Chapter 22
22
I don’t know much about golems, but it turns out they have a real thing for caffeine. In fact, I’m pretty sure that no creature in the history of history has ever fallen in love with coffee faster than Paul Mudd.
As we walked from the coffee shop to the train, he hesitantly sipped the compostable cup I’d handed him. Stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Looked down at the cup, then at me, wonder overtaking his generally stony expression.
“Mrmmmm,” he said. Incredible.
I agreed— yep, yep, coffee’s pretty great —then shoved him toward the train station.
Now, sitting on the brown line as it rattles its way toward the Loop, he’s reverently clutching his long-emptied cup, sitting straight-backed beside me. I glance down at my watch. Assuming no issues with the train, I should get to the office a little before nine. Mercifully, I have no actual meetings today; I’m just catching up on some web copy, and playing hurry-up-and-wait on some packaging feedback.
But even with a light load, I can’t just play hooky today. I’m already planning to “work remotely” while running errands for Rosie tomorrow, and office tensions are so high right now. I can’t look like I’m slacking. Or like I’m bringing a hookup to work. God, how am I going to pull this off? Hopefully, Paul Mudd— God, am I really calling him that? —can hang out in the breakroom or something and just stay out of sight until I figure out what the hell to do with him.
The train doors slide open, people exiting, people entering. It’s becoming more crowded in the car as we get closer to the Loop. A woman with two small children enters at the Irving Park stop, balancing one on her hip while she yells at the other to stay where she can see him.
“Stand up,” I tell the golem, indicating that we should relinquish our seats to the family.
The mother gives me a grateful look. I nod pleasantly as I stand and take hold of the cold steel pole. Paul Mudd stands, as well, positioning himself behind me. He wraps his thick fingers around the pole, a few inches above my own, and his protective stance ensures no one else will come into contact with me on the train. He’s not quite pressed up against me, but every time the train lurches forward, the front of his body gently knocks into the back of mine.
I feel a little electric shock of excitement each time it happens. A strange shame swirls through me. He’s not a real man. I shouldn’t be attracted to him. I don’t think this is how it’s supposed to work with golems. They’re supposed to be mindless, hulking mud monsters, inhuman and unappealing. A soldier built only for defense.
But there’s nothing monstrous about Paul Mudd.
And I can’t help wondering how rock-hard a man made of clay might get.
He thuds against me again, and I shudder with guilty pleasure.
Before I know it, we’ve made it downtown. I exit at Merchandise Mart and the golem follows me wordlessly. He’s like a shadow, matching me step for step, never leaving my rear unguarded. He’s not that tall, not really—six feet, maybe. But his presence feels all-encompassing. He doesn’t stand. He looms.
When we reach my office building, I hesitate. I look at Paul Mudd, who came to a complete stop as soon I did. He’s waiting to see what I want him to do. The brim of the Cubs hat barely covers the letters on his forehead; I think about reaching up to tug a few strands of his dark-sand hair down a little lower to conceal it more. Thanks to the coat, the top half of him doesn’t look too ridiculous for an office visit. But the bottom half of him is totally unacceptable, even for an advertising agency. Scrubs. No socks. Ragged old flip-flops. It’s a walk-of-shame outfit if I’ve ever seen one.
A low whistle makes me turn, and I can feel the golem tense.
“Well, well, well,” says Bryan, strolling up the block. He gives me a wink, then turns his attention to the golem. “Josh, I presume?”
“Oh, uh, no, this is actually...Paul,” I say, wanting to die.
“Paul?” Bryan looks genuinely confused, and more than a little amused. “And where did we find this one...?”
“Bryan, what are you doing here?” I hiss. “Weren’t you just—”
“Fired? Yeah,” says Bryan. “Well, laid off, technically. But funny thing, tomorrow’s the last prep meeting for the big please-don’t-dump-us pitch—yes, Java-Lo, that one—and surprise surprise, the minimum-wage temp they hired to finish up the deck fucked everything up, so Julie called me begging and pleading and I demanded an outrageous hourly rate and she somehow got it approved so voilà, your boy’s back. For a day. Hi, Paul. I’m Bryan.”
“Mmmmrmm?” Do we trust him?
The golem’s question is aimed at me, not Bryan.
“Yes, Bryan is one of my very best friends,” I say, way too loudly.
“Mmmrmm,” says the golem, and nods at Bryan.
“Not much of a talker, huh?” Bryan says, and gives me an approving nod. “Nice. So, you two heading up to the hellmouth, or...?”
Bryan gestures toward the front entrance of the August Building, and my mouth goes dry. Somehow Paul Mudd has managed to pull off a reasonably normal human interaction with Bryan, but that’s because Bryan is a nonthreatening extrovert who can talk to a stick. Or, in this case, a mud man. If I take him up into the office, what will happen when Nancy starts trying to talk to him? Or one of the interns?
Or Sasha?
There’s a reason that Take Your Golem to Work Day is not a thing.
“Actually, uh,” I say, mind reeling. How could I have ever thought taking Paul Mudd to the office would work? This is insane. I have to find another way. “I’m going up to get my laptop. Gonna work from home the next couple days.”
“Work from home, huh,” Bryan says, looking at Paul Mudd and letting his gaze linger a little too long over the too-tight crotch of the scrubs. “Work from bed, you mean...?”
“Dude, you can’t say that in the office,” I say. “I’m pretty sure that counts as sexual harassment.”
“We’re not in the office,” Bryan points out. “And we’re not coworkers anymore.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Truth hurts,” Bryan says with a shrug.
“Seriously, are you okay?” I ask my friend.
“Yeah, I was actually kind of already considering—” Bryan hesitates, then gives a small shake of his head, like he changed his mind about something. “Never mind. Short answer is yeah. I’m fine. Doctor husband, remember?”
“Bryan, if there’s anything—”
“Nah, nothing,” he says, then holds open the door. “Shall we?”
“Yeah, I, uh...” I flail, trying to figure out how to make this work. How to pass off my impossible creation as a normal guy while I grab what I need from the office. “Just gimme a sec.”
I grab Paul Mudd by the hand and pull him far enough away that I can talk to him without Bryan eavesdropping.
“I need you to stay out here,” I tell him. “I’ll be right back.”
“Mrrmmm.” I go with you.
“No, you have to stay down here.”
“Mrrrmmmmm.” I’m here to protect you.
“I’ll be fine. This is where I work. I just have to get my laptop. You can just...”
I look around wildly. I need something that will keep him safely distracted, just for the twenty minutes it will take me to get what I need. As if in answer to a prayer, a shining beacon at the end of the block catches my eye. Café de Paris, the little patisserie on the corner.
“You can have a coffee while you wait for me!” I say. “A really big coffee.”
The golem hesitates.
“Mmmmmrmmm.” I do like the coffee.
Ten minutes later, I’m on the eighteenth floor of the building, hurrying to my desk. Spotting an empty printer paper box near the copy machine, I grab it. As I’m hastily shoving my laptop, charger, notebook, and a few supplies into the box, I hear a concerned gasp behind me. I whirl around and see Nancy with her red no-chip manicure pressed dramatically to her heart. She’s wearing tight red pants and a low-cut shimmering green sheath top with red cuffs, looking like some sort of elfin prostitute.
“Oh, Eve!” Nancy cries in mock horror. Or maybe it’s sincere; I legitimately cannot tell with her. “You didn’t get laid off, did you?”
“What? No,” I say, gesturing for her to keep her voice down. I don’t want to call any attention to myself or get trapped in coworker conversations. I just want to get the hell back downstairs before the golem I made starts mumble-growling at strangers. I force a cough. “I started feeling sick, on the train. Just grabbing stuff so I can work from home today.”
“Oh, no,” says Nancy, backing away to put six feet of distance between us. Fine by me. I should cough at the office more often. “I hope you’re all clear for the party tomorrow night!”
I almost ask what party? before I remember the stupid harbor cruise.
“Yeah, me too,” I say. “Well, see you later.”
“But not if you’re sick,” she says sternly.
“But not if I’m sick,” I promise.
“I have some masks, if you need—”
“Bye, Nancy.”
I hustle past her, box in arms, and practically run smack into Sasha.
“Eve!” my best friend says, looking at the box in surprise. “You didn’t get—”
“No, I didn’t get laid off,” I say, preempting every question I can think of so I can get the hell out of there as quickly as possible. “I’m just working from home, not feeling great, but oh, speaking of laid off, they brought Bryan back in to help with the big Java-Lo pitch, you should go check in on him, I think he’s feeling weird about it, I’ll text you later, bye!”
I’m talking so fast that I’m running out of breath, practically wheezing the last few words because there’s no time to inhale. Sasha stares at me, dumbfounded. I take a breath, give her an apologetic look, and head for the exit. It’s only when I step into the elevator that an odd thought occurs to me.
I’m not hungry. And I haven’t eaten a single thing today.