Epic Escape (10 page)

Mr. Steve’s eyes rose from his tissue, but his gaze didn’t reach higher than Megan’s chest. He shoved his thick glasses further up his nose with his left middle finger. “What?”
Sniff.

He sounded like he needed to blow his nose.

Megan realized where his eyes were staring and held the file in front of her chest. “Uh, the copy code?”

“423A9.”

Megan left fast. She retrieved her stack of papers and took them into the copy room. The copy room smelled like new paper and the machines buzzed and made the room warm. Megan leaned against the heated machine, aligned the pages in the beige document feeder, and typed in the code. Nothing happened. She rattled the feeder. Nothing happened.

Sniff.
Mr. Steve huffed his way into the room.

“Um, the code you gave me isn’t working. What is it, again?”

Mr. Steve got in her space, and looked over her shoulder at the keypad.
Sniff.
Megan pushed into the hard edges of the copier to give him more room.

He stepped closer. “You forgot to press pound. The password won’t work without the pound key, silly girl.” Mr. Steve put his arm around her and pressed the button.
Whoosh.
The copies fed through the machine.

Mr. Steve grunted and nodded, then grabbed an envelope off the shelf, and headed back to the door. On his way out, he brushed against Megan as if there weren’t enough room to get by, although there was easily five feet of clear space behind her. He said, “Excuse me. Pardon me.”

Megan threw herself against the machine to get away. The edge of the paper holder jabbed her shin and tore a small hole in her panty hose. She rubbed the sore spot knowing it would run.

The manager appeared in the doorway, her eyes on Megan. “When you wear stockings with runs in them, you’re not in compliance with the dress code.”

“It just happened.”

The manager pinched the thick material of her own
suntan-colored hose and stretched the fabric out two inches, and she released it. The material snapped back into place leaving only a small pucker.
Pop.
The manager seemed satisfied with the sound, so she gave the nylon a second snap.
Pop.
“You need to buy a stronger-grade of hose. You don’t have to be so… what’s the word?
Fancy
.”

I will never wear tan pantyhose made of industrial grade material,
Megan said to herself.
I make this vow now. Not even if those stockings get me a job, or a way home, or Chase. Never.
Megan made a break for the door.

“Oh, and Hetta? Remember, those forms are due at five p.m. You should probably keep a list of how many you’ve done in case I need regular updates on your progress.”

“Five o’clock. Got it. And, my name’s Megan.”

M
egan flexed her fingers and hoisted her completed stack. The acrid smell of lunch wafted through the hallway:
Someone re-heating fish in the microwave again.
She held her breath as she moved down the overheated hall, and sat the pile on the manager’s desk, just managing to keep a proud smile off her face. “Here you go.” She rocked back on her heels and awaited the praise.

The manager waited several seconds, and slowly raised her head. “Oh, when did you come in? I didn’t hear you knock.” After that subtle chastisement, the manager glanced from the door to the stack and picked up the top page. “It seems you used blue ink. These have to be done in black ink because of the copier, you know.”

Megan frowned. “You can photocopy blue ink.”

“I don’t make the rules, Hetta. You’ll need to sign and date them in black ink. Oh, and you used a date stamp. You must handwrite the date. Each date, with a pen, but not with blue ink. You must use black ink, so the image will copy clearly. It’s how we’ve always completed these forms and we’ve gotten by for this long.” She slowed her speech pointedly, as if she were talking to a child, or a dog.

Megan picked up the papers. The stack felt heavier than before, and the top right edge cut into the inner skin of her arm.

“And you’ll need to write a note to file to explain why they’re signed twice and why a date stamp was ever used at all.” The manager muttered “new” and “blue ink” and “fancy” under her breath.

Megan called through the wall to Veronica and Riley. “Got a black pen?”

Riley threw one over and Megan got to work. Sign and date. Put in signed stack. Repeat.

Riley leaned over the top of her cube. “You’re welcome, Hetta.” He escalated the pace of his dueling banjoes.

Megan rubbed at her temple. She might have preferred him when he was an angry fighter. “It’s not that bad guys, only some copying, and at least there’s no live audience.”

Riley snorted and disappeared.

She wouldn’t have said ink had a smell, but after a few hours, it did. The fluorescent light overhead hummed. A bulb must be going out. She flexed her cramped fingers and started on another pile.

The manager stopped by and eyed her stack. “Hetta.”

Riley snickered from the other cubicle and the manager moved over to them. Megan rose and followed, rolling her shoulders to work out the kink that had settled between her shoulder blades.

Inside Veronica’s cube, Riley signed a form, passed the page to Veronica and she dated the signature. From the size of their stack, this was the first form they’d done.
The first one.
Her mouth dropped open.

The manager crossed her arms over her chest and nodded. “It looks like you two developed a system. That’s good.
Work smarter, not harder.”

Megan leaned against the wall. “One? You’ve done
one
?”

The manager picked up the majority of Veronica and Riley’s pages and handed them to Megan. “Good point, we’ll need to redistribute a bit of this work.”

Megan dropped them in her cube and sank down into her chair staring at them. The manager followed her and lifted up the completed stack. “Give these to Mr. Steve. So he’ll know I got them done. I know how to manage my department.”

Megan kept her head down so the manager wouldn’t see her disgust. When she first got here, she thought the office workers kept their heads down because they were thinking hard on a task or they were servile. Now, she knew it was to hide their revulsion. Grabbing the completed forms, she placed them strategically in front of her chest before walking to Mr. Steve’s office.
Tap, tap, tap.

Sniff
.

“Enter.” Mr. Steve raised his eyes chest-high. When he saw paperwork rather than her endowments, he grunted and looked down, pointing to a plastic crate adjacent to his desk. “Put them in the crate.”

Megan bent and started to file them when she felt something prodding her calf. She looked over.

Mr. Steve’s pinky finger was wedged into the hole in her panty hose.

Sniff
.

“B
ucking the dress code, are we?” Megan jerked back, dislodging Mr. Steve’s finger. Heart pounding, stomach rolling, she wobbled on one foot, and dropped the stack of papers into the carton, not caring that they weren’t filed. She shoved passed the woman in the tight dress, and into the hallway.

“Some of us
work,
to earn
our
promotions,” the woman said, looking Megan up and down. Megan didn’t say anything, just picked up her pace.

The manager was waiting in her cubicle when she returned. “I don’t know what’s so hard about this task, but not everybody had the time you had to work on it, and some people had to leave. So here’s a bit more.” A heavy stack of papers landed on Megan’s desk. “We’ll need you to stay late.” With that, the manager left.

Megan hopped on her counter and propped her legs against the armrest on her chair. The high-heeled pumps got kicked off first. She reached under the edge of her skirt and yanked her stockings down below her knees.

Chase entered her cubicle. “That door’s jammed.”

Megan didn’t look up from her stockings. “Off,” she said. She frantically rolled one stocking down her leg.

Chase raised his eyebrows, but he went over and put his hands over her other calf and rolled the second stocking down. Megan wanted rub his fingers on her first calf too, to wipe away the feel of Mr. Steve. Chase’s hands were warm not intrusive and damp. She grabbed his waist. Chase took a step closer.

The woman in the tight dress walked by, sneered, and shook her head without saying anything. Megan hopped off the desk. “Thanks Chase. I’ll meet you at the door. I just have to do one thing.” Megan lifted the large stack of papers and stalked down the hall.

The woman in the tight dress kept pace with her. “My, you’re like watching the all access channel.” She followed her all the way into the manager’s door.

Megan stepped inside without knocking, and threw the stack at the manager. Papers fluttered haphazardly to the floor, flying out of order, littering the space in squares of white.

“I’m not your bitch!”

T
he gummy bears stuck to the theater screen by the delinquent spittle coating their backs. He’d told the manager they shouldn’t sell gummy candy. Kids couldn’t be trusted with snacks of any kind, much less sticky candy that had the ability to tear and destroy the surface of a screen. The surface where light, action and magic filled the room.

The usher edged an orange one off with his fingernail, and the little bear bounced to the ground creating a new spot to clean. He checked his walkie-talkie, and patted his utility belt.
The cell phone vibrated under his hand.
The usher’s breathing raced and he climbed down from the ladder and scurried to the corner before taking the call.

“Get Chase out,” the feminine voice said through the speaker.

“He hasn’t learned anything.” His anxiety spiked. Chase was only one kid. She hadn’t seen what the hordes had done to the theater. “There’s popcorn everywhere. I haven’t gotten to the balcony. And the candy…”

“I didn’t realize some of the money was his. I need it. Get him out, now.”

“Money? But the lesson. They were bad, no one understands how bad.”

“I don’t care about the others. Leave them, but Get Chase Out.”

The usher gritted his teeth and nodded. “Okay.” He clicked the phone off and examined the empty theatre. The screen, the balcony, the carpets, all the surfaces needed to be sanitized.

W
e will get free. We will leave.
Megan stalked to the exit, determination fueling every step. Chase, Veronica, and Riley met her in the hall. Veronica raised her eyebrows.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Megan shoved at the silver door lever. It didn’t budge. She put her shoulder to the door, pressing so hard she knew there would be a bruise. “Over here. Now,” she ordered the others. They added their weight.
Whoosh.

Megan blinked when the daylight hit her eyes, the brightness of the sun shocking after time spent in the florescent oppression of the office. Sunlight glinted off the towering glass buildings up and down the street, but the sunlight wasn’t any brighter than their reflections. The guys wore black, but she and Veronica wore futuristic lamé Capri pants with neon-edged halter tops. The fashion pollution was almost as nauseating as the acrid car exhaust on offer.

Veronica said, “Weird. We only had to get up and walk out together to leave that office.”

Megan shook her head, stomach churning at the memory. “I don’t know why I thought I had to stay.”

“And you, going all crazy on that manager…” Veronica sounded admiring.

“I can never get those hours back.”

A nearby vendor hawked his goods on a foldout table and Megan welcomed the distraction. The grizzled man said, “Bargains, bargains over here.”

Shopping? A bargain?
Her feet carried her forward. The table was empty save five items: a golden lasso, a pair of thick bracelets, and three cards. The cards were the size of playing cards: one red, one pink and one blue. “Choose wisely, my lovely,” the vendor said.

Megan touched each item.

“Yellow rope.” Chase chose it and the rope independently twined around his wrist. “Cool.”

Veronica lifted the cards and read aloud. “Telekinesis, super strength, and

reanimation.” She returned the reanimation and super strength cards to the table. “I get telekinesis.”

“Super strength?” Megan snatched up the red card. “I want that.”

Riley picked up the two gold, thick bracelets. “Really? You left me the bracelets?”