Page 44 of Pierced

I nod. She rolls her tongue around her Twizzler and then bites it, aggressively.

“Good,” she says.

“Good.”

“OK.”

“OK.”

“So,” she says, standing. “I’ll see you then.”

“Believe it.”

She crosses to stand directly in front of me, takes another bite of her Twizzler, and chews in my face. I tilt my head, watch her, and try as hard as I can not to blink first.

“See ya,” she finally says, as she brushes past me and the smell of her that I caught last night finds its way into my nostrils again.

Just as she’s almost at the door, unexpectedly and out of impulse, I say, “Myrtle…?”

She turns, one eyebrow lifted, Twizzler… twizzling… in her mouth, and says, “Hm?”

I squint. I don’t know why. It’s not like I can’t see her. But I don’t know if I actually do.

“Yes?” she says. “What? What is it?” The question is freighted. There’s a low-level anxiety inside the asking. Like maybe she’s not sure if I’m just going to pull the plug right here and now. Or fire her after all. Or…

“Can I bring anything?” I ask. I immediately regret the lameness of the question, but it was the best cover I could come up with when I decided that I didn’t want to ask any of the more real questions I have swimming around in my head.

She looks puzzled for a moment and then she shoves the last bit of Twizzler in her mouth, and as she chews it, she says, “See ya at eight.”

Damn.

Suddenly I really want a Twizzler.

That’s probably something we could work into tonight.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN - MYRTLE

When I round the corner to my office, Eden is waiting for me. “Did we have a meeting?” I ask. My phone begins to ring.

“Um… no,” she says. “I just need to talk to you about something.” Then she stares at my ringing phone. “You can get that. I’ll wait.”

“It can’t be anything important,” I say. “I don’t actually do anything here.” Then I chuckle under my breath. Last night was weird at the end. Hell, who am I kidding? The whole thing was weird. But the end. I dunno. I felt kinda… off. A little bit sad. I’ve been thinking about it all morning but I can’t place my finger on the precise thing that bothers me.

I sit down at my desk, punch the blinking light on the phone, and say, “Ms. Rothschild, how may I help you?”

“Myrtle, it’s Pearl. From the community center?”

“Yes,” I say, picking up the handset to take it off speakerphone. I smile at Eden and hold up one finger. “What can I do for you, Pearl?”

“Well, I’m just really anxious to get your class on the calendar. We’re in such a time crunch, you know?”

“Are we?” I ask. Eden is squinting her eyes at me in a weird way. It’s distracting.

“Yes, the election is coming up. And we need to make a big impression.”

“Ooooooh. Yes. I remember.”

“So can we maybe meet for lunch today?”