by John Corwin
I decided to go across the road to check out Phipp's Plaza, knowing full well I couldn't afford anything in the high-priced mall. I took a few wrong turns in the parking deck and ended up belowground in some sort of service area that dead-ended in a concrete wall. Just as I was certain I'd never get back out, a pink Lamborghini with zebra stripes appeared from nowhere I could discern. If I hadn't been in the process of blinking, I would've sworn it came straight through a concrete wall.
Nevertheless, I followed this beacon of bad taste through the twisting deck and back out to the main area. Breathing a sigh of relief, I parked the car and went inside. As I walked around, I passed people who made my senses tingle. Unlike Stephen, they put off something of a warm glow or the slight prickle of static electricity. As one fellow passed me, the image of a great well of glowing light flickered across my vision.
Dizzy, I sat down and gave myself a moment. "I really do need a therapist." Getting a peculiar feeling from being near someone wasn't all that abnormal, but seeing things was. Rarely had so many people set off my senses and I came to the conclusion that seeing Stephen must have affected me more than I wanted to admit. I obviously needed therapy and knew just where to find it. I located a bookstore with a nice selection of tea in their cafe and bought the sequel to a smutty novel I'd wanted to read for a while.
While ratcheting up my randy factor probably wasn't the best thing for me to do considering the lack of man solutions, I decided the little box of toys in my closet were a lot less troublesome than any man. Just pop in a fresh set of batteries, and they were all the company I needed. They didn't go out drinking, lie to your face, or cheat on you after having their way with your body.
If only they cuddled.
After depressing myself with such thoughts, I thought it perfectly reasonable to treat myself to a nice dinner with wine and chocolate pie for dessert, all while fantasizing about telling Ana I could eat anything I wanted. Of course, that required ignoring the little ninny in me that was freaking out about how many calories I'd consumed over the past two weeks. I hadn't gone near a scale lately, nor did I intend to. So long as my jeans still fit, I would do my level best to ignore the elephant in the room, even if I was the elephant.
Jack texted me to ask if I was feeling better. After waiting an appropriate amount of time, I texted back and told him I'd had a wonderful day of shopping. He didn't reply which irritated me a bit. I wondered if perhaps I'd completely misjudged his interest in me. It wasn't a pleasant thought. I wanted him to like me even though I really wasn't interested in him as more than a friend. Just because I had no romantic feelings didn't mean I couldn't enjoy a double standard.
Bloody men, always causing problems.
After a quick stop by the grocery store for lunch food, I felt as if I'd managed a somewhat productive day. Even better, I wasn't feeling horribly depressed, nor had I sucked on any desiccated Dove bar sticks.
As I cooked chicken breasts and quinoa for lunch the next day, the door opened and Isabel walked inside, suitcase in hand. A pink bow held her hair in a sideways ponytail, and she wore Pink sweatpants and a hoodie. Without even trying, she looked like a bloody supermodel. Her eyes met mine, and I noticed how sad they looked.
I took in a breath to speak, but paused with uncertainty.
"I'm sorry," she said, a tear trickling down her eye. "You were right. I'm out of control."
I rushed over to her and hugged her, tears gathering in my eyes and spilling down my cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Izzy. You know I love you. I should have kept my big mouth shut."
"No, you were right, Em." She pulled back, wiping tears with the back of her hand. "I'm so stupid with guys. I keep sleeping with them, expecting to find one of them really interesting, but they're like empty shells. They all start looking and sounding the same."
I slumped against the back of the couch. "Well, at least you're not uptight about them like me. I think I'm turning into a man hater."
She laughed. "We are so screwed, aren't we?"
I nodded. "Indeed."
Isabel dug her hand into a bag. "Well, it's a good thing I brought out the big guns then, isn't it?" She produced a large container of Nutella. "You forgive me?"
Despite my misgivings, I laughed, and my mood lightened. "For Nutella I would forgive almost anything." I went and grabbed two spoons. "You forgive me?"
"There's nothing to forgive, Em." She strained with the lid on the Nutella. "Now if only we had a man to open this damned thing."
We burst into giggles.
"Just stand over there, sir, and open our jars for us when we say so," I said.
"And give us back massages," Isabel added.
"Oh dear, that would probably lead to other things," I said.
"Ugh, men!" Isabel set down the jar and tugged off her hoodie, stripping down to a T-shirt. Her bicep bore a nasty yellow-green bruise.
I took her arm and looked at it. "What happened?"
"Oh, nothing. I fell."
"This bruise is in the shape of a finger, Izzy." My stomach felt tight as I looked it over. It was too fresh to have been caused by our first encounter with Stephen, though the slight traces of where he'd bitten her neck remained. It took everything I had to keep painful memories at bay.
She closed her eyes, her head bowing. "Can we start with the Nutella first?"
I laughed despite the anger boiling deep in my belly. "If we can get it open."
A damp rag helped me twist off the cap. "The Devil himself must have tightened the lid on this one in order to torment the poor woman who purchased it."
"Men," Isabel said in an exasperated voice.
"With horns."
She giggled. "And tails."
I let Isabel take the first spoonful, and followed right after.
"Mmm." She moaned pleasure. "Oh God, I feel better already."
"It is cathartic, isn't it?" I nibbled at chocolaty goodness on my spoon in an effort not to gobble it all at once.
We were several spoonfuls in when Isabel sighed. "I went to Destin with a guy I met. There were six of us—three guys, three girls. At first it was a lot of fun, but they started doing drugs. The guy I was with, Rex—"
"Whoa, they still name guys Rex?" I said.
She laughed. "I think it was short for something, maybe Tyrannosaurus. Anyway, he insisted I do some coke with them, but I didn't want to. We got in an argument, and he grabbed my arm to keep me from walking away." A tear trickled down her cheek. "Then he hit me in the face. If I hadn't been wearing my hair like this, it probably would have left a bruise."
My fingers tightened on the spoon. "Son of a bitch. Where does he live?"
"He's a rich boy. Lives near Buckhead."
"Let's get some baseball bats and trap him in an alley."
She laughed. "I don't think I could hit someone with a baseball bat."
"But the bastard hit you."
"He was high."
"Don't defend him."
Isabel gave me a tiny smile. "I'm not you, sis. You're brave and vicious. I don't like hurting anything."
"I'm not vicious," I jammed the entire spoonful of heaven in my mouth.
"Like the time you tripped Billy Ferguson and stomped him in the crotch with your high heels after he touched your butt?"
I tried to speak, but my mouth was too full. "Omm!"
Isabel grinned. "Maybe that's why we're opposite when it comes to guys. I let them do what they want, and you beat the shit out of them."
The glob of Nutella finally dissolved enough for me to form words. "In case you don't remember, Billy said he wanted to fuck me up the ass!"
We both laughed uncontrollably for a few minutes, remembering that night. Billy hadn't come near us after that.
"Seriously," I said, looking at her arm. "I think we both need therapy. And baseball bats. Plus, slugging a man with hard wood would not only be ironic, but also a good workout. We'll both need to lose some weight after this."
"This is good therapy," Isabel said.
"I feel happy right now."
"So do I." And it was true. For the first time in days, I felt happy. I was certain my day of shopping and gluttony had plenty to do with it, but I wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Isabel and I were back to speaking. All was right with the world. I decided it was too soon to tell Isabel about my bizarre encounters with Stephen and George Walker. I didn't want to freak her out.
Then again, not telling her might have dire consequences. If Stephen wanted to hurt me, what would stop him from hurting Isabel? I resolved to tell her everything.
Tomorrow.
Chapter 14
The first thing I saw upon entering the office Monday morning was Sandra's pale face, her eyes bearing dark circles beneath them. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought she'd been engaged in ultimate fighting and gained two black eyes for her trouble.
"Are you feeling better?" I said, careful to give her wide berth lest she contaminate me.
"I'm fine." She summoned enough energy to weakly raise an imperious eyebrow. They were penciled in, though I could tell her heart hadn't been in it this morning, because they were flat and not tapered with her usual precision.
I decided not to waste another breath expressing false feelings of empathy for her. At least she would be the one dealing with Jones. I could safely hide away in my office and admire the plushy pens Thomas had given me before losing his mind.
The next two weeks went by in a blur. Mr. Jones kept us so busy bowing to his every whim and desire that it was all I could do not to give into my homicidal urges to beat the man with a baseball bat. On the positive side, I saw no signs of Stephen or George Walker, and life seemed to have returned to a state of normalcy. Despite Mr. Jones's rotten attitude, I didn't give up trying to figure out what had happened to him.
At least things with Isabel and me were back to normal; otherwise, I might not have survived. Her friendship and a few drinks at Gronsky's were the only thing keeping me sane. Although I'd promised myself to tell her about Stephen and George Walker, I never felt the moment was right, especially since those troubles seemed to have vanished.
Another Monday tore me from slumber and forced me from bed. I hadn't been sleeping well, but that was old news. I bit back a yawn as I stepped into the reception area at work.
Sandra greeted me with an eyebrow raise. "You're late."
I checked the clock behind the desk and looked at my phone. "The clock is a minute fast."
"That is the office time. I suggest you adjust your phone to match it."
I didn't bother telling her that cell phones were synchronized with an atomic clock that was always right. Instead, I decided I would turn the office clock back five minutes so I could be early tomorrow.
After finishing my morning duties, I checked in on Kevin to be sure he didn't need anything and inspected the schedule on Sandra's desk to see what time the conference room needed to be prepared for any presentations. A breath caught in my throat as I noticed a presentation scheduled for seven-thirty.
What the bloody fudge? I'd checked the schedule on Friday before leaving and this definitely had not been on there.
Even worse, I only had fifteen minutes for preparation. Sandra appeared from down the executive hall.
"When was this scheduled?" I pointed to the calendar item.
She shrugged. "I didn't make the schedule. I assume Mr. Jones did it." An eyebrow went up. "You'd better hurry."
I resisted the urge to tear the paper to shreds and throw it in her face. Instead, I ran back into the kitchen to get out the portable coffee containers. A few employees milled around inside the break room, swilling coffee and talking. Out of the four coffee pots, only one was full. I grabbed it a split second before Stan, his horseshoe pillow still around his neck, reached for it.
"Hey!" he said, eyes squinting at me from beneath bushy eyebrows. His scrawny frame stood about my height, and he must not have showered since awakening beneath his desk, because a whiff of BO tortured my nose.
Repressing a gag, I said, "Sorry, it's an emergency." I dumped the pot into one of the three dispensers and raced to fill the water reservoirs in the industrial machine and spoon coffee into the filters. I had to fill the third dispenser with a decaffeinated brew.
"I want coffee," Stan grumbled. "I can't program without coffee."
"You'll get it," I said. "But there's a meeting in ten minutes, and I have to make coffee for them."
"Just let me get a cup." He held up a mug that was larger than his head, the words Mega Guzzler on the side.
"Your cup holds a pot full of coffee in it. Please, if you'll just let me take care of this, I'll make you a fresh pot."
The door opened and Hinkle waddled in. The room went silent, and people edged toward the door. "What the hell are all of you still doing in here?"
"She's not giving me my coffee," Stan said in a whiney voice. "You know how hard it is for me to get going without my morning cup."
Hinkle looked from the brewing coffee to me. "You didn't have the coffee ready this morning, intern?"
"I did but—"
"You're causing productivity issues in my department, and I don't think Mr. Jameson would appreciate it."
"I made the bloody coffee on time," I said. "But sales is having a meeting in less than ten minutes!"
"I could give a rat's ass. The next pot of coffee is his."
Though math wasn't my strong suit, I knew giving him a pot of coffee would leave me enough to fill only one dispenser. As if I had a choice. It suddenly occurred to me that coffee wasn't the only thing lacking. There were no donuts.
"Bloody hell," I said.
"I don't appreciate your tone, intern."
"I wasn't talking to you."
"She's not as nice as the last one." Stan eyed a filling coffee pot.
Stan would soon receive a pot of coffee all over his head if he didn't watch out. I raced to the phone and dialed Kevin's desk. It rang several times before he finally answered.
"Do you have donuts for the meeting this morning?" I asked.
"What meeting?"
"The one at seven thirty. I just saw it on the calendar."
Kevin cursed and I heard a keyboard clicking. "Son of a bitch! Jones changed the time for this appointment over the weekend but he didn't send out an email to let us know." He groaned. "Look, I gotta go. Thankfully, I have this presentation ready to go, or I'd be screwed."
The phone clicked in my ear. I turned in time to see Stan dumping sugar into his coffee mug with the large scoop that came with the coffee.
I had five minutes.
Time for desperate measures.
The first pot of coffee finally finished. "Well, take it," I said, glaring at Stan.
A smug look crossed his face as he dumped most of the contents into his mug while Hinkle looked on, arms crossed, his beady little eyes watching me like I might swoop in and steal Stan's coffee at any minute.
"I don't like your attitude, young lady," Hinkle said as he ushered Stan out the door. "If our programmers aren't happy, they aren't productive. You'd better do your job."
"You'd better do your job," I mimicked a few seconds after he left, closing the door behind him. I was frustrated, angry, and ready to panic—a terrible combination for a Monday morning.
Jack entered the room and grinned. "Hinkle giving you a hard time? I heard him complaining about the coffee."
"I got blindsided with a presentation this morning." I dumped the other pots into the coffee dispensers and decided to go with the things two-thirds full instead of waiting on more pots. "And I don't have donuts."
"How many do you need?" Jack said.
"There are fifteen people attending."
"Get the coffee to the room. I'll see what I can do."
My heart lifted from the bed of nails it currently rested on. "That would be wonderful, Jack."
He left the room and I followed after, pushing the cart out into the hall and to the conference room. Attendees had already gather
ed. Jones gave me a nasty look as I wheeled in the cart.
He followed me into the hallway as I made for the kitchen, and cleared his throat. "You realize we're going to start in two minutes, don't you, Miss Glass?"
"I'm sorry. I didn't see the calendar had changed."
"That's not my problem." He looked back into the room. "Where are the bagels and cream cheese?"
"But I thought you wanted donuts."
"Those too. But some of us prefer something healthier." He grunted. "You're not impressing anyone, young woman. I suggest you pick it up a notch starting now."
I ran back to the break room, my heart racing. The closest bagel shop was two blocks away. Jack reappeared, a box of donuts in his hand.
"I had to borrow these from Janet."
"Jones wants bagels," I said. "Bloody bagels!"
"That asshole." Jack scowled and looked around, his eyes settling on the fridge. He opened the door and pulled out a bag of bagels with someone's name scrawled on the side. "Looks like we'll have to borrow these too." He grabbed a plate from the cabinet and dumped the plain bagels on the plate, and found a few foil-topped containers of cream cheese in the door of the fridge where people apparently dumped their excess single-use condiments.
"Just what the hell are you doing in here?" said Hinkle from behind us.
I nearly tossed the bagels on the floor, letting out a little shriek of surprise.
"Sorry, wanted some coffee," Jack said.
"That sorry excuse for an intern still hasn't made more coffee?"
"Yep, just got some fresh," Jack said, picking up a mug someone had left near the sink and gulping down whatever was in it. He made a slight gagging sound and coughed, his eyes watering.
I gathered up the bagels and donuts, trying to act as if I knew exactly what I was doing and skirted around Hinkle as his little piggy eyes followed me. Once out the door, I rushed down the hallway, nearly tripping over my high heels, and put the food down in the conference room as Kevin spoke from the front of the room.
