The Invitation
IC, Everywhere, Right Now.
Jack looked up from the paper and asked the waitress - "Meeting, initially? Eleven." She didn't look round.
- Curious! "But who knows I am here?", you asked. She shrugged, "I just do as I'm told lady". She left it on the step. Eventually you gave in and opened it.
- "Oh no sir. No. Uh, Rick made it but he.. no, please don't do that sir. He's not here sir, he's gone home. No, I can't tell you that sir. Certainly sir. No, it's not. I'll make a note next to your number." He did, right next to "No Sweetcorn for Mrs. Davis", it read "If 555-0898 calls do not take order - fucking nutzoid."
- Ink just dried, the crisp ivory envelope bears your name and is handed to you with a smile by the mail-person. Before you can open it the bearer has gone.
- Now it settled as dust. As a child you'd wondered if you'd fit in it, but no-one had ever been able to open it. Her dying wish was that you have it. Then you dropped it while moving house. And it shattered. As you sat among the pieces, crying, you spotted it. And it had that name on it. The bastard. You closed your eyes and silently sought your superior.
- Carefully stepping over the puddle in the gutter as you left the cab you noticed the rumpled envelope fall from your coat. Had it been in your pocket?
- In the mortuary, while going through the pockets you find the envelope. Apparently the deceased had the same name as you. Or..?
- Days passed. Weeks. Months. Eventually he rang you from Cairo. "I have something, I'm coming back." And when he arrived on your doorstep, he smiled then. "Here, you'll find the answers you paid me for among these people." The envelope looked small, but felt heavy.
- Eighteen minutes past three, about to dart back to the office, passing the secondhand book stall and you spotted it, finally. How long had it been? As you settled down in the café next door to explore the familiar lands once again you noticed the bookmark. An envelope. With your name on.
- Nervously it looked up from the drawing board as you stalked over, and you noticed one hand steady the other as that tiresome trembling started. Your growl made it leave the table, dropping its quill. The work was good though, very good. You slipped it into an envelope, and returned to your day.
- Can she meet you? She wants to cancel her debt. You suggested the bar. She's pale, shivering. The longing in her eyes fights with her contempt. She's easy to keep in hate. When you ask what she has for you she slides an envelope across the table. It's un-addressed. Looking at the contents you re-negotiate her status. Slightly.
- Everyone applauded and the judge weighing it said it was the largest they'd ever seen on the lake. Then the fish was brought before you, and when you sliced open its stomach, an envelope with your name on fell out. Which was nice.
Jack grunted happily and slid the pen back behind his ear.