Guilty Pleasures   ::   Гамильтон Лорел

Edward said, “What the hell happened? You jumped like something bit you.”

I hit the button on the beeper, to shut it off and see who had called. The number lit up briefly. “My beeper went off on silent mode. No noise, just vibration.”

He glanced at me. “You are not going to call work.” He made it sound like a statement or an order.

“Look, Edward, I'm not feeling so hot, so don't argue with me.”

I heard his breath ease out, but what could he say? I was driving. Short of drawing his gun and hijacking me, he was along for the ride. I took the next exit and located a pay phone at a convenience store. The store lot was fully lit and made me a wonderful target, but after the ghouls I wanted light.

Edward watched me get out of the car with my billfold gripped in my hand. He did not get out to watch my back. Fine, I had my gun. If he wanted to pout, let him.

I called work. Craig, our night secretary, answered. “Animators, Inc. May I help you?”

“Hi, Craig, this is Anita. What's up?”

“Irving Griswold called, says to call him back ASAP or the meeting's off. He said you'd know what that meant. Do you?”

“Yes. Thanks, Craig.”

“You sound awful.”

“Good night, Craig.” I hung up on him. I felt tired and sluggish, and my throat hurt. I wanted to curl up somewhere dark and quiet for about a week. Instead, I called Irving. “It's me,” I said.

“Well, it's about time. Do you know the trouble I've gone through to set this up? You almost missed it.”

“If you don't quit talking, I may still miss it. Tell me where and when.”

He did. If we hurried, we'd make it. “Why is everyone so hot to do everything tonight?” I said.

“Hey, if you don't want to meet, that's fine.”

“Irving, I've had a very, very long night, so stop bitching at me.”

“Are you all right?”

What a stupid question. “Not really, but I'll live.”

“If you're hurt, I'll try to get the meeting postponed, but I can't promise anything, Anita. It was your message that got him this far.”

I leaned my forehead against the metal of the booth. “I'll be there, Irving.”

“I won't be.” He sounded thoroughly disgusted. “One of the conditions was no reporters and no police.”

I had to smile. Poor Irving; he was getting left out of everything. He hadn't been attacked by ghouls and almost blown up, though. Maybe I should save my pity for myself.

“Thanks, Irving, I owe you one.”

“You owe me several,” he said. “Be careful.