Black-Winged Tuesday

by Alicia Ryan

  “Friday night,” she said. “My place.”

  “We’ll be there,” Price promised.

  Ariel stepped around him to walk over to Herman and slowly smoothed her hand down the side of his face. “I sincerely hope so.”

  Herman wanted to say something clever, but all he could do was nod.

  She turned back to Price. “You should send him around to see Lydia tomorrow.”

  Price nodded. “That’s a great idea. Don’t suppose I get an invite, too?”

  She frowned. “No. And I’m sending him to Lydia as a present, so it will be free of charge.”

  And then she was gone. Disappeared. No swirl, no puff of smoke, no fluttering feathers, just gone.

  Price and Herman both let out deep breaths.

  “I think she likes you,” Price said. “Which is great. This could be just what we need.”

  “Is she a Bad angel?” Herman asked, trying not to sound wistful.

  “Oh, she is indeed,” Price said, in a way that made it sound very not bad.

  “But why is a party in hell just what we need? And who is Lydia?”

  “Just what you need, more to the point.” He turned to Herman. “If we’re going to get Mary away from this Red Bull character, we not only have to get rid of him, we have to break his hold on her. For that, we need a romantic hero to come in and, on a temporary basis mind you, sweep her off her feet. You’ll have to be out of her league, but also be her rebound guy, then move on and clear the way for Charlie.”

  “And what does Ariel have to do with any of that?”

  “Well, if you’re going to be a romantic stud, you need some experience.”

  “Me?” Herman heard his own voice squeak. “Why don’t you do it?”

  Price shook his head. “You like the girl. You’ll treat her right, and that’s what she needs. But you also need to be able to show her a good time, if you know what I mean.”

  He looked at Herman for a long moment. “But my guess is you don’t know what I mean, so we need to get you up to speed quick on how to please the ladies. Ariel has obviously taken it on herself to help us out. Probably she read the case file and knows it’s for a good cause.”

  Herman started shaking his head. “You want me to…with her?”

  “You can’t mean you don’t want to?”

  “Well, no, I don’t mean that at all, but…”

  “No buts,” Price declared. “We need all the help we can get if you’re going to be able to pull this off.”

  He turned and disappeared for a moment into his own room. When he came back, he was holding a copy of GQ. “We can start by getting you a new studly persona.” He handed the magazine to Herman. “Pick out one you like.”

  “Ew. I don’t like guys,” Herman said.

  “No, dipshit. I meant pick out one you’d want to look like. We’ve got to have a starting point. You can’t sweep a girl off her feet as Herman from the mailroom.”

  Herman sighed. “I see your point. I certainly never swept any off their feet as Herman the engineering geek.”

  “None?” Price asked. “As in NEVER?”

  Herman shook his head.

  “Why not?” Price stepped back and gave him a long, critical perusal. “You’ve got no style, but you’re not bad looking. Decent guy, steady job – you should have found someone willing to put out.”

  “Because I’m not a chauvinist pig?” Herman snapped. “Aside from that…well, let’s just say I’m unlucky.”

  Price grabbed the magazine back and started flipping rapidly through the pages.“There,” he exclaimed, stopping his review on an ad for leather luggage and turning it to show Herman.

  The ad featured a tall, lean, dark-haired, male model wearing faded, tattered jeans and a leather jacket, sitting astride some sort of motorcycle against a painted desert backdrop.

  “Well, he’s manly,” Herman said.

  “But not too manly,” Price judged. “That’s key. And he’s got great abs. Never underestimate the effect of great abs.”

  “So you want me to look like this?”

  “Well, it doesn’t have to be exact. You’re really not that far off anyway – same body type, same hair color – just make some tweaks. Get those airbrushed abs and cheekbones and get rid of your glasses. The rest will be mostly about attitude and tighter pants.”

  Herman felt his eyes go wide.

  “You’ll probably want to keep your own eye color – that gold/green is nice.”

  “You noticed my eyes?”

  “Hey, it’s part of my job to size you up, remember?”

  “So if I just imagine it, I can look like motorcycle guy here?”

  Price frowned. “Well, yes and no. You can look like that just by thinking it for some period of time, but you need to get as comfortable in that skin as you are in your own or you might forget and change back without realizing it.”

  He shoved the magazine into Herman’s hand. “You don’t just need to look like this guy, you need to become this guy. And the party tomorrow night will be the first step toward making you a guy who can pull this off.”

  “Won’t I need a new name, too?” Herman asked. “I mean, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with Herman, but this guy doesn’t look like a Herman to me.”

  Price nodded. “Good point. How about…Mitchell? Or something classic…David?”

  Herman looked long and hard at the photo of that man on the motorcycle. Could he be that man? Could he be that man for Mary Louise? To save her from Red Bull and to enjoy the only time with her he would ever get? “You bet,” was the answer that echoed back from his subconscious. For her, he would do almost anything.

  And as for a name, well, that was obvious. “Starting tomorrow night,” he informed Price, “you can call me Tuesday.”

  “Tuesday,” Price repeated, rolling it around on his tongue like a fine wine. “Accessible, yet mysterious. I like it. Why Tuesday?”

  “It’s my lucky day.”

  Chapter Four

  The next morning, Herman got up early to practice thinking himself a new outfit. He decided not to veer from his usual workplace attire. If he were still alive, he’d be wearing khaki pants and a different colored shirt, so today he thought up a green one. He combed his hair, had some cereal for breakfast, then went back and did a last check in the mirror. Still khaki and green. So far, so good.

  From the living room, there was no sign or sound from Price’s side of the apartment, so Herman left him a note that he had gone to work.

  He went out into the parking lot and thought himself up a slightly newer, nicer version of the sedan he used to drive. One day soon, he told himself, he’d try something flashier.

  Determined to be on time, Herman strode through the mailroom doors at Office Supply HQ promptly at eight o’clock. Ernie and Oscar were already at their posts, Ernie facing the far wall sorting the incoming and Oscar facing the mailroom window working on packing items for shipment. Like Herman, they were both wearing almost exactly the same thing they’d had on yesterday; Ernie had a different flannel shirt and Oscar a different Hawaiian one.

  “Well, look who it is,” Oscar exclaimed.

  “That guy who claims to work here, but then leaves without finishing his afternoon rounds?” Ernie guessed without turning around.

  “You got it, my lofty friend.” Oscar finished taping a box, then turned to Herman. “So, how about it, Herman - planning to work the whole day today?”

  Herman couldn’t help but laugh at the well-rehearsed dressing down. “Sorry, guys. Really, I am. I was up on the roof yesterday when Charlie fell, and it just didn’t seem right not to go to the hospital with him.”

  Oscar sighed. “Good Samaritans. So how is Charlie anyway?”

  Ernie shook his head, affording Herman a glimpse of his monstrous mustache on each swing. “Poor bastard.”

  “He’s going to be okay. Probably be released today. Why do you say that?” he asked Ernie.

  “Because anybody with L
ucian as a member of their family is a poor bastard, for starters. Plus, he just doesn’t get it, you know. He tries to do his job as if this was a normal company and Lucian was a normal boss. As even you have probably figured out, that’s just not the case.”

  Ernie shoved his cart at him without saying more. Herman took it and left to start his route, but wondered exactly what Ernie meant. He was pretty sure Charlie would never cross Lucian on purpose.

  All thoughts of Charlie momentarily fled when Herman noted Mary Louise’s name on a folder in his cart. She was a junior human resources employee and worked on the first floor.

  He resisted going directly to her cubicle because she was only about half an hour into his scheduled route. When he got to her, at first he could only manage a weak, “hi.”

  She was so lovely to him – as lovely as she had been in junior high. She still had the same soft blonde hair and dancing green eyes. Well, he wouldn’t exactly call them dancing anymore. An air of sadness seemed to have settled around her. At the hospital yesterday, he’d put it down to the dismal atmosphere, but now he realized it might be a permanent characteristic of his lovely Mary. He wondered if it was this Red Bull person who had done it, or if her sadness was just what kept her with such a man.

  “Hi,” she responded, smiling at him. “How’s Charlie?”

  “He’s doing great, considering the fall he took. I think they’ll be releasing him today. We did give him your flowers. He was quite touched you had come by.”

  “Good. I’m glad he’s going to be okay. He’s such a nice kid.”

  Uh oh. “He’s an accountant,” Herman pointed out. “I don’t think any accountants were ever kids. They just spring full-grown from the womb, complete with green eye-shade.”

  Mary almost laughed. “Maybe you’re right. Still, he seems so shy. I’ve worked here two years, and I barely know him. I’m not sure I would know him at all if I didn’t know he was Lucian’s nephew.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought of that as a plus before,” he quipped.

  “No, but Lucian does draw attention, for better or worse.”

  “Well, I just wanted to let you know about Charlie. If you still want to drop by, he’ll probably be at his house this afternoon.”

  Mary shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to bother him at home.”

  Herman smiled. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be bothered. I’ll stop by this afternoon to see if maybe you’ve changed your mind.”

  The rest of the morning Herman wondered if he’d laid it on too thick. Did guilt and pity add up to a good foundation for a relationship? Maybe he should just have waited until Charlie was back at work tomorrow.

  The remainder of his shift was uneventful, and Herman found his mind wandering to more serious questions than “who’s got mail?” For instance, when would he get his wings? He’d have to ask Price.

  “Mike, the board isn’t going to like these numbers. Can we get a big order in before the end of the week?” Lucian Phipps’ door was only partly closed when Herman came by, and even his normal volume carried the conversation into the hallway.

  Herman knocked lightly, and both men stopped talking as he gingerly put his head in, exchanged the incoming for the outgoing, and beat a hasty retreat.

  All the way back downstairs, he mulled over how a big procurement order could possibly help the quarterly financials. Wouldn’t an expense like that hurt the bottom line? Maybe he’d ask Charlie. Certainly, Herman was no accountant.

  Just as he was approaching the mailroom door, his cell phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out and took the call from Price.

  “Hey, how did you know my number?” he said on answering.

  “999-5726,” Price answered. “It’s your employee number for now.”

  “Oh.”

  “Never mind,” Price said. “We have a problem with your ward.”

  “Isn’t he technically our ward?” Herman pointed out.

  “Only if we succeed,” Price said. “If he winds up totally screwed, and not in a good way, then he’s your ward.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Anyway, I’m calling because we need your corporate charge card.”

  “Really? For what?”

  “You haven’t seen his house. He got released from the hospital just over an hour ago, and I drove him home. The place is okay from the outside, but the inside – Sweet Jesus, it’s like somebody sprayed girl repellent on the whole place.”

  “What are you talking about? And why do you need my card?”

  “I can sum it up in two words, Herman – Spiderman sheets.” He waited a moment for it to sink in. “No, I’m not kidding. This place needs a major overhaul, and I can’t just conjure stuff up because it needs to last after we’re gone and I’ve stopped giving Charlie-boy a second thought. Got it?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “So, can I swing by and get the card?”

  “Yeah, you can swing by at four o’clock, and I’ll go with you. I can work through lunch.”

  “Are you kidding? You don’t trust me?”

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you with the card,” Herman said. “It’s that I’ve seen the way you decorate. I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure girls aren’t swooning over inflatable chairs these days.”

  Price sighed. “Fine. Just meet us downtown at Bergman’s department store as soon as you can after four.”

  “Sure thing,” Herman said to a dead line. “Well. I wonder what they’re going to do for the next four hours?”

  The rest of the afternoon went quickly, and at four Herman clocked out. He swung by Mary’s cube and was surprised to see her putting on her sweater.

  “You leaving early, too?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I do eight to four every day so I can get home earlier.”

  For a moment Herman’s heart sunk. “Do you have kids?” he asked.

  “Oh, no. I just like to be home when Red, my boyfriend, gets home. He doesn’t like it when I’m late.”

  “Come on,” Herman said. “I’ll walk you out.”

  They left the HR section of offices, and Herman held the door open for her as they entered the main lobby.

  “You were right about Charlie,” he said. “I talked to him earlier. He’s doing fine, but says his place is a mess.” He smiled at her. “He didn’t want you to see it before he got the place cleaned up a bit.”

  “That’s sweet,” she said. “He really does seem like a nice…man.”

  Herman knew she had forced herself not to say “kid”. Oh well, it was a start.

  He held open the outer door for her.

  They’d only gone about twenty feet down the sidewalk when a long-haired Native American man in jeans, a Budweiser bandana and a brown leather vest came striding towards them.

  “Oh, Red, this is…”

  “Like I care, Mary,” the man said. “Is this who you were with yesterday when you were supposedly at the hospital visiting a sick friend?” He looked Herman over. “He doesn’t look sick to me.”

  Mary shook her head. “What are you doing here anyway? Did you just come to check up on me? I told you I was coming straight home.”

  Red Bull moved closer, his hands working repeatedly into fists at his side.

  Herman wondered where his name came from. Was it from his reddish skin and generally unfriendly demeanor or because he drank too many energy drinks and couldn’t seem to stand still? Or because his chest was the size of the gun turret on an Abrams tank? Not that it mattered.

  He wasn’t any taller than Herman, but where Herman was lean, Red Bull was packed with muscle. The man could probably kill him right now if he wanted to, Herman thought.

  He stuck out his hand. “Herman Morrie,” he said. “I just started here yesterday. Do you work here, too?” When in doubt, play dumb, he told himself.

  Red Bull just looked at his outstretched hand. “What? Do I look like I work in an office, pencil dick?”

  “Um, sorry. Didn�
��t mean any offense.”

  “Don’t you have a car to get to?” Red Bull asked.

  “Yes,” Herman said. “Yes, I do. Way over there, and I’ll just be going to it now.”

  Then, against his better judgment, he turned to Mary. “You going to be okay?”

  She pursed her lips and nodded.

  “Of course, she’s going to be okay. Nothing wrong with her is there?” Red Bull grabbed her around the waist and pulled her closer to him. “And she’s with me, so that’s really none of your business, nerd.”

  “Right,” Herman said, turning and making his way to the car he gratefully found was still in the same spot and the same shape he’d left it that morning.

  He watched Red Bull manhandle Mary into the passenger side of an old turquoise Ford pickup. He wondered if it was a ’76 – the kind his father had died trying to fix. In that moment, he knew he could kill Red Bull Chavez – if he had to.

  He shook his head, wondering what had made him think such a thing. He wasn’t a killer. He was an engineer. No, that wasn’t right either. He was an angel of the Lord. But that tiny seed of hate refused to be unlodged.

  Herman turned the key in the ignition, pushed the thought out of his mind, and headed downtown to buy slipcovers and throw pillows on God’s credit card.

  When he got to Bergman’s and saw Price and Charlie sitting on a bench outside, he had a pretty good idea what they’d been up to all afternoon. Price had his arm around Charlie and was gesturing wildly. Herman thought it was not coincidence that the building next door was an Irish pub.

  “Herman,” Price exclaimed, before he even got out of the car. “Charlie, this is my friend, Herman.”

  Charlie laughed. “Yeah, we’ve met.”

  Price hiccupped. “Oh, that’s right. Sorry, Herman. You’re just a bit forgettable at present.” He looked at Herman with a leer. “Soon won’t be though, will you?”

  “Are you two sober enough to shop?”

  Price shook his head. “Don’t need to. Already done. Everything is in two carts behind the register, just waiting for you and your pretty little plastic goodie to come by and pay the bill.”