And we continue our Round Robin Short Story series, "A Delicious Dalliance," with a section from Bryan Grubbs.
“Yes I am aware that you’re trying to cut down on paper. Hurray for you. What I’m asking is for nine little digits of an incoming phone call that happened last Friday night.”
Two hours and thirteen minutes, three transfers and over an hour of jazzy porno music had eaten through Seven’s lunch and was now bringing up indigestion to accompany her frustration. She had stopped off on her way to work to pick up a replacement for her phone. Without the sim-card, she had lost all of her phone numbers.
Funny that she could still remember her best friend’s phone number from the third grade, the number to her parent’s cottage and to the local deli down the street whenever she wanted a sandwich delivered for lunch, but all other numbers were lost to her – especially the one she really wanted.
“That information will be on your statement at the end of the month.”
She let out an audible sigh. She’d done her best to control her temper, but now she was fueled by hunger, frustration, and an over-whelming urge to shove her freshly scuffed Claiborne up some call-center ass. “I don’t want the information at the end of the month. I want the information now.”
There was only humming from the receiver when her assistant, Tony, ducked his immaculate coif through the door.
“Sev, darling? I am so sorry to bother you, but your two-o-clock is here and looking a bit hot under the collar.” The corner of his mouth pulled back dramatically into a grimace.
She put her hand over the mouthpiece and whispered, “I’ll be right there.” A tall margarita was the only thing that could extinguish the raging nerves and calm the boiling sea in her bloodstream, but Tony’s flamboyant nature was a close second.
The voice came through the receiver again. “Miss? I’m going to have to transfer you.”
Seven bit back a response that she found all-too appropriate and tapped the ‘End Call’ button. “Just blow out the candles,” she told herself, taking deep breaths and letting the air escape slowly across the blackened wick in her mind. The wax was just about to drip on Alex’s exposed body when Tony peeped in again.
“Sev! Get that cutie-patootie in high gear! Never leave a good-looking man waiting!”
“Tell me about it,” she muttered, brushing her hands down the folds of her skirt as she walked out the door behind Tony.
Incisors were doing their damage on her bottom lip while eyes locked on to the green Jetta in the parking garage, doing nothing to assist with her failing battle against the bile uprising. What kind of man drives a Jetta anyway? Is that how she was to see herself? Thrown to practicality with surprisingly ample trunk space?
She shook her head, fingers drumming on the friction-worn plastic of the steering wheel, contemplating her next plan of action.
It wasn’t that Brad hadn’t been sweet and managed to charm her in his own way. It was that Seven had come to a realization. She wanted heat. She wanted fire. She wanted steam. She couldn’t make herself settle for sweaty palms. Evenings in on the couch when there were wild nights of irresponsible drinking and dancing still left in her.
Still, the idea of watching those dog-faithful eyes widening with hurt and self-pity was enough to keep her opinions at bay.
Instead of getting out of the car, she gripped the keys still dangling from the ignition and gave them a firm twist. If Alex only had one day off and was working at one of four restaurants tonight, that meant she had a pretty easy way of tracking him down.
Recalling the name of the restaurant she’d seen him standing in front of only a few nights ago, she scrolled through listings until she found the number, highlighted it, and hit dial.