The Wages, An Illustrated Story | 11. Masterstroke | Deeply
I noticed my worried grip had ripped the bag and exposed the neon-pink bottle of antacid. My embarrassment deepened while I rubbed my scalp where I had clobbered the top of my skull. I had been dodging grabby men all week at Genuine Oak, but I didn’t pull away when Mark stroked his fingertips across the back of my hand and said, “Hey beautiful, these are exciting times but don’t get injured!”
I tried not to stare downward. His jeans were so tight that allowing his body into my personal space took my breath away. I gulped for air and struggled to compose myself, while our fingers flowed together in my hair. The parts of me that had been hollowed out by loneliness were flooded with pleasant melty sensations.
“I like your cross,” he said. “Is it meaningful to you?”
“Deeply,” I sighed, trying to make my bizarre spasms of breath attractive while I thrust my quaking ribcage up at him. He gazed down into my attempt at cleavage.
Crystal stopped rolling her eyes and stared past us into nothing, as if she had just witnessed a life-altering calamity.
Mark and I were slow to untangle our fingers when I took my hand down and regained my ability to form sentences.
“Oh, Mark! Your impressions are outrageous!” I said. “Mama and Papa keep panicking that Crystal is about to run off on them, but they never give two shits if I go anywhere. What are we gonna do?”
Crystal said, “Both of us staying with Mom and Dad is leading to issues that I never expected. The advances are our way out. We just need to be wise about how much we invest in short-term diversions.” She gave Mark a sideways look.
“All this based on my song?” I asked.
“This is success, gorgeous!” said Mark, who had switched from his hilarious mocking of our parents to helping us with life decisions. “Your song is already getting radio cross-over, so you’re going to recoup for sure. Brandy Cinnamon should come on the lunch too, and we can build plans.”