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| Alarmingly Strange Stories |
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The Escape |
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| . Denise smiles, too. Two Denises are sitting across the table from me, smiling their ex-models' smile. Her designs are good, though. She'd managed to get into the Art Academy on a full scholarship because of her painting and quickly got into fashion design. She says that's all she's ever wanted to do with herself. I keep telling her that she's got to have a job to eat on. Without me, she'd let herself starve trying to make it. Two waiters walk up and ask if we would be ordering soon. I explain that we are still waiting for someone else, but another bottle of wine would be nice, thank you. They leave. I'm staring at the ceiling. The wood beams and stucco plaster revolve around each other. It's really very entrancing. My heart is pounding. Hard. Not like it does when I get nervous, or when I'm trying to sell some yokel something he doesn't want or need but I need the commission for. But like it did that time back in school when I took four caffeine pills with coffee trying to sober up for the astronomy final. One of the Denises grabs my hand while the other grabs nothingness off the edge of the table. "Are you okay, Keith?" She looks concerned. "You're turning green." "I don't know, maybe I got some bad food for lunch or something." "I keep telling you you need to lay off the fast food and take a decent lunch break. That reminds me, when you become general manager, you need to give everyone a full hour for lunch so I won't get in trouble with Cindy anymore." "Whatever. Look, I've got to go to the restroom real quick. If Mr. Brothers gets here before I get out, show him your portfolio or something 'till I get back," I wink at her as I stumble off. I think she smiles back, but I'm not sure. Luckily the rose-marbled bathroom is empty. It's Tuesday, so the attendant is off. Alone, I splash my face with water and brush my black hair with one of those combs they have sitting in the jar of blue water. 'Barbicide.' I think I am sweating now, but I may have just splashed myself with more water than I thought. I want there to be a window, so I can make a dramatic escape and start my life all over again and all of that romantic bullshit. But; there isn't. I don't want to go back out there. I'm having enough trouble dealing with Denise; I really don't want to have to face Mr. Brothers like this. I can't get this damned faucet to turn all the way off! It just sits there - dripping. I'm not ready to go back out there. My face is numb and I'm scared to death. I retreat into one of the stalls and sit on the open toilet seat with my head in my hands. When it all started, Denise was about to get fired from the young Miss' department. She sold clothes like wild then, too, but she was always late, and she just didn't have any heart, you know? Still, people'll buy clothes from a model just because they say so, so she never had any problems with that end of the job. I was still just the manager of Men's wear, but my guys were good. There's a look in your eye when you really want to sell somebody, and I made sure all my people had it. They were hungry, and I made sure they stayed that way. With all the contests and competitions we had to see who was the best, all the guys were ready to go. Always. I'd heard Denise wanted to be a fashion designer, and the store was having a show coming up in New York, so I asked her to come along. She jumped at the chance - almost literally - green eyes shining like the emeralds we sold in the jewelry department. The company paid for both the flight out there and the hotel room. I never told her that I could've gotten two rooms just as easily as I got the one, but I guess everything worked out all right, anyway. . |
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