Third Time Charmed

Size Matters (Part 1)

Piper nervously adjusted her chevron-patterned white shirt as she cast a worried eye over the club's interior. White gauze curtains hung from the ceiling, and the tables were being removed in favor of mounds of pillows. Lots and lots of pillows. Even the music was getting a refresh. This, according to her new manager, Treat, would give P3 some 'flair,' but this was not the P3 she knew. Then again, wasn't that the point? After all, the P3 she knew, or what it stood for, was gone.

"You look worried, baby girl," Treat told Piper, stroking his goatee.

Distracted by the club's makeover, she hadn't taken in much of what the enthusiastic man had been telling her. Normally, she would have called him out on the affectionate yet condescending pet name he had bestowed upon her, his boss. However, she hadn't been much of a boss lately, unsurprisingly, and Treat came highly recommended, so she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Well, uh, Treat," Piper started, finding her voice. "I know I gave you the authority to make some changes in the club, but I thought they would happen gradually. You know, I don't want to shock the regulars."

"Well, I do, alright? Your place is too safe," Treat clapped back immediately, a confident smile on his face. "Now, do you trust me? Do you trust the number one club promoter in all of San Francisco?"

"Yes, of course," Piper assured the man in spite of her doubts. Maybe a shakeup was the right way to go. Make it quick and painless, like tearing off a Band-Aid.

"Good. All right, guys. Rip it all out!" Treat ordered his workers, apparently taking Piper's diplomatic response as a sign that she was on board.

Rip it out? Had she said that Band-Aid thing out loud? Piper turned to see two burly guys removing their private VIP table, the one which she, Prue, and Phoebe had sat around so often since opening the club. She supposed she didn't have a choice now, but painless it was not. It was just wood and metal, and it wasn't like they were using the damned thing, so why did it hurt so much?

Piper considered this. When was the last time they had been here together? When was the last time Prue had so much as set foot inside P3? She chuckled noiselessly when she recalled what must have been the last time for both. The three of them had toasted to Phoebe getting rid of her white hair and Prue her white fur.

"Err, Piper? Hello?"

Piper snapped out of her reverie to find Paige standing beside her, waving a hand in front of her face, wearing a purple turtleneck and a useless studded belt on her hip, which matched her dark pink lipstick. She couldn't decide whether the girl's personal style was something to admire or ridicule. "Oh, Paige, hi. What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I just thought I'd stop by, I hope that's...okay?" said Paige, her eyes following the activity going on all around them.

"Of course," said Piper.

"What's, err, going on here? And what's with all the white gauze?"

Piper regurgitated Treat's words, "Don't you think it gives the club a little 'flair?'

"Umm, yeah, it sure gives it...something," Paige commented as she surveyed what was happening to her favorite haunt, then corrected herself when she met Piper's eyes. "A little somethin', I mean, you know?"

"Who's this?" Treat asked, returning to Piper's side, eyeing Paige with interest.

"Err, Paige, this is Treat Taylor. He's the new manager of P3. Treat, this is Paige, my, err, younger sister."

Treat extended a hand to Paige in greeting, which she shook. "Oh, right, nice to meet you," he said. "Does that make you P1 or P3?"

Paige flinched at this reference to the name of Piper's club. Somehow, she had never made the connection, which seemed ridiculously obvious now that she knew about the sisters' shared initials and the Power of Three, now that she was part of it. So, did that make her 'P3,' as Treat suggested, or would she be thought of as P4, at best?