Standard Arguments

It had been a great first day at Reynholm Industries. Imogene and her new colleagues got along splendidly. Roy liked all her favorite movies, Moss knew just as much about her favorite superheroes as she did, and Jen was—well, she and Jen liked most of the same romantic comedies, although Imogene's tastes were much pickier and more opinionated. Imogene fit into their group like a glove.

She also wasn't all that bad at Guitar Hero, once she figured out which side of the screen she was on.

All in all, it had been a wonderful day. She couldn't wait for tomorrow. Her entire body tingled with nervous, excited anticipation. She was so anxious, in fact, that she'd almost completely forgotten about Ginger and her midlife crisis—or whatever crisis she was going through. Imogene still wasn't quite sure what it was all about.

When she opened the door to the apartment, all the furniture in the living room had been pushed to the walls and Ginger was sprawled out on the floor in a giant X-shape, surrounded by a ring of scented candles.

"ALL BY MYSE-E-ELF, DON'T WANNA BE—"

"Ginger, what the hell is going on?" Imogene scolded.

"ALL BY MYSELF, ANYMOOOOORRREEE!"

"Stop singing that. Are you crying? What is this, a séance?"

Ginger burst into tears, and her belly began to bounce up and down as she sobbed. "He left me for a man."

"Ginge—"

"He left me," she repeated. "For a MAN. And we were so in love, you know? We were gonna get married and have kids and have a house with a white picket fence and everything. He was gonna move in here with me for a while because my apartment was nicer. Did you know he was in a band? They got signed to a record label. An ACTUAL RECORD LABEL. As in they'll be getting RECORDS AND TOURS AND STUFF. I could have been famous. There could have been pictures of me all over Google images. I could have been in his 'personal life' section on Wikipedia. 'Xavier Cameron married Ginger Bailey in 2018 and together they have six children'. Did you know we were going to name all of our kids after X-Men? There was gonna be Raven, James, Jean, Scott, Kitty—"

Imogene grabbed her hand, trying not to knock over any candles. "Ginger, get up."

She moaned. "I'm not over him yet. Please just let me mourn."

"Oh, come on! He's not dead. He cheated on you. He's a...well, he's...he's a bad person. He sure as hell doesn't deserve all this attention you're giving him."

"He kinda does."

"He does not. Now get out of that bathrobe and go take a shower. You've got—is that corn starch?"

Ginger sat up and sniffed a piece of white gunk in her hair. "Candle wax."

Imogene winced. "Ew."

"I made all of these candles today."

"Double ew. What about your job?"

Ginger's eyes scrunched up into sobbing position again. "I WAS GONNA BE A HOMEMAKER!"

"Wait, are you telling me you quit your job?!"

She nodded gravely, and her shoulders shook.

"So you don't have a job, I'm our ONE source of income, and I just got here! Wonderful. Just wonderful."

"I want to die."

"Oh, shut up! Go get in the shower and take care of yourself."

"When did you get so mean?" Ginger's eyes widened. "Wait, you're acting more confident than usual. What happened? Are you on drugs? Are you even Imogene?"

"Ask me why."

"Why?"

"Well, since you asked, if you must know I had the most AMAZING first day at work ever recorded in human history."

"Oh."

"Well, maybe not the best. At first it was sort of terrifying. Mr. Reynholm is a bit crazy and I think I saw him get a boner, and I almost got lost on my way there in the first place, and it turns out that I work in this really dirty basement for people who treat me like garbage—but Roy and Moss and Jen are all so nice and I think I found my new best friends! No offense. But Moss and Roy walked me home and they were just the sweetest. And I think Jen likes me, too, though she's a bit more standoffish. She wants to have a girl's night to watch romantic comedies. Can you believe it?"

"Well, I'm glad YOU'RE having fun."

"Oh, phooey."

"By the way, your dad called."

Suddenly, Imogene's confident disposition faded, and she shrunk down to her nervous self again. "He did? Wha-what did he say?"

"I don't know. He wants to talk to you, I guess."

"Where's your phone?" Imogene asked quickly.

"Uh..."

Ginger pulled it out of her pocket, and Imogene snatched it out of her hand with a fiery intensity, racing into the bedroom and slamming the TARDIS-blue door shut. She flopped down on the air mattress and dialed her father's number with shaking fingers. The tones rang for less than a second before Weston Eklund, CEO of Prophecy Electronics, picked up.

"Hey, snootykins," he said in his deep, gravelly, familiar voice. "What can I do you for?"

"Dad," she whined. "Don't call me that. I'm not eight years old anymore."

"Wait, really?" he joked.

"I heard you called."

"Yeah, I did. Just wanted to make sure you weren't hanging out with any drunks and junkies."

In the other room, there was the clinking of some glass bottles and Ginger yelled, "WHERE IS ALL THE VODKA?!"

"Oh, no," Imogene said, clearing her throat. "Never drunks and junkies, dad. Nuh-uh."

"How is Reynholm Industries, then? Is it treating you well?"

"Oh, yeah. Everyone there is really nice."

"You know," said Weston. "They were desperate to have you. Douglas was literally begging at my knees, telling me, 'Please, please PLEASE let us hire Imogene!'"

"That's not true."

"It is true."

"Douglas Reynholm barely remembered my name."

"Was it Douglas? Maybe it wasn't. Must have been someone else. But they were begging to let me hand you over. You know I didn't want to, of course. But they gave me an offer I couldn't refuse."

"Dad, you're not the Godfather."

"I kind of am."

Imogene sighed. "I still can't believe all this happened."

"I know. It's too good to be true, isn't it?"

"Well...yeah. But I don't know. I still don't get why they hired someone from all the way overseas to work in the basement and treat like an inferior. It just doesn't make any sense."

"It makes perfect sense," Weston said almost insistently. "They wanted someone qualified, and who's more qualified than the daughter of the CEO of Prophecy Electronics? They're just, you know–being a little hard on you since it's your first real job."

"Well..." She paused for a beat. "What's going on back at the company?"

"Oh, the usual."

"What about that place that wants to buy us out? You've still got them under your thumb, right?"

"Yes, yes, of course I do."

"Dad..."

"I do!"

"You know how important it is that you don't go through with it. You sell us out and we lose everything we've ever worked for: our reputation, our right to the Synapse, the enterprise you built with your own two hands. You can't let this rival company get anywhere near Prophecy Electronics. It's imperative. I don't care what 'the deal' is or how much money he offers you. It can't be done."

"Yes, yes, snootykins, you've told me a thousand times. Nothing's happening, I swear." He paused briefly. "Look, I know how much you want to become CEO when I'm gone. You've been talking about it ever since you could get words out of your mouth. But I'm CEO now. Let me handle things. And meanwhile, you go get your hands dirty in that little basement and learn about the business from the inside out for a change."

"But..."

She hesitated. She couldn't say it. She couldn't say what she'd been thinking ever since she'd been offered the job at Reynholm Industries. She couldn't tell her own father about that nagging feeling inside her that there was something up, that she felt like this whole deal with the new job and the move to London was just to get her out of the way.

Was she being too anxious? Too distrusting? Probably. It was her greatest flaw, her lack of trust in others. She'd been raised that way—everyone's a drunk or junkie, every man on the street wants to rip your clothes off, everyone at the grocery store is going to steal your shopping cart. Did she really think that way about her own father? Could she really put him in the same category as all the drunks and junkies and thieves?

The answer, she decided, was no.

"Never mind," she said finally. "I'm being too paranoid. I trust you. I know you won't go through with the sellout."

"Good. Now, go have a fun night with Ginger. A fun, drink-free—"

"Drug-free, sex-free night," she finished. "And don't worry, I'll call 9-1-1 if anything happens to me."

"That's 9-9-9 where you are, snootykins."

"Right. Bye, Dad. Love you."

"Yep. Goodnight."

There was a click as he hung up the phone, and Imogene sighed and flopped down on the air mattress. Ginger opened the door and toppled into the room, carrying a bottle of red wine, and Imogene sat up sharply.

"Not on the bed!" she cried. "Your sheets are white! It'll stain!"

Ginger stared at her and pointedly tipped the nozzle of the bottle onto the white bedsheets, letting some crimson liquid splatter onto them before taking a swig herself. "Tonight I sleep in the blood of my enemies."

Her friend shrieked and went to snatch up the blankets, but Ginger grabbed them and the two commenced a game of tug-of-war.

"Ginger, you're drunk! Give them to me!"

"Don't tell me what to do! I'm in crisis!"

"That's no excuse!"

Suddenly Imogene pulled just a bit too hard and the sheets slipped out of Ginger's fingers, along with the bottle of wine she'd been holding. It fell to the floor, breaking on the hardwood and speckling Imogene's shoes and Ginger's white socks in a wave of red.

"My shoes!" Imogene yelled.

"My wine!" Ginger shrieked. "I'm going to kill you, you fricking slut!"

"Not if I kill you first! I've had these a month, man! Come on!"

"I WAS LEFT FOR A MAN."

"That's not a valid argument in this situation! These are the only shoes I brought with me!"

"Oh, that's just great. The only pair of shoes you own has a bunch of little monster faces drawn on them? Cause that's just SO MATURE."

"You're the one being immature! When did he leave you, anyway? I bet you've been like this for a year at least. You smell like it, anyway."

"For your INFORMATION, it's been TWO WEEKS. And I think I'm allowed to have at least a little time to grieve over this, don't you think? You could be a little more sympathetic."

Imogene growled. "I can't believe I agreed to stay with you! You're by far the worst person I've run into all day. You're drunk when I arrive, you're drunk when I get home from my FIRST DAY AT WORK IN A NEW COUNTRY, and now you've spilled wine all over my ONLY PAIR OF SHOES. I think it's safe to say that you're the worst roommate in the world even though it's only been ONE DAY."

Ginger opened her mouth to say something, but Imogene interrupted her again.

"You're being a pain, Ginger. A real pain. We used to be best friends. In college we leaned on each other all the time. I would love to help you get through this. But it's just—ugh! You're the only person in London that I really know! I could use a little effort on your part to help me get situated. You've been nothing but mean and selfish and indifferent towards me and it's really not fair considering I'm scared and terrified and my family is all the way across the ocean! You need to get it together!"

Ginger's eyes scrunched up again. "Why are you so goddamn assertive?"

"I'm not..." Imogene was taken aback. "I'm not assertive."

"You kind of are."

"Aw, Ginge. Don't do this again."

"HE LEFT ME FOR A MAN."

"Yes, yes, I know. You don't have to keep telling me. Let's just get you a bath, okay? You literally smell like a trash can—behind a bar. In an alleyway. Where people throw their cigarettes—are you a smoker? Please tell me you're not a smoker OH GOD YOU'RE A SMOKER."

"I hate you."

"Too bad. I'm staying."