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Thunder Sandwich #23 |
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Bren O'Connor |
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More Than One Way To Skin A Cat Somewhere above the fourteenth floor the elevator stopped like a ball on a rubber band and the light went out. Tom searched his wrist not for a pulse; the jolt had his heart pounding hard enough to jump out of his chest, but the insipid green hands of his Indiglo watch. The second hand was chasing its tail in circles, in tempo with his staccato breathing. He was undeniably late. He wouldn't need to hear the sermon from his supervisor about tardy timekeeping; that would be easily read on his face. "Can you flash that fancy light this way a minute?" a voice beckoned from the darkness. Tom fumbled with his watch and shone what light he could into the corner. Magically, a stout woman appeared waving a cigarette lighter; a human remnant from an 80's rock concert. She filled the corner as though she was sucked into it, and unable to escape. Her ankles overhung the straps of her shoes, her waist, the belt of her skirt. Tom couldn't help but notice pancake makeup layered on her face. Nothing though, was going to hide that mole centered on her forehead, a politically incorrect black version of a Hindu Bindi spot. "We could be here a while," she said, eyeing him in an impromptu inspection. "You a father? You look like a father." Tom couldn't answer either question, not while the woman had an ounce of air in her lungs, at least. " My daughter has this boyfriend. You've never seen anyone with such piercing psychotic eyes. And he tells her that he has a friend that no-one else has ever seen, but that he's not imaginary. Can you believe that?" Tom could only look at his watch, hoping this micro-drama would end. "But she's just too good for him, you see. She's taken fifteen university courses this year and has passed them all with straight A's. The girl studies so much she hasn't got time for an orgasm." Tom nearly gagged with surprise, saw the mole again in the wavering light, and wished hopelessly that it was a stop button that he could depress. "You look at bit stressed out," she said, unable to avoid his body language. She dug into her bag, pulled out a yogurt container and plastic spoon, and pressed them into his hands. "Go on. Yogurt has a calming effect." Tom reluctantly followed her instructions in the hope it would stop her chattering, while all the time she stood wedged in the corner smiling. When he had finished, she took the container back and asked him to turn around. When he asked why, she told him her tampon was leaking and she needed to replace it. "My father always told me there was more than one way of skinning a cat, and I needed an empty container" she cackled. The lighter went out and he could hear her shuffling in the darkness as he stood wincing with the need to take a piss. She was still smiling when the lighter came back on. Tom had never met a woman like her before. In some ways she was more human, more accessible. "What floor do you work on?" he asked. "21. You?" "18. How come I've never seen you before?" "Probably because I usually run up the stairs to keep in shape!" her face contorted in a constrained grin. Tom took one more look at her shape, her mischievous face, and broke out laughing. He pulled a bottle of Coke from his lunch bag, and passed it to her. "You probably need some fluid after all you've lost," he managed through tear filled eyes. She took one look at his posture, the fidgeting, the slight strain on his face, and realized that he knew just how to skin a cat after all. |