hope to
be an editor there one day, but until that happens, the freelance thing seems
like a good idea.” Katherine’s flesh would have to be dripping from her bones
in the fires of hell before Billie ever got a shot at promotion. She drew the
outline of horns on Katherine’s floating image and filled them in with red ink.
And grinned on the inside.
“You always sit in the same seat, in the same car, at the
same time. Creature of habit?”
“I’m not always in the same seat.” Her weak protest faded as
she spoke it. The only time she sat elsewhere was when someone beat her to it.
“Sorry, that wasn’t an insult.”
Then why did it feel like he’d slapped her?
He touched the skirt at her knee. “I find it comfortable. I
like predictability. If I need you, I’ll always know where to find you.”
The subway did its usual jerk and spasm. Bruce stood. “This
is me. Meeting on the construction site.” He tipped his imaginary hat. “Catch
ya on the flip side, Billie the editor.”
Billie scribbled a red fedora on his head before he turned
and the living zombies on the platform swallowed him whole. She rubbed her knee
where his hand had been. He’d always know where to find her. Why would he want
to do that?
Thursday, June 4 th
“WHEN ARE YOU HAPPIEST?” Doc
Kroft did that thing where she bored into Billie’s brain with her laser eyes
and tried to extract truths that even Billie didn’t know existed.
Billie grabbed a throw cushion and squeezed it into her
belly. “When I’m running. Or editing. Or with Peg Leg.”
“What about when you’re with other people?”
“Not so much.” Bruce popped, uninvited, into Billie’s head.
Doc pursed her lips. If she had a selfie stick, it would
have been a perfect narcissistic pic for Facebook or Instagram. But, like
Billie, Doc probably didn’t waste her time on so-called social media. What was
the point of virtual friendships? Sounded more lonely and pitiful than no
friends at all.
“We need to fix that. You have to make some connections.
Someone outside of your head doctor and the trainers at the gym.”
“Oh, no worries there. I don’t talk to any of them.”
Doc sighed.
Billie stared at the purple paisley pillow, ran her fingers
over the nap of the velvet, short and soft like little boxes that gold crosses
come in. “There is someone. Sort of.”
“Oh?” The doc leaned forward. “Tell me.”
“A man I met on the subway.”
Doc leaned back again, a satisfied grin on her face like
she’d just finished a turkey dinner. “A man. Interesting.”
Billie’s cheeks warmed. “Not that interesting. We’ve only
spoken twice. I doubt he wants anything more than that.”
“His name?”
“Bruce.”
Doc scrunched her face. “That’s unfortunate.”
Billie smiled. “It’s all right. He’s no Batman. For one
thing, he’s real. And I bet his parents weren’t murdered when he was a kid. And
he doesn’t live over a cave or dress in tights in his off hours.” At least, she
didn’t think he did.
Doc let an uncharacteristic laugh escape. “So, you only have
his name?”
“And what he does for a living. Construction management. He
didn’t write his number on my palm or anything.”
Doc nodded. “And what if he had?”
Billie stared at the pillow. What if, indeed?
Billie sauntered through the lobby of Doc Kroft’s office
building, her mind affixed on Bruce’s face and sturdy frame. She imagined her
hand against his cheek. His skin, like the finest tanned leather, soft yet
thick, supple, and virile.
She slowed as she neared the door. Her thoughts toyed with
an erotic scenario that she’d never be able to complete. Lack of context. Zero
experience. And two men on the sidewalk, standing beside a white minivan,
distracted her.
One of them wore polka dot pants and massive red shoes. The
other was fitting a wig of spun neon-orange fibres over his balding head.
Her vision blurred and then focused on the face of the tall
one who was
be an editor there one day, but until that happens, the freelance thing seems
like a good idea.” Katherine’s flesh would have to be dripping from her bones
in the fires of hell before Billie ever got a shot at promotion. She drew the
outline of horns on Katherine’s floating image and filled them in with red ink.
And grinned on the inside.
“You always sit in the same seat, in the same car, at the
same time. Creature of habit?”
“I’m not always in the same seat.” Her weak protest faded as
she spoke it. The only time she sat elsewhere was when someone beat her to it.
“Sorry, that wasn’t an insult.”
Then why did it feel like he’d slapped her?
He touched the skirt at her knee. “I find it comfortable. I
like predictability. If I need you, I’ll always know where to find you.”
The subway did its usual jerk and spasm. Bruce stood. “This
is me. Meeting on the construction site.” He tipped his imaginary hat. “Catch
ya on the flip side, Billie the editor.”
Billie scribbled a red fedora on his head before he turned
and the living zombies on the platform swallowed him whole. She rubbed her knee
where his hand had been. He’d always know where to find her. Why would he want
to do that?
Thursday, June 4 th
“WHEN ARE YOU HAPPIEST?” Doc
Kroft did that thing where she bored into Billie’s brain with her laser eyes
and tried to extract truths that even Billie didn’t know existed.
Billie grabbed a throw cushion and squeezed it into her
belly. “When I’m running. Or editing. Or with Peg Leg.”
“What about when you’re with other people?”
“Not so much.” Bruce popped, uninvited, into Billie’s head.
Doc pursed her lips. If she had a selfie stick, it would
have been a perfect narcissistic pic for Facebook or Instagram. But, like
Billie, Doc probably didn’t waste her time on so-called social media. What was
the point of virtual friendships? Sounded more lonely and pitiful than no
friends at all.
“We need to fix that. You have to make some connections.
Someone outside of your head doctor and the trainers at the gym.”
“Oh, no worries there. I don’t talk to any of them.”
Doc sighed.
Billie stared at the purple paisley pillow, ran her fingers
over the nap of the velvet, short and soft like little boxes that gold crosses
come in. “There is someone. Sort of.”
“Oh?” The doc leaned forward. “Tell me.”
“A man I met on the subway.”
Doc leaned back again, a satisfied grin on her face like
she’d just finished a turkey dinner. “A man. Interesting.”
Billie’s cheeks warmed. “Not that interesting. We’ve only
spoken twice. I doubt he wants anything more than that.”
“His name?”
“Bruce.”
Doc scrunched her face. “That’s unfortunate.”
Billie smiled. “It’s all right. He’s no Batman. For one
thing, he’s real. And I bet his parents weren’t murdered when he was a kid. And
he doesn’t live over a cave or dress in tights in his off hours.” At least, she
didn’t think he did.
Doc let an uncharacteristic laugh escape. “So, you only have
his name?”
“And what he does for a living. Construction management. He
didn’t write his number on my palm or anything.”
Doc nodded. “And what if he had?”
Billie stared at the pillow. What if, indeed?
Billie sauntered through the lobby of Doc Kroft’s office
building, her mind affixed on Bruce’s face and sturdy frame. She imagined her
hand against his cheek. His skin, like the finest tanned leather, soft yet
thick, supple, and virile.
She slowed as she neared the door. Her thoughts toyed with
an erotic scenario that she’d never be able to complete. Lack of context. Zero
experience. And two men on the sidewalk, standing beside a white minivan,
distracted her.
One of them wore polka dot pants and massive red shoes. The
other was fitting a wig of spun neon-orange fibres over his balding head.
Her vision blurred and then focused on the face of the tall
one who was
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