9. Ariadne
9
ARIADNE
I don’t know how I’ve gone from the clumsy office clown who was a sniveling mess a few weeks ago to the heroine of my own story and in so little time. I get looks of admiration as I walk through the office, and I know this is due in part to Mr Hinkelbaum tooting my horn when he wants to show the office what can be accomplished when one buckles down and applies themself. The other part is that my story was bumped to front page news alongside the Caleph Rojas’ indictment, and now I’ve become a sort of national hero type of figure for my magnificent work on the piece. Other publications are vying for my attention as they try to steal me away from Mr Hinkelbaum, and everyone wants to know HOW I KNEW THAT CALEPH ROJAS WAS GOING TO BE INDICTED THE DAY I DROPPED MY ARTICLE!!! I don’t tell anyone that I am the master of timing, and it was a total fluke. Seriously, I may have felt bad about the indictment for all of five minutes, because that one event has totally turned my life around.
Mr Hinkelbaum is standing in the doorway of his office, a look of confusion on his face as his eyes move up and down my body. I’m wearing a dress, which I never do, and my heels click clack against the floor as I walk down the hallway toward my desk.
“Stop right there, young lady,” he says, holding up a stubby little hand. He sticks his unlit cigarette in the corner of his mouth then orders me into the office. His eyes are bulging as he takes a seat behind his desk, but he doesn’t ask me to sit down.
“For the love of all that’s holy, tell me you did not just come from a job interview.”
So now he knows my worth. I laugh and shake my head; I am now in a position to laugh and humor him. Being a wanted woman has put me on a high I don’t know how to come down from.
“Don’t be silly,” I admonish. “What makes you say that?”
“The getup,” he says, waving his hand to indicate the dress and shoes.
“Oh no, Mr Hinkelbaum. You know I could never leave you,” I lie. “I just felt like dressing up… I should at least be presentable now that I’m getting recognized, don’t you think?”
“Of course, of course,” he agrees. “But you wouldn’t think of leaving, would you?”
I grab a strand of my hair and twirl it around my finger, the way I’ve seen Nina do so many times when she’s trying to get her way with Michael and alcohol just won’t cut it.
“Well… not really, but you know a struggling girl’s got to eat. And I haven’t had a raise since I started here…”
I leave my sentence open ended, knowing he gets the hint, because he looks down at his desktop, considering his options, then flicks his eyes back to me. “I’ll see what I can do,” he says, and I know he’s going to be doing more than he’s going to be seeing .
* * *
“Yo, sexy mama!” Nina squeals, as she folds me into an embrace.
When she pulls away, she holds me at arm’s length and looks me up and own, admiring my navy dress with the small yellow daisies. When her eyes latch onto my strappy heels, they widen in horror, and she gasps and asks me if she’s seeing right.
“Goodwill,” I tell her.
They were practically new, and they were being placed in the window as I walked past the store. I don’t think old Esmerelda even knew their value when she placed them there, but it was just my luck and I snapped up the five-dollar bargain without even trying them on. I don’t mention that they’re a little tight and they’d probably be a better fit for Nina’s feet.
“What’s for lunch?” I ask her, following her through the apartment. Michael is at the kitchen counter putting together the makings of a salad. He casts nervous eyes my way and I wonder if he’s still smarting over me calling him a jerk the last time I saw him.
“Come on, you guys,” Nina urges. “Isn’t it time you two kissed and made up?”
She looks from me to Michael and back again, her puppy dog eyes like huge saucers in her small sweetheart face.
“I see you ditched the contacts,” Michael says, pointing his knife in my direction. I rear back to avoid a slip of the blade, even though I’m several feet away. “Your natural eye color looks better.”
His way of breaking the ice. I give him a small smile and ask if he needs help.
“You can set the table,” Nina says, giving her husband a sidelong glance. I don’t know what’s going on with those two, but they’re definitely up to something.
When we sit down to eat, Michael feels the need to hold hands and close his eyes before we start. He doesn’t say grace; he just likes to sit and absorb the silence. I heap a generous portion of roast lamb onto my plate and add salad.
“So…,” Michael starts, “Your name is being tossed around a lot lately.”
Way to state the obvious, Einstein. Nina and I both raise our heads and look at him, wondering what’s next. Michael has the capacity to be the most socially awkward person at times. An odd thought when you consider that he’s a psychologist and deals with society in every facet of his occupation.
“How’d that job interview go?” Nina asks, drawing my attention back to her. The smile on her face tells me she’s super excited to hear all about my recent adventures and the doors that have opened for me.
“They offered me… get this… almost double what old Hinky is paying me.”
Her eyes widen in surprise before she claps her hands gleefully. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and I could swear she’s more excited than I am.
“That’s excellent news, Aria,” Michael says, breaking in to congratulate me. “Maybe a fresh start is just what you need. New beginnings for all…”
As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Michael sucks his lips into his mouth in an attempt to take back his comment. Nina fixes him with a glare that tells me he’ll be in the doghouse again tonight – and maybe even into the next century. The tension fizzling between them is electric, and although I can’t make heads nor tails of their facial exchanges, I know I’m missing something.
“What did you mean by that?” I ask him.
“You know Michael,” Nina starts. “Always with his foot in his mouth.”
“No.” I put my fork down and turn in my chair to face him. My face is hard as I brace myself. Michael may have a bad habit of foot-in-mouth, but he never says things that are untrue. And he always seems to disclose what he means to say when he’s not supposed to.
“Aria…”
I ignore my best friend and continue to watch her husband. His face has turned a shade paler than his already ghostly hue, and he looks like he’s afraid for his life. He lowers his eyes in remorse, then blanches when he looks up and finds me still waiting.
“R… R… Rand… he’s getting engaged.”
* * *
After I rant and rave and bawl my eyes out, cursing the moment I’d ever laid eyes on Rand, I push past Nina’s punishing hold and fly down the stairs. I feel the mascara as it streams down my face and mixes with the liquid pooling under the tip of my nose. I discard my heels and leave them at the door before I stumble down the stairs and onto the street in my bare feet. Nina follows me as far as the street, calling my name frantically, but I’m faster than her and I take flight through the throng of pedestrians as I continue to walk rapidly down the street.
I’m a mess. I’m barefoot and I’m emotionally raw, my naked heart laid bare for all to see. People mutter and curse as I shove past them, and I right myself just as I’m about to knock over an old lady. I apologize profusely, my tears coming quicker and faster, until I’m standing at a set of pedestrian lights. Only, I don’t wait for the light to turn green. I step out onto the road to the sound of a deafening cacophony of car horns. A car screeches to a stop, almost knocking me over. The car heaves and settles, the doors flying open before I’m hustled into the car and held down at gunpoint.