We Are Pirates: A Novel Read Free

parents,” the guard said.
    “Memorial Day,” said someone else, one of the guys in vests maybe, Gwen couldn’t see.
    “Stay out of this,” said the guy in the shirt.
    “I’m just saying the cops aren’t going to come,” said the person who was supposed to stay out of it.
    The guard adjusted his belt again, which was gross. “Octavia, what is your parents’ phone number?”
    “My dad’s at work,” said Gwen, but the men just looked at her. Even the guy staying out of it leaned his head in. It was the guy she thought it was. Her father at work was not the answer to what these people wanted from her. She was going to cry, as surely as she was going to get caught. They called her dad, Phil Needle, and her dad called her mom and her mom came and got her out of the drugstore. It had all happened so fast that the tourists were still laughing outside—not the same ones, but Gwen swore she recognized them anyway. They were all, everyone out there, the same.
     
    Phil Needle needed a new girl. He had to finish the Belly Jefferson story. Riding the Rails was working. Ratings on Heavy Petting were solid. Lots of one-time-only repeat business. His engineers were all right, young guys who might come in late or arm-wrestle over the free tickets the promoters sent, but okay. The stringers only talked to him when he didn’t pay them. Dr. Croc was all right. Phil Needle felt confident about America, or whatever he was going to call it, but he had to finish the Belly Jefferson story, and he couldn’t do that without a girl.
    His first girl had a sarcastic smile. When Phil Needle would walk out of his office and stop at her desk, whatever he asked her to do, staple things, give her opinion about an idea he just had, wrap up the other half of his sandwich, she always did it. She did everything. But she smiled like she had a better idea, and fled one Friday after only two years, with a note he still kept crumpled in a ball in the bottom of a drawer:
    This job is not meeting my needs. As of 5 PM today I resign.
    Instead of a signature, she’d left the key to the office at the bottom of the note, and when Phil Needle picked it up, he saw there was an image of a key underneath it. She’d made copies of the whole note, probably to prove she left the key if it ever came up, though of course Phil Needle, on the advice of Leonard Steed, had the locks changed anyway, in case she’d copied the key before she’d copied the key. He never uncrumpled the ball, but he still wrote her letters in his head: Dear Renée, What are your goddamn needs?
    His second girl had cancer, diagnosed just weeks after she was hired. She worked hard enough except when she had tests, or treatment, or was recovering from tests or treatment. The guys all rooted for her, and Phil Needle even sketched out an audio diary, “Jenna’s Story,” which he thank goodness never got around to pitching to the Keep Healthy people, because one day her boyfriend came to pick her up and Phil Needle finally got to shake his hand and say how happy everyone at Phil Needle Productions was to hear that Jenna was in remission, and he wondered what Phil Needle was talking about, and everything you can extrapolate from that story is true. The third girl was the one who walked into Studio B, where Allan was on break from his all-night mixing session for the Sinatra anniversary piece and masturbating. Phil Needle Productions now had a knock-first policy, and Phil Needle had placed an ad in all the necessary places, written with some coaching from Leonard Steed:
    Dynamic, re-inventive company looking for smart, energetic, quality-minded person for an administrative support position with limitless possibilities. Meet our needs and we will meet yours.
    Phil Needle felt good about the entire final draft except maybe re-inventive , a term Leonard Steed used that hadn’t taken off yet. His consulting company was called Re-Edison. Nineteen people had responded to the ad, but only two of