Free Harrowing by S.E. Amadis Page B

bosses. I took care to get up especially early so I would have time to fashion a severe chignon, sweeping my hair back tightly from my face and the nape of my neck, the way I’d seen Russian ballerinas do.
    I made sure my blouse was extra loose, my trousers wide-legged and not in the least bit form-hugging.
    I chopped the leaves off of a few carrots and stuffed them into the cage for Fatty and Skinny. Dragged my always-sleepy baby out of bed and plopped him down in front of his ever-present Honey Pops. Calvin had already left, tossing his pyjamas onto the floor as usual. Sighing, I picked them up and dumped them onto the chair, then slid into flat-heeled leather loafers. I almost opted for running shoes, just in case I needed to run out of there again, but decided in the end to resist the irrational temptation and stop acting so paranoid.
    As Geri had promised, my new office consisted mainly of an enormous clerical pool occupying the greater part of the suite. There were a few semi-private offices at the edges, equipped with panoramic windows looking out over the smog-covered city, for the Vice President, the CFO, the office manager and a few other sundry privileged positions. The rest of the staff occupied desks in an open arrangement. Working areas weren’t even separated into cubicles. There was no place you could hide if you wanted to pick your teeth.
    Sandy Bleckley was the office manager. And for the next few weeks, she was also supposed to be my boss. Middle-aged, overweight, with obvious dark roots protruding out behind her stick-straight, bleach-blond haircut, she nonetheless greeted me with a warm smile and casual gestures when I walked in. I liked her immediately. She put me at ease right away as she walked me to my desk which, as promised, sat smack dab in the middle of the clerical pool.
    She gave me a tour of the unpretentious surroundings, introducing me to the professionals I would be working with most often.
    “Geri, your agent, told me you’re especially fast at typing,” she said. “So we’re going to set you up answering emails for most of the head honchos round here.” She giggled. “A few PowerPoint presentations. Every once in a while you might need to make photocopies or call a courier service. But I understand you’re familiar with all these tasks, right?”
    I nodded. Easy peasy.
    Yeah. Right.
    Although most of the employees I saw were women, unsurprisingly, almost all the “head honchos” were men. Sandy presented me to a few of them, then led me to the canteen.
    “There’s a fridge so you can bring your lunch if you want. I imagine you’re familiar with the neighbourhood, at any rate, if you want to go out to eat.” She smiled. “Every Friday the staff gets together for lunch, if you’d like to join us.”
    I grinned back.
    “Sounds marvellous,” I said. “I’d love to.”
    I couldn’t wait to start living a normal life again. Mix with normal people, carry out normal conversations. Just like any normal human being who has never suffered a trauma before.
    To my tremendous relief, my life was starting to settle down into a predictable routine again. Predictability was exactly what I needed at this moment. No shocks. No scares. No creepy people sneaking up behind me in empty offices or alleyways.
    *
    “How was your first day back at work?”
    Calvin turned on the kettle while I lounged on our sofa-futon and raised my feet. Leaving the kettle to boil, Calvin plopped down next to me and began to massage my feet.
    “Mmmff. That feels sooo good, honey buns,” I whispered. “I haven’t stayed so long on my feet in weeks.”
    Calvin batted at me.
    “It’s only been a month. Not like you’ve just come out of retirement or something.”
    All the same, he slipped a jar of mysterious cream from his bag and began to spread it over my aching muscles. A faint aroma of camphor wafted over me.
    “What’s that?” I asked.
    Calvin waggled a finger at me.
    “Ne ne ne. An old Jamaican