of novel?”
Mindy gave me an enormous toothy grin and flashed her donkey veneers. “BDSM.”
“BDSM.” Hillary wrinkled her nose, looking at Mindy in rather a puzzled way. “What’s that?”
Please don’t answer that. Please don’t go there, I tried to communicate this with my eyes.
But Mindy was only too willing to talk about it and once she’d started, there was no stopping her. “It stands for bondage, discipline, sadism and masochism. But it’s not all about pain and spankings and whips and chains. Tickling can be a part of the lifestyle too, you know.” She smacked her bubblegum lips. “It doesn’t have to be all about the Red Room of Pain.”
Hillary’s face was beginning to take on a slightly grayish tint.
I had to clear my throat twice before I could pick up the thread of conversation. “Mindy, can you tell us about one of your accomplishments that’s work related. Something you did at a previous job, perhaps?”
“It is work related!” Mindy shot back, “I wrote my entire BDSM novel when I worked at Best Buy.”
“Thank you for your time,” said Carter in a clear dismissal.
There was a startled pause, after which Mindy lightly enquired, “Did I get the job?”
I smiled wanly. ‘Don’t hold your breath’ was clearly implied even if it wasn’t enunciated.
“Well,” said Mindy, “y’all have a good day, then.” Clumsily, she got to her feet and knocked over her large tote bag, spilling all of its contents. A cobalt blue vase rolled across the floor and stopped at my feet.
I peered closer. Hmm. This was not your run of the mill blue vase. This was an opalescent cobalt blue, one of a kind, hand-blown teardrop glass vase designed by Simon Pearce. And just this morning, it was proudly displayed in our lobby.
Guilt was written all over Mindy’s face. She stared at us with mounting alarm, stumbled over her words, repeated herself. Eventually, she stopped speaking. She knew the game was up from the look on our faces. Manically, she stuffed everything back into her tote bag and bolted out the door.
Cool as a cucumber in a bowl of Tabasco sauce, Carter picked up the phone and called security. “Stop the blond woman before she leaves the premises. Her temporary security badge will show her name. Uh-huh, that’s right, it’s Mindy Thompson and she’s carrying a large tote bag.” Pause. “Yes, she’s stolen company property.” Another pause. “Thank you. And please notify the authorities. Let them know she’s on probation and have them contact her probation officer. Thank you.”
Carter replaced the receiver and we swapped looks. He said nothing for a moment, then, “I think that went quite well, don’t you?”
“Well,” said Hillary, “that was a very interesting interview. BDSM.” She made a little fluttering gesture with her hands. “I never realized I lived such a sedate lifestyle.”
I burst into laughter at the absurdity of the whole thing. Tears of laughter came pouring down my face and I laughed so hard I nearly ruptured my spleen.
Then Carter, too, was openly laughing. A rich, disarming laugh.
What on God’s green earth? I stopped suddenly and stared at him dumbstruck.
Carter Lockwood was actually laughing?
Alert the media! Alert the paramedics! Something was seriously wrong.
“Carter,” I said in a hushed awe, “I didn’t think you had anything remotely resembling a sense of humor.”
“Well,” Carter said simply, “when God made Mindy Thompson, he definitely had a sense of humor.”
Suddenly, the door crashed open and I turned to smile mechanically at the three men who had just barged in. They looked like gorillas in white suits and dark glasses.
“I’m sorry,” I said in some surprise, “but we’re only interviewing one person at a time.”
“Oh, I know that,” said the first gorilla. “It’s just me here for the interview.”
Carter’s mouth took on a particularly grim line. “Then can you please explain who these other two
Mindy gave me an enormous toothy grin and flashed her donkey veneers. “BDSM.”
“BDSM.” Hillary wrinkled her nose, looking at Mindy in rather a puzzled way. “What’s that?”
Please don’t answer that. Please don’t go there, I tried to communicate this with my eyes.
But Mindy was only too willing to talk about it and once she’d started, there was no stopping her. “It stands for bondage, discipline, sadism and masochism. But it’s not all about pain and spankings and whips and chains. Tickling can be a part of the lifestyle too, you know.” She smacked her bubblegum lips. “It doesn’t have to be all about the Red Room of Pain.”
Hillary’s face was beginning to take on a slightly grayish tint.
I had to clear my throat twice before I could pick up the thread of conversation. “Mindy, can you tell us about one of your accomplishments that’s work related. Something you did at a previous job, perhaps?”
“It is work related!” Mindy shot back, “I wrote my entire BDSM novel when I worked at Best Buy.”
“Thank you for your time,” said Carter in a clear dismissal.
There was a startled pause, after which Mindy lightly enquired, “Did I get the job?”
I smiled wanly. ‘Don’t hold your breath’ was clearly implied even if it wasn’t enunciated.
“Well,” said Mindy, “y’all have a good day, then.” Clumsily, she got to her feet and knocked over her large tote bag, spilling all of its contents. A cobalt blue vase rolled across the floor and stopped at my feet.
I peered closer. Hmm. This was not your run of the mill blue vase. This was an opalescent cobalt blue, one of a kind, hand-blown teardrop glass vase designed by Simon Pearce. And just this morning, it was proudly displayed in our lobby.
Guilt was written all over Mindy’s face. She stared at us with mounting alarm, stumbled over her words, repeated herself. Eventually, she stopped speaking. She knew the game was up from the look on our faces. Manically, she stuffed everything back into her tote bag and bolted out the door.
Cool as a cucumber in a bowl of Tabasco sauce, Carter picked up the phone and called security. “Stop the blond woman before she leaves the premises. Her temporary security badge will show her name. Uh-huh, that’s right, it’s Mindy Thompson and she’s carrying a large tote bag.” Pause. “Yes, she’s stolen company property.” Another pause. “Thank you. And please notify the authorities. Let them know she’s on probation and have them contact her probation officer. Thank you.”
Carter replaced the receiver and we swapped looks. He said nothing for a moment, then, “I think that went quite well, don’t you?”
“Well,” said Hillary, “that was a very interesting interview. BDSM.” She made a little fluttering gesture with her hands. “I never realized I lived such a sedate lifestyle.”
I burst into laughter at the absurdity of the whole thing. Tears of laughter came pouring down my face and I laughed so hard I nearly ruptured my spleen.
Then Carter, too, was openly laughing. A rich, disarming laugh.
What on God’s green earth? I stopped suddenly and stared at him dumbstruck.
Carter Lockwood was actually laughing?
Alert the media! Alert the paramedics! Something was seriously wrong.
“Carter,” I said in a hushed awe, “I didn’t think you had anything remotely resembling a sense of humor.”
“Well,” Carter said simply, “when God made Mindy Thompson, he definitely had a sense of humor.”
Suddenly, the door crashed open and I turned to smile mechanically at the three men who had just barged in. They looked like gorillas in white suits and dark glasses.
“I’m sorry,” I said in some surprise, “but we’re only interviewing one person at a time.”
“Oh, I know that,” said the first gorilla. “It’s just me here for the interview.”
Carter’s mouth took on a particularly grim line. “Then can you please explain who these other two
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