Pumpking

Issue 7

I continued on with wiping down the already pristine surface and sighed. It was a pity, I suppose. He was too intense. Why would he want my eyes? The question gnawed at me... he hadn't been insulting me; in fact, maybe it had been more of a compliment. He thought I was smart. Well I had done well in school before I left. My teachers had been upset when I pulled out. So had Cynthia. I sighed again thinking about Cynthia. Of all the foster parents I'd had, I missed her the most.

"Are you girls done in here?" Jerry Bottom was standing at the door, poking his bearded face in. he was paranoid about germs being disturbed whilst we were cleaning and never entered a room until we had 'finished.' Despite that, he was a good enough folk. Watery green eyes and dark hair, an expanding waistline squeezed into a charcoal grey business suit.

"Yep. Bang, finished in the bathroom?" I called out in English this time.

"Uh-huh."

"Good. The VIP is six hours early."

"What?"

"He's in the lobby right now. C'mon, pack up your stuff and finish up."

We scrambled to grab our things. I dropped my phone and the damn thing broke all over the floor. "Shit. Give me one minute, I've got to at least grab it."

Jerry shot me a worried look but he was busy hustling the other two out to the service elevator. They left the door propped open behind them.

I found the back of the phone, but my sim had skipped under the couch. Damnit. Why couldn't I have put it in my other pocket where it never fell out?

I sat on my belly and reached for it, trying not to move the couch as I stuck my arm under the edge. Some people would call up and complain if the couch was moved and they saw the indent in the carpet.

The lift dinged.

Footsteps behind me- probably Jerry coming to tell me to hurry up, "I know Jerry, I've just lost my sim under the couch. Give me a second."

Amazingly he entered the room and the couch shifted, lifting ever so slightly so I could reach the phone. I snatched it and pulled back, "Thanks, Jerry."

I packed the cleaning supplies away and was halfway out the door when I realized that Jerry wouldn't have lifted the couch with one hand. I spun on my heels. Raising a hand to my mouth as I realized that it wasn't my manager and I had just breezed past a stranger.

He was gorgeous; the second incredibly hot gentleman I'd met tonight. Short, white-blond hair gelled in a classic James Dean cut. Clean, unblemished white skin and eyes that were precisely cornflower blue. He flashed me a relaxed, unoffended smile and two-fingered salute. His navy blue Armani suit was a classic cut and shape; dressed for dinner. He had a sort of charm about him that made me think of the kind of guy who would be seen at charity auctions. The kind of movie-star good looks that Hollywood made.