Dr. Stud

I’m all sticky and hot, irritated that I had to walk all the way here. Now this jerk wants to antagonize me? Maybe this was a stupid idea. I didn’t have to come here, right? I could have just continued on home. I’m sure I would’ve made it there eventually. Or a bus! Now would’ve been a great day to discover the wonders of public transit in our fine city. I know there is one. I’ve seen the bus before, chugging down the few main roads. It would’ve gotten me somewhere, at least.

I stretch backward, raising my hands over my head. As I do, I get a whiff of myself. I’m all sweaty and gross, and I kinda smell bad. Great. Just great. If my cell phone wasn’t completely out of charge I could take a look at myself and see what kind of nightmare my mascara has turned into. I could feel it going all slimy as I walked. I probably look absolutely ridiculous.

“Jesus, are you okay?” Dahlia exclaims as she slides into view. Her eyebrows twist together in the middle as she stares into the video screen from somewhere inside this building. “Were you attacked or something? Do you need me to call 911?”

“Hi to you too,” I quip. “Um, do you think you could just go ahead and let me in?”

I hear the clang of some kind of metal device inside the ginormous door and it pops open about three inches.

“You’re alone?” she asks urgently, but I just ignore her and yank the door open the rest of the way.

I’m probably being laser scanned as I stand here in the empty foyer area. It’s all white marble, almost like an executive’s idea of a surgical room. Dahlia once told me that everything in this place was engineered for some kind of psychological advantage. Everybody’s an enemy, apparently. August is always looking for ways to let everyone know that.

It is a little over-the-top, if you ask me. I mean, I know he does real security stuff. He deals with real-life murder threats, gets celebrities away from stalkers or danger, and Dahlia has hinted that he still does secret government stuff from time to time. He’s a pretty well-connected guy. I know that’s all true.

But still, does he think he’s Tom Cruise or something? Jason frickin’ Bourne? Does it all have to be this fucking dramatic?

I just stand here and wait for a little while like a good girl. I know the drill. I’ve been here a few times since they rehabbed it, when they expanded for a bunch of new agents and their marital bliss at the same time. Which is cool, really. It was nice that August built the nursery and the master suite into the warehouse before little Knox was born. And I think it’s pretty cool that Dahlia gets to work from home. Living the dream, if you ask me.

I hear footsteps that seem to be coming from a mile away and hold my arms out slightly from my sides, just in case the laser scan is a real thing. It is sort of like trying to get through security at the county courthouse. I found that out the hard way when I had to go for jury duty. I didn’t realize that the county courthouse was going to be all metal detectors and x-ray machines and angry-looking security guards with Batman-type utility belts.

Why didn’t they tell me on the jury summons that I shouldn’t bring a switchblade in my purse? That could have saved me a lot of time, if you want to know the truth. That would’ve been a real public service, if you ask me.

But no, I just stuffed my bag in that shoebox thing and put it on the conveyor belt to go through the x-ray machine. All of a sudden, lights started flashing and everybody sprang into action like I’d raised an Uzi over my head.

Drama!

The footsteps get closer and I see Dahlia in silhouette through the wobbly security glass of the interior door. She yanks a card from a lanyard around her neck toward a small s

ecurity screen. The bolt unlatches and she flings the door open, scanning me up and down with an expression of alarm.

“So, you’re okay? Are you sure?”

“It’s great to see you too,” I mumble as she inspects me, circling around me with her hands out like I might be covered in the blood of a homeless person or something.

“Bunny, be serious! What’s wrong! Do you need help? Are you under duress?”

She slides her hand on my back, like she’s feeling me for explosives. I twist away irritably.

“Okay, can you drop the super secret spy act for just a second?” I huff. “I’m fine. I just had to… you know. Walk.”

She blinks at me several times. “Walk?”

Suddenly, I’m aware of just how much my feet hurt. I wonder if I will still be able to return these boots.

“Yes, walking? You may have heard of it? Something people do when they get fired from their jobs at shitty diners and have to use foot power to get to their best friend’s house? The one who never calls or anything anymore? Like that? Sound familiar?”

“There is no reason to be sarcastic,” she sighs through her nose. “I just wanted to know you’re okay. You got fired?”

The room seems quite white. Glaringly white. Weirdly white.

“Are you going to invite me in or something? I would really love to sit down, if that’s okay.”

“Oh, sweetie, of course!” she smiles, briefly becoming my friend again. “Knox just went down for a nap, though, so keep it quiet, okay? He’s so difficult when he doesn’t get enough sleep.”

And just like that, my old friend disappears. Poof. Replaced by this mom robot.

She heads back to the security door, and I follow her quietly, sort of amazed how many doors there are in this place. It looks totally different than the first time I was here. Back then, it almost had that kind of loner bachelor rebel vibe to it. Now it’s full CIA.