Her voice choked off. Tears slipped down her face. She was mortified, but Norma just tugged her up to her feet and enveloped her in a big hug. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry about Lucia. I didn’t mean to stress you. I know you’re grieving, and what happened to Nancy is terrifying, but things have worked out, right? Things are calming down, and Lucia would have wanted you to get out, have fun! You know that.”
Nell polished her tear-splattered glasses. “I appreciate that you worry about me, but I am not in the mood for fun, and I can’t take this lecture right now,” she quavered. “I need to get dessert for table six, table eight needs their check, and Monica is taking a cigarette break—”
“Forget I said anything. I must say, though, I’m glad to see you taking a healthy interest in a good-looking guy. It’s a good sign.”
Nell stomped out to dump broken glass into the trash. Her eyes were red and puffy, but who cared? The black-haired man would never notice. When she refilled his coffee, she asked, “Care for dessert?”
“The usual,” he said coolly.
Nell hesitated for a moment, then took her courage in both hands. “Sure you don’t want to try something new? We have strawberry shortcake today, and the pecan fudge brownies are wonderful.”
His hands froze over the keyboard as he processed this. “I’m sure they’re all good.” His voice had a dismissive edge. “Give me the usual.”
Nell sighed and went to get a slice of apple crumb pie with vanilla ice cream. As always, when he finished, he closed his laptop, dropped a bill on the table that covered the check as well as a moderate-to-generous tip, and left. The guy had the imagination of a large rock. And the manners of a hibernating snake. To hell with him, anyway.
The rest of the shift was a tired blur. She helped Norma prep for dinner and went to the bathroom to freshen up before her discussion section. She took off her glasses, leaned close to the mirror, and peered.
Norma was right. The round glasses were nerdish. And the long, unstyled mop of dark curly hair was juvenile and nondescript.
She twisted her hair into a knot, letting curly wisps fall down around her ears and jaw. Marginally better. Her eyes were her best feature. Dark, with long lashes and eyebrows that she had to pluck or else they did a coup d’etat and took over her face. A nice mouth, she conceded, if a little large for her jaw. Maybe she should try contacts.
But why was she stressing over her looks, anyway? Who was noticing them? She had bigger things to worry about. She splashed water on her face, hefted her bag onto her shoulder, and sprinted for the bus.
Her discussion group went as expected. A healthy two-thirds of the group actually attended, and out of that number, only three appeared to be sleeping, which wasn’t bad, statistically speaking. They had quite a spirited discussion about Emily Dickinson’s love poetry. One serious young man with stringy hair said earnestly, “Like, how do you know Emily Dickinson never had, you know, sex? Maybe she, like, had secret lovers! Some of those poems are totally scorching! I can’t believe that she could feel like that if she never, you know, got any!”
“Believe it,” Nell said without thinking. Fifteen faces gave her speculative looks. She noticed that the young blond man and she had the same type of glasses, and felt a sudden, desperate urge to change her style. “Let’s wrap it up for tonight,” she said. “I expect a five-to-ten page paper from everyone by Wednesday.”
“But I have a physics midterm to study for!” one student whined.
“And I have to write a philosophy paper by Monday!” another lamented. “Can’t we have till Friday?”
“Wednesday,” she said firmly to a chorus of groans.
Nell trudged through the bustling, congested city campus to the English department offices. The office door opened as she approached, and Maria, a fellow grad student, came out holding a fax. “Hey, Nell. Take a look. I was about to post it. It might be just up your alley.”
Nell looked it over.
WANTED
Writer-Editor-Proofreader for interactive fantasy game project
EXPERT IN POETRY
Good Pay Flexible Hours
Call 555–439-8218 Ask for Duncan
“Weird, huh?” Maria commented.
Nell looked up at her. “Interesting.”
“Thought you might think so. Good night, Nell.”
Nell said good night absently. What on earth would a software outfit want with poetry? She scribbled the number, wondering exactly what “good pay” meant to this Duncan. She often picked up temp legal secretary jobs at night, when she was broke. They paid well but exhausted her. She was always alert for a job that would pay enough so she could quit working at the Sunset and live a life that resembled normal, if such a thing existed. Though she’d begun to doubt it, with the bizarre things that had been happening since Lucia’s death.
And she wasn’t going to think about Lucia, or she’d cry again. She fingered the pendant Lucia had given her. The golden rectangle with its halo of swirling, white gold lacework was warm from her body’s heat. A talisman of love, but a shadow of fear clung to it. Her fingers tightened around the thing in a possessive spasm. The Fiend had taken Nancy’s pendant. It was stupid for Nell to wear hers around. A blatant provocation, even. But she felt naked and defenseless without it.
She’d compromised by lengthening the chain and tucking the pendant inside her dress, where it usually got wedged between her boobs. She had pepper spray in her bag. And she was going to sign up for self-defense. Maybe she’d even learn to use a gun.
She shivered. Then again, maybe not. Just knowing how to use a gun meant nothing. She had to be willing to point it at someone and pull the trigger. And that tasty, cheerful reflection propelled her straight to her broom closet–sized office, to call Vivi’s cell phone. For comfort.
Since Nancy’s adventures, she’d secretly begun to consider getting a cell phone, but she was still hesitating, after having made such a big fat deal of how much she hated them to her sisters all these years. After all her pompous tirades on the risk of brain tumors, how sinister it was that a person couldn’t have privacy, how aggravating it was that one was constantly on call, etc., etc. She’d feel like a fool with her tail between her legs if she caved now.
But pride and privacy had so lost their charm lately. When evil stalkers with unknown agendas lurked in the shadows, looking foolish didn’t seem so bad. It was comforting, when things got weird, to be an electromagnetic frequency away from the people you cared about.
Vivi picked up promptly. “Hey, baby. All’s well?”
“Nobody’s abducted me lately,” Nell said. “How about yourself?”
“Still working. Busy day. I’ll wrap it up in about an hour. Then my breakdown, and I take off tonight straight for Wilmington after I grab a bite. I feel weird staying in one place for too long. I want to be a moving target. Sound stupid?”
“Hell no. Drive carefully. Did you talk to Nancy?”
“Yeah, she’s with Liam. Still in Denver, with his dad. They’re coming back tomorrow, I think. Thank God we don’t have to worry about her, at least. That guy of hers is like a Doberman lunging at the chain. Got a customer, darling. Gotta go.”
“Okay, later.” Nell hung up, stared at the flyer again, and dialed.
“Burke Solutions, Inc., can I help you?”
“Yes. May I speak to, um”—she consulted the tag—“Duncan?”
“May I ask what it’s regarding?”
“It’s regarding the writing job.”
“Oh. Just a sec. Hold on.”
Nell drummed her fingers and fretted until a deep, resonant, oddly familiar voice came on the line. “This is Duncan.”
“Hello. My name is Nell D’Onofrio, and I’m a grad student at NYU. I’m interested in the writing job.”
“Do you have writing and editing experience? Do you know anything about poetry?”