On the Verge (A Charmed Life Book 1) (2 page)

The lights flickered, hummed, buzzed.  The light they made was harsh and unflattering, but the buzzing bothered her most - always there, a constant noise at the very edge of her perception.  They gave her a headache.  She liked it better on the days when Chad was gone, and no one would complain when they turned off the lights and made do with the warm sunlight from the windows shining over the half-walls of the cube farm and the assortment of warmer-bulbed desk and floor lamps that most employees had brought in.  Her own cube had a nice floor lamp that she had inherited from a previous employee.  It was one of two things left in the cube when she'd gotten there, that and a post-it note hidden inside the drawer.  “To whomever may follow me - remember that this is just what you're doing to keep you going until you find yourself.”

It was rather cliché, but the touch of humanity made her feel welcome.  She kept the post-it note tucked safely away in the drawer, though it was getting a little ragged at the corners and the ink was changing colors.

“No, sir,” she said perkily into the phone, doing her best to suppress what she really wanted to say.  “I'm afraid there isn't another tech available at the moment, and the wait is quite long.  Would you rather work with me, or wait for another tech to open up?”

The man on the phone refused rather rudely, and Tracy transferred him to the escalated wait line, then hit the button signaling a bathroom break.  She gave in to the sigh of frustration she had suppressed earlier as she rose to her feet, pressing her knuckles into her lower back with a quiet crackling noise.

“Another one for the board?” asked John, putting his own call on mute.

Tracy gave a bitter little half-smile and nodded, adding another hash to the small white board in her cube, each one representing one customer who had assumed she didn't know anything about technology because she was a woman.  One would imagine that if you'd gotten past the standard tech-support script-readers and to an actual tech, you'd assume they know what they're doing, but no.  She shrugged helplessly to John, and walked down the aisle between row after row of cubes.

The room was full of odd little half-smells - the hidden things that fell down behind desks, the air freshener they used to try to hide the smell of hidden things that fell down behind desks, and the mixed scent of a half-dozen different odoriferous snacks, microwave popcorn ruling over them all.

Despite desperate bits of decoration trying to personalize them, the cubes were all the same - little half-sized areas corralling a little computer and a bored worker wearing the same polo shirt that every other corporate minion wore.  The bored buzz of dozens of voices asking the same questions permeated the air, mixing with the buzz of the overhead lights to create that unique office drone.

“Just one more hour,” she reminded herself.  “Then you can go home.”

The hour crawled past, until, ages later, it was on its final minute.  Tracy stared at the clock as the second hand slowly, slowly clicked its way around the clock, half-listening to the man on the phone complaining about her company's service.

It struck the twelve and moved onward.  Her shift was over.

“Oh, I totally understand,” Tracy said brightly into the phone.  “It's not fair that you've been waiting on the phone for another hour just to get me again.  I don't know what happened, but I'll recommend on your file a month of free service, and make sure you get transferred immediately to someone who can help you.”

She put the phone on hold before the man could say anything else and stood up, giving a weary stretch.  “John!” she said quietly to the next cube over.

John looked up, thumbing the mute button, his eyes glazed over as he half-listened to his own client.  “When you're done there, line fifteen.  He refuses to let me help him.” John rolled his eyes and gave a thumbs-up.

Tracy keyed in a quick note for a free month's service on the customer's file, and another never to give him a female tech, then logged out.  She grabbed up her jacket and hurried past the mass of people all gathering their things together, reaching the front desk ahead of most of them, beating the long line to clock out.

The night was still chilly and fell early, the winter months lingering.  Twilight was waning as Tracy stepped out of the office building and turned down the street, shivering and wrapping her arms tight around herself.  Even in her puffy blue goose down jacket and with her face half-hidden under a woolly pink cap and scarf, the wind bit sharply through the thick clothes and instantly chilled any skin still bare.  She ducked down into the wind and pressed forward, making her way along the cold street.  Despite being rush hour, there were few people along the sidewalk, most of them hurrying into cars to get out of the cold wind and home to warm houses.

Tracy had a truck, but she didn't like to use it for casual driving.  Parking was such a hassle that it was easier just to depend upon public transportation for her daily trip to and from work.  She stared down at the pavement and ignored the offices and storefronts she passed, quickly reaching the bus station several blocks away and its scarce respite from the biting wind.  Tracy shivered there – despite being protected from the wind, the cold continued seeping deeper in.  She always got cold easy, and these times spent waiting were always so difficult.  Twilight passed quickly, and the sky was dark by the time the bus turned the corner.

The bus ride wasn't long - short enough that Tracy couldn't warm up by the time it finished, just became less uncomfortable.  Once she got off at her stop, she counted herself as lucky that her street ran a different direction from the previous one, with the several-story brick buildings giving a bit of protection from the cold that the wind carried with it.  Even so, she still hurried along with her head down, guarding against even the faintest breeze that bit at the small open area around her eyes, staring at the small patch of pavement in front of her feet.  She very nearly tripped over the small gray cat that appeared quite suddenly in her field of vision.

The cat was just sitting on the cold pavement, a uniform gray from nose to tail tip, staring up at Tracy unconcernedly with serious yellow eyes.  “Hey, kitty!” chirped Tracy, sitting on her heels to get closer.  “Aren't you worried about getting out of the way? I could have stepped on you!”

The cat stared at her, unresponsive, a slight tilt to its head.

Tracy wriggled her hand out of her puffy pink mitten and reached her fingers out towards the cat, which finally responded to her by sniffing at the proffered fingers.  She let the cat get her scent, waiting for it until it rubbed its muzzle lightly against her hand.  Her fingers played gently over the cat's muzzle and cheek, then up to rub lightly over its velvety soft triangle ears.

Tracy was never one to make baby noises at cats.  She did, however, make a soft purring sort of noise, encouragingly.  The cat accepted her touch for a half a minute in dignified silence, head leaning into her touch, then it stood up and walked past her and away.  Tracy smiled and got up, turning to watch its noble walk, but in the half-second her eyes had been off of it the cat had disappeared.

“The Batman has nothing on cats,” Tracy said, laughing to herself.  She pulled her mitten back on, the extra bite in her fingers regretted a little bit more now that the cat was no longer there distracting her.

It was only a short distance more to her apartment building.  She nudged her key in and out of the keyhole, trying to get it just right - it was a bad copy of the key, and wouldn't turn when it was pushed all the way in.  She couldn't help but think of a bad horror movie as she fumbled with the lock, knowing that if some beast was chasing her, this would be her end.

As she closed the door behind her, she heard a soft noise.  A gray cat was sitting in the middle of the hallway, staring at her with a baleful golden gaze.  “Well, hey there,” Tracy smiled.  “Are you the same guy I just saw out there?” The cat tilted its head to the side and didn't answer.  If it wasn't the same cat, he looked amazingly similar.  “Well, you sure got back here quickly.  Best get back to your apartment before the manager sees you.  He doesn't like pets very much.”

The cat failed to respond, which didn't surprise Tracy at all.  She stepped around it and headed up the stairs.  Glancing back, she saw the cat still watching her, standing up now and turned halfway around, tail swishing idly.  She smiled and moved on, losing sight of it as she reached the second floor.

The halls were full of mixed scents.  That family was having Italian; this family had a heavy smoker.  This one had ordered Gyros.  This next one had some sort of sickly-sweet smoke smell.  This apartment had animals in it - wood chips, fur, droppings.  The air was a bit stale above it all - the window at the end of the hall hadn't been opened since fall.

Tracy's own lock was both easier and harder than the front lock.  The key fit easily enough, but the deadbolt was rusted and needed a good hard twist to unlock.  It made her feel a little safe - no one could pick a lock that was this hard to turn.  But then there was that little part of her that reminded her that locks were a social nicety – these doors were hardly secure.

Her apartment was dark and cold, but the air was crisp and as fresh as you could get in the city.  She closed the door behind her and walked over to close the window, which had been open a couple inches the entire day.  It was freezing in here, but it would be warm enough by the time she went to sleep.

She turned around and the gray cat was sitting in the middle of the living room.  “Oh!” Tracy exclaimed, startled.  “You little Houdini!  I didn't even notice you slip past me.  Your family's going to want you!” She opened the door and gestured for the cat to go out.  It didn't pay attention, of course.

She tried for ten minutes to chase or lure the cat out into the hall, but it stubbornly resisted all enticements and avoided any snares.  Promises of milk or bits of meat didn't draw him; he didn't come when she whistled or gestured at him.  He slipped away when she tried to come close enough to touch at his ears or pick him up, and when she finally just tried to yell at him and scare him away, he sat down and stared at her with his head tilted to the side, as if to say, 'really?'  Finally, Tracy closed the door and sat down on her couch, giving a deep sigh.  The cat leaped up on her lap and sat there, staring up at her with its bright eyes.  She laughed helplessly and touched over its head and ears.  “Okay, you imp.  You're just impossible.  Which means you're exactly how a cat should be.”  Tracy sat quiet on the couch for a while, playing with feline ears and muzzle, listening to the reassuring muffled sounds of other people in other apartments living other lives somewhere outside her walls.

Finally, she looked down at the feline in her lap.  “You know,” she said to the content, curled-up cat, “you're going to need a name.  Not that you're staying, but …” she broke off.  “No, I'm not going to think about that, because if I give you a name, you'll end up staying, and I don't have the money for that.” She took a breath.  “So, Mr. Nameless Cat, what are we going to eat tonight?”

The cat looked at her impassively.

“I know you want food, because you're a cat.  Cats always want two things: food and sleep.  There's also the attention thing, but cats don't always want attention, they only want attention when you're doing something else.  Regardless, though, I'm hungry, we both need food, and you're going to have to get off my lap.”

The cat continued looking at her, shifting and letting its claws prick at her legs through her slacks.

“No, seriously, I can't reach the kitchen from here.  My arms aren't that long.”

The cat's yellow gaze kept staring up at her face.  She sighed and set the cat to the side, pulling against the light tug of claws.  The cat immediately decided it didn't really want to be in her lap anymore, after all, and hopped down to lead her into the kitchen.

“What do you eat?” she asked as she followed the cat into the kitchen.  “I suppose I could look it up - I don't want you puking on my carpet after I feed you, but I think all the sites would just say 'cat food' and I'm not going out just to get you a can of mystery meat-like goo.  I'm in, I'm hungry, and my friends are coming over soon.  I can pick you up something tomorrow.”

She paused.

“Not that you're going to be here tomorrow, because I'm not paying the extra twenty-five a month for you.  So I guess I won't pick up something tomorrow on the way home.  How's chicken sound?”

Tracy turned on the stove and set on a pot of rice with some canola oil and salt.  Then, in a saucepan, she tossed some oil and wine in to heat up, then put in a bed of veggies, covered the bed with two chicken breasts, and buried them both with her homemade salsa.  The glass lids she covered both pots with rapidly fogged from the cooking food.

“Well, now we just wait a half an hour,” she said to the nameless cat twining about her feet, as the smells began to mix through the kitchen.  She imagined someone else coming home and walking past her door, giving a sniff, and saying, “Ah, they're having salsa chicken.”

She checked email on her laptop at the table while dinner cooked itself.  At first, her new friend wanted to try to help her type, but it was content when she moved the cat to her lap and devoted one hand towards giving it attention.  “Wonder if you're a boy or a girl,” she murmured softly as she deleted all the obvious spam.  “I could look, but that seems a bit rude.  I'll just call you a guy for now, until I find out differently.  There's at least a thirty percent chance that I'm right.” The cat looked up at her, and she defended her numbers, “No, I did the math right.  Sure, most people'd have a fifty percent chance, but I'm taking into account my personal luck.  But then, you're not a black cat, so perhaps it's more of a forty percent chance!”