Now that it’s over, I feel slightly better, so I stand up and wash my face in the sink. Afterwards, I emerge from the restroom and walk towards my office, where Dina is standing patiently by my door. I remove the satchel from my shoulder and adjust the raincoat in my arms while Dina begins tapping her foot on the hardwood floor.
“Did something happen while I was gone?” I wonder, pushing the door open. She follows me into the office and pulls the door shut behind her.
“Do you care to tell me what’s going on?” she questions, standing with her arms folded across her chest. I casually drop the satchel and raincoat onto a spare chair and turn to face her.
“What are you talking about?”
“The restroom. I heard you in there.”
“I think I ate some bad fish,” I say, “no big deal.”
“Something else is going on,” she replies, not backing down.
“Really, Dina, you’re just going to have to spell it out, because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Your mom called the other day, and I answered the phone. We had quite the conversation.”
“What did you talk about?” I ask nonchalantly, pretending I don’t know to what she’s referring.
“Your bulimia,” she asserts, looking back at the door as though someone might hear her.
Oh, good grief.
“Bulimia?”
“Yes, she told me all about it and asked me to keep an eye on you. I didn’t believe it at first, but now that I’ve heard the evidence, I have no choice!”
Mom will not be happy until this nonsense has infiltrated every corner of my life.
“I’m not bulimic.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, nodding her head up and down. “She told me you would deny it. Maddie, you really need to seek some professional help here. Everyone’s worried about you.”
Blowing out my breath in a huff, I try to keep myself calm.
“Look, I’m not sure how to say this, but my mom can be a bit crazy. She’s the one who started this whole misunderstanding.”
“You shouldn’t blame your mother for your own shortcomings,” she says. “She told me about everything: how she tried to stage an intervention and you stormed out, how she tried to give you a nutrition guidebook and you wouldn’t even take it with you—”
“I don’t know how many times I have to say this: I am not bulimic.”
“I know you won’t admit it. Just know that I’m watching you.”
“Thanks for that,” I say, completely exasperated. She opens the door and pauses long enough to point to her eyes and then back to me while nodding her head in a knowing way.
I hope Cooper uses the bell when she moves back into the office.
I hope he makes her take his dirty shirts to the cleaners.
I even hope he makes her take his teeth to the dentist.
Cooper returned today, and he supposedly has something pressing for me to do this afternoon, so even though I’m still rather out of sorts from the mild food poisoning I had yesterday, I pull myself to Cooper Corporate Financial. Knowing my luck, he probably wants his socks ironed or some other nonsense.
I step into the elevator and push the up arrow, and an elderly gentleman steps in right as the door is about to close. He pushes number 3 and stands back against the rail. After a few seconds, I am immersed in the scent of cigarette smoke and mild body odor. Forcing myself not to look at the man, I pull a tissue from my purse and fake having a runny nose, holding it in front of my face. It works pretty well to block the smell until the number 3 lights up and he exits the elevator. As soon as he’s gone, I begin waving frantically because the stench is lingering.
The elevator surges upward, but stops abruptly on the number 4 as the door begins to open. A slightly chubby young man enters the elevator carrying a large, greasy bag of fast food.
“Hi,” he states cheerfully, pressing the 5 button.
“Hi,” I reply, removing the tissue for a split second. Immediately I wish I hadn’t. The smell of something grease-drenched and fried wafts up at me, mingling with the previous smells left by Mr. 3rd Floor. I nearly gag and try to cover the sound by coughing, holding the tissue tightly against my nose.
“Cold?” he asks. “I just got over one myself. Hope you start feeling better.”
I nod as the elevator reaches 5 and he exits through the open doors. The upward movement begins again, and my stomach lurches.
Exactly what would happen if a person vomited in the elevator? If they exited to tell someone, by the time they were back the elevator would be gone. They would probably just have to keep riding the elevator, telling everyone to stay away and to find a janitor.
Frankly, I don’t want to think about it. The elevator finally reaches the top floor, and I make a beeline for the restroom, yanking on the door. Locked? No, it can’t be! This is a dire circumstance, and I need in there.
My eyes drift to the men’s room. The mere thought leaves me feeling even more nauseated than before, but I have no choice. I carefully check the door, which is unlocked, and enter as quietly as possible, making it just in time to close the door behind me.
A moment later, walking back into the hall, I’m met by one of the Vice Presidents who eyes me curiously as he sees the men’s room door closing in my wake.
“Emergency,” I explain, shrugging my shoulders. The door to the women’s restroom swings open as I’m passing, and Dina emerges. She looks at me with knowing eyes and begins tapping that foot in a familiar rhythm.
“Not a word,” I say, brushing past her and heading toward my office.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Two weeks have passed since the unfortunate food poisoning incident, and today Cooper asked me to go across town to get him a fish sandwich. It’s about twenty degrees outside, and I still drove all the way back to the office with my windows down. The thought of having that fish smell trapped inside the Tahoe with me, when fish was what caused the poisoning in the first place…
Anyway, when I got back, I knew I couldn’t ride up to the top floor with that fish in the elevator, so I’m currently taking the stairs. About three floors up, I start thinking about how easy it would be to go over the railing and plummet to my death. That begins a process of looking down as I climb, which leaves me very dizzy. Plopping down in the stairwell, I fight the wooziness. The fish sandwich is sitting next to me in a very taunting fashion, so I shove it to the other side of the step.
Remaining there silently for a moment, I place my head in my hands and wait for the dizziness to subside. After a brief period of time, a door bangs open directly above me, and someone begins whistling. Before I know it, one of the maintenance people is standing next to me on the stairs.
“You okay?” he inquires. “You didn’t fall, did you?”
“No,” I mutter. “Just taking a breather.”
“Stairs aren’t for sissies, huh?” he indicates with a laugh, walking over to the bag in the corner with Cooper’s fish. “I hate it when people leave their trash in here. I’ll just send it down for later.” With that, I watch wordlessly as he drops the sandwich over the railing and it lands with a little thud on the ground below.
“You sure you’re okay?” he wonders again before opening the door to the next floor. I manage to nod, able to think of nothing but that ridiculous fish sandwich that is now at the bottom of the stairwell, which means that I have to march back to the bottom to retrieve it.
On my way down to recover the sandwich, I try and try to think of a way to avoid trapping myself in a confined space with the fish.
After emerging from the stairwell into the lobby, I pick up the phone and dial Katie’s number. I’m not sure what I expect her to do, but I know I need help.
“Katie?” I say when she picks up the phone. “It’s Maddie. I’m in the lobby, and I need you to meet me down here.”
“Something wrong?” she asks.
“No, nothing’s wrong, I just need your help.”
“I
’m in the middle of something right now.”
“Just hurry and get here as fast as you can.”
I am aware by this time that the receptionist is glancing over at me every few seconds, most likely thinking I’m crazy, holding a greasy bag and muttering into the phone about needing help. Katie must believe something’s wrong, too, because it only takes her about two minutes to find me.
“What is it, Maddie?” she asks, glancing at the brown paper bag in my hand.
“I need a favor,” I begin, still not sure what to request.
“Okay, what do you need?”
“I’m going to go upstairs in the elevator,” I mutter, pausing a second to think, “and then when it comes back down, I want you to come up with this bag.”
Katie wrinkles her forehead and puts her hand on her hip, giving me a stern look.
“I’m not sure I want to be involved in this.”
“In what?” I ask innocently. “Please tell me that you’ll help me.”
“What’s in the bag?” she whispers. “It better not be drugs.”
“Honestly, Katie, do you really think I would ask you to smuggle drugs?”
“No, but how do I know what Cooper would ask you to do?”
“Well, relax. It’s not drugs. It’s fish.”
“Fish?”
“Fish. Now are you going to do it, or aren’t you?”
Katie whips the bag out of my hand and points at the elevator.
“Go!” she orders. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into these things.”
I tell her thank you and step into the elevator, which lurches its way steadily upward to the top floor. Once there, I exit and stand silently in the corridor as I watch the lighted numbers go back down to 1. A couple people walk by while I’m standing there, but hopefully they assume that I am waiting to leave, instead of arriving. The numbers reverse their course and begin an upward climb, and I wait patiently.
“What are you doing?” Dina wonders behind me.
“Just waiting for the elevator,” I explain at the exact moment the door opens to Katie holding the smelly bag of fish. Glancing over at Dina, I realize there is no way out of the situation, so I simply snatch the bag from Katie.
“Thank you!” I tell her as the door closes and Dina eyes me suspiciously. “It’s for Cooper.”
“Uh-huh,” she blurts, walking away. I quickly deliver the sandwich to Cooper as requested, but I’ve only been in my office for about two minutes when the bell sounds overhead.
“You rang?” I ask as I open the door.
“Yes!” he barks. “This sandwich isn’t like the last time. I want you to call them and ask them why.”
“You want me to call the restaurant and ask why the sandwich is different from the last time?” I clarify, not quite believing that he’s serious.
“Yes—call them. I want to know. Here, come get it.”
He holds the paper bag out toward me, and even though I know I have to take it, my feet don’t want to move. Ultimately, I force myself forward and take the bag from his hand.
What am I going to do with this sandwich? I definitely am not putting it in my trash can—I’ll be sick for sure. I can’t take it to the restroom, either, because I might have to go in there later, and I can’t have the whole place reeking of fish. Where am I going to put this seafood, without having to get in the elevator and trap myself in the stale air with the pungent aroma?
Opening the door to my office, I step into the hallway, bag held out in front of me as far as it will reach. Dina remarks something about the sandwich being Cooper’s sarcastically, and I nearly push the down button on the elevator, but then I pull my hand back. I know I would never make it.
Reluctantly, I turn to the door to the stairwell. It’s a really long way down, but I don’t have much choice. Pulling the door wide, I step into the cold, eerie silence. Taking a deep breath, I move down three steps before I stop to wait. The maintenance guy said he hated when people left their trash in here, right? But he also said that he would pick the fish up later, when he threw it to the bottom himself. It is the same fish, so technically it is the exact same trash, and he did say he would pick it up. Holding my hand over the railing, I let it go, watching the bag as it falls past two, three, four flights of stairs, ultimately catching on a step.
No! He’ll know it’s not the same trash if I leave it there!
I start to go down the steps to retrieve the bag when I hear a door open below me. Making a mad dash back to my floor, I feel a bit like a child afraid of being scolded as I bolt into the corridor.
Imagine all this trouble over a single fish sandwich, which Cooper didn’t even wind up eating, and now I have to actually call the restaurant and ask them why it was different! Different piece of fish, they’ll probably say. Still, there is no arguing with Cooper—when he wants something, he won’t change his mind.
I casually walk back to my office, ignoring Dina’s stare as I shut the door behind me, startling a bit as Cooper pokes his head in from the other side.
“Maddie,” he states, “I’m thinking maybe I’ll try something else. I want you to go over to Billy’s and get me some oysters.”
“Oysters?” I cannot believe my ears.
“Yes, oysters. A whole plate full of them, and hurry.”
For a few seconds, I really consider going down to the Tahoe and driving all the way home, not bothering to look back.
“Miss Heard?” I hear the voice on the other end of the phone ask.
“Yes, this is Madeline Heard,” I reply, scooting my chair closer to my desk.
“This is Shirley at the reception desk. A young man just brought a sandwich for Mr. Cooper.”
Great. When I called to complain about the sandwich, the manager told me he would send over a new one. I told him that wasn’t necessary, but he insisted.
“Can you just send him up with it?” I ask. I really don’t feel like messing with any more smelly fish today.
“Sorry, but he’s already gone. He just dropped it off and went on his way.”
“Can someone down there bring it up?” I try again.
“I’m sorry, but I’m the only one here at the present.”
“Okay,” I mumble, hanging up the phone. Immediately I dial Katie’s number, listening to the phone ring twice.
“This is Katie Green,” she answers in a very professional tone.
“Katie, it’s Maddie again.”
“No.”
“But you don’t even know what I was going to—”
“I don’t care what you ask me, Maddie, the answer is no,” she insists more forcefully. “I delivered that stinky fish to you, and I didn’t ask you any questions. Next you drew me downstairs for that pile of clams or whatever it was. I’m not doing any more of your dirty work.”
“Please, Katie, just one last time.”
Wow, I really do sound like a druggie.
“What are you doing, starting an aquarium up there or something? You should try to get some live examples, instead of stinky dead ones.”
“I know,” I groan. “I know it’s stupid, okay? I wish I didn’t even have to ask you.”
“Then don’t. Why don’t you ask Audrey to help you? Your shadow will do whatever you say.”
Because Audrey still hates me, that’s why.
“She’s…not here. Please, Katie.”
“I can’t, Maddie. I’m sorry.”
Click.
Drat! Katie was my only good out for this situation. Now what am I going to do?
I reluctantly leave the comfort of my office, strolling casually past Dina and toward the elevator, pushing the button to head down a few floors. After only a few seconds, I sense a presence behind me.
“Going down?” I ask.
“Yes,” Dina replies, standing next to me.
Perfect. An elevator ride full of awkward silence is just what the doctor ordered.
The door opens and I step inside, followed quickly by the bespectacled bee
hive. “I’m going down to the Accounting Department,” she states, staring at the buttons on the wall. “Where might you be going?”
“Just running a quick errand,” I mutter, turning away from her. The elevator jerks to a stop at the floor she chose. A quick moment later, I reach the bottom and step out to see the now familiar brown bag waiting for me, so I move casually to the desk and snatch the bag. The stairwell is clearly not my friend, but it appears to be my only option. I’m almost to the door when I hear some familiar humming. Turning, I see Greg from the mail room walking back from the reception area.
“Greg!” I call, waving the hand that is not holding the brown bag fish special.
He looks my way and smiles. “Maddie? Not used to seeing you down this way.”
“No, I escaped,” I joke. “Since I ran into you, I was wondering if you would do me a favor.”
“Sure, I guess,” he states, shifting a stack of papers in his arms. Greg has to be right out of high school, all tall and lanky with the long arms. If he ever had to lift anything heavy, he might snap in half.
“I need to take this bag up to my office, but I’ve got a couple of stops to make on the way, and it’s just not very professional to carry it around with me. You understand, right?”
“I guess.”
“So, since you’re probably coming up in a few minutes anyway, I was wondering if you would drop it off on your way through.”
“You want me to drop this bag off at your office,” he repeats, totally taking the bait.
“Yes. You don’t mind, do you?”
“It’s not drugs, is it?” he whispers, glancing back at the receptionist.
Why do I keep getting that question? Do I look like a dealer or something?
Simply Mad (Girls of Wonder Lane Book 1) Page 30
