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A Hard Rain; chapter four

“Siobhan!  What are you doing here?”  Leslie is surprised to see her best friend at Funk ‘N Junk because she isn’t scheduled.

“I switched with Muriel,” Siobhan says briskly.  “I wanted to work with you your first shift back.”  Leslie snorts because Siobhan makes it sound as if Leslie has been wounded in battle or something equally ridiculous.  Siobhan stares at Leslie and then plucks a silver lame scarf from a shelf and hands it to Leslie.  “Put this on.”  Leslie accepts the scarf and drapes it around her waist.  She is still wearing the red sweater she had put on this morning, but she had changed from her jeans into black velour pants.  She has on ankle-high boots with two-inch heels.  She is not a clotheshorse, but she accepts that she has to be an advertisement for the store.  To that end, she plucks a silver bangle from a counter display and slides it up her left arm.

“Nice touch,” Siobhan says approvingly.  “Have you called your therapist yet?”

“No.”  Leslie doesn’t think it’s necessary now that she has a mission—finding John’s killer.  She knows Siobhan will not like that, however, so she keeps it to herself.

“Do it.  You need him.”  Siobhan pauses before adding, “You put on lipstick.  Good girl.”  Leslie stifles the impulse to give Siobhan the finger because three customers choose that precise moment to walk through the door. Besides, she and Siobhan have had this argument countless times, and she is unwilling to rehash it yet again.  She casts an envious glance at Siobhan.  Siobhan is wearing a tight navy blue sweater that dips enough to display her impressive bosom.  She has on a white flare skirt that has an uneven hem.  Her five-inch blue platforms make Leslie’s feet ache just by looking at them.  Siobhan has her mane of red curls arranged in a messy bun at the nape of her neck, and she is wearing a white cloche hat that is both whimsical and fun.  All the clothing is from the store, as is the butterfly barrette festooning her bun, and Leslie would bet it took Siobhan less than ten minutes to achieve her look.

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Blogging My Murder; chapter four

Chapter Four

I wake up five minutes before my alarm rings, which pisses me off. I’d rather be awakened an hour before it’s time to get up than five minutes. That’s not enough time to go back to sleep, but it’s enough time to make me not want to get up, either. I sigh and roll over, careful not to squish the cats who are spooned in a circle on the bed beside me. I give them a quick pet before sliding out of bed. They’re both out like a light and don’t move a muscle. I hop into the shower after winding my hair on the top of my head. I stay in for an extra five minutes because my body is sore. I don’t know why, except perhaps I slept wrong. The hot water feels great on my body, and I reluctantly turn off the tap. I towel off before dressing. Afterwards, I wander down to the kitchen to toast a bagel. Smearing it with cream cheese, I pop a Lactaid before gobbling down the bagel halves. I wash it down with a glass of orange juice. When I turn around, there are two fuzzy black faces staring at me. I start because I hadn’t heard them come in.

“Don’t do that!” I scold them, though my heart isn’t in it. I open a can of Solid Gold wet food and scoop half onto Onyx’s plate and half onto Jet’s. Onyx wolfs hers down, then eyes her brother’s plate. I pick her up despite her protests and cradle her to my chest so Jet can eat in peace. Once he’s finished, I allow her to squirm out of my arms and race over to her brother. She whaps him on the face, taking her frustrations out on him. He doesn’t even flinch, but when she draws her paw back for another smack, his tail shoots straight up in the air and puffs out. He hisses once, and Onyx retracts her paw. She runs roughshod over him, but she knows when he’s reached his limit. She butts her head against her brother’s instead, and he relaxes his stance. The two of them are sniffing each other’s butts as I tiptoe away. I find it’s better to leave when they’re engaged with each other because there’s less yowling that way.

I arrive at work five minutes early, so I pull out my phone and check the comments on my latest post. There are several complimentary ones, wishing Julianna a happy birthday. There’s a comment from YokoOno thanking me for the post and saying we’ll be besties forever. It’s Julianna, and I write a brief response to her before reading the rest of the comments. QueenBee comments, “Sounds like she’s more trouble than she’s worth. You can do better.” I frown because it’s the first time QueenBee has said something negative on a post. I respond by telling her that Julianna is the best, then I close out my phone. I go into the office, my feet dragging. I’m tired of hawking Groupon coupons and other online shit deals. I’m also tired of Sara’s advances, and I want her to just leave me alone. I slide into my seat and power up my computer. Sara is next to me, but she doesn’t say anything. I’m grateful, and I quickly finish some leftover paperwork before reaching for my phone. As I’m talking, I become aware that Sara is glaring daggers at me. Any time I glance over at her, she doesn’t bother hiding her anger. I blink. What the hell is her problem? I decide I don’t give a fuck and turn slightly so my back is towards her. It’s a busy morning, so I soon forget she’s even there. Before I know it, it’s one in the afternoon. I decide to take my lunch break and go to the break room so I can eat my sandwich.

“Well, fancy seeing you here.” An arch tone reaches my ear, and I look up into Sara’s stormy eyes. She’s wearing a pale yellow sweater that isn’t very complimentary to her skin tone.

“What’s your problem, Sara? You’ve been pissed at me all morning.” I stare hard at Sara, taking satisfaction in making her flinch.

“No reason.” Sara smiles, her voice tight. She clasps her hands in front of her while resting them on the table. “It’s just that time of the month. You know how it is.” I refrain from sighing at her archaic language. I also don’t like using my period as an excuse for moods, but I don’t mention that either.

“Right.” I stand up and throw away the detritus in the trash before returning to the office. I get a text from Julianna saying she’s going to be late for dinner by an hour. She doesn’t say why, but I’m used to that. The day Julianna is on time is the day I renounce sex.

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