as she scrolled back through the entire affair, which she had captured on film. This footage was priceless, and she couldn’t wait to see it.
Donna turned on them. “We will never, under any circumstances whatsoever, speak of this again. I want you to swear that you won’t tell anyone, I mean anyone. It’s like the whole thing never happened. In fact, I am erasing it from my memory as we speak.”
“We won’t tell anyone,” Bud said.
Gitana studied her. Bud looked at her innocently. Showing, after all, isn’t telling, is it?
Chapter Five—The Escape
Chase stared at the Norton Anthology of American Lierature, Volume One . This was definitely torture above and beyond something as horrid as waterboarding. There wasn’t anything else to do or read unless she recanted her resignation. Despite being in a library, she could only pine after a good book, because she was handcuffed to a library chair.
“That bitch,” Chase muttered, as she skimmed the table of contents in search of something tolerable. Early American fiction left a lot to be desired. She remembered the dreadful class that spawned this book. The only enlightening part of it was when she wrote the term paper on women in fiction in which she compared how English writers felt American writers were lesser beings similar to the way male writers viewed female writers of the time. “Sweet Jesus on the cross,” she said. Holy shit, she was beginning to sound like Gitana.
“Are you praying?” a disembodied voice said from the gloom.
“No, I was swearing,” Chase said, peering into the dimness.
“Why?” the voice said.
“Because I was thinking about the convoluted term paper I wrote in my Early American Lit class.” Chase knew she was desperate because she was exhibiting chatty behavior.
“I hated that class,” the woman said, coming out of the stacks.
It was Eve, one of the students in Chase’s lesfic class. Relief at the prospect of having someone to alleviate the boredom and perhaps get her a decent book turned to trepidation as Eve sat on the edge of the library table close to Chase—too close. This was worse than when she’d gotten trapped in the kitchen by that lecherous linguist who cornered her up against the kitchen island and tried to kiss her. At least in a kitchen, you had a chance of extricating yourself. Being handcuffed to a chair did not afford this luxury. She was going to kill Lacey for this.
“Lacey told me you were in here. She said you were incarcerated for attempting to subvert the ruling party. She called you a Trotsky.”
“Well, you can tell her she’s acting like Stalin without the hair gel and mustache,” Chase retorted. “So, I am a political prisoner?”
“Apparently.” Eve crossed her legs and studied Chase, who squirmed under her attention. “Do you need anything?”
“Other than the key to the handcuffs or…” she thought for a moment, “perhaps a hacksaw.” The chair was metal and possibly the chair rail she was attached to could be sawed off.
Eve glanced down at the Norton Anthology . “This is definitely cruel and unusual punishment.”
“I know. Just wait until I get my hands on her.”
“It’s going to be okay. She needs you, and she’s really freaked out at the thought that you might leave. She loves you so much.”
Chase eyed Eve. There was nothing worse than having a long-haired, tie-dye-wearing, green-eyed goddess tell you about peace, love and understanding.
“She’s got an awfully funny way of showing it. Thank God, she doesn’t have access to Siberia or I’d already be on the train, and I highly doubt I’d be given long underwear.”
Eve laughed. “How about I get you another book to read?”
“Well…it would make the time go faster,” Chase conceded. “If I can’t have the hacksaw.”
“What would you like?”
Chase pondered. “How about Catch-22 ?”
Eve laughed again. “Really?”
Chase was indignant. “What’s wrong with Catch-22 ?”
Donna turned on them. “We will never, under any circumstances whatsoever, speak of this again. I want you to swear that you won’t tell anyone, I mean anyone. It’s like the whole thing never happened. In fact, I am erasing it from my memory as we speak.”
“We won’t tell anyone,” Bud said.
Gitana studied her. Bud looked at her innocently. Showing, after all, isn’t telling, is it?
Chapter Five—The Escape
Chase stared at the Norton Anthology of American Lierature, Volume One . This was definitely torture above and beyond something as horrid as waterboarding. There wasn’t anything else to do or read unless she recanted her resignation. Despite being in a library, she could only pine after a good book, because she was handcuffed to a library chair.
“That bitch,” Chase muttered, as she skimmed the table of contents in search of something tolerable. Early American fiction left a lot to be desired. She remembered the dreadful class that spawned this book. The only enlightening part of it was when she wrote the term paper on women in fiction in which she compared how English writers felt American writers were lesser beings similar to the way male writers viewed female writers of the time. “Sweet Jesus on the cross,” she said. Holy shit, she was beginning to sound like Gitana.
“Are you praying?” a disembodied voice said from the gloom.
“No, I was swearing,” Chase said, peering into the dimness.
“Why?” the voice said.
“Because I was thinking about the convoluted term paper I wrote in my Early American Lit class.” Chase knew she was desperate because she was exhibiting chatty behavior.
“I hated that class,” the woman said, coming out of the stacks.
It was Eve, one of the students in Chase’s lesfic class. Relief at the prospect of having someone to alleviate the boredom and perhaps get her a decent book turned to trepidation as Eve sat on the edge of the library table close to Chase—too close. This was worse than when she’d gotten trapped in the kitchen by that lecherous linguist who cornered her up against the kitchen island and tried to kiss her. At least in a kitchen, you had a chance of extricating yourself. Being handcuffed to a chair did not afford this luxury. She was going to kill Lacey for this.
“Lacey told me you were in here. She said you were incarcerated for attempting to subvert the ruling party. She called you a Trotsky.”
“Well, you can tell her she’s acting like Stalin without the hair gel and mustache,” Chase retorted. “So, I am a political prisoner?”
“Apparently.” Eve crossed her legs and studied Chase, who squirmed under her attention. “Do you need anything?”
“Other than the key to the handcuffs or…” she thought for a moment, “perhaps a hacksaw.” The chair was metal and possibly the chair rail she was attached to could be sawed off.
Eve glanced down at the Norton Anthology . “This is definitely cruel and unusual punishment.”
“I know. Just wait until I get my hands on her.”
“It’s going to be okay. She needs you, and she’s really freaked out at the thought that you might leave. She loves you so much.”
Chase eyed Eve. There was nothing worse than having a long-haired, tie-dye-wearing, green-eyed goddess tell you about peace, love and understanding.
“She’s got an awfully funny way of showing it. Thank God, she doesn’t have access to Siberia or I’d already be on the train, and I highly doubt I’d be given long underwear.”
Eve laughed. “How about I get you another book to read?”
“Well…it would make the time go faster,” Chase conceded. “If I can’t have the hacksaw.”
“What would you like?”
Chase pondered. “How about Catch-22 ?”
Eve laughed again. “Really?”
Chase was indignant. “What’s wrong with Catch-22 ?”
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