Page 9
“Can we go outside sometime today?” I ask to break the awkward silence between us.
“No.” His sharp tone is firm, with finality and a hint of irritation, as though he'd drawn the short straw and he’s stuck babysitting.
“Can I request a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle?” I ask.
“A what?”
“A thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle, and a table to set it on,” I answer and face his scowl. “You don’t look happy to be here with me, and if you want me quiet, give me a thousand-piece puzzle and you will not know that I’m here.” I make a case for a palpable quiet time.
“Fine, I’ll let the boss know of your request.”
“You don’t have to tell him. I’m sure he’s too busy for that.”
“My orders are to inform him of every request you make, no matter how small.” His voice is gruff, like he’s letting me know all my small requests will be an annoyance since he must call Bruce about it. Duly noted.
“Okay. I’ll keep that in mind,” I mumble.
“You do that,” he snaps.
“I’ll be in my room. Please let me know when the lady and all my requests arrive.”
He nods and I hear a scoff.
I head to my room, getting on the bed. I grab my backpack and check to see that I have a three-month supply of contact lens and my two glasses. Each a backup of the other. A six-month supply of my meds. I take out my journal and start to write about my nightmare.
My therapist told me to write down every time I have a nightmare; maybe we can find the trigger or find a pattern of causality. I haven’t spoken to her since I went to the UK, but I continue the routine.
I’m still writing when I hear a knock on my door. Packing everything up and putting it back in my bag, I briskly open the door to Ice. If I didn’t know why they called him Ice, his icy stare should be the answer. No insider knowledge or jokes needed. He’s not bad looking, just wears a permanent frown.
“The lady is here,” he says. Why does he always sound upset too?
“Thank you.” I follow him to meet a woman with short blonde hair and a dazzling smile. She is about five-foot-three. I feel very tall standing next to her at five-foot-nine. A boy about sixteen years old is with her and struggling under the weight of three clothing racks and two suitcases.
“Hi, I’m Alexis,” I say, proffering my hand.
She shakes my hand.
“I’m Emily, nice to meet you. I hear you are greatly in need of my services.” She’s chirpy. And I need chirpy right now.
“Yes, I am.”
“I got you. Here we have sizes 6.” She moves to the next rack. “Size 8, and size 10 is the last rack. I’m quite sure we won’t be needing the size 10.”
“That would be correct. I’m usually between sizes 6 and 8, depending on the style, cut, and designer.”
“Perfect. Brady, please remove all the size 10 and replace them with more sizes 6 and 8.”
“May I?” I ask before touching the clothes.
“Yes, please. You are allowed to pick anything or take everything if you want, and if nothing fits your taste, please let me know and I’ll return with something that’s to your taste.” I acknowledge. Not sure why Bruce would tell her that I can take everything, especially when he knows my situation. Who knows where I will be next month.
I find some stylish jeans in both sizes, from ripped, wide legs, to straight, boot cut and crop style. I pick out a few dress pants and some blouses and a T-shirt. A few skirts.
“Can I try them on?”
“Yes, please. We don’t want you to pick anything that isn’t a good fit or not to your liking.”
I pick up the jeans and briskly head to my bedroom. Pulling my leggings, I start to try out the jeans. Some styles fit better in 6 and some in 8. Once done, I return the ones I don’t like and repeat the process for the pants, blouses, T-shirts, and skirts. I also grab some leggings and lounge pants.
