Moondance by Karen M. Black Page A

smiling.
    “That’s okay, it was an accident,” he said.
    “I can fix you up.” She looked him over. “You’re about his size.” She grabbed his arm.
    She was like the Borg, he thought. It was futile to resist.
    The company’s twenty-first floor reception area was glass, brushed steel, and eerily quiet. The woman bustled by reception, dragging him by his elbow. He thought that any moment now, she’d take him by the ear.
    A few doors from reception, she stopped, looked around, put her hand flat on his chest, and pushed him into an office where she closed the door behind them. He stumbled to a stop.
    “I’m Violet,” she said, extending a chubby hand. Her gaze was direct.
    “I’m Michael. I was on my way to —”
    “Don’t you move!”
    Moving was the last thing on Michael’s mind. He surveyed his surroundings. The office was enormous, with windows lining two walls. The mahogany desk was spotlessly clean. There was no paper in sight. Did someone actually work here?
    Violet sat behind the enormous, flat computer screen, her hand covering a cordless mouse which clicked like manicured nails on glass.
    “Ah hah!” Violet sounded like she had just discovered the Caramilk secret. She rummaged through the top drawer of the desk while she muttered a string of obscenities. Abandoning the drawers, she moved to a mahogany cabinet and pulled out a key.
    “Derek’s files are in here. He doesn’t do paperwork — that’s my job. You should have seen the place when I first started here. He comes across all mister perfect, you know, above it all , but he’s really a slob.”
    “I know what you —”
    “Ah ha!” The first “ah ha” paled in comparison. With a flourish, Violet pulled out a plastic bag, handed it to him, then turned away.
    Without a word, Michael changed shirts in the cavernous office.

    • • •

    WHEN MICHAEL RETURNED TO Exeter, his boss Ralph cut him off.
    “You still okay for our four o’clock?”
    Michael nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. When we’re done, there’s something I’d like to speak with you about.”
    That afternoon, Michael told Ralph that he was looking for another job but that he’d prefer to stay with Exeter. To stay, he wanted a raise and he wanted to hire an assistant. Before he left, Michael called and left a message for Violet.

    • • •

    WHEN MICHAEL WAS DEPRESSED, Dr. Reynolds often suggested that he consciously modulate his thoughts. Sometimes he tried. More often than not, he would con template the scariest thing he could imagine. He’d observe this possibility as if it was a rare, poisonous plant under glass, understanding that he would die if he ate it and simultaneously knowing that discovering how it tasted was the most important thing in the world.
    So imagine your wife leaving you. How it would feel? It’s not something you want, but there it is. Try it on. Settle in. How would it feel to give in to the visions, the images, the compulsions?
    He imagined telling Lara that he didn’t want to leave Exeter. He’d be open and logical, his face a mask of neutrality. Underneath, he’d be consciously aware of the decision’s monstrous implications, embedded in a place where logic did not reside, a place where his reality fragmented into vision, the fear greater than anything he’d ever known.

chapter 14

    “ALTHEA BRECHT.”
    Outside the Maddy, Dr. George O’Sullivan stood next to her, close enough that she could smell the smoke on his jacket and the cinnamon on his breath.
    “Dr. O’Sullivan.” she said.
    “I see you’re surviving.” His gaze was steady and unblinking.
    “Yes, so far so good. Though our OB assignment is due in a week, and I’m wondering how we’re going to pull it off.”
    “You’ll get it together. It’s all part of the MBA experience.” He smiled. “Do you smoke?” She shook her head. He lit a cigarette and looked at her through the haze, his head tilting. She looked for Celia and glanced at her watch. It was 12:15.