“Boston—”
“Good night, Abby.” His voice is firm. He crosses his arms over his chest.
“Good night.” My voice wobbles, but I walk to my car with my head high. This time, no childhood memories come rushing back to soothe me back into control, and all the way home I alternate between surges of adrenaline and despair.
***
“Your artwork is very eclectic,” observes a middle-aged man in a dark suit and an uninspired haircut, glancing at the wall. “The number theme matches your job.” He swipes a bead of sweat from his forehead and stands up.
Liesl’s laugh is delighted, as if she’s never heard this before and finds it utterly charming. “It does, Larry, you’re so right. Thanks for noticing.” She touches the sleeve of his jacket and lowers her voice. “I like to remind people that numbers can be beautiful, you know? And that we’re not just about hard numbers here at Benson Accounting, we’re about making things better. Taking the ugly tax forms and making them pretty again, right?”
He laughs, but his face looks grateful, and I see that his hand is tight on his laptop case. “Well, I appreciate your help. My wife and I really needed the refund.”
Liesl nods and steers him to the door with a touch on his elbow. “Well, with the tax credits we found, and the things you were not deducting, you’re going to get double what you got last year. So tell Mary Patrice that the fancy matching cribs are a go. Twins! I’m so excited for you both.”
He nods and brushes his forehead again. “You’re a lifesaver. I’m glad I hired you to handle my extension.” He gets onto his phone as he walks out the door, and his face looks easy.
I sidle up. “Another satisfied customer here at Benson, am I right?”
“Abs!” Liesl sashays over on her heels and hugs me. Her hair is up in an elegant chignon and her suit is total Wall Street chic.
“How do you answer the same questions all the time?” I point at the wall, where a huge painted five echoes itself in yellow, smaller versions, against a background of red and brown boxy shapes.
Liesl shrugs. “It’s just the way to start or end conversations for me, kind of like, Did you find everything okay? from the grocery clerks, or Want a lap dance? for the girls at the clubs. Just part of the lingo to get everyone in the right frame of mind for the situation at hand.” She pours two cups of coffee from the pot and hands me one. “So how’s the working with Parker going?”
I shrug. “It’s—complicated. He kissed me.”
“I knew it!” Her face lights up. “When did this happen? Did he use tongue? Is he a good kisser?”
“Yesterday, yes, and yes. He’s awesome. It was a great kiss. And then he dismissed me.”
“He what?”
“We kissed, then he suddenly pulled back and was all, okay, goodnight, see you tomorrow.”
“So what did you say?”
“Nothing. I just said goodnight, too, and walked out.” I pick at the hem of my shirt and sigh. “It’s probably better. A one-night stand would mess things up.”
Liesl bobs her head. “Yeah.”
There’s a pause while neither of us speak, then I burst in. “But he has a lot of nerve. I don’t see why he gets to call the shots and be all, kiss me, kiss me , and then, okay, we’re done . Right? He probably thinks I’m so hot for him or so hard up for a guy that he can get a fast fuck, and then go back to work as normal. So he’ll just get what he wants now and get the rest, whenever. That’s not… Ugh. Or worse. Maybe he thinks I’m a terrible kisser and he didn’t want to tell me, so he just said goodbye.”
Liesl puts her cup down and looks right at me. “I doubt that he didn’t want you. I’m serious, he gave off a very powerful fucky vibe toward you at the club. The kiss just verifies that. Maybe he just didn’t want to push you, or something. Maybe he has a rash downstairs. There are other possibilities. Do you or do you not want a fling with him?”
“I do not. And I
“Good night, Abby.” His voice is firm. He crosses his arms over his chest.
“Good night.” My voice wobbles, but I walk to my car with my head high. This time, no childhood memories come rushing back to soothe me back into control, and all the way home I alternate between surges of adrenaline and despair.
***
“Your artwork is very eclectic,” observes a middle-aged man in a dark suit and an uninspired haircut, glancing at the wall. “The number theme matches your job.” He swipes a bead of sweat from his forehead and stands up.
Liesl’s laugh is delighted, as if she’s never heard this before and finds it utterly charming. “It does, Larry, you’re so right. Thanks for noticing.” She touches the sleeve of his jacket and lowers her voice. “I like to remind people that numbers can be beautiful, you know? And that we’re not just about hard numbers here at Benson Accounting, we’re about making things better. Taking the ugly tax forms and making them pretty again, right?”
He laughs, but his face looks grateful, and I see that his hand is tight on his laptop case. “Well, I appreciate your help. My wife and I really needed the refund.”
Liesl nods and steers him to the door with a touch on his elbow. “Well, with the tax credits we found, and the things you were not deducting, you’re going to get double what you got last year. So tell Mary Patrice that the fancy matching cribs are a go. Twins! I’m so excited for you both.”
He nods and brushes his forehead again. “You’re a lifesaver. I’m glad I hired you to handle my extension.” He gets onto his phone as he walks out the door, and his face looks easy.
I sidle up. “Another satisfied customer here at Benson, am I right?”
“Abs!” Liesl sashays over on her heels and hugs me. Her hair is up in an elegant chignon and her suit is total Wall Street chic.
“How do you answer the same questions all the time?” I point at the wall, where a huge painted five echoes itself in yellow, smaller versions, against a background of red and brown boxy shapes.
Liesl shrugs. “It’s just the way to start or end conversations for me, kind of like, Did you find everything okay? from the grocery clerks, or Want a lap dance? for the girls at the clubs. Just part of the lingo to get everyone in the right frame of mind for the situation at hand.” She pours two cups of coffee from the pot and hands me one. “So how’s the working with Parker going?”
I shrug. “It’s—complicated. He kissed me.”
“I knew it!” Her face lights up. “When did this happen? Did he use tongue? Is he a good kisser?”
“Yesterday, yes, and yes. He’s awesome. It was a great kiss. And then he dismissed me.”
“He what?”
“We kissed, then he suddenly pulled back and was all, okay, goodnight, see you tomorrow.”
“So what did you say?”
“Nothing. I just said goodnight, too, and walked out.” I pick at the hem of my shirt and sigh. “It’s probably better. A one-night stand would mess things up.”
Liesl bobs her head. “Yeah.”
There’s a pause while neither of us speak, then I burst in. “But he has a lot of nerve. I don’t see why he gets to call the shots and be all, kiss me, kiss me , and then, okay, we’re done . Right? He probably thinks I’m so hot for him or so hard up for a guy that he can get a fast fuck, and then go back to work as normal. So he’ll just get what he wants now and get the rest, whenever. That’s not… Ugh. Or worse. Maybe he thinks I’m a terrible kisser and he didn’t want to tell me, so he just said goodbye.”
Liesl puts her cup down and looks right at me. “I doubt that he didn’t want you. I’m serious, he gave off a very powerful fucky vibe toward you at the club. The kiss just verifies that. Maybe he just didn’t want to push you, or something. Maybe he has a rash downstairs. There are other possibilities. Do you or do you not want a fling with him?”
“I do not. And I
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