Ambereye

by Gill McKnight

  Much of the extra paper was meeting notes. Jolie hated taking minutes but trusted none of her lobotomy ward of a team to get anything right. At least not since Deepak got the buyer and seller mixed up in his last effort. Unpicking the mess he’d presented was like unraveling a cat’s cradle. Never again, she had sworn to herself. She had sworn at Deepak, too, as colorful as a rainbow.

  Her PA held her gaze with a cool, intelligent stare. She seemed unflustered, calm and collected. As if she was born taking minutes and formatting spreadsheets. Out of the blue, Jolie felt herself nodding in acquiescence as an itchy feeling called…trust…filled her.

  “Room two,” she said before she could dissect her rationale and refuse the help offered.

  Before Jolie could even blink, she was being led to the morning meeting. All she could do was fall in behind and marvel.

  I’ve got an assistant. The thought perked her up a little. Or is that a sugar rush from the pastry? She’s going to do the minutes, and directly onto a laptop.

  Maybe Andre was right and everything was going to be okay. As she moved to follow, the subtle sheen of top-quality leather caught her eye. It winked seductively from under the jacket draped across the back of her assistant’s office chair.

  That’s my chair! My sexy new chair. It had been swiped out from under her, and she had been too busy chomping on pastries to notice.

  Jolie gasped. The Danish was a distraction. Sneaky, scheming little—

  Jolie’s mind spluttered to a halt. She couldn’t think of anything as underhanded and artful as her new assistant.

  The day sped past with Jolie casting furtive glances through the glass of her solidly shut door. Ms. Glassy was obviously not the obsequious little helper Andre had presented her as. Oh no. She was a malefactor of Machiavellian proportions, and had to be kept under stealthy surveillance every minute of the working day. But if she thought she could outfox Jolie Garoul with her bare-faced larceny, then she had made a huge mistake. A huge mistake.

  Jolie stewed all day and waited until her PA left for home. No loitering to tidy away the never-ending flow of paperwork for her.

  Straight out the door with the rest of them. Jolie huffed, glowering as her assistant shrugged on her coat and chatted with Candace before the pair of them left. Pacing her workload until the office floor was finally empty, Jolie slipped over to the cubicle and swiftly swapped chairs.

  On Wednesday morning her coffee and a cinnamon roll were waiting for her. A simple thing, but it cheered Jolie up immensely. Cup in hand, pastry halfway to her mouth, her bottom was inches off her chair before she realized it was her old one.

  Midmorning she went to the water cooler. Michael Williams walked by with a lemon-glazed doughnut in a wad of napkins and gave her a grin. She was so startled the water ran over the rim of the paper cup and onto her shirt cuff. No one ever smiled at her.

  “Glassy, can I have those minutes on my desk before twelve?”

  “Glassy, did you collect those printouts?”

  “Glassy, reformat these immediately.” If prim, little Ms. Glassy was going to steal her chair, Jolie would be damned if she let her rest easy in it.

  “This photocopy is too blurred. Redo it. And Glassy, get a few extra copies.” What was her first name? Ho…Ha…Hanna…Anna…

  whatever. It was not as if she really needed to know it. Glassy was as good a name as any.

  As usual, the duplicitous Ms. Glassy loped off for lunch with her crony Candace. Jolie couldn’t rest. She nipped out and dragged the luxury chair back into her office, kicking the old one out into the cubicle.

  Content that the balance of power was restored, Jolie wandered over to Andre’s office for a brown bag meeting. She liked these meetings Andre provided good sandwiches.

  Nadeem and Sally were there, too. They smiled in greeting. She blinked back. It freaked her out. More people smiling at her? Was she was losing her mystique, her mojo, her mean streak? What was happening? Ever since her new assistant had arrived, things had begun to slip in strange directions. Whatever was going on, it was downright uncomfortable.

  “How’s it going?” Andre fell into step beside Hope later that afternoon.

  “She stole my chair.”

  “Great, I’ll leave you both to it then.” He swerved into the men’s room.

  Coward. Hope glared at the door. If you want something done right round here, you’ve got do it yourself.

  It was one of Hope’s early days and she’d already left by the time Jolie returned from a meeting across town.

  Part-timer. Jolie glowered at the empty cubicle as she returned to her office, her mood soured by the time-wasting meeting with a thirdparty supplier. Nobody ever cooperated with her. She hated all their suppliers. They were next to useless.

  She stopped short when she noticed the coveted chair sitting back in Glassy’s cubicle. Son of a—Jolie could barely believe her eyes. She snatched the headrest and rolled it away. Thunk. It jerked to a sudden stop. Tugging at it again, it refused to budge another inch. She craned her head to see what was stopping it, and her eyes popped. It was attached to the desk leg with a chain and padlock.

  That’s it. She’s a lunatic. She’s got to go. Andre’s got to get rid of her.

  For the rest of the afternoon she sat in her office, glaring through the doorway at the leather chair tethered to her PA’s desk, fuming.

  The next morning she huffily tried to ignore the fragrant coffee and the glazed pastry waiting for her. They were nothing but humble pie. They sat on the desk before her, sweet and steaming, tantalizing her, tempting her.

  “Humph.” She settled into her ratty, old chair. It fit like a glove.

  No funny smells of “newness.” No super-fast castors that overshot the mark when she glided over to the filing cabinet. No flat, slippery seat cushions to beat into submission, and the correct ass shape.

  Sulkily, she reached for her caffeine and sugar fix. This old chair was a classic. The new one was too shiny. Too poseur. Jolie bit into the apple raisin, her nostrils flaring with pleasure. She can keep the stupid chair. I don’t care anyway. “Mmm…apple…”

  “So, how are things working out?” Andre asked between bites of his shrimp salad. They were in his office going over paperwork on their Wednesday working lunch.

  “She stole my chair.”

  Andre tried unsuccessfully to suppress a smile at Jolie’s rather immature declaration. He recognized this competitive side of Jolie from their childhood.

  “I know. The whole office is talking about it. And for the record, it was her chair first.”

  “She’s driving me mad.”

  “And how exactly is she doing that? Is it her timeliness, efficiency, hard work, dedication…what?”

  They sat in silence. He refused to give in first. Jolie glared and chewed her salad, looking over his shoulder out the window. Still he waited. Finally, she relented and answered.

  “No.”

  “Okay. Because from my point of view, you seem to be freed up from the minutiae you used to obsess about, leaving you time to obsess about the more important stuff. I see that as a good thing.”

  Jolie gave a reluctant grunt of acknowledgment. She knew his words rang true. Her new PA was exceptional. Papers and reports were on her desk before she even knew she needed them. Her scheduler was streamlined. Jolie had become extra efficient because her assistant oiled the cogs of her working day.

  “I also see you’ve got more time to eat the cakes she brings you,” Andre said. “In fact, that little move has made you slightly more bearable to the rest of the staff. A stroke of pure genius. But then that’s Hope’s forte, those clever little touches. It elevates what she does from a job to an art form.”

  “Huh?” Jolie looked over at him utterly mystified.

  “The doughnuts and pastries, doofus. The ones you cram in your cakehole every morning, remember? Hope brings in a box every day and leaves them in the staff kitchen. They’re for your team from your office. Don’t you
know anything?”

  “She does that?”

  “Sure. Why do you think people have been smiling at you recently?”

  “Dunno. Thought they were goading me, to see which one of them I’d swing for first.”

  Andre shook his head and gave a despairing sigh. “Ah, Jolie, all the more reason for her to stay. Get used to it.”

  Jolie was in a good mood, and it lasted into the evening. Things were definitely better at work. Her department was easily staying abreast of the schedule rather than lagging behind playing catch-up.

  This wedge of extra time was now added to the contingency buffer for the myriad of little things that always went wrong, despite everyone’s best efforts.

  By ten thirty that night, her high had turned into something else. Blood beat through her veins in a wild and ancient rhythm. Her skin prickled, and every organ inside her body seemed to tighten in anticipation. Everything about her was taut and humming with excitement. Her apartment was suddenly claustrophobic, cluttered with odious smells and itchy unnatural materials.

  She threw on some casual sweats and drove a good hour or more out of the city into the quieter country roads that intersected the farmlands and vineyards. From there she followed well-known, dusty back roads, some no more than dirt tracks. Eventually she arrived at a favorite spot, under an old black cottonwood tree. She pulled the Jeep over and shut off the engine.

  Her running shoes crunched quietly on gravel as she stepped out and stretched, breathing in the sharp night air. Her spine and shoulders popped and she relaxed. A cool wind rattled a welcome in the branches above her; she stood, head tilted, listening. Nearby, she picked up the rustle of mice in the grass, frogs croaking in the irrigation ditch, and the rasp of wings in the cottonwood. An owl had arrived, locked on its prey.

  Perhaps the mice? Farther out in the fields the musk of a fox caught her nose, but it had scented her, too, and was wisely retreating.

  Certain she was alone, Jolie disrobed and stashed her clothes on the car seat. She crouched nude in the long grass and looked at the overcast night sky. She was content, assured. She needed this. The first stab of pain, as usual, caught her unawares even though she’d been waiting for it. It drove the air from her lungs with its ferocity as her spine hunched and contorted. Feet and hands popped and crunched simultaneously.

  These hurt the most, as the dozens of little bones twisted and extended.

  The nails began thickening, curving into cruel hooks. She raised her head to the heavens in an agonized cry that partway turned into a mournful howl. She no longer saw the storm clouds; instead, the night sky was suffused with a muted amber glow. Her jaw cracked, gums seeping blood and saliva as savage teeth pushed through the soft tissue.

  It was a perfect night for hunting. There was no moonlight to catch the shine of her dense black fur or the predatory glint of her eye.

  Stealthily, she crept through the long grass and scented the air, easily picking up the fox’s cooling trail. Gleefully, she began the hunt.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Hope’s second week wore on. She was very tired by Friday, but then she expected to be. Most lunchtimes she left the building with Candace, and they went to a little bistro a block down.

  It felt good to get out of the office for a while and sit with her friend, gossiping and giggling.

  “You seem to be coping okay,” Candace said.

  “Yeah. But, boy, am I glad it’s the end of the week. I’m exhausted.”

  “I meant with ole dragon knickers. You seem to have a handle on the situation.”

  “Well, she’s an odd one. No doubt about it. But she’s a hell of a hard worker, and I think she just expects everyone to be as committed as she is. And for the record, I don’t know what she has embroidered on her underwear. Could be dragons, could be bunny rabbits, for all I know or care.”

  “She’s the ‘I work, therefore I am’ type. A real flatliner outside of the office. Now there’s a surprise,” Candace said dryly, stirring her honey Frappuccino.

  “She is definitely a workaholic,” Hope said. “You know, despite that weird stealing my chair episode, I actually get where she’s coming from—”

  “And it ain’t the One Stop Chair Shop.”

  Hope smiled. Candace was still frazzled at the tug-of-war over the chair. The entire floor had witnessed it. In fact, it had mesmerized Hope’s colleagues for days. Deepak had even opened a bet on it.

  “Candace, relax. I got the whole chair thing under control.”

  “I know. I won five bucks.” Candace pinned her with a stern stare.

  “So what’s still bugging you? I can tell, you know.”

  Hope shrugged and pushed her apple juice carton away. “Just another of her little idiosyncrasies I’ve got to figure out. And I need to do it before today is over.”

  Candace bristled with concern. “What do you need to do, sweetie? Tell me and I’ll help.”

  “It’s no big deal. I’ll figure it out for myself. Outwitting Jolie Garoul is hardly rocket science.” Hope caught herself smiling secretly. She had to admit she did enjoy her little tussles with Jolie. Their relationship was lurching along, and Hope was confident she would soon have Jolie behaving in a civilized manner.

  “It is a big deal if she’s annoying you. You know there’ll be a long line behind me to smack her if she upsets you.”

  “Deep breaths there, Candace. I do not want, or need, anyone smacking at my boss. I can do that all by myself.”

  “Okay, sorry. So, what is it you have to figure out?”

  “How to get her to use my first name.” Hope sighed, feeling even more tired than before. When it came right down to it, Jolie Garoul was a strange creature indeed.

  Jolie sat clicking her pen. She had several minutes in which to do it because she had finally caught up with her workload. Her assistant’s super processing of Jolie’s working week had finally accumulated in this little oasis of calm. Jolie was dismayed at this unappointed twenty minutes of idleness in her schedule. She sat and blinked at her monitor, totally lost.

  This is scary. Maybe the clocks are wrong. They weren’t. She checked her watch against the computer clock and the wall clock several times. Who knew a minute could be so long? I’d go mad in prison, sitting around all day doing nothing.

  “Ms. Garoul, I’m heading home now. I finish early today, remember?” her PA called through from her desk. Jolie scowled. Her assistant seemed to take a lot of time off.

  “Glassy, did you update that spreadsheet and send it out? And I need you to tidy up a few memos before you go.” She decided to play a few delaying tactics. After all she had time to spare and was bored.

  Glassy continued to shrug on her coat and then came into the office with a pencil and pad.

  “Yes?” She hovered over Jolie’s desk, hiding her annoyance well.

  “I sent the spreadsheet out with a covering e-mail just before lunch.”

  “And they all know to add their departmental figures and return it before end of business today?” Jolie handed over a sheaf of scribbled papers. “Can you organize these memos before you go, please?”

  “Yes. The e-mail tells them to update the sheet for you.” Hope quickly shuffled through the memos. Jolie was just being ridiculous; these were not important and could easily wait until Monday. One caught her eye. “This says, ‘Don’t go to prison.’ What’s this about?”

  Jolie blushed furiously and snatched it away, throwing it into the bin.

  “It’s not important. And you’ll collate all the figures first thing on Monday?” Jolie was fussing now that her little time-wasting game had been busted. Hope refused to be fazed. The real issue was that Jolie wanted the figures collated that afternoon as soon as they arrived, rather than wait until Monday morning for them.

  “I’ll have them on your desk before the morning meeting.” Hope knew Jolie was huffing because she wanted to peruse the figures over the weekend and then chow down on her department heads first thing Monday. But oth
er than that little quirk, there was no real rush and the figures could easily wait until next week. Jolie had to learn to let go, especially on Friday afternoon.

  “Anything else before I go?” As Hope spoke she spied her new stapler sitting on Jolie’s desk. Here we go again. What am I to do, superglue everything down? The woman’s a freakin’ magpie.

  Jolie scowled even more, her eyes roamed the room. Hope knew she was trying to think of some other reason to hang on to her for a few more moments. Just then a pop-up alert bounced onto Jolie’s screen reminding her of an update meeting with Michael Williams. She visibly brightened.

  “Nah. You can go, Glassy.” She dismissed her without even looking up.

  Hope hesitated, and then decided to go for it.

  “Did you just call me Glassy, or Glasseye?”

  “Huh?” Jolie peeped up from her screen, frowning at the odd question.

  “Did you call me Glassy, or Glasseye?” Hope said again. She had Jolie’s full attention now. Jolie blinked at her, kind of stupidly, Hope thought. Jolie Garoul didn’t have many fallback positions if a conversation or situation did not go in the straight line she expected it to. Her social skills were pretty limited, too.

  “Glasseye is my nickname. So I wondered…” Hope let the sentence tail off. She got another huge blink. Finally, Jolie took the bait.

  “Nickname?” she said.

  “Yes. Glasseye…because I have one.” With perfect timing Hope tapped her prosthetic left eye with her pencil.

  Jolie started in her chair as if an electric current had just zinged through it. Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened. She visibly paled.

  Hope went in for the slam dunk. “It’s why I was off work for ten weeks. I needed to have my left eye removed after they found a melanoma.”

  Jolie’s ruddy tan turned chalk white, making her eyes blacker than ever. Her shocked gaze fixed on Hope’s face, dancing from one eye to the other, back and forth, in some sort of compulsive twitch. She’d obviously had no idea.