"She's won the McAfee three years in a row for her anchor spots. I'm very proud." I didn't pay for Kasha's ass, but it looks like I did. Which is an achievement in itself.
Leontine exhales down the phone. "I'd love to come. We all would, actually—I noticed you sent enough tickets, which is amazing of you—but I find myself a little sceptical. At that point, I expect to be going over your contract...I wouldn't want things to get awkward if we decide not to sign."
"Why would it be awkward?"
"Because it's not a done deal yet. And sitting on your table, getting friendly...it's nothing personal at all, but it seems a little premature."
"Leontine. Look. I'm a big boy. If you end up rejecting my offer, I promise not to cry too hard, okay?"
She seems to consider her laughter before letting it go. "Is that so?"
"Absolutely. And it's very flattering that you're worried about spending time in my company, panicking that I might be a little more persuasive than you'd like, but really. You should give yourself more credit."
More laughter. "Oh, so that's how it is?"
"No." I join her, chuckling down the phone. "Though I guess it would make my life easier."
"I'll do my best." There's the tongue cluck again. I can almost see it. "What does one wear to this kind of event?"
"Would one like me to send her a dress?"
"Oh, bloody hell, no."
"I'll have my assistant call you shortly. She'll hook you up."
"That's lovely, really, but it wo—"
"I insist." I drum my fingers against the desk. "And I look forward to seeing the results." I'll get Tuija to pick something prickly and uncomfortable, and then I'll watch the peach squirm all night.
Leontine makes a satisfied hmph sound. "You're very free with your flattery."
"I like to make women feel good about themselves."
"You're ahead of your time."
"I'm punctual." Ha.
"So I'll see you on Friday night, I suppose...?"
"You most certainly will. I look forward to it. And like I said—no pressure."
"No pressure," she murmurs. "Thank you, I...Aeron."
Already, my anticipation of Friday turns chemical; my pulse is offbeat, grating the insides of my wrists. I snap my teeth a few times, relishing the soft ache of the sound.
As soon as Leontine hangs up, I jab at my intercom and buzz through to the office down the hall. "Tuij?"
Static. Tuija clears her throat. "You rang?"
"Did I ever order a background check on Leontine Reeves?"
"Not as an individual, no." She sighs. "It'll be on your desk in the morning."
"I want everything from her kindergarten scribbles to the files from her gynaecologist. Oh—and she's expecting a call about a dress. Find her something couture. Tight."
"Slutty?" she says hopefully.
"I'm thinking red carpet." Red for so many things. "Send her lingerie, too. But no panties."
"Your fucked-up wish is my regrettable command."
You see how I get away with this shit? Tuij is so used to my asshole act, it's water off a duck's back. She even finds it funny.
If I had a conscience, it would weep itself hoarse.
TWENTY FOUR YEARS AGO
Farrow Middle School, New York
Aged Eight
"This is the second incident in a week." Principal Barnes sits back in his old office chair, arms folded against his bobbled navy suit. He fixes on my mother with suspicious eyes.
"I don't understand." She glances between the Principal and me. "Aeron was meant to be performing in the recital this morning. He—"
"We made the decision to withdraw that privilege," the old principal cuts in sharply. "His behaviour during rehearsals has been less than satisfactory. Less than safe, Mrs Lore. First, he lost his temper during choir practise and slammed the piano case on Mrs Pinter's fingers. At least one of them is broken. And then," he cuts his stoic gaze to me, "he shoved an entire line of fourth graders down the staircase in the lobby. They went down like dominoes." He takes a deep breath, as if to prompt my mother to join him.
"Jesus." My mother picks at the belt of her red trench coat; I know this cue. "Are the girls okay?"
"They were shocked. A few bruises. Fortunately, it's not a long staircase." He turns to me again, zeroes in with those yellowing, beady eyes. "It could have been a lot worse. I think you know that, don't you, Aeron?"
My school blazer feels stuff, heavy. Makes it hard to shrug. "It was an accident," I say quietly.
"And yet three other students—and your teacher—report that they distinctly saw you push."
My teacher. Miss Weisz. Rage simmers in my clenched fists.
"Principle Barnes." My mother reaches over to take one of my fists. She picks it apart, finger by finger, as if to demonstrate my harmless bravado. "He wouldn't be the first eight-year-old to do something silly in the heat of the moment. Or to have a temper."
"I need you to take these incidents seriously, Mrs Lore."
"Miss Lore," she corrects, her voice perfectly cool.
"Miss. My apologies."
"Of course." She deposits my hand back in my lap almost too quickly. Disowns it. "I'll speak to Aeron at home. He knows that he can't behave this way."