Behind the Scenes(11)

I want to ask Marie if sex games in the office are part of what she’s talking about. I bite my tongue, resolving to not drop that bomb.

She mentioned his past though… which has me super curious. Before I can ask, a buzzing fills the air. I look down at my backpack. The top of my phone peeks out from the side pocket, lighting up as it rings. “Sorry, I should check this.”

I pull the phone out and frown at the screen. It’s Dana. Have I stayed away from the office too long? Maybe Chuck and Daniel haven’t returned from lunch yet, and Dana is swapped with… with what? A sudden delivery of two dozen ferns?

As I ponder the multitude of possibilities, the phone stops ringing. I missed her call.

“I should probably go,” I slowly say. Not that I want to. If I had my choice, I would be rooting around in John Murakami’s living room, seeing what books he reads and looking for clues as to where his inspiration and talent come from.

Marie wrinkles her nose. “Sorry. I kept you too long.”

“Oh, no!” I quickly say. I bite my lip, debating how to continue. “Thank you for telling me about, you know… for giving me advice.”

She puts her mug down. “I’ll walk you out.”

The moment is gone. If Marie was going to drop additional juicy tidbits on my boss, she isn’t anymore. Maybe she even regrets bringing the topic up.

I let her walk me to the front door. She waves as I open the gate and then goes back inside. Smiling to myself, I hop to the car.

Damn, what a nice woman.

Maybe if I’m lucky, Mr. Murakami will be old school about emails as well, and I’ll end up delivering hand written notes to his house on a daily basis.

Once I close the door, I call Dana back, but she doesn’t answer. My heartbeat picks up. Maybe she’s mad at me for not answering. Maybe she’s freaking out, trying to handle the office without anyone else there.

I drive ten miles above the speed limit the entire way back, nervously checking my rear view mirror for cops every twenty seconds.

Dana is anything but overwhelmed. Instead, she sits at her desk with her legs stretched out across the surface. She’s swiping across the tablet in her hands, but whether she’s looking at this week’s schedule or playing a game, it’s hard to say.

“Hi,” I say, the word heaving from my lungs. I really need to run more often. I’m in terrible shape.

“What took you so long?”

“Did I take a long time?” I feign surprise. “Sorry. Mr. Murakami’s wife wanted to talk a little bit. I didn’t want to be rude. Where are the guys?”

Dana shrugs and plops her feet back on the floor. “I imagine they’ll be back when it suits them.”

“Oh.” I give her statement some thought. “You all seemed so busy the first day I came in here.”

“That’s because You-Know-Who was here that day.”

“Oh. Got it. You mean Voldemort, right?”

Dana laughs and I grin back. She leans forward against the desk and studies my face. “He likes you, you know.”

I freeze, my backpack half way off my shoulders. “What do you mean?”

She rolls her eyes, and the pink tips of her blonde hair swings as she sits back in her chair. “Mr. Mulroney, he likes you. He would have gotten rid of you by now if he didn’t.”

My lips are extremely dry. “That’s good. Right?”

She smiles. “Right. Of course it’s good.”

I clear my throat. “Good.”

Do not read into that statement, Sydney. Do not do it.

“He likes you too, then,” I say. “And Chuck and Daniel as well.”

She makes a face. “He likes us, all right.” She pauses and chews on her bottom lip. “Maybe I’m using the word ‘like’ too loosely. I guess I should say he tolerates us.”

So I was reading into it.

“So,” I slowly say, looking around for some emergency filing. “Is there anything I should be doing right now?”

She shrugs. “You could water the plants.”

“Cool.”

Dana chortles and pulls her phone out of her pocket. “The watering can is in the closet at the other end of the hall. Have fun.”

*

Thursday and Friday creep by with no signs of Mr. Mulroney. Chuck and Daniel show up for work but leave early both days. I stay with Dana until five o’clock, even though she runs out of menial tasks to give me long before the end of each day.

On Friday, I collapse onto the couch the second I get through the apartment’s front door. My face down into the pillow, I take a deep breath. Beat isn’t exactly the right way to describe how I feel. The last couple days have been anything but taxing.