The Good Byline by Jill Orr

Author:Jill Orr
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781938849923
Publisher: Prospect Park Books
Published: 2016-12-07T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 25

Dr. H did not come into work the next morning. I called him at home, and he said he had some things to figure out and assured me he was fine. I had my doubts about that, but as it happened, I was fairly not-fine myself. I texted Ajay and told him I was feeling better and asked if he wanted to go to dinner that night. He said he’d pick me up at eight. I had no idea how I was going to keep my cool in front of him knowing he was married and working for Romero. The thought of being alone with him—a married man with possible ties to organized crime—made my stomach feel like it was churning cement.

Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone had been waiting at the doors when I opened and were now standing at the checkout line with their latest book selections.

“Is everything all right, dear?” Mrs. Gladstone asked as I scanned her books. “You seem a little preoccupied this morning.”

What an insightful lady! I felt a rush of affection for her. I was touched that she knew me so well after all our seemingly mundane exchanges that she could tell just by looking at me that I was off. Sometimes you never know how much of a connection you are making with another human being just through the course of normal interactions.

“I am a little bit, actually,” I said and smiled at her. “How could you tell?”

“Your derrière’s hanging out, that’s how!” Mr. Gladstone said, and then gave me an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

I looked down. Sure enough, my white skirt with the bold flower print had gotten tucked up into my panties, exposing my left cheek. I must have been so preoccupied when I got dressed that morning that I hadn’t noticed.

“Ohmygod,” I blurted out. “I am so sorry! I have no idea how that happened.” I grabbed the skirt out and smoothed it down.

“No need to take the Lord’s name in vain, dear,” Mrs. Gladstone admonished. “Besides, lots of people your age do that kind of thing as a fashion statement. Who is it again—that singer? Wears the skimpy outfits?”

“Um, Miley Cyrus?”

“No, you know the one—”

“Nicki Minaj?”

“She also wears the cones on her front?”

“Madonna?”

“Yes, Madonna! She walks around with her backside hanging out all the time!” She was trying to make me feel better, and it was really very kind of her, though I wondered exactly how old Mrs. Gladstone thought I (or Madonna) was.

“Well, I liked it,” Mr. Gladstone said definitively. “It’s not every day I get to see a young—”

“Wright Wesley Gladstone.”

“What?” he said innocently, then laughed a wheezy, old man’s laugh until Mrs. Gladstone gave him a look that stopped him.

My blush deepened. I pushed the newly checked-out stack of books back across the checkout desk to them and smoothed my skirt down again. “Thanks for your patronage,” I said, which may have been an oddly formal thing to say to two octogenarians who had just seen my left butt cheek.

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