The Miracle Girl by T. B. Markinson

Author:T. B. Markinson [Markinson, T. B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: T. B. Markinson
Published: 2015-07-05T23:00:00+00:00

* * *

The following Monday I was back in the conference room with the team. I really hated starting my work week off this way. Not just because of Darrell, but it was nearly impossible to get the team to focus on the issue at hand. After the first few fruitful meetings, their concentration fell into a black abyss. I was amazed that Henry, the previous corporate guy, was able to stick it out for seven months. I’d been here three and, at times, wanted to wave the white flag and go back home. It was like everyone, but Claire and Avery, were completely oblivious that I was doing my best to save this paper.

“What’s that smell?” Brenda’s hair was crazier than normal and looked like she had styled it by putting her finger in a light socket. Not once, but several times for volume. Her wrinkled shirt and oversized cardigan along with her wire-framed glasses added to her mad scientist look.

Several in the conference room sniffed loudly.

“I don’t know, but it seems familiar,” replied Darrell. “Reminds me of college.”

Claire looked at me sympathetically. She was the only one who knew about my neck issue, and she’d seen me slather Bengay on it earlier that morning. I had hoped extra perfume would counteract the fumes. Obviously not.

“So, Brenda, where are you on the campaign to increase online circulation?” I tried to refocus everyone’s attention back to the matter at hand‌—‌saving the paper and their jobs.

She sniffed again in my direction. “It’s you.” The crazy-haired woman crinkled her nose in disgust. “Is that a perfume they sell back East?” There was a hint of sarcasm hidden in her nasally tone, even though her eyes didn’t betray her true feelings. It was hard to see her eyes behind her thick lenses.

“I think they sell it everywhere. Not just back East,” I answered, before collapsing back into my seat at the head of the table. Each week the director’s meeting deteriorated before we accomplished anything. This one was falling apart much sooner than normal.

Darrell snapped his fingers. “Bengay. That’s the smell.”

“I hurt my neck. Is that a problem for any of you?” I asked with as much dignity as I could muster. Not even Claire’s massage or other activities could fix it this time. I hated knowing it would be several days before I could turn my head to the left again. Claire had taken my car keys away from me earlier that morning and driven me to work since running was out of the question.

“I’ve always liked the smell of Bengay,” announced Claire.

“No you don’t,” said Darrell. “No one likes that smell. Old people. It smells like old people.”

Claire stiffened in her seat. “Don’t tell me what I like and what I don’t like, Darrell.”

Darrell’s look of triumph faded from his face, and I briefly pondered putting Claire in charge of these meetings from now on. She obviously knew how to deal with obstinate men. How dare he call me old? He was ten years older than me.

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