Page 11 of Signed, I'm Yours!
I hand it back to her, and her distraught expression changes to a more agreeable one.
“Of course, sir. Please. Go right through. And if there’s anything I can do for you, let me know.”
I nod and am about to walk away when I squelch.
Huh?
I look down at my beautiful Jimmy Choos and almost burst into tears. They’re covered in mud. Damn it. Fucking John!
“Actually!” I turn around. “Is there anywhere I can clean my shoes?”
Karen looks from me to my trainers to John.
“Oh, that doesn’t look good, dear.”
“You think?”
“Hang on,” Karen says, grabbing a walkie-talkie from her desk. “Mortie, do you copy?”
She waits for an answer but nothing.
“Mortie, wake your ass up and answer me.”
“I’m here. I’m here,” says someone on the other end of the line.
“You’re supposed to say copy,” Karen reminds him.
“Copy,” Mortie answers.
“No. You’re supposed to say I’m here. Copy.” She rolls her eyes, and I cross my hands, trying to make sense of what’s happening.
“What do you want, Karen?”
“I’ve got a pair of shoes that need cleaning.” She turns and smiles at me.
“What?” Mortie asks.
“Get your ass in here, Mortie. Copy.”
“Is that your costume supervisor?”
Karen grimaces. “Our what?”
“Your costume supervisor. Does he take care of stains, rips, and everything in between?”
I didn’t know they had those kinds of people in government agencies.
“Of course not, sir. He’s the other security guy. Now, give me your shoes, and he’ll do a mean job, I swear.”
I shake my head, but I’ve already wasted enough time here, and I have limited time before my signature expires.
It’s not like there’s a timer on it. My signatures are unpredictable. Sometimes, they last longer. Sometimes, they don’t. Sometimes, I can sign back to back, and others…it doesn’t even work the first time. I hate that about my power, but by this point in my life, I’ve learned to expect the unexpected. Besides, there’s always a workaround, whichever problem arises. I just need to know the right place to put my signature.
“Fine,” I say and take my shoes off.
Karen wants to find me another pair to put on, but I refuse and ask John to show me around instead.
Which he does, bless him. He shows me from door to door. Floor to floor, raving about the agency, how great it is, how perfectly everything works. What great work they do here at SPAM, and all the while, I’m trying to figure out if this would be the right kind of building to keep prisoners or if there’s another building.
