“Yes—yes, you are going. You need to forget about last night," she says.
“No date," I shout from the hall.
“Be home on time, please. Thank you, have a wonderful day."
I can't live with her anymore. She's making me crazy, which she wouldn't understand since her behavior definescrazy. Layla has become a hermit and only leaves the apartment at night. I suspect that her lifestyle is the cause for who she has become because she seems to be at a new low.
While heading back to the subway, I check my Instagram feed to see if there was any further milk boy fall out between last night and this morning. I scroll for minutes but see nothing. I click into my photos since I took a screenshot of the post from last night and locate Minnie Mouse's handle. Okay,MinnieMouseLover92. She took this fetish of Mick's a little far. I can't imagine being in that kind of relationship.
In the search bar, I look up the handle and find her last post is from a month ago, which means she deleted anything she must have written last night. I wonder who started the takedown.What a freaking mess.
The office is way too quiet, and Minnie Mouse is not at the front desk. This is bad. The odds of me escaping all kinds of wrath today is unlikely. Regardless, I take a seat at my desk and slouch down enough to be unnoticeable to anyone walking by.
My phone rings, and it's the first time it has rung since I started here. “Virtual Generation," I answer. “How can I help you?"
“Hi, yes, this is Wesley Moon. Is Mick Cale available?" Shit. Shit. Shit. I do the only thing I can think of in this situation and hang up. I press my hands into my desk and stand up from my chair, peering over the cubicles. It looks like no one is here, but the doors are unlocked, so someone has to be here. I lean over the wall a little more, checking to see if the chick next to me is at her desk.
“Hey," I whisper to her. “Where is everyone?"
The girl whose name I still don't know looks around as if she can see through her cubicle walls then turns back to face me. “They're meeting with an attorney in one of the conference rooms."
“Huh, weird. Do you know why?" This is nuts and kind of funny.
“Well, they escorted Michelle out of the building this morning." Michelle? Oh, Minnie, that's right.
“Oh no, what happened?" I should play dumb.
The girl shrugs her shoulders. “I have no clue, but it must have been bad. I thought she was dating Mick, but I guess I was wrong."
My phone rings again, and I slink back down to watch the red light flashing, hoping it will stop on its own or transfer to someone else's phone.
After a half dozen rings, silence soothes my racing heart, but only for a second until the phone rings in the no-name girl's cubical. I want to tell her to ignore it, but that will lead to questions and assumptions about things I shouldn't know.
“Virtual Generation, this is Carla speaking."Carla is her name. Now I remember … Mick said she was missing from the meeting the other day. “He's in a meeting but I cantake a message." Carla is quiet for a moment, but I hear her gasp for air as if trying to speak but unable to get a word out. “Well, yes, but I can't—I'm so sorry to hear, sir." More silence, mixed with the tip of my pen scratching into a piece of paper. “Yes, I can transfer you. Thank you, I hope you have a wonderful day." Transfer. Please let that call goright to Mick's voicemail. “The model that was here yesterday would like to have a word with you, Madelyn." It's the loudest Carla has spoken this week, and it's the one thing I would rather not hear from her.
My phone rings again.Come on, give it up. I can't talk about last night while I'm sitting here at work, the place you are most likely about to sue.I know the phone won't stop until I pick up, so I need to end the call before he can say anything about last night. “This is Madelyn," I answer.
“Hey," he says, sounding calm and a little shy. “You didn't say goodbye."
“Yeah, um, about that, I—"
“You don't have to say anything," he says. “I'm to blame."
While I appreciate him taking the blame, I can't go along with that. “It was both of us … did we—"
He groans and releases a soft exhale. “Um, we tried, but you fell asleep before anything happened." That explains why I don't remember. “Is there any chance we can meet for lunch so we can talk?"
Now, the tip of my pen is tearing through the piece of paper. “I don't think it's a good idea at the moment," I tell him.
“Understandable. Well, I will leave you my number in case you change your mind. Last night—I was a mess."
“It happens," I tell him. Hot models falling apart at a bar is a new experience for me.
“My number, in case you want it … 978-123-2722."
“Cool," I tell him. Cool? I sound like a teenage boy playing with a girl's emotions.
“I need to get ahold of your boss. Do you know a way I can do this?" His words make me wonder if last night was a ploy against Mick. Although, I told him I've only been here a few days, so I don't think he would assume I have anyinside secrets at this point. I'm not sure what to think since his moods are so erratic, but it's clear that last night's occurrence was just the aftermath of a train wreck.
