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Christine Mason was the only other girl in the team of six, the only other girl in the whole office who wasn’t an admin assistant, and most definitely the only person of any sexual persuasion in the office who knew about Kitty Caruso and what she did on a flat track most weekends in summer.
Being in a Roller Derby League team called the Big Swinging Tricks wasn’t the kind of thing an up and coming Senior Analyst at Petersens did. An up and coming Senior Analyst at Petersens went to the art gallery or a foreign film on the weekend. She didn’t belt around a track on wheels aggressively trying to knock people over.
“We smashed ‘em.”
Chris laughed. She didn’t get Bree’s enthusiasm for roller derby but she was heartily amused by it.
She’d been threatening to come to a bout for the last six months, since the day she’d cornered Bree in the bathroom, grilled her about her bruises and found out about it. Bree knew there was very little risk of Chris giving up time with her new husband to attend a jam though and she was pleased about that.
Roller Derby and Petersens were like Aerogard and mosquitoes—mutually repellent. And it was best it stayed that way, and since Chris had never seen Bree as her derby doll alter ego it was kind of like a big joke between them, as though it wasn’t real and Bree was making up amusing stories about characters with outrageous names to entertain Chris on Monday mornings when they’d both rather still be in bed.
“Body count.” Chris always wanted to know the gory bits.
“One broken nose, a couple of dislocated fingers.” It’d been a surprisingly easy win against the Hurley Burleys, especially since they’d crushed the league table leaders, The Weapons of Mass Production, the week before. And everyone knew the Weapons were the team to beat.
Chris’ eyes went down to Bree’s hands still on her keyboard. “Not yours.”
“No, thank goodness.”
“What are you going to do if it’s your bits that get broken?”
“I’m that good, it won’t happen.”
Chris poked her index finger towards her open mouth and made a gagging sound. Bree laughed and gave a more realistic response. “I’ll lie.”
“And say what? You walked into a door?”
Bree opened her eyes wide and sucked in her cheeks, trying for the picture of innocence. “Do you think anyone will buy that?”
“Absolutely,” Chris deadpanned. “Not.”
“Let’s stick with answer A then.”
Chris said, “Whatever you reckon, Kitty,” and ducked the pen, Bree chucked at her. She knew damn well the name Kitty Caruso wasn’t for office consumption.
It’d probably been a mistake to tell Chris, but once she’d seen the bruises, it’d been hard to avoid it. She didn’t need anyone else jumping to conclusions or being in on the story. Fortunately, Chris was good fun as well as a heck of a talented analyst. She had a memory for facts and figures Bree was envious of and a way of expressing herself that made her reports interesting even when the spot price of rare minerals in Zambia was as boring as the conservative black suits she wore.
Pretty close to the same conservative black suits Bree wore, and nothing like Kitty Caruso’s roller doll uniform with its hot pink, butt grazing, tartan pleated skirt and skin tight fitted black singlet. Both of which were currently scrunched up in Bree’s sports bag, with her pink knee highs, fishnets and black sports pants with Bite Me printed across the bum. All of which needed a wash before next week’s bout.
Chris dived under her desk and retrieved the pen, then made a show of keeping it, by putting it in her drawer. “Speaking of Big Swinging Tricks, any trash talk about your promotion from our esteemed colleagues?”
“Everyone was nice about it.”
“Everyone?”
Bree hesitated and Chris said, “Ah, right. Thought as much. He looked liked he’d been injected with zombie virus when Doug made the announcement. It was like all his joints went stiff the minute it was your name not his out of Doug’s mouth. I didn’t think zombies could say anything other than arrrh or grrrr. What did Anthony say?”
“It’s true then.”
“What?”
“Zombies can’t talk.”
Chris rocked into the back of her
Aeron chair. “Oh my God, he actually said nothing.”
“He just gave me a look like he wasn’t sure we’d met before.”
