Free Minnie Chase Makes a Mistake by Helen MacArthur

to talk properly once Angie got home.
     
    Angie Buckingham: So. How was the flight?
    Minnie Chase: National Geographic missed his connection
    AB: Damn that man
    MC: Got a surfer instead
    AB: Like
    MC: (shakes head) Tattoos for sleeves
    AB: Artistic
    MC: Catches peanuts in his mouth
    AB: Party trick
    MC: Choking hazard
    AB: Love that man
    MC: Ladies man
    AB: Surfer sounds like fun
    MC: Hmm
    AB: Name?
    MC: Jay “Snowflake” Jackson.
    AB: Did you say Snowflake?
    MC: I opted for Jackson
    AB: Good call. You okay?
    MC: I miss James George
    AB: (puke face) (puke face) (puke face)
    MC: Five years! (sad face)
    AB: Reduced sentence. Free at last!
    MC: You think?
    AB: Don’t you dare call him
    MC: I won’t
    AB: Minnie!
    MC: I won’t!
    AB: Stay strong
    MC: Phone me later?
    AB: For sure (waving)
    MC: (kisses)
     
    Minnie read over the conversation after Angie had gone off line. She knew that her friend was looking out for her but Minnie took a more pragmatic approach based on the basic rules of physics and practical experience – the bad stuff eventually settles to the bottom. Time is a great healer. No one need know about a broken past unless someone deliberately shakes it up. It is possible to forget , thought Minnie bravely, trying to ignore the fact that she was an expert at remembering everything.
     
    She decided to call James George. Angie wouldn’t approve, but Minnie’s willpower had spectacularly failed her. It would be around five in the afternoon and he would still be at work. She studied the hands on her watch realising she had been left behind and it wasn’t just to do with a different time zone. Somehow, without noticing, Minnie had fallen behind in the relationship. James George, on the other hand, seemed to be making up for lost time, sowing his wild oats before he settled down.
    He took nine rings to answer the phone, which set off a different kind of ringing in Minnie’s head: alarm bells. She’d expected him to pounce on her call with breakneck speed instead of risking it going through to voice mail.
    Her mind started racing. Perhaps he was with Her.
    She didn’t want to think about him in bed. Their bed. Shared bed. 
    Then he finally answered with a, ‘Hey.’
    Minnie said, ‘It’s me.’
    ‘Yes, I know.’
    ‘Did I get you at a bad time?’
    ‘No, it’s cool. I was just finishing a burger. Late lunch.’
    He eats , thought Minnie. The real and present danger of losing his wife-to-be hasn’t affected his carnivorous need for red meat . 
    There was an awkward silence, an empty swimming-pool sized silence, forlorn and unloved, gathering dead leaves, algae and accusations. Burger, really? The question bounced around inside Minnie’s head. 
    Minnie was affronted and didn’t believe him. She wanted to ask him the real reason he took so long to answer the phone. She felt even more neglected and unloved – even though she believed that to be impossible. She needed him to seize his phone: hand to holster, fast, in a high noon shoot-out. She needed him to have his phone grafted to his ear to facilitate an immediate response.
    ‘Hey,’ he said softly, ‘…I’ve been waiting for you to call me.’
    ‘ Me to call you ?’ snapped Minnie. The direction of communication seemed wrong to her.
    ‘Yes. Where are you?’
    She hardened her resolve, then collapsed. ‘I’m in San Francisco.’ 
    There was a slight time delay as he registered this fact.
    ‘San… eh ? I thought you were staying at Angie’s.’ The surprise in his voice confirmed that he knew Minnie well: she was not the travelling type.
    ‘I was,’ said Minnie stiffly. ‘Now I’m in San Francisco.’
    ‘Work?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘You’ve never travelled with work before.’ He sounded sceptical. 
    Minnie bristled. He wasn’t in the position to be suspicious about her whereabouts.
    ‘Minnie… hello?’
    ‘I’m still here.’
    ‘When are you coming home?’
    ‘Is she a prostitute?’ Minnie lobbed the question at him. She