Angellica
“Quit your struggling, child, and get in here!” Aunt Mable growls low in hushed tones as she drags me by my elbow into the Principal’s office. I can’t help but feel as if we’ve lived this scenario before. Mainly because we have. This Deja-vu moment is brought to you by the memories of Jimmy Fitzpatrick and me smoking and making out in the back of his 1988 Buick Le Sabre during lunch hour. In all fairness, it was aLe Sabre.Jimmy, however, turned out to be nothing to write home about. But really, what sixteen year old is. Poor kid kissed like a Saint Bernard, but I was fifteen, how was I supposed to know any better?
“I’m coming, old woman,” I growl back in equally hushed tones. The snippets of conversation I had caught out in the front office have shot my carefully put together calm composure all to shit. “Quit man-handling me!”
Mable and I all but barrel roll into the principal’s office in a tumble weed of legs, elbows, and four letter words befitting a sailor. I immediately stand and reach a hand out to help Aunt Mable up. She takes my hand and stands with the grace of a ballet dancer, not one fucking hair out of place. Seriously, how the fuck does she do it? I shake my head and brush some lint from the floor off of my jeans.
“Jesus Fucking Christ,” I mutter running a hand down my face and look up into the laughing eyes of a man probably in his fifties, like Mable.
He has warm, sandy brown hair with touches of gray at his temples, bright hazel eyes, and laugh lines in the corners. His shoulders are broad and muscular as well as his arms and torso that ends, from what I can see, in a tapered waist below his desk. The Principal has a banging body for an older dude. Aunt Mable should hook it up.
“Hello, Ms. Andrews, I’m Principal Reynolds,” the man stands and shakes my hand over his desk. He’s got nice legs too, but I notice a wedding ring. Too bad. “Hello, Mable. Good to see you,” he smiles at her. I turn and wink at her as she bats her eyelashes at the Principal when I hear an unmistakably feral growl come from behind me.
“Ah, Mayor Hart, I didn’t realize you would be here,” Aunt Mable says coolly. You can’t mistake the rudeness in her voice. Principal Reynolds chuckles.
“Mable,” I whisper. “Don’t be rude.”
“Of course I would be here. This town is my house. I make sure we keep the riffraff out,” he says darkly and I turn around to come face to face with a tall, lean man with a hard face and cold as ice, blue eyes. Familiar eyes. But I can’t figure out why. Or why he hates me. I’m pretty sure they called me, right? Or was that a drunk hallucination. It was vodka, not magic mushrooms, right?
“Well, I never!” Mable remarks. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You know exactly who I’m talking about,” the Mayor barks.
“Maybe we should just go,” Mable says. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Jim. Not nice seeing you again, asshole,” she barks at the Mayor.
“Now, just see here!” He bellows.
“What about my interview?” The Principal hollers. “I still need a nurse.”
“And you would have one if Mable wasn’t being her usual self.”
Whooowhooop!I whistle with my fingers in my mouth like I do at Yankees games. “If we could all just put our dicks away for a minute we can get this settled.” I go one by one down the list of people in this office. “Mable, hang tight for a minute. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” she says through clenched teeth, enunciating the sss like a snake.
“Ok. If I get the job you be nice. If not, we go out in a blaze of glory and tell these two what a bag of dicks they are. Although, I would like to add to the record that Principal Reynolds seems like a nice guy,” she smiles one of her smiles that means trouble is coming and then winks. Mable is hell on wheels.
“Mayor,” I turn to look him in the eye after Aunt Mable is settled. “With all due respect, what the fuck is your problem? I don’t even know you. You guys didn’t have to call me back, you could have just quietly passed on my resume. With that said, I am the best pediatric trauma nurse you will ever fucking find. You’d be lucky to have me as a school nurse here.” When he just nods his head indicating I should continue, I do just that.
“Principal Reynolds,” I start.
“Call me Jim,” he smiles, his eyes twinkling with glee and mischief. That’s a good start right?
“Jim, can I still interview for the job?” I ask softly.
“God, yes,” he says and I jump in surprise. “Let’s just ignore those two old birds.” And just like that I smile the first real smile I’ve had in days, maybe months, as I take my seat in front of his desk.
“So, as you said, your resume is impressive,” Principal Reynolds tells me something I already know.
“Thank you,” I say because it seems the polite thing to do.
“Taught her everything she knows,” Mable shares. And she is not wrong. She did teach me everything she knew before she retired to become a famous painter.
“So, at your last hospital, you recently quit,” he starts and my back straightens.
“Yes,” I say vaguely.
“On your application, when prompted why you left your last position you said, and I quote, ‘Because I motherfucking can and that slut bag can have that pompous, limp dicked little weasel.’ Care to elaborate?” He asks me with a twinkle in his eye. I hear Mable choke on a laugh she’s trying to hold back.
