I just do my homework and spend time creating who I'm going to be. But this guy...he's different. Well, no, maybe that's the opposite. He's too familiar. And it scares me a little. I don't know how to get ready for it. So...I guess I'm gonna work out like crazy and starve myself until I figure it out."
“ My gaw d… I would so not make it even a week. I think I would hack off my arm and bar-b-queit after three days if I had to eat shit like this . ”
“ I t’ d be the most expensive bar-b-queyou ever ate. My arms are worth millions right now . ”
“ Jesus, yo u’ re right. I never thought of it that way. Tha t’ s weird, your body parts are a commodity . ”
He smiles and stares out over the city, his face hidden still beneath the cap and glasses he has worn all day.
“ Can you do me a favor ? ” she asks.
“ Of course . ”
“ Can you take off the disguise ? ”
He tugs off the glasses and hat, squinting at her, the bright, blue eyes piercing her with their casual gaze. He looks immediately lighter, young and almost childlike, and then, with a dangerous twist of his brow he becomes the face she was once familiar with, but could never see him as again. She smiles a long, slow smile and tussles his hair. He laughs and sheepishly runs a hand over his hair.
“ God, yo u’ re unreal! How can you even stand it ? ” She laughs.
He smiles and throws a carrot stick at her. She throws her pickle at him and they squeeze into one another for a second, giggling like children.
“ What am I going to do ? ” he mumbles, plucking the flaccid carrot from his lap and examining it.
She pulls away and sips her drink, studying the homes around them, imagining, as she tended to do with big homes, the people inside and their lives. How they sauntered through flawless rooms with wine glasses, everything in the perfect spot, every luxury accommodating them. How they came to acquire such home and lives. She always gets to the part where she tries to imagine herself as one of them before she realizes it could never happen, she would never fit, the people that live in these homes are the people she serves . It occurs to her that he could easily be one of them, one of the people she serves day in and day out without ever really being a part of their lives. He feels her distance, and an ache races through him, imagining her vanish as the fog of his impending life rolls in.
“ Do you want a job ? ”
She bites into her sandwich and chews it thoughtfully, as if she had n’ t heard the question or recognized the uncanny relevance it had to her thought process.
“ I mean,do you want a real job? I do n’ t-I think I need someone like you around . ”
“ You want me to work for you ? ”
“ Yeah . ”
“ You could have me around. We could be friends. I do n’ t have to work for you . ”
“ N o… i t… I do n’ t really have many friends. I told you, all I do is work. I'm all over the place, all the time. The friends I have, I see every once in awhile and-and I know you would just get lost in the shuffle. I do n’ t want that to happen. If you worked for m e …”
She laughs and nods. “ If I worked for you, I’ d be in the shuffle all the time, too . ”
“ Exactly . ”
“ What would I do ? ”
“ Well, u h… I gues s… remember CeCe ? ”
“ Your secretary . ”
“ Right. Well, yo u’ d work under her. Yo u’ d be my personal assistant . ”
“ Wait, you want me to pick up your dog shits ! ”
“ Yeah! NO! I want you to just, help me, you know. In daily things. Running errands like we did today, but they would be my errands. Helping me make decisions. Just-being with me, you know, help me keep current, help me keep on top of current events, politics,
“ My gaw d… I would so not make it even a week. I think I would hack off my arm and bar-b-queit after three days if I had to eat shit like this . ”
“ I t’ d be the most expensive bar-b-queyou ever ate. My arms are worth millions right now . ”
“ Jesus, yo u’ re right. I never thought of it that way. Tha t’ s weird, your body parts are a commodity . ”
He smiles and stares out over the city, his face hidden still beneath the cap and glasses he has worn all day.
“ Can you do me a favor ? ” she asks.
“ Of course . ”
“ Can you take off the disguise ? ”
He tugs off the glasses and hat, squinting at her, the bright, blue eyes piercing her with their casual gaze. He looks immediately lighter, young and almost childlike, and then, with a dangerous twist of his brow he becomes the face she was once familiar with, but could never see him as again. She smiles a long, slow smile and tussles his hair. He laughs and sheepishly runs a hand over his hair.
“ God, yo u’ re unreal! How can you even stand it ? ” She laughs.
He smiles and throws a carrot stick at her. She throws her pickle at him and they squeeze into one another for a second, giggling like children.
“ What am I going to do ? ” he mumbles, plucking the flaccid carrot from his lap and examining it.
She pulls away and sips her drink, studying the homes around them, imagining, as she tended to do with big homes, the people inside and their lives. How they sauntered through flawless rooms with wine glasses, everything in the perfect spot, every luxury accommodating them. How they came to acquire such home and lives. She always gets to the part where she tries to imagine herself as one of them before she realizes it could never happen, she would never fit, the people that live in these homes are the people she serves . It occurs to her that he could easily be one of them, one of the people she serves day in and day out without ever really being a part of their lives. He feels her distance, and an ache races through him, imagining her vanish as the fog of his impending life rolls in.
“ Do you want a job ? ”
She bites into her sandwich and chews it thoughtfully, as if she had n’ t heard the question or recognized the uncanny relevance it had to her thought process.
“ I mean,do you want a real job? I do n’ t-I think I need someone like you around . ”
“ You want me to work for you ? ”
“ Yeah . ”
“ You could have me around. We could be friends. I do n’ t have to work for you . ”
“ N o… i t… I do n’ t really have many friends. I told you, all I do is work. I'm all over the place, all the time. The friends I have, I see every once in awhile and-and I know you would just get lost in the shuffle. I do n’ t want that to happen. If you worked for m e …”
She laughs and nods. “ If I worked for you, I’ d be in the shuffle all the time, too . ”
“ Exactly . ”
“ What would I do ? ”
“ Well, u h… I gues s… remember CeCe ? ”
“ Your secretary . ”
“ Right. Well, yo u’ d work under her. Yo u’ d be my personal assistant . ”
“ Wait, you want me to pick up your dog shits ! ”
“ Yeah! NO! I want you to just, help me, you know. In daily things. Running errands like we did today, but they would be my errands. Helping me make decisions. Just-being with me, you know, help me keep current, help me keep on top of current events, politics,
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