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Authors: Mark Henry
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point.
“What are you going to do now?” Wendy asked.
I glanced up from a totally unsatisfying meal of day laborer, greeted by Wendy’s judgment and a hand cocked on her hip with a little too much finality for my taste. Not yet 6:00 A.M. and girlfriend was already on my last nerve. Not that I blamed Wendy for Scott leaving. I totally take responsibility for my own actions…most of the time.
Seriously though, would it have exploded if she weren’t there to prove him right?
See what I’m saying?
I dropped the leg and wiped my chin. “What do you mean? I’m going to finish my meal and then you’re going to drive me to the office. Seeing as how you live a life of leisure and all.”
“I meant about Scott.”
I shrugged and stuffed the remains into the sewer grate. “I’m not hungry.”
Wendy sighed. “You know it was only a matter of time.”
“I know you’re not trying to start an argument with me. Not before I’ve smelled my first coffee.”
“You could get him back.” Wendy shrugged, picking at her teeth with a shard from her breakfast.
“I intend to.”
“Aw. You’re in love.”
Was I? “I don’t even know what that means, Wendy. You’re talking gibberish.”
“It means you like him enough to keep him around rather than eating him. Like when I had that Twix bar bronzed to remind me of the progress I’ve made with my little eating problem.”
“But you haven’t made any progress.”
Wendy looked up from collecting leftover bits of illegal immigrant with a pair of tongs and dropping them into an environmentally sound cloth shopping bag—it said so on the side. “I mean, the progress I’m going to make. It’s like when we were alive and had a pair of goal jeans for weight loss.” She broke out in a proud grin. “Yeah, it’s just like that.”
“Scott is my pair of goal jeans?”
“Totally.” She crammed the shopping bag into a Dumpster behind the Taqueria El Soldado and cringed at some goo on her palms. “Do you have any wet naps?”
I dug a packet out of my purse. “What’s the goal then?”
“Do I have to clue you in on everything? It’s like you don’t remember being a human.”
“Not true.” She pulled out a toothpick and pried a bone shard from between her front teeth. “I just don’t recall the love part.”
“He’s your goal jeans because you need to fit him into your life.” She tossed the gore-smudged wipe atop the bin. “And you into his.”
I raised my brow and nodded in such a way as to indicate Wendy was indeed batshit crazy. No need letting on that she was probably right. That would unlevel the balance of power.
So not happening.
Her theory made sense in an “everything’s really simple” Wendy sort of way. Regardless of whether I loved the guy, or not, I knew I liked having Scott around and that was plenty reason to win him back. But, don’t go expecting some romance novel bullshit. Cause it ain’t happening. 23
When Elizabeth Karkaroff bought into Feral Inc. as a partner—and by “bought in” I mean “took over”—things changed. You don’t go into business with the queen of the underworld and not let her be the boss, now do you? It was her idea to move the offices from the waterfront to the lake—said that Puget Sound reminded her of the Styx. Also, a shudder rolled through her—a crappy endorsement for whatever it was she was talking about.
“The band?” I’d asked, momentarily distracted by the en suite bathroom in the office I’d scouted and not particularly interested in her whims at that moment—if I remember correctly, she’d been on a tear about how bad Seattle drivers were, ranting and raving like mad.
“Of course not,” she spat.
I shrugged and ran my fingers across the black granite countertop.
“I swear, sometimes you say things just to irritate me,” she scowled, flipped her wavy hair over one perfectly styled shoulder (Carolina Herrera sent a new suit for her that very week—must be nice to
“What are you going to do now?” Wendy asked.
I glanced up from a totally unsatisfying meal of day laborer, greeted by Wendy’s judgment and a hand cocked on her hip with a little too much finality for my taste. Not yet 6:00 A.M. and girlfriend was already on my last nerve. Not that I blamed Wendy for Scott leaving. I totally take responsibility for my own actions…most of the time.
Seriously though, would it have exploded if she weren’t there to prove him right?
See what I’m saying?
I dropped the leg and wiped my chin. “What do you mean? I’m going to finish my meal and then you’re going to drive me to the office. Seeing as how you live a life of leisure and all.”
“I meant about Scott.”
I shrugged and stuffed the remains into the sewer grate. “I’m not hungry.”
Wendy sighed. “You know it was only a matter of time.”
“I know you’re not trying to start an argument with me. Not before I’ve smelled my first coffee.”
“You could get him back.” Wendy shrugged, picking at her teeth with a shard from her breakfast.
“I intend to.”
“Aw. You’re in love.”
Was I? “I don’t even know what that means, Wendy. You’re talking gibberish.”
“It means you like him enough to keep him around rather than eating him. Like when I had that Twix bar bronzed to remind me of the progress I’ve made with my little eating problem.”
“But you haven’t made any progress.”
Wendy looked up from collecting leftover bits of illegal immigrant with a pair of tongs and dropping them into an environmentally sound cloth shopping bag—it said so on the side. “I mean, the progress I’m going to make. It’s like when we were alive and had a pair of goal jeans for weight loss.” She broke out in a proud grin. “Yeah, it’s just like that.”
“Scott is my pair of goal jeans?”
“Totally.” She crammed the shopping bag into a Dumpster behind the Taqueria El Soldado and cringed at some goo on her palms. “Do you have any wet naps?”
I dug a packet out of my purse. “What’s the goal then?”
“Do I have to clue you in on everything? It’s like you don’t remember being a human.”
“Not true.” She pulled out a toothpick and pried a bone shard from between her front teeth. “I just don’t recall the love part.”
“He’s your goal jeans because you need to fit him into your life.” She tossed the gore-smudged wipe atop the bin. “And you into his.”
I raised my brow and nodded in such a way as to indicate Wendy was indeed batshit crazy. No need letting on that she was probably right. That would unlevel the balance of power.
So not happening.
Her theory made sense in an “everything’s really simple” Wendy sort of way. Regardless of whether I loved the guy, or not, I knew I liked having Scott around and that was plenty reason to win him back. But, don’t go expecting some romance novel bullshit. Cause it ain’t happening. 23
When Elizabeth Karkaroff bought into Feral Inc. as a partner—and by “bought in” I mean “took over”—things changed. You don’t go into business with the queen of the underworld and not let her be the boss, now do you? It was her idea to move the offices from the waterfront to the lake—said that Puget Sound reminded her of the Styx. Also, a shudder rolled through her—a crappy endorsement for whatever it was she was talking about.
“The band?” I’d asked, momentarily distracted by the en suite bathroom in the office I’d scouted and not particularly interested in her whims at that moment—if I remember correctly, she’d been on a tear about how bad Seattle drivers were, ranting and raving like mad.
“Of course not,” she spat.
I shrugged and ran my fingers across the black granite countertop.
“I swear, sometimes you say things just to irritate me,” she scowled, flipped her wavy hair over one perfectly styled shoulder (Carolina Herrera sent a new suit for her that very week—must be nice to
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