Off the Rails by Isabelle Drake

to the door marked ‘Ms. Holmes’ and knock. The command to come in came before Madison’s arm dropped down.
    The boss lady’s office was mid-twentieth century modern done to tacky perfection. The only explanation for the insanely perfect array of plastic was that Ms. Holmes had a teenage daughter who was addicted to eBay. The girl must have moved on from Hello Kitty to Hello Expensive, passing all the hand-me-downs to Mommy Dearest in the process.
    Seated at her desk, Ms. Holmes looked a hell of a lot different than she had last night. For one thing, she had her clothes on. Pointing to one of the vintage yellow plastic chairs positioned across from her desk, she said, “Have a seat.”
    Madison did.
    “Look around,” the boss lady said, waving her arm in an arch.
    The chair squeaked when Madison shifted and pretended to be taking her first really good look. There was a pale wood bookshelf filled with a collection of crazy shaped, orange plastic vases, a tall floor lamp with bendable arm things, each with its own light, and two wire mesh chairs by a window covered with some kind of organic-looking cloth.
    “Like it?” Carly asked, gesturing to the furnishings.
    Truth first then the lie. “It…wasn’t what I was expecting, but I do like it.”
    Ms. Holmes smiled. “I like to watch the expression on people’s faces the first time they walk in. I should videotape it. It would be funny. I could load them on YouTube.”
    Eww.
    What else did she like to videotape?
    Shit.
    And put on the Net?
    Madison waited while Ms. Holmes reveled in her ability to shock unsuspecting employees. “Promise you won’t tell anyone else, anyone who hasn’t been in here, what it looks like. Okay?”
    Too weird. “Sure. No problem.”
    “Great.”
    Ms. Holmes leaned back, happy with herself and her collection of what used to be somebody’s crap they got stuck with because somebody else had died.
    “You want to know why I want to see you, I bet.”
    Madison crossed her legs and tried to look casual. “Sure.”
    Please God, don’t let her say anything about last night.
    “I noticed your numbers might be improving.” She opened a folder and took out a single sheet of paper. A spreadsheet no doubt. “See here,” she said, using one glossy red nail to point to the numbers from the one morning when Madison decided to forget about Scottie and actually do work.
    “Err…um…”
    “It isn’t unusual for me to see this sort of thing, possible improvement. You must be”—she licked her lips—”among other things…smart.”
    While Madison’s stomach clenched, the woman took a minute to laugh at her own joke, and set the sheet down. “We have an opening in our special teams unit. It’s for a fast learner. Someone who has drive and initiative. I’m hoping that’s you. I want to recommend you for the spot. What do you think? Do you feel special?”
    Special.
    Hmmm.
    “Would it be a promotion?” Madison asked.
    Ms. Holmes arched back, tilting her retro office chair onto two legs. “Not right away. You’d be a junior member of the team. If they— and I —like what I get, then yes, you’d get a promotion.”
    Speechless for once, Madison stared at the corner of the boss lady’s desk.
    “I need your answer today. The spot has to be filled. I’m sure you understand.”
    “Um…what does the special teams unit do?”
    “Special things.” Carly tilted her head back and laughed, then pulled some other papers from the file. “Here’s the job description. It doesn’t say much because basically the team members do whatever I tell them to do. The projects change quickly and end suddenly. I use the teams for my special needs.” She laughed again and slid the papers over to Madison. “You’d be on Scottie’s team.”
     
    * * * *
     
    Later, seated on one of the cozy couches at The Vine, Madison told Tia the whole story of the nasty sex debacle. Tia had listened patiently all the way through, then asked, “What’d she say