increased exponentially. Unless she was at the hospital. “Suki’s not out sick, is she?” she asked.
“No,” Charla said. “She’s got jury duty.”
Which I nearly used as my excuse,
Briddey thought.
Thank goodness after tomorrow I can stop lying, because I’m no good at it.
“Did you need her for something?” Charla asked.
“No, it can wait. I need you to go up to Records and ask Jill Quincy to help you find everything we’ve got on the patents for Apple’s last three iPhones,” Briddey said, and as soon as Charla’d left, she put the instructions she’d written out for Charla on her desk, checked the corridor to make sure it was empty, and walked quickly to the elevator, debating whether she should take the stairs instead, just to be on the safe side.
But Charla and Jill were up in Records, Suki was safely sequestered in a courtroom, and C.B. never came aboveground.
Except today of all days—and, worst of all, she was already inside the elevator and had pushed P when he suddenly appeared in its doorway, looking thrown together and slightly out of breath. “Oh, good,” he said. “I’m glad I caught you.”
“If it’s about your idea for the TalkPlus phone,” she said, “everybody loved it.”
“Of course they did,” he said disgustedly. “It’s not about that. There’s something else I need to talk to you about. It’s important.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have time right now,” Briddey said, hitting the CLOSE DOOR button. “I have a meeting downtown in ten minutes.”
“That’s okay. I’ll ride down with you,” he said, squeezing in between the shutting doors. “Did you read those emails I sent you about the IED?”
“Yes, and now that I know that the
E
ED’s side effects include sciatica, short-term memory loss, plantar’s warts, peptic ulcers, jogger’s knee, and getting kicked off
The Bachelorette
, I’ve decided I definitely want it done. I’ve always wanted to be thrown off a reality game show.”
“I was afraid of that. But there’s also a chance it could cause UIC, you know.”
And if you think I’m going to ask you what “UIC” stands for
,
you’re delusional.
He must have reached the same conclusion because he said, “You know, unintended consequences.”
“What unintended consequences?”
“Who knows? That’s the thing with unintended consequences. You have no way of knowing what they might be till they happen, and then it’s too late. Look at Prohibition. And DDT. They seemed like terrific ideas, and look what ended up happening—Al Capone and a slew of dead robins. Or look at Twitter. Who’d have thought it would give rise to ISIS and #InsufferablyCuteCats? Look at all those Irish immigrants who thought it would be a great idea to take the
Titanic
to America. If they’d considered what might happen—”
“So you’re saying that if I have the EED, I’ll be hit by an iceberg?”
“You might. There’s no telling what’ll happen. What if, when they shave your head in pre-op, your hair grows back in white instead of red?”
“They don’t shave your head. They go in at the back of your neck.”
“So does a guillotine. Or what if they drill the hole in the wrong spot and you end up unable to communicate at all? Or in a coma, and the doctor harvests your organs and sells them on the black market?”
“He is not going to harvest my organs. Look, I appreciate all this concern, but I know what I’m doing.”
“She said as she boarded the
Titanic
. Okay, let’s say you do, and the surgery goes great, and you find out everything about each other, but you don’t like it. Communication’s not everything, you know. I can guarantee you that getting to know Hitler’s innermost thoughts wouldn’t make you like him any better. The same could turn out to be true for your boyfriend.”
“It won’t be,” Briddey said, looking longingly up at the floor numbers above the elevator door, willing P to blink on.
“Or what if the EED
“No,” Charla said. “She’s got jury duty.”
Which I nearly used as my excuse,
Briddey thought.
Thank goodness after tomorrow I can stop lying, because I’m no good at it.
“Did you need her for something?” Charla asked.
“No, it can wait. I need you to go up to Records and ask Jill Quincy to help you find everything we’ve got on the patents for Apple’s last three iPhones,” Briddey said, and as soon as Charla’d left, she put the instructions she’d written out for Charla on her desk, checked the corridor to make sure it was empty, and walked quickly to the elevator, debating whether she should take the stairs instead, just to be on the safe side.
But Charla and Jill were up in Records, Suki was safely sequestered in a courtroom, and C.B. never came aboveground.
Except today of all days—and, worst of all, she was already inside the elevator and had pushed P when he suddenly appeared in its doorway, looking thrown together and slightly out of breath. “Oh, good,” he said. “I’m glad I caught you.”
“If it’s about your idea for the TalkPlus phone,” she said, “everybody loved it.”
“Of course they did,” he said disgustedly. “It’s not about that. There’s something else I need to talk to you about. It’s important.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have time right now,” Briddey said, hitting the CLOSE DOOR button. “I have a meeting downtown in ten minutes.”
“That’s okay. I’ll ride down with you,” he said, squeezing in between the shutting doors. “Did you read those emails I sent you about the IED?”
“Yes, and now that I know that the
E
ED’s side effects include sciatica, short-term memory loss, plantar’s warts, peptic ulcers, jogger’s knee, and getting kicked off
The Bachelorette
, I’ve decided I definitely want it done. I’ve always wanted to be thrown off a reality game show.”
“I was afraid of that. But there’s also a chance it could cause UIC, you know.”
And if you think I’m going to ask you what “UIC” stands for
,
you’re delusional.
He must have reached the same conclusion because he said, “You know, unintended consequences.”
“What unintended consequences?”
“Who knows? That’s the thing with unintended consequences. You have no way of knowing what they might be till they happen, and then it’s too late. Look at Prohibition. And DDT. They seemed like terrific ideas, and look what ended up happening—Al Capone and a slew of dead robins. Or look at Twitter. Who’d have thought it would give rise to ISIS and #InsufferablyCuteCats? Look at all those Irish immigrants who thought it would be a great idea to take the
Titanic
to America. If they’d considered what might happen—”
“So you’re saying that if I have the EED, I’ll be hit by an iceberg?”
“You might. There’s no telling what’ll happen. What if, when they shave your head in pre-op, your hair grows back in white instead of red?”
“They don’t shave your head. They go in at the back of your neck.”
“So does a guillotine. Or what if they drill the hole in the wrong spot and you end up unable to communicate at all? Or in a coma, and the doctor harvests your organs and sells them on the black market?”
“He is not going to harvest my organs. Look, I appreciate all this concern, but I know what I’m doing.”
“She said as she boarded the
Titanic
. Okay, let’s say you do, and the surgery goes great, and you find out everything about each other, but you don’t like it. Communication’s not everything, you know. I can guarantee you that getting to know Hitler’s innermost thoughts wouldn’t make you like him any better. The same could turn out to be true for your boyfriend.”
“It won’t be,” Briddey said, looking longingly up at the floor numbers above the elevator door, willing P to blink on.
“Or what if the EED
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