Anyway, on the night in question-I did mention that I witnessed a murder, didn’t I?-I locked up, as usual. I was a bit late, because I’d been working on my gymnastic skills; you never know when you might need to do a backflip. I’d worked up a good sweat, so I had then showered and washed my hair before grabbing my stuff and heading toward the employees’ door. I turned out the lights, then opened the door and stepped outside under the awning.
Oh, wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. I haven’t explained about Nicole.
Nicole “call me Nikki” Goodwin was a thorn in my side. She joined Great Bods about a year ago and immediately began driving me crazy, though it took me a couple of months to notice. Nicole had one of those breathy little voices that make strong men melt. It made me want to strangle her. What is it about that fake Marilyn Monroe coo that men seem to like? Some men, anyway. Nicole laid on the false sweetness, too, when she talked; it’s a wonder everyone around her wasn’t bouncing off the walls on a sugar high. At least she didn’t do the finger-twisting-in-the-hair thing.
But that was because I don’t do it-unless I’m ragging someone, that is. Generally I’m more professional.
See, Nicole was a copycat. And I’m the cat she copied.
First it was the hair. Her natural color was kind of blondish, but within two weeks of joining Great Bods she went golden blond, with pale streaks.