Precariously balancing wobbling
coffee and a blueberry muffin in one pale hand, Scarlett reached for the
sliding glass door handle. She yanked
hard, too impatient to deal with the normally-stubborn obstacle it presented to
breakfast outside. But ever the
contrarian, her glass door popped free easily, slamming into the frame and
knocking Scarlett forward.
She looked down at her now-dripping, coffee-soaked shirt
and griped aloud. “Are you freaking
kidding me? My favorite one? Jesus. And I was hoping to wear this to the
meeting with the editor today, too. Damn.” Scarlett stripped off her “thick thighs x thin patience” t-shirt
and stalked back through the now-open sliding glass door, dropping the ruined shirt
in her laundry basket while glaring at the inanimate object that’d caused her early-morning
grief.
As she stepped back out to observe the unusually colorful
city today – amazingly, there are flowers
growing and the Rainbow River is noxiously living up to its name – she trod
on an envelope that’d been wedged underneath her devilish door. “Scarlett” was the only address on the unassuming
white paper, now dusty with her footprint. What
is this? And how did somebody get it up here? Ooh, a mystery! But despite
her best detective efforts – which were admittedly rather dismal – she could
see no sign of how the envelope came to be underneath her seventh-floor balcony
door. Momentarily thwarted, Scarlett
opened the envelope to find just two sentences inside, cut out from blocky newspaper
letters:
“Meet me at the Eerie St. abandoned
observatory at 11:02. Don’t be late or else.”
“Huh. Creepy.” Scarlett
pondered aloud to herself. But her
curiosity had been awakened, and it had always been one of her cardinal sins. (Or at least her mother said so.) “Let’s go!”
She charged out the door and got halfway down the hallway, greeting a passing
Jenn Sonyac cheerily before Jenn’s raised eyebrow and hesitant hello told her
something was wrong. “Wha-?” Scarlett looked down at herself, realizing quickly
that she’d forgotten to put another shirt back on. With her blindingly neon
yellow sports bra, it was rather hard to miss. “Whoops,” Scarlett grinned
sheepishly. “Sorry, Jenn!”
Now properly attired, Scarlett strode down 45th
Street towards Eerie Street. Spotting an
interesting-looking speck in the distance and hearing some shouting, she broke
into a light jog. “Oh! Pope Michael! Good morning, sir!” She
interrupted his argument with the angry pedestrian he was trying to force into
his rickety portable confessional – so that’s
what the shouting was. The old man
spun around, surprised, and lost his balance, sitting down hard on the curb. The
pedestrian quickly escaped, encouraged by Scarlett’s less-than-subtle hand
motions, as Scarlett checked on the Pope. She crouched down just as he began to stand up
and they smacked heads, sending them both stumbling and groaning off in
different directions.
“Shit! Fu – um, fudge!” Scarlett couldn’t hold it in. That’s the third incident today. The way
everything’s going, I’ll probably leave this creepy meeting in a body bag. Darn;
I really wanted to finish that book about those Timbuktu smugglers.
“Young lady,” Pope Michael scolded when he’d regained his
equilibrium, “even your tongue has a red-headed temper. Now into the
confessional with you.” He held the wooden door open expectantly, staring at
Scarlett. Rolling her eyes, Scarlett decided to humor him. She fit her lanky
body into the tight space, breathing in the stale air and trying not to cough.
“What sins do you wish to confess to our Lord God
Almighty?” Came an otherworldly voice from the other side. Wow. He’s actually pretty good at this theatrical stuff, Scarlett
mused.
“I’ve been told I curse too much. Oh, and I took the Lord’s name in vain earlier
today. And…I’m a pretty judgmental
person. Quick to anger, no patience. It’s
partially the redhead in me, partially just my personality. So, yeah. Any
forgiveness?” There was a whole laundry list of more sins that she could
recount, but Scarlett didn’t really want sweet Pope Michael knowing all of
that.
“Your sins have been washed clean by the Lord.”
Scarlett popped out of the
confessional and beamed. “Great! Now I’ve really gotta go, thanks!” She pressed
a twenty – her Catholic “indulgences,” to help with Pope Michael’s groceries – into
his hand and jogged away, humming.
Scarlett got to the abandoned observatory early and poked
around a bit, peering through the broken-down telescope at the top. When she swung it around, a hugely magnified
eye stared at her through the other end. “Ahh!” Scarlett jumped back. Wait- she recognized that woman... “Anica
Mathews? Southern Living editor? I thought we were meeting at Connie’s Coffee
to discuss my letter! What in the world are you doing here?”
Anica waved her hand airily. “Change
of plans, darling. This is just such the perfect place to shoot. I’ve already
got my minions setting everything up!” Sure enough, dozens of Southern Living
employees were scurrying around, preparing the dilapidated building for a
photoshoot.
“Now let’s just get you to hair
and makeup, Scarlett.”
“What? No! My letter was about
NOT wanting to be featured in the magazine, not suggesting it happen more! Ugh!”
Scarlett stormed off, throwing her hands up and tossing an emphatic, “I’m
LEAVING!” over her shoulder.
Anica Mathews leaned in to her
head photographer. “Capture that. It’ll be our next feature.”
