Discover Your Hidden Talents: Amateur Sleuth

You always felt deep down that when push came to shove you could make an excellent amateur sleuth. Tonight your going find out.

Tonight was the worst date you’ve ever been on. So bad that you are going to follow this guy home and observe what goes on until you get to the bottom of this. Things just don’t add up. 

When you agreed to go with Beth, your life long besty, to the speed dating night you never expecting to meet a perfect dreamboat like Rick. In the three minutes allotted he was funny, charming and complimentary. And of course his incredible good looks helped seal in that love at first sight feeling.

It’s Never Too Late Love Match, the speed dating company designated for the 40+ set, sent you his email address. You used it to to arrange a Friday night dinner date. You also used it to check him out online. From his myspace and public photos on facebook you learned a lot. He is very popular, 367 friends. He was definitely single and looking. He liked Friends, The Office and Hooty and the Blowfish just like you. He was a college graduate. You added popular, funny, smart and dreamy to your description of him.

When you called Beth to tell her about your date with “Mr. Dreamy” she said she was so happy for you. Beth is a very obsessed with wanting a boyfriend. You both are. Neither of you are laughing when you introduce yourselves as “a couple of happy spinsters”. It’s annoying, but hey, she’s your besty. You are not sure but you think she was actually crying.

Not only was “Mr. Dreamy” not acting dreamy on your date, he was a nightmare. He strolled in 20 minutes late and only stayed for one drink. He didn’t even offer to pay he just walked out when he finished his Double Grey Goose and Red Bull. He barely even looked at you. He just texted and looked at his phone. When the sweet young waitress with a little baby bump walked away from the table he quipped

“Hey,what is the difference between a pregnant woman and a light bulb? You can unscrew a light bulb.”

That bad joke is what sealed the deal. Something very strange must be going on here. This was not the same dreamy Rick you grew to know and dare I say love over the last week.

You know what must be done. Follow his car. Call Beth and have her meet you with some snacks. This could become an all night stakeout. If indeed it is what you suspect, a case of a meddling evil twin, you may be doing him a huge favor. You might even save his life if the evil twin is holding him hostage or something.

Good luck and happy amateur sleuthing. 

little monster

When I was a kid, little, like before I was even in school. I spilled a glass of milk at the dinner table. My mom, who was a total spaz, jumped up and screamed. A high pitched cartoony eek a mouse type of scream. She scurried about to clean up the mess. My dad was there and he was laughing. I was really little, so of course I laughed too. I think we even clapped. I remember I really thought it was a skit she was doing. I also remember this was the night of the biggest fight ever.
My mom screamed “A monster! That kid of yours is a little monster!” over and over.
My dad moved out not long after that and it was just me and mom. My new nickname stuck. My mother would call me a little monster every chance she got. Track dirt on the carpet, little monster. Refuse to eat brussel sprouts, little monster. Skin my knee on the playground at school, little monster.
It was in first grade that the nickname caught on at school. It was getting close to summer vacation. I pretended to be sick during lunch and asked if I could skip recess. I pretended to sleep, waiting until the teacher left me alone in the classroom. I went over to the class gerbil cage and grabbed the big gerbil. Walked to the window and gently placed him on the ledge. The lady gerbil struggled and bit my hand but I caught her. Only I sort of flung her out the window. The kids outside saw me and I had to go to the principles office.
“I don’t know what to tell you. She is a monster. A little monster” I could hear my mom telling the principle and my teacher thru open the frosted glass office door. After that I was called little monster not just by that teacher but all my teachers and all the kids until junior high. Generally it was in a friendly way, most adults liked me.
Then junior high came and all the things that suck about that. I got my period and my mom called me little monster and seemed pissed off at me. She walked around the house for days looking in mirrors, moaning and groaning about how she must be old now. At the time I was mostly annoyed. I was pretty much over all of her antics and didn’t give a crap what she was complaining about. She even called my dad to further humiliate me.
“Our little monster is a woman” she said.
Jesus Christ! What kind of a creep does that? My mom, that’s who.
Soon I was in high school and every new makeup experiment, every short skirt, every time I was five seconds late, little monster, little monster. She really ramped it up at some point. Screaming at the top of her lungs about my virtue. It really sucked for me. I was given the earliest curfew of all my friends and never allowed to sleep over at anyones house. I tried to sign up for as many activities as I could. Diving, cheerleading, gymnastics, drama club, yearbook committee. The busier I was the less time I had to be with her. As long as it was part of school she didn’t mind what I did. I wasn’t allowed to date but I had boyfriends on the sly. I was a smart and sneeky kid.
Then came homecoming of my senior year. I was a cheerleader and I had been dating one of the football players. We were supposed to go in a group. I set it up to look like it was just me and two of my girl friends. We went to my friend Barb’s house so I could do my hair and makeup and put on heels. Seriously she wont even let me wear heels. We met our dates at Pillio and they sat us right next to the window. Everything was going great until we got to the dance. My mom was there. She was just standing there in the entrance. Not an official chaperone or ticket taker, not even dressed up. The guys went inside but Barb and Beth stayed at the door with me while my mother screamed at the top of her lungs about what a horrible child she had. What a big monster I had become.
Barb and Beth stayed and stood behind me. Then Beth started laughing. She started screaming at Beth too. So Beth explained why she was laughing. That I was such a good kid. Which made my mother scream more and pretty soon half the school was standing around listening to my mom screeching little monster, little monster. I was embarrassed but also a little relieved. At least now people would know I wasn’t lying all those times I said I couldn’t do stuff cause my mom was a nut case.
Finally the gym teacher Ms. Kiffany came forward and told her to leave in a calm and controlled voice. Then she turned to me and said I would sleep over at one of my friends’ house tonight. Real matter of fact. Ms. Kiffany is a real tough chick. Like she says something real quiet and it scares the crap out of you. There is no arguing with her, so my mom left.
I slept over at Barb’s and so did Beth. It was fun but I expected a sleep over to be a bigger deal. Maybe they held back a little since we were all kinda in shock from the drama earlier. No one even mentioned it. I’m sure they knew I was going to have to answer a million awful questions at school.
Monday morning the guy I was dating broke up with me. He was even cool enough to admit it was completely because of the scene my mom made. I didn’t blame him for being freaked out by that. Barb and Beth both stayed my friend but everyone else at school was pretty weird toward me. Every time I went to a party someone made asked if my mom was coming. It was supposed to be a funny joke. People always think they are funny when really they are just lame.
My mom tried to apologize but it was one of those backhanded kind. She claimed if I hadn’t lied to her about going to the dance with boys none of this would have happened. Oh and of course she threw in a whole lot of monster references. Jesus she was a broken record. The rest of my senior year she was basically at level 10 with the crazy. It got so annoying I told her I wanted to live with my dad who had moved to Wisconsin. We finally worked out that after the school year I would move in with him for the summer. And I would live in the dorms during my freshman year.
She didn’t even call me all summer or in the fall. About a week before Christmas break she called and asked me to come stay with her a few days during the holidays. It was a pleasant visit. She was really on her best behavior. I thought maybe her time alone had mellowed her out. One of the days I went up to the mall to meet my old high school friends. As a joke I bought this goofy monster mask. When I got home I put on before I went in the door.
“Oh mom! Your little monster’s home!!!” I sang out.
She was in the kitchen and she saw me and looked startled. She sort of flinched and dropped a pot with boiling water. Then she stepped forward into the spill and slipped. Somehow she wasn’t just falling forward she was kind of scrambling with both her arms and her legs. Reaching with her arms she knocked a cutting board of the counter and bunch of cut up carrots and a big knife came down the big knife cut her neck. Blood was gushing out of the cut and she kept scrambling around. I threw off the mask and tried to put a towel on the cut. She wouldn’t let me. Finally I got her to hold a towel on it. It was a lot of blood. I called 911 and the ambulance came and took her. I waited in the emergency room. I started to get nervous after awhile. I just sat there alone for hours it was weird no one else came in. Finally a cop showed up and talked to the receptionist then a doctor came out and they were whispering at the desk and looking over at me. They walked over to me together.
The doctor spoke first, “I’m sorry miss. Your mother is dead.”
Then the cop, “I’m gonna have to bring you to station to answer a few questions and file an official report on the incident.”
I went to station and I had to convince them I didn’t attack her. Funny thing is I’m still not sure they completely believed me but one of the investigating officers was Barb’s dad. He knew me pretty well and he knew I was a good kid. So they filed it as an accident.
I felt really guilty and depressed. Thing is she was so much more normal those last few days. I really liked her when she wasn’t being crazy.
Today is my 30th birthday. I’ll be celebrating it in my apartment. I have been alone most of my adult life, on a count of no one liking being woken up at night by my mom.
After the funeral I took the second semester of my freshman year off. My dad help me clear out and sell the house. Then I lived with him in Wisconsin. It was nice to be away from everything. The next fall I went back to school and lived in the dorm. At first it was just lights going on and off at strange times. But soon it was a full blown haunting. She loves to knock stuff off shelves and desks. Of course every roommate I had moved out. The RA finally suggested that I move. I’ve tried to hire experts of all kinds. Exorcists and ghost hunters. Nothing gets rid of her. She really gets fired up when I have a date over. I still do it though. I guess just to stand my ground. I had a serious boyfriend for about a year when I was 24. I’m pretty sure he got tired of my mom’s ghost always hanging around and breaking his stuff. Also, if I spend a lot of time somewhere like at the same guys apartment she finds me.
Don’t get me wrong, I feel bad about the accident and the prom and the gerbils and milk spilling well the laughing. Ok fine, I don’t exactly feel bad. I feel bad that my mom should be in heaven or at rest, at peace, instead of knocking over stuff and flickering lights. But mainly I am pissed. Pissed that I can’t have a fucking boyfriend. Pissed that I got stuck with this ghost mom. She’s the little monster.

ladies room

This was a very early attempt. It's pretty awkward. Second person and over detailed. Go ahead and rip it apart in the comments. It's not at all precious to me.








Kendra approaches the table with a an apathetic smile. She recites her excuse, “Sorry for being late. The girls from work wanted to finish off happy hour.” Gerry pops up to give her a kiss and she offers her cheek.
“No worries sweety! It’s your day!”
They sit and study the menu. “Gerry this place is a little pricey for us” she says eyes wide on the prices.
Gerry gushes, “Oh babe, really, it’s your big day. I’ve got it. I already ordered champagne. My beauty deserves the best.”
Kendra sighs and rolls her eyes behind the menu.
A bottle of Veuve Cliqout arrives at the table. Along with it an elaborate ice block with porcelain dishes of russian caviar and two tiny silver spoons.
“ I hope you like it, my princess deserves a silver spoon” he says.
He scoops up a heap of caviar and tries to feed to her. She stays tight lipped. “Gerry we are not in that kind of restaurant. I can feed myself.”
The waiter appears and offers the specials. Gerry rudely interrupts “ We would like the porterhouse for two- rare, a side of creamed spinach, a side of hash browns and the baked alaska for dessert. Oh and the oysters to begin.” he shoves the menu at the waiter.
Kendra looks at her menu again and apologetically hands it to the waiter. She sighs again.
“Kitten I have some gifts for you!”
Gerry is seeming fidgety and anxious. He adjusts his watch and the cuffs of his shirt with a magicians style of hand movements. He reaches into a big Macy’s bag he has under the table and pulls out a small perfectly gift wrapped box.
“Here is the first one” he sings out.
She opens the gift. An Hermes ribbon scarf.
“Wow...that’s...really... nice” she seems kind of stunned.
He stands up and quickly excuses himself to the rest room.
He is in the restroom so long she finishes the oysters, most of the champagne and asks the waiter to slice and serve the porterhouse.  When Gerry finally returns he waves down the waiter before he sits.
“I asked to start with oysters” he snaps. His eyes are looking watery and shifty. His mouth is chewing an imaginary wad of gum.
“Sir, the lady...” the waiter begins to explain in a calm and patient manor.
“ I ate the whole thing” Kendra smirks. “Sorry, you’ve been gone so long. I thought maybe you left. I know you weren’t fixing your hair.”
The hair part is a joke since he is bald. She speaks in a playful manner she even looks him in the eyes and gives him a cheesy wink. She handily flirts her way out of his irrational aggression.
“Thank you, everything is lovely so far” she says directly to the waiter in order to dismiss him from the scene.
“Let’s eat” she speaks with a warm tone.
Kendra eats her meal while Gerry talks on and on. Explaining all about his work problems and how he is the only useful guy in his office. Then he starts giving Kendra unsolicited advise on all aspects of her life. She barely says two words during the meal. When the plates are cleared Gerry has eaten two bites, Kendra has eaten her entire share.
He takes out another gift package. A giant bottle of Chanel No 5 eu de toillete. Which is not at all a scent she would ever wear.
She politely says “classic, very nice, thank you”  using her rehearsed warm tone.
  He gives her a third, it’s Prada sunglasses. Now he’s zero for three on colossal  wastes of money. Kendra simply smiles and claims she is overwhelmed. She excuses herself to use the ladies room. She calls her best friend Beth.
“He always seemed very conservative with his money in the past. O.K. fine, he’s always been painfully cheap. Only lately he’s completely changed. Why did he wait until now? Listen, I have to get out of here before gifts four and five.”
They start to plot her escape when two very loud giggling girls enter the ladies room talking about the lame cocaine dealer at the back table.
“What’s his name again” one chuckles.
“Gerry, it’s Gerry the bald dude” they laugh.
“ Beth I have to call you back” Kendra hangs up on her friends and opens her stall.
“Hi ladies!” and she actually waves her hand.
“I have a few questions for you.”

character sketch

This one is an introduction to a character I have some ideas for.  In the scene I originally wanted to show her intrigued by the swingers club. I had wanted to show her date's behavior as a turning point in her feelings. I had a hard time describing what might be a sexy or appealing swingers club. Thus it came off as as a completely sour experience. I'm still intrigued by the erotic experience that is going well and takes a wrong turn. Please, add comments...



I walked into the door and instantly wanted to leave. I did not have any idea I would be so overdressed. Jeremy invited me to what he called a special party. He gave me an address. He said to dress sexy and he told me to meet him there at around 10pm.
The cab driver sped away as soon as I stepped out, leaving me on a deserted cobblestone street in the meatpacking district. There was one giant wrestler type in a suit talking on a cell phone and loitering in front of the address I was given. The conspicuous bouncer.
“Welcome Miss, are you meeting someone?” he bellowed.
“Oh yes. My friend....”
“I need a name”
“Jeremy Smith”
He knocked twice and opened the door and gestured inside. I stepped in and he closed the door behind me. I was standing in a hallway of doors all of the doors were grey except for towards the end that door was red. I just stood there for a while. Imagining what might happen in the next few hours. Eventually Jeremy walked out of the red door. When he opened it I could hear the thumping bass of 90’s nightclub music. He walked down the hall laughing.
“Don’t just stand out here silly, you’ll miss all the fun.”
He kissed my cheek, took my hand and dragged me down the hall and inside the red door. The first room we were in was sort of a coat check. A pretty young girl with a models body checked my purse and coat. Then she asked if that was all I was checking.
“For now” Jeremy said.
“What?” I screeched, revealing how completely unnerved I was.
He held my hand and walked me thru a series of colored silky curtains. We entered into an open loft apartment space with a visible kitchen area. Here the music was loud and there were colored lights. The room had no furniture. Just a little DJ stand in one corner. The kitchen area had about a dozen people standing around the counter area drinking and smoking. Smoking a lot. One of the men was wearing a fluffy pink robe. As we got closer I saw two of the women were completely naked. One had on a pair of thigh high black patent leather boots. I sort of tugged back on Jeremy’s arm as we got closer. He stopped and turned to me. He said something that I couldn’t hear at all and kissed me on the cheek. He pulled me over to the kitchen area. He handed me a glass of champagne.
I surveyed the crowd. It seemed to be mostly couples the two naked women were a triplet with the guy in the robe. Everyone turned inspected me, with varying degrees of approval. Jeremy stood behind me and started sort of dancing to the music. Not actually dancing more bending his knees and thrusting his hips against me in time with the beat. It was really annoying and creepy. Then he latched on to me and started groping my breasts.
“What the fuck is this!?!” I screamed, loud enough for everyone to hear. And ripped his hands off of me.
“Aww baby, I just want to play..” He used a bad fake accent.
“I’m ready to leave” I looked at the other people at the party. I fought back my anger and disgust. I shot them all a cruel look. I wanted them to know I thought they scum. I wanted them to feel dirty and bad.
Then I left, and brought Jeremy with me. Well I brought Jeremy with me as far as the door and thru my wait for the cab. I got in the cab alone. Jeremy I hope I never see again.     

Gaurdian

The door chimes rang and everyone picked up their paper and held it up their faces like they were all nearly blind or something. I walked over to the register and watched the two twenty something girls coming towards me. Too eager and done up to be locals. They ordered two venti skim carmel machiatos. Bob chuckled from behind his Daily News. I explained to them I can only make a large carmel latte since this isn’t starbucks and held up a cup to show them the size of the large. They agreed.
“Enjoy the nice weather”  I said. Which was more of a direction than a sentiment. Its my not so subtle Jedi mind trick to get them to leave. As soon as they stepped outside I pulled down Marky’s paper.
“Please sir, continue on. It was just getting good before we were so rudely interrupted.” I said.
“I don’t feel like telling it now.” and he looked at Karen long and hard. She looked back and a slow smile came across her face. That’s when I knew. My eyes started welling up and I felt all cloudy and hollow. I turned around and started fiddling with the espresso machine grate.
“So what’s going on this weekend?” I asked into the air and meant for no one in particular.  A question Bob and Marky were used to. Generally I was willing to take their requests for movies or any other eventx.  Karen was new, she had only been around a few weeks, and I was hoping she could follow me around on my more girly outings. Bob did not seem very thrilled when he sat outside for hours while I got my hair done. Marky started to explain my question to Karen when Bob cleared his throat and the room went silent. Bob knew something was up. He knew me really well.
Bob was the first. First by four years. He was hired right after the accident. He was hired before I was even recovered. He’s been working my case for five years. He’s an older guy, very cynical and stoic. He normal was a sweet and polite guy but occasionally told an uncomfortably dirty joke. I think he was in some kind of a war at some point. But he won’t give away a thing about his past, or his present, for that matter. I trust him. He calls me kiddo. I’ve got your back kiddo- is what he always says. He said it when he helped me kick a homeless guy out of the shop, when he jumped up on the counter to change a light bulb that I couldn’t reach, when I told him I suspected someone was following me before I approached Marky. He said it as the only response every time I tried to ask him what if he knew more about the accident and Mr. Jeffry.  And I believed him, I know that’s super sappy, but I think he really does.
Bob followed me for months before I spotted him. I figured out he was a private detective hired by Mr Jeffry to make sure I wasn’t doing anything bad. I mean anything.  I started to wave to him, sometimes wink at him.  He was always there. Sometimes he would smile and kind of laugh. When I shopped I would hold up a dress point it with a quizacle look. Eventually he would nod yes or shake his head no. If I went to lunch he would be seated a few tables away.  It was because of one of those lunches that we started to talk. Mr. Jeffry asked me to meet his mother for lunch. The hostess brought me to her table. She was like 90 years old at least. As soon as I showed up she started screaming, I mean really freaking out, and clutching onto some frightened looking old man waiter. So I called Mr. Jeffry, but his phone went straight to voice mail. I finally walked up to Bob and asked him to help me out.
“Wait for me outside” He stoically directed.
An hour later he came out and explained what was what. And that I had better think long and hard before I react in any way to the truth of my situation. Which pretty much scared the shit out of me. But it was nice know the truth. After that I said hi to him whenever I saw him.
Soon I recovered and I became bored and restless. I found this very part time barista/bartender job at Cafe Tazza  in Tribeca. I know it seems like a real stupid waste of time to even have a job, since my husband is so successful, but I just wanted to get out of the apartment a little. I only work three days a week. The job is easy. It’s busy in the morning but from about 10 til 3 no one comes in. Bob spent his days reading, and he seemed very happy. I asked him if I could read them when he was finished. The next day he brought in two of the same book. He wanted us to have a little book club. And I offered to read it aloud. Looking back this was probably one of the best times I’ve had. Just me and Bob. Three afternoons a week, reading aloud and drinking coffee. For three years. Simple.
Life never lets simple hang around that long and last spring I started noticing the same very good looking guy was in every yoga class I took. Then he was in SoHo when I was shopping. Then he was getting a pedicure right next to me. Which was very strange because he was good looking, but very rugged. Not at all the pedicure type. So I turned to him and held out my hand for a hand shake.
“Hi I’m Kate. But you already know that”.
“Ahhh, Mark” at once embarrassed and relieved.
“My husband Mr. Jeffry hired you. Yes?”
“Yes”
“How long have you been..”
“Only two weeks your very observant” he grinned with his twinkly eyes.
“Is it a straight forward follow and report job?”
“Pretty much”
“Why did he pick you? You’re too cute to go unnoticed”
“Thank You”
“So have I done anything interesting?”
“No. I’m kind of disappointed”
“Really?”
“I wasn’t even sure I had the right girl. You’re not what I expected”
“how so?”
“well the photo”
And he pulled out a picture that was me but not me. It looked like a picture of me photoshop morphed with  a picture of Margaret, Mr Jeffry’s first wife. Which was frankly one of the most disturbing things I’ve ever seen.
“Well Mark, I’ve gotta go. Tommorow we are skipping yoga for a walk in the park. I’ll meet you here at the regular time.”
“ummm ok”
“Dress for the weather. And try to turn down the cuteness. I don’t want anyone gossiping about us.” I joked and looked right and left for an extra cheesy spy effect.
The next day we sat on a bench in central park. He asked me how I was married to someone who was 62. I explained my whole life to him. All of it. I explained that my mother died when I was 20 , my only relative. I had nothing going on at the time and nothing to lose. So I moved to new york to try to be an actress. Which was stupid of me since I wasn’t really talented or interested in the craft. I guess it seemed like a glamorous and fun job. That eventually I was doing more waitressing than auditioning and I running out of hopes and dreams. Then Mr.Jeffry came along. I always liked older guys. He was just older, older. But he was smart and very complimentary which I really liked. We had gone on just three before the accident. I am a little unclear as to how he even knew I was in the hospital or how he was able to give such specific directions to the medical team. I was in a terrible car accident in Midtown. I awoke in the hospital with   both hands, both feet, one hip and most of my face broken. I needed reconstructive cosmetic surgery so I wouldn’t frighten small children. I had a series of operations and Mr Jeffry came to see me in the hospital. He sent his charming petit maid Mirabelle to sit with me in hospital. Mirabelle coined his name as Mr Jeffry he is really just Jeffry Allen. She was there when they removed the bandages of the rhinoplasty and cheek implants and she smiled and told me Mr Jeffry would be so happy. She is still our maid. We are both wary of each other. One complaint about the other from either of us could change our lives forever. I was moved into Mr Jeffry’s apartment while I was still hooked up machines and taken care of by nurses and even doctors hired to come and check on me. I barely knew the guy and I didn’t understand why the hospital would release me into his care but no one gave me any kind of answers.
The only real answers I ever got were from Bob on the afternoon of my failed attempt to lunch with Jeffry’s mother. Jeffry had married a women as a young man. She had died after a painful battle with leukemia. He loved her deeply and had never remarried. Before the accident I bore a strong resemblance. But Jeffry had stepped in and made requests during the cosmetic surgeries. Now I looked exactly like her. As creepy as this sounds it is OK. At the time of the accident I had no health insurance. Who knows what cut rate surgeries and mountain of debt I would be dealing with now without Mr Jeffry.
Mark didn’t understand how I could be so passive in all this. He asked me really deep and personal questions and I answered as honestly as I could. It was good to talk about it. I never got to say a word about it. Who would care? Before Mark my social circle extended from Jeffry to Mirabelle to Bob. A sad truth I didn’t realize until Mark came along.
We skipped the next few classes and I got to know about his life. His recent divorce. His anger towards his ex wife. His house on Staten Island. The real love of his life, his vintage Ducati motorcycle. And we kissed and held hands, sitting in the benches in Central Park. Until one day he showed up and told me to meet him at The Surrey Hotel in room 548. And I did it. And we did it. He has a perfect body. We called him Marky after Marly Mark. He is always talking about his abs workout. He should really be an underwear model.  So, yea, of course it was great.
The next time he was standing out front of the yoga studio and when he came into view I watched him go in. Our brief romance was over. We didn’t have personal talks anymore. In tazza we talked but we were always in front of Bob so only small talk.
When Karen came along it was Marky who noticed her. Marky who approached her and called her out. Marky who explained that we all knew about each other and how Mr Jeffry didn’t need to know we knew. It was Marky who finally approved her. He let us know she was going to be cool and play along with us. I’m still not convinced Bob fully trusted her. We didn’t get why he hired a third. I mean my every move was already covered.
“So what’s going on this weekend?” I asked into the air. I wasn’t exactly successful in getting out the whole sentence and sounding normal. My voice got squeeky at the end and I had to stand still with back to them and my eyes closed and concentrate on my breathing. At that point I was getting pissed off at myself. I had could not believe I was reacting like this. I had championed myself for my cold heart for so long. What the hell was happening to me. I pictured Bob and Marky and Karen just sitting there. Bob cleared his throat and no one spoke for a while until Bob breaks the silence.
“It’s time for you two to enjoy a nice cigarette” he directs.
And I heard footsteps and the door chimes. When I turned around I was shakey with full on tears streaming down my face and Bob wrestled with the tin napkin box.
“Don’t worry kid I’ve got your back” he said for the hundrendth time.
But I could see the disappointment on his face. There was no way it would ever be simple again. He would have to make an excuse to get Mark and Karen fired or force them to quit which would raise suspicion in Mr Jeffry would have to do fancy footwork to keep his own job.
“Do you, really?”
“I’ve got your back”
With that I knew he meant it. Somehow forever and ever. No matter what happened. Bob had my back. Like a guardian angel who occasional tells an uncomfortably dirty joke.

The Job

I suppose I’ll explain how I got this job. I had been in New York for like three months and still couldn’t find a job. I started going for everything listed on craig’s list I felt could pay enough. I was randomly dropping my resume at every restaurant or bar I passed. It became my ritual to hit up Mars Bar for a beer or two usually more on after the days when the job hunt was extra humiliating. The rejections seemed to get increasingly harsher. So yeah, I was at Mars Bar a lot. So much that the cute bartender Jane knew not to ask me about the job hunt anymore. 

That Monday I walked in and before I even adjusted my vision to the lack of light she blurts out “You got a job yet?”. I shook my head in tight lipped shame.

“I have something for you.” She walked over to the register and pulled a folded cocktail napkin out of one of the money slots.  She stood in front of me in moved her face real close up to mine. Then she did this really stagey whisper. “These two girls came in today and one was all freaked out. She was drinking shot after shot. Turns out she had been a personal assistant to some famous computer guy and she saw something weird that made her quit. But the friend was like, trying to comfort her and at the same time tell her it was no big deal and she should really keep the job because it pays so well. Then the friend started telling me how great it is to be a personal assistant. How if you can find someone who isn’t a recognizable celebrity it’s the best because it cuts out most of what makes the job annoying. The freaked out one is being way too dramatic and crying really loud into her cell phone. So I took away her drink and cut her off.  Finally the friend tells me I should try to get this job and writes down the dudes name and number off the freaked out girls phone. Anyways you can have it. That girl was really freaked out.”  

Then she pressed the napkin into my palm and looked into my eyes real serious. Written in sharpie was a phone number and the name Mr. Hansen. It was real odd the way she did that. I felt I had been warned. I was still sober but it was as if low piano chords were playing in the background. I also felt desperate for some employment. I woke up pretty early the next morning to call that number. 

“You’ve reached the office of Mr. Hansen how can I help you. A mousey girls voice answered.

“Hello. My name is Jinny Terry. I am calling because I am interested in the personal assistants position.” I decided to chance that if this was the current assistant, she was actually planning on quiting and hoping she didn’t ask how I heard of the job.

“Umm, oh oh oh kay, ummmmm. Can you hold please.”

“Yes”

Thirty seconds later she was back on “can you come in at 3 pm to interview?”

“Sure just give me the address.”

I went to an address on Roosevelt Island which turned out to be an apartment/ office that had been made out of the top three floors of a suprisingly new upscale high rise. That first interview happened standing right inside the front door.  Mr. Hansen was a classic successful nerd in his fifties. His lack of words seemed to be a combination of shy and aloof. He asked me where I grew up and who I been working for. I told the the truth about being new to New York and having been a bartender before. 

“I want to take you on a trial basis.” he said.

The pay offered was good. No it was great. I would be making five times more than I needed to cover my expenses. I was told to come back at o-dark thirty the next day and he would show me around and explain my duties. I asked about my hours and he gave a wishy washy answer. I asked about my duties and all I could really gather was I would be like a maid who didn’t ever have to clean. Frankly at the time I was so jazzed to have finally gotten any job, especially one that paid so well, I was able to overlook all the oddities in the whole situation.

Let me just say it was odd. The next morning I got the tour of his place.  His apartment was like being in a maze. Each room led to the next without a normal hallway. The rooms were so perfectly put together it appeared an interior designer was given an unlimited budget. I saw the main living quarters; foyer, kitchen, breakfast room formal dining area. Then his work area; a messy office and a completely empty cavernous room he called a lab. The area he focused on was my offices. I had were two rooms and a gigantic bathroom. One room had a nice sitting area with a couch and two arm chairs, a working fireplace on one wall and a small library of what appeared to be literary classics and scientific and literary reference guides. It was attached to an office. The office had floor to ceiling windows with a perfect view of the upper west side, a big desk made of polished dark wood with a desk top computer, a laptop and an Iphone sitting right next to each other. And a row of several knee high file cabinets which perfectly matched the desk. The bathroom was like being in barbie’s dream house. Pink on pink featuring a sort of dressing room area.

I stood in that bathroom and said “I’m sorry. I’m just not clear on what my job is.”

He gave me a blank stare for about two solid minutes then he finally revealed the story. “I was married for over 20 years to a woman who did everything for me. She was my secretary, my agent, manager, promoter, maid, chef. I had no idea what she did for me. She just always did it. One morning she gave me my agenda for that day. There was a lunch meeting scheduled at Jean George’s. During that lunch meeting she explained to me she was leaving . By the next day she had moved to Paris. Of course I could not really go on without her. I needed her for everything. I called day and night to ask her back until she blocked my phone calls. I had one person on staff, a driver named Danny. I had Danny find me a live in cleaning lady and a chef who brings groceries and prepares meals with heating instructions on them. Still there are other things to be done. I can’t waste my days answering e-mails and making appointments. I found an agency that specialized in personal assistants. They sent the last girl and now you.”

“What happened with the last girl” I asked hoping to gloss over the fact that I didn’t come from the agency and hoping to find out the real catch in this job.

“She was dull and closed her mind off to new possibilities in the world. She was easy to fire.”

“Oh” was my response completely confused by his cryptic and stoic response.

“Familiarize yourself with the workspace. Go into the computer and the files and find out anything you can about what the wife did with her days. I believe the passwords to everything are in the rolodex in the top left drawer of the desk. The phone on the desk is yours now. I am listed under Henry. Do not call me. Always answer when I call. Always. You can let yourself out when you feel done. Your keys to the apartment are in the top drawer.” Then he walked out and shut the door behind him. 

The computer and laptop told a sad story. She kept a detailed calendar for herself. She scheduled breakfast with Henry each morning. She had a time blocked out for exercise four times a week. She spent most afternoons shopping and at beauty appointments and spas. There was an alarming amount of cosmetic surgery appointments on her schedule. She had each minute of her day organized including an hour each day titled administration, which I think was her planned time to plan. The schedule for Henry was just an occasional dentist appointment or hair cut and a rare business lunch. On some evenings he was scheduled for what was written as dinner with your wife. I found photos of them. She was stunning. Tall and slender with glowing white skin and a salon fresh blonde bob. They appeared to be a logical couple in the photos when they where young but very awkward in the more recent photos. She certainly had gotten a lot of work done. Enough to have that borderline creepy look. In each photo she was always perfectly dressed and put together. 

My phone rang and the name Henry lit across the screen.

“I need the mail”

“oh”

“Ask the doorman for it.”

“o.k.”

“Take out the pieces I don’t need.”

“o.k.”

Click, he hung up. I was already used to his rudeness. I went downstairs. The doorman had more mail than I could handle on my own. He carried a box up with me.

“So did you know his wife well?” I pried.

“Yes, Emma was an angel. I was surprised she didn’t leave sooner. I really miss having her around” he responded.

It took a good hour to sort thru the mail amongst the items was a package for Henry from Kiki De Montparnasse, a high end lingerie store. Of course I looked inside. It was a small black silk nighty and black cashmere thigh high stockings with a white seam. I sealed it back up wondering who these were for. I sort of included it with everything else and decided I didn’t really want to know. And put it in with all the other things I thought he would want.  

  When I was finished I called his number.

“Do not call me” he answered.

“Your mail” I said.

“We will meet for breakfast each morning at 8 am. After breakfast you can give me my mail and my agenda. At that time I will tell you anything else I need. Be in the kitchen tomorrow at 8.”

After breakfast the next morning I handed him the mail with a blank sheet of paper with the date on the top. I used the same font and size as Emma had. He actually laughed.  He told me to keep the phone on me and spend the day however I wanted. Then he handed me a bank card with a sticky note attached. It said, appropriate outfits Jinny! - the PIN is 4545. 

I knew my limited wardrobe was not exactly perfect but I didn’t think it was that bad. I had to return to the photos on the computer to inspect his wife’s clothing choices for a guideline on what he might consider appropriate. She was dressed like a doll. Always fashionable but so matchy matchy. She always wore very feminine dresses with matching shoes, hand bag and accessories. I headed over to Bloomingdales.  I started in the shoe department. I bought some black ballet flats when the phone rang. 

“I need your help” he was panicky.

“OK??”

“I need you to come in to the lab”

I made it back in about fifteen minutes. I rushed in so quickly that when I got inside the lab my body could have made that cartoonish brakes sound. This was it? He stood in front of a wheelchair with the mail order lingerie in his hands. In the wheelchair was a custom made Real Doll. The custom build was that it looked just like his wife, Emma. 

“I can’t even dress her” he whined.

“What’s going on here?” I asked. Trying to remain calm.

“Don’t be angry. The last girl was angry.”

“I’m not the last girl.”

“This is the new project.” he said.

“Ok. What exactly is the project? What is the goal?” I asked. Hoping he wouldn’t hear the condescension in my tone.

“I plan to animate her and add artificial intelligence. Beginning with facial expressions. Adding select speech. I’m hoping someday to add physicality.”

“You’re building a robot version of your wife?”

“Well...yes”

“What would she think of this?”

He shook his head. “It’s not really about her. I could never replace her. I won’t come back. I thought. Even if it partially works it’s marketable, Is this so wrong?”

I had to think about his question. I expected the big reveal to be something much worse. This was mostly sad. 

“It seems a little wrong” I said. “But it’s the victimless crime. I’ll help you get her into that outfit.”  That’s when I became his accomplice. 

Erin

Erin’s Tale

As a little girl my parents would tell me I was special. At sixteen it came true. My family took a Sunday drive to visit my Uncle Nate. We never really returned. Often in my dreams I can still see the long stretches of frozen highway, the snow wisping over the tar and the Cub foods truck that wiped us out. In slumber I feel the chill off the window heater blasting at my feet. It’s always the same song, Wang Chung’s Everybody Have Fun Tonight. It has to be the actual song that was playing because it is not a great or meaningful tune. In my dreams mom and dad are usually having a different conversation each time. Sometimes they speak directly to me. Sometimes they give me advise on how to live my life. I love that. No matter how alone I am feeling. I always have the chance to dream. The chance to be with Mom and Dad.
I will always be 16. The accident was fatal for my parents. It knocked me into a coma. In my comatose state Uncle Nate made an agreement with a Bio-Gerintologist named Dr. Gray at The University of Minnesota- Twin Cities, Center for Genetics, Cell Biology and Development . Now, I am a living science experiment. They injected me with a synthetic hormone that causes the subject to stop physically aging. Please, do not be jealous, eternal youth is not always what it seems. I am not a robot, I still bleed. I can catch colds or break an arm. A bullet will kill me.
I came out of the coma three days after the accident. Fully awake with my eyes still closed, I listened to a man berating someone with medical terms. It seemed to be about costs, ethics and duration of some kind of project.  Someone had made decisions without department approval. At the time I had no idea I was, I am, the project.
I left the hospital and for the next 2 years lived with Uncle Nate, my only living relative, a hair stylist and confirmed bachelor. For security it was essential we tell no one about the experiment. Uncle Nate was known to get drunk and tell his various boyfriends. Of course they never believed him. One day Dr. Zimmerman, the lead researcher of the study, came to our door angry with Nate about his big mouth. A few days later, three weeks before I was to graduate from Hopkins High, Nate was found in the bathroom of the salon where he worked with a bullet in his head. The investigator ruled it suicide. I knew it was murder.
I was on my own, legally independent, since I was 18. Thankfully I had Dr.Gray, who sort of stepped in whenever I needed a little parental guidance. I inherited Nate’s house. I had to attend The U of M so they could keep an eye on me. With the generous scholarship set up by Dr. Gray and my parents life insurance I began my freshman year as a Biochemistry Major. I wanted some bit of understanding of my situation. A week into classes I got a visit from Dr. Zimmerman.  He basically spelled out my options. Because I would be checking in with the genetics research department for the rest of my life I needed to remain an anonymous nameless student. Those not connected to the experiment would notice if I never aged. I had no choice but to change majors. So I chose music. I had a drum set in the basement that I loved to abuse and for some reason I felt it was a marketable skill.
Dr. Zimmerman looked me in the eyes, shook he head and whispered to me,“You are an idiot” .
I recognized that voice. I was certain Dr. Z. had been the man berating someone while I awoke from my coma and Dr. G. was the one being berated.
I did a little investigating and found out Dr. G. had gotten the papers signed and began the experiment while Dr. Z. was at a weekend convention. Dr. Z.  felt I was too young and too unpredictable. He wanted subjects in their mid to late twenties. Done with college and and over the heavy partying stage. He wanted a subject who would blend in with society and go through life relatively unnoticed. He did not want me in the study.
Dr. Z. got some of what he wanted. He added two more young ladies and three young men to the study. I was the first. I am the last. And I am the only one who did not volunteer.
Years passed and I avoided trouble with Dr.Z. by hiding behind Dr.G. Then in 2006 we were called to a meeting. One of the studies subjects had gotten himself on completely on the radar. One of the young men had been caught and arrested for breaking and entering. Part of the story made the local television news before anyone could silence the story. He had broken into Dr. Z.’s office in the health science building. He was looking for the formula that we were injected with. He wanted to inject his girlfriend. He was in love and tired of being lonely. Falling in love was completely forbidden. Becoming attached to someone was forbidden. An impossible task to ask of an eternal youth. The logic being that they would notice our lack of aging. It made for a lonely life as a human lab rat. Dr. Z. had called this meeting to let us know that because of this wild act, the formula had been destroyed and the study was over. This would be our last meeting.
He then stated he would never publish the results of this study. He felt the technology would be misused for vanity or military purposes. I suspect he just felt we were all mutants. He shook his head in disgust and simply walked out of the room. Dr. G. stayed.
“Obviously we have some problems” Dr. G. said. “None of you have visited a traditional Doctor in over 20 years and your current identities will eventually appear fake. I can help you with these things. I encourage you to start communicating with each other.”
He paused and shuttered then with fearfully declared, “We will need to stick together” and walked out the room.
We sat motionless and stunned. I pictured myself 100 years from now, still sixteen but with no name, no identity. Trying to keep myself on the down low. I was the one who broke the silence.
“Is anyone else a little freaked out now?”
One of the ladies looked up with stunned tears in her eyes. “Zimmerman is going to kill us”.
We were silent again. We knew she was right.
After that meeting one by one they died.  All suicides. Bullet to the brain. Next it was the lab assistants. The same five guys all twenty years of the experiment. They had started out when they were in medical school and I watched them get older. These must have been harder deaths to pull off. These guys had real lives. Families, careers, friends, reasons to live and people that asked for answers. The deaths were a little more complicated. Still all of them suspicious as hell. Meanwhile, I stayed ready. I kept fit and trained in combat and self defense. I got a gun and learned how to use it well. And I lied as low as possible. I asked no questions, I avoided all contact.
In 2008 Dr. G. died. I didn’t expect him to be offed before me. The day of the funeral I sat in a chair, facing my door, waiting. As expected that night Zimmermen knocked on my door. Ready and waiting I opened the door with my Glock 26.