Carey holds the door for her, and she says something to him that I don’t catch. He laughs; loud, and easy. Then she’s gone and the shop is quiet again.
Carey remains still for several long moments, almost like he’s contemplating whether or not he should follow her out. But he doesn’t. He drags his hand down his face and returns to the desk. “I cleared all the messages. You’re welcome.”
I glance at the answering machine. “I didn’t ask for your help.”
“But you took it.”
My jaw tightens. “I told you I didn’t need a fucking secretary.”
He leans towards me over the counter, a borderline seductive smile on his face. “How about anot-fucking secretary?”
His words slice at me like a paper cut. “You’re not on the payroll. You can go.”
“Cash is fine, but I also accept sexual favors. So if you know anyone, I’ve got an entire apartment to myself.”
“That’s furnished with camping supplies.”
“There’s also a twenty year old futon.”
He’s baiting me, and I know better, but I’m tired, and the caffeine is gone from my system. “I can’t deal with you right now, Carey. I can handle it on my own.”
“God. Look at your face. You can’t even convince yourself.”
“Just leave.”
“You look dehydrated.”
“Jesus Christ. You sound like your fucking brother.”
His smile is gone and his eyes hold mine. They're two different colors. I never noticed before. One's blue and one's grey.
The knot in my stomach pulls tighter.
I don’t really want him to leave.
I want him to ask why I’m so fucking angry.
I want him to just keep talking.
The door opens—the bell cutting the tension.
Carey pushes off the counter and greets my next client with a smile.
She’s young, just eighteen. She walks towards us on platform boots, her gaze fluttering from me to Carey and back. “Uh hi! I’m your ten o’clock. For the script.”
I check the calendar, confirm the name, tell her to take a seat.
“Do you know how to use the coffee machine?”
Carey locks his eyes with mine again, his top lip rising in a tiny smirk. ”I can figure it out if you say please.”
I grit my teeth. “She’s nervous. Just get her a fucking drink.”
“Aye, aye.” He salutes, and I get to work stripping my station to clean and prep it again.
I take my clients script design and scan and print it, even though it’s small and basic and would probably take less time to just trace it myself.
“Did you figure it out?” I ask Carey.
