Cookie Cutter Read online

Sorry about yesterday.

  It just came through. I figure it can’t hurt to mend some of what I’ve no doubt caused more than he has between us.

  Me too, bro. Love you. You know that.

  It takes him a minute to reply to that one.

  Saw Cheryl last night. She says hi.

  Oh.

  How’s she doing?

  I don’t know why I even ask. It’s not like I want to hear the answer.

  Getting married.

  Ouch. See?

  That didn’t take long. Not that I’m surprised. Cheryl has an agenda. You either work to make that agenda successful, or you’re out. Part of me is tempted to ask who the lucky guy is but I’m sure it’s some junior partner on his way up the ladder. I don’t know if Tony’s just making conversation with me, or if he’s planning on reporting back to Cheryl when he finds out what my reaction is. So I keep it short, but sweet. Kind of.

  Gotta run.

  I set the phone down and head back into the garage to work on carving out some light switch holes in the wainscoting I’m planning on putting up. Maybe I should spend some more time communicating better with Tony – yeah, but honestly, I’m too wound up to do anything but work. I need to clear out the mess I’ve already made before I can do much else so I call get have a portable dumpster delivered. While I wait for that to arrive, I put together a kick ass bid for Iris’s super secret carnival meeting. One that even she will have a difficult time rejecting.

  * * *

  Taking out the trashed guts of this house is ten times more difficult than trashing it to begin with. Mostly because my muscles ache and exhaustion is kicking in. And I’m hungry. I might be able to work through pain and fatigue, but there’s no ignoring hungry. So around five-thirty or so, I find myself at stopping point. I brush the dirt off of me and head to the grocery store down the street. Of course, grocery shopping tends to consist of complicated decision making on my part, like which frozen meal to purchase for dinner tonight. I can’t make up my mind if I’d rather have the Hungry Man chicken and biscuits or if I need the family sized lasagna from Stouffers.

  “Screw it.” Chinese take-out it is.

  I’m on my way out the door and I spy with my little eye, an uptight single mother who looks like she’s having a very deep conversation with . . . potatoes, over in the produce section.

  I should probably leave. Avoid getting one or both of us wound up. But leaving will most definitely lead to more work on the house, a quiet meal alone and then ultimately, more work on the house.

  Boring.

  But staying . . . staying will be fun.

  I abandon the idea of leaving and head over to produce. I step up behind Iris as she stares blankly at a bin full of vegetables. Her hair is still up but it looks frayed. The result of a long day at the office, no doubt. For the briefest of moments, I’m tempted to push aside the strands of hair that have fallen out of her makeshift bun, brush my lips across the back of her neck, and squeeze the tension of her shoulders. On some other plane of existence, I would, except I’m angry with her. On the other hand, I can’t just stand here all day, staring at her neck.

  “Hey Iris.”

  “Oh hell!” She fumbles and drops the potatoes in her hands. They fall into the bin from where they came, causing a landslide of potatoes. As Iris tries to stop them all from toppling to the floor, she sees me standing there, looking down at her with a huge grin on my face.

  “Carter. Um.” She struggles to gain control over the pile of vegetables and when they finally come to a halt, she stands up straight with her arms spread wide, just in case they have second thoughts.

  Once she’s convinced they’re staying put, she nods, then looks up at me. She’s paralyzed all of a sudden. She’s uncomfortable. Good. She didn’t expect to see me and that gives me the upper hand here. And although I could confront her right now and get it over with, tell her what I think of her sneaky ways, that would be too easy. My fun would be over.

  “Whatcha doin’?”

  She reaches beside her, blindly, and picks something up to show me.

  “Just fingering these potatoes,” she says.

  It takes me a sec to understand what she just said. When it clicks, I belt out a laugh.

  “What?” I know what she said but I just want to make sure she knows what she said. Plus, I’d kinda like to hear it again.

  “I mean . . . I’m . . . picking out some fingerling potatoes.”

  Damn. I was kind of hoping she’d repeat it. On purpose.

  “For potato salad.” She laughs like she’s nervous. “I’m making potato salad.”

  “I see.”

  “Why would I be fingering potatoes? That’s…”

  “Dirty?”

  The word slips out before I can reel it back in and I expect a gasp or I don’t know, some sort of look of shock to spread across Iris’s face. Instead, she simply stares up at me with an interested expression. I’m not sure how I feel about that.

  Curiouser and curiouser.

  A slight clearing of her throat is followed by cautious words this time. “That’s one way of putting it I suppose,” she says, ignoring my innuendo.

  Or so it seems. Then she turns around and begins picking a few out. The conversation feels over but I’m not ready for over just yet. So I push her a little more.

  “What’s another way?”

  She makes her way further down the aisle, away from me. “Hmmm?”

  And I follow. “Another way of putting it?”

  She won’t look at me. “Well I haven’t really thought it through, I guess.”

  “Well by all means Iris, think it through.” For me. I make my way around her and step in her path. We lock eyes for the longest ten seconds I’ve ever encountered and before she can say anything in retaliation, her cell phone rings. She answers it; her hands fumbling with the phone but her eyes stay on me.

  “Hi, I left you a note,” she says and it sounds friendly enough but there’s an undertone. Something along the lines of impatience maybe. The next string of attempted phrases have little emotion tied to them as she tries to finish each sentence. And with each one, her attention is taken from me, to the caller.

  “No, I’m --”

  “Well it wasn’t like I --”

  “I didn’t mean to --”

  “Okay.”

  She lowers the phone away from her ear and slides it into her purse. Her head stays down for a moment as she takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly.

  She checks her watch and closes her eyes and the next thing I know, she’s doing math. Out loud.

  “Fifteen minutes back to the office, an hour to fix this, ten to make copies . . .” She stops talking but her lips are still moving and when she’s finished, she whispers, “Okay.”

  “You alright there, Iris?” I ask her and when she looks up into my eyes this time, her entire demeanor has changed. For the worse.

  “I have another way of putting it for you.”

  I’m confused for a minute. “What?”

  “Demeaning, degrading, insulting, belittling.” She narrows her eyes. “How about humiliating? Any of those words good enough ways of putting it?”

  “I don’t understand.” How did we go from an entertaining, damn near flirtatious-type dialogue to this?

  “It’s been great seeing you Carter,” she says, cutting me off. “But I really have to go.”

  She forgets all about the fingerlings and our discussion, grabs a tub of pre-made potato salad as she passes the deli section, and heads for the check out.

  “Iris,” I call out after her but either she doesn’t hear me, or she ignores me.

  Either way, I don’t even know why I do it. I originally approached her so I could confront her about keeping the meeting from me. That plan was ruined by whoever it is that causes Iris to speak in broken sentences and beginners algebra. There’s always the meeting. I can always try this again then, but for now, I’m definitely no longer in the mood for grocery shopp
ing, so I leave to find the closest Chinese take-out place.

  * * *

  Meg isn’t home when I go over to ask her where this meeting is, Beatrice has advised me that, “she doesn’t give two hoots where they meet” and Paul the naked neighbor said they stopped telling him where they were holding them. It takes a few more tries but I finally get the address of where the neighborhood committees are held.

  After I finish off my pork fried rice and spring roll, I still have about twenty minutes to kill so I hop in the truck and drive over to sit and wait in the parking lot.

  After about ten minutes, Iris hurries in. She’s carrying the tub of potato salad she purchased earlier. Once the doors close behind her, I turn the engine off and head inside. Even at the law offices of Blackwood and Blackwood, I enjoyed standing in the back of the room, watching everyone else as opposed to garnishing the spotlight right off the bat. I do the same here and stand quietly by a couple other guys who, I have to say, resemble handymen.

  I nod at one of them. “How’s it goin’?”

  He nods back but doesn’t make any effort at chit chat. I ignore his rudeness and lean up against the wall. I make myself comfortable and the meeting gets going.

  “We’re calling this month’s meeting to order early, as you know,” a woman who looks to be in charge room calls out to the crowd. “Iris Alden, our carnival co-chair, has some issues with the extra help we’d like to hire for the event.”

  There’s a few hems and haws. A little bit of laughter and then I hear a, “Surprise, surprise,” from somewhere nearby. I can’t figure out who said it though. Not that it matters.

  “Okay, okay,” the woman says. “Settle down.”

  Iris sits few seats down from her. She looks confident, yet distant. Like she’s somewhere else right now. Maybe wherever that phone call came from, earlier. Who was is anyway? And what was it all about? Whoever it was, I don’t like them much. They take her pizzazz away.

  “We have a three bids to listen to, from what I understand,” the woman tells us.

  “Two.” Iris raises her hand as she corrects her.

  And this is where I find a smile. Because she’s about to realize her planned has been foiled. The woman in charge checks her paperwork.

  “No, Iris, I’ve got three listed here. Tom Branton, from AKA metals, John Deems from over at Home Depot and a Carter Blackwood, self sustained.”

  Iris’s expression is priceless. Her mouth falls open in that adorable shock and awe kind of way that only she can make look sexy and then she scans the crowd, trying to remain unconcerned, until finally she sees me. I smile and give a salute.

  Yep, it’s me, Iris.

  Her body turns to face the woman in charge but her stare lingers a little longer with mine before she can give her full attention back to the committee.

  “I don’t have his bid, though,” she insists. I’m sure she’s hoping her declaration will exclude me from the offers.

  This is when I raise my papers up in the air and push myself off of the wall. I stride toward the front of the room, until I’m right smack dab in front of Iris’s seat, staring down at her with a friendly grin.

  “Brought it just for you, Iris.” My voice is even. Steeled.

  I set the bid on the table and slide it toward her. I don’t give her time to react before I turn around and head back to my spot against the wall. I don’t know what’s she’s thinking right now, but I have a lot of fun imagining what’s running through that beautiful brunette head of hers. The not-so-chatty handy man who refused to be polite earlier eyes me nervously when I return. I give him a wink for good measure.

  “Well this is out of our budget,” Iris says.

  I don’t respond this time. My role in this meeting is over, now it’s up to the votes.

  “We can work it out,” someone else says. It’s Meg and when Iris realizes it’s her friend speaking, she looks confused. Like she’s not sure how to take being disagreed with by someone so close.

  “I checked his references today,” Meg tells Iris. “He’s the real deal and really, it’s not much more than the other two.”

  “Which brings me back to my point to this whole mess in the first place,” Iris counters with a wave of her hand toward me, specifically. “Do we really need a handyman on site? Why can’t we just use one of the high school kids who need volunteer hours?”

  “That was a nightmare last year, if you recall correctly.” A man who’s all suited up for the occasion pipes in.

  “That’s was a one off situation, Hank, and you know it,” she reminds him.

  Iris squirms as everyone begins to gang up on her. They look like a swarm of piranha getting ready to tear her apart if she doesn’t retreat pretty quickly. But that’s not her style. I admit, at first I may have wanted this to be fun but as I listen to her arguments about money budgeting and the desperate need for a down payment on a playground for neighborhood kids later in the year, I feel like a dick; mostly because the needs of the kids far outweigh the needs of my income to increase. And even though there’s another kid out there in the universe that demands my help, the ones Iris are fighting for seem a tad more important. For now anyway.

  Sorry again, Spence.

  “Actually she’s got a point,” I announce without raising my hand or waiting for anyone to acknowledge me.

  The room goes quiet and Iris? She looks as though I’m speaking in tongues.

  Chapter 7. Iris

  “I just don’t get it.”

  “What’s that?” my boss asks from somewhere deep inside the realm of his office.

  “I double, no . . . I triple checked this presentation before I left, Mark. I even opened up the attachment from my sent file after I emailed it to you. It doesn’t make a lick of sense how it could have reverted back to an older version.”

  When I don’t hear anything back from him, I sense, something’s up. He’s silent. He’s never silent. Always talking. Always saying a bunch of nothing really, but still, talking. I push away from my cubicle and lean back to try and see what he’s up to in his office. I can only see the back of him as he stands, looking out this window at who knows what.

  “Mark?”

  He doesn’t answer again, so I abandon the power point presentation he called me in here to fix, and I step into his office.

  “Mark.” I say his name louder this time and he turns around, wearing stress in his expression. He sighs dramatically, slumps his shoulders and takes a seat. When he motions for me to do the same, across from him, I comply. I also hope he doesn’t see me check the time as I do.

  “What’s the matter?” I’m only half interested. My mind is too busy thinking about the meeting I’m supposed to be at in roughly one hour, to give him my full attention.

  Mark peers over at me, solemnly, before letting his eyes fall to his desk. Typically he’s full of himself. So full in fact that there’s no room for anyone else to be around him for long but now, he just looks like a lost little boy to me.

  “Kathy left me,” he says.

  “I’m—” This is so weird. “So sorry, Mark.” I lack any other words of encouragement for the moment but truth be told, I’m not really sorry. He’s an ass. I’m surprised his wife stayed with him this long.

  I push my chair away and excuse myself so I can go finish my task but then, he starts crying. And I’m not with my boss all of a sudden; I’m with a pathetic man whose heart is broken and alone.

  I reach across the desk, uncomfortably and pet his head. I don’t know what else to do and I already regret doing it because his sobs are louder now. So I stand and work my way around to where he’s sitting and I pat his back, awkwardly. Since I started working here, he and I have never once had a bonding experience as employer and employee. Male chauvinistic pig and lowly worker bee maybe, but not human a la human. Ever. I’m not sure what to say to the man, but I give it my best try.

  “It’s tough now, Mark, I know, but it’s going to be okay.”

  I don’t belie
ve a word I’m saying. I’m simply repeating things people said to me when James left. It’s all bullshit though. Things are still tough and they are definitely not okay yet. I’m beginning to think they never will be.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do!” He stands and wails as he covers his face.

  “Oh . . . you’ll . . . figure something out.” I give him with a soft punch to the upper arm. “You always do.” I lean closer and peek around him to see if he’s listening, then I add, “Really, I know you will.”

  I rub his back a little more and Mark’s sniffles slow to a controllable pace finally. He’s quiet for a moment with his hands still covering most of his face. He slides them down and away as he stares out the window momentarily, before turning to me. I smile. Yay me, I’ve done it. I’ve bonded with the boss and made him feel better. Then Mark gives me this look. I’ve seen this look before; on James, after fights we’ve had, it’s when he wants to make up and . . .

  Oh no.

  “Mark,” I whisper. “I don’t think --”

  He grabs a hold of my arms, pulls me toward him and kisses me. And not only does he kiss me, but his hands are everywhere. Ew ew ew ew ew.

  “Mark,” I squirm and plead through his open mouthed kisses against my lips. I push his hands down and away from me only to be assaulted again. He presses forward until I’m trapped between him and the filing cabinet.

  “Listen,” I tell him, but now, my hair has somehow gotten caught in the drawer and I’m more concerned about the fact that I can’t pull my head away without ripping the follicles painfully out. Ow.

  “Iris,” he moans as he finally pulls his mouth away from mine and onto my neck. Gross.

  “Mark!”

  “Oh, Iris.”

  “MARK.”

  “Mmmph.”

  I can’t take it anymore. He’s lost in some sick fantasy consisting of office sex and me. I refuse to be star of that B rated porn movie. I haven’t had sex in, well, too many months to count but even I’m not desperate enough to get turned on by this freak show. So I knee him as hard as I can in the groin area and hope for the best.