a lot easier to hear the fish, demanding buggers that they were.

A barracuda passed by.
More fish more fish girl with fish more fish
.

I'm here, aren't I?

A sea turtle floated above.
Pounding more pounding outside pounding
.

Like hell. I'm not playing Pet Shop Boys for you guys anymore and that's it.

As happened with sea creatures confined to the same space for long enough, the fish and turtles and eels and everything else in the tank reverted to a group-mind.

It was nearly deafening.

Not eat, not eat,
NOT
EAT!

You'll eat.

NOT EAT NOT EAT NOT EAT!

Shut UP. You think I've got nothing better to do than come here at midnight and wave chum at you? You'll eat what I give you and never mind what I play on the speakers. You can barely hear it in here, anyway.

With the exception of the barracuda and a single shark, the rest of the occupants ignored her fish offerings. And the pair of hunger strike scabs
were
so loudly shouted down, they swam behind a boulder to sulk together.

Fred knew the hunger strike meant trouble. If they didn't eat, soon the larger fish wouldn't be able to help themselves: they'd prey on the angelfish and
sunnies
and other small fish stuck in the tank with them.
Which would raise questions.
Which would get Fred into a lot of trouble with Dr. Barb.

She had to admit she admired their principled stance—especially the smaller fish, who had the most to lose. But like hundreds of little finned "
Ghandis
" moving in glimmering schools, they valued their dignity (or at least their musical taste) more highly than their own lives.

Morons.

Not to mention the larger problem: she freaking hated the Pet Shop Boys. Any band
who
relied more on a mixing board than actual talent wasn't in her mind, a real band. And who was in charge here, anyway?

A damselfish wiggled by.
Pounding more pounding outside pounding
.

Fine! Starve
! She dumped the rest of the smelt into the water and lifted herself out of the tank, shaking out her tail and cursing under her breath.

"You have a lot of food left this week," Dr. "Barb told her."

"The fish don't seem to be hungry," Fred lied.

"Yeah, and like, that's not Dr.
Bimm's
problem, right?" Madison chirped, carefully applying lip gloss. "She can't, like, make them eat, right?"

"Umm.
That's… hmm."

Fred almost grinned at Dr. Barb's discomfiture. She'd since heard through the office grapevine that Madison's parents were descendants of
Mayflower

embarkees
(the original tourists and, later, the original illegal immigrants), owned half of Boston waterfront, and thought their little girl should be able to intern wherever she wished, as long as she wished. And given how dependent the NEA was on private donations… "Thank you, Madison, Dr.
Bimm
, how are the levels?"

"They're perfect." Fred tried not to sound insulted.

"Maybe they don't like the new guy," Thomas joked. He glanced at Madison "Or girl."

Dr. Barb looked at him over the tops of her reading glasses.
"Very funny, Dr. Pearson.
I don't like where this is going. If an aquarium guest sees
a shark gobble
a few angelfish—"

"Stampede?"
Thomas guessed.

"And
rilly
rilly
gross, too!"

"Visitors don't want to see blood," Fred said gloomily.

"None of that 'nature, red in tooth and claw' stuff for them, eh?"

"Quite right," Dr. Barb said, handing back Fred's clipboard. "Keep an eye on it, Dr.
Bimm
. Let me know if things don't change in the next few days."

"I'm off tomorrow," she reminded her boss.

"Right, right.
Well, see how it goes Monday, then."

"Yeah."

"Dr. Pearson, you had something else for us?"

"Well.
Yeah."