ZIG-ZAG - Surtsey Ana (inspirational books .TXT) 📗

it comes out there, remarkable!

Time for a sandwich.

After my BLT I pick up my phone, tempted, curious about Matt's subpoena. I toss the phone aside. The battery's almost dead and I should preserve the life remaining in case of a real emergency. Matt's situation can't be anything serious because the office would have let me know.

Where the fuck is my charger?

After devouring my glorious, self-made sandwich I'm feeling a little bloated but extremely proud of myself. The chief has been persona non grata for weeks. Matt has been AWOL all day but I've managed the situation with aplomb – all without ever leaving my apartment. I have good leadership skills. I swing my feet up to lie on the sofa. I am good at this shit, even if I am under appreciated. Events of the day are fuelling my ego – I can do this.

I must have fallen asleep at this point. I remember hearing my phone's swansong, its final plea for life. Without a DNR in place I was required to authorise heroic measures to prolong battery life. I remember picturing the charger in the bedroom under a pile of washing, and deciding that it was a bridge too far. Fuck it. Even on my day off I had worked like I'd never worked before. I'd taken control, I'd been on top of everything.

 

I'm awakened by furious banging at my apartment door. A glance toward the window informs me it's dusk, sevenish maybe? There are no alarms sounding and I can't smell smoke but I get the feeling there's an emergency, something big has happened and I know it’s really bad. I grab my phone, iPad and the gold chain my grandma left me before rushing toward the front door. I can hear the people outside pounding on the door and calling my name. I open the door and I'm immediately overwhelmed. Headed by Cindy, a large group of people are pushing past me and entering my apartment. I recognise these people, they are work colleagues and friends. I don't understand what's happening. They're all in a celebratory mood. There's champagne and poppers and random hugs from people I hardly know. After the stragglers at the back of the posse pass I close the door behind them.  WTF? People are talking to me, their lips are moving but all I hear is noise.

Munchkin is on his knees before me saying "I am not worthy."

I point toward the East window. "Mecca is that way."

Somebody I don't know thrusts a glass of champagne into my hand. I don't want this.

Vi swivels me round toward the TV. I absently set the glass on the table. "You go girl."

 "What in God's name. I see my name on the TV screen.

"Shh!" Vi silences everybody whilst turning up the volume.

" . . . in a surprise announcement the congressman's chief of staff resigned today citing family issues. It had been assumed that Matt White, the congressman's long-groomed legislative director would take over the role. However, after late-breaking allegations of spousal abuse against the number two, the congressman has named Karen Taylor as his new Chief of staff."

Karen who? My mind races ahead. I don't like surprises. Who was this woman? I vaguely recognised the name. Had she been properly vetted?  I reached for my iPad determined find out everything about this appointee from outta left-field.

"Wow!" says Vi. "Who'd have thunk it."

"Not now! I shoo her way as glean what I can from the internet. I'm surprised to learn that Wikipedia is super-fast. Karen Taylor already has a Wikepedia page. On the right-hand side was a picture of me. I paused, open-mouthed as re-evaluated my life's philosophy. I was sleeping for fuck's sake. I didn't zig or zag. I'm innocent in all of this. None of this was my fault. It's just happened.

Vi leans over my shoulder to whisper. "Karen Taylor, you've got your own Wikepedia page. It's official; I fucking hate you. You're a lucky bitch."

"What just happened?" I'm shell-shocked. I wasn't doing anything. I was just here, being me. I didn't ask for any of this. None of this is my fault. I didn't anything. I didn't zig. I didn't zag. I was right here the whole time, minding my business trying to live my life.

 

2.1 ALL HAIL THE CHIEF

 

Cindy removes the steaming kettle from the base. "I don't get it. WTF is going on the world today?"

I shrug. "Same shit as yesterday – I think."

Wearing a pensive expression, she slowly shakes her head whilst pouring boiling water into two mugs. "I can't believe your guy made you chief of staff. That shit came right out of left field."

"Trust me. I was more surprised that anybody."

"Be honest; have you been sleeping with him? Are you that good in bed?" she says, placing two cups of coffee on the table.

I consider her questions in their respective order. "He did. No. Yes."

"Not disrespect intended, but why?"

"Why am I so good in bed?"

"No, dumb-ass, this is not the time for your quips. Why did he make you chief? What's the agenda?"

Noting her expression, the prosecutorial, resting-bitch-face, I am careful with my response. "Good question. Here's the thing . . . The chief has been pretty much out to lunch 24/7 since his wife died – you know that, right? I've bitched about it enough."

"The man's grieving for God's sake. Whatshername was the love of his life – according to media reports."

"But the business of government needs to go on, right?"

"True."

"I've been thinking half the night. Here's my take: we all knew the chief was done and that Matt White was a shoe-in to take over the role."

Cindy nodded. "That where all the smart-money was but seriously, is Matt White really his name? Parents can be so cruel."

"Yes, it is. But if I'd have been paying attention; if I was reading the signs I would have read something to it when two weeks ago Matt went on vacation without his wife."

"This is exclusive DC gossip - and you're only telling me this now?"

"It didn't seem relevant at the time but, as my good luck would have it, the chief retired the day Matt returned. Shortly after my guy accepting the chief's resignation a process server turns up at the office."

"Process server? Nothing this good ever happens in my office." Cindy slaps her hand on the table. "I need popcorn!"

"So, turn's out Matt's wife is divorcing him - citing spousal abuse."

"Shut the front door!"

"Consequently –"

"Consequently – love that word. I haven't heard it in ten years."

"Ergo, we have a situation: the chief's AWOL, no way Matt can be chief. He's political cyanide. My guy's boxed into a corner. He can look externally for a new chief, or ask, in the midst of all this chaos, who's been making sure all the trains run on time."

"Wow, sometimes the planets just align, huh?"

"Who knows what shit can happen to you when you take a day off?" I say, raising the coffee cup to my lips. "I'll have to put out a statement. I'll say the congressman misspoke. Let it be known that he appointed me as acting chief of staff whilst he seeks the ideal candidate."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Because the moment my #metoo story is picked up the Associated Press I become toxic."

Cindy sips her coffee whilst considering my words. "You sound like Chicken Licken. Karen, the sky's not necessarily falling. Go to work. Urinate at strategic spots around the office to mark your territory as chief. And fire somebody, anybody."

I laugh. "I can't go round firing people for no good reason."

"Sure you can. If you died right here, right now, who would get your job?"

"Now you're really scraping the barrel." I search my mind. "I dunno, Ken I suppose."

"There's your answer – fire Ken."

"Why would I fire the one remaining semi-competent staffer?"

"Because then you'd be indispensable, stupid."

"I'm not firing Ken."

"How about you fire one of the interns? Show Ken you mean business and you're not here to fuck around."

My mind immediately goes to Munchkin, the skinny, pasty, whinny, annoying little shit. "No. I'm not firing anybody on my first day."

"Okay. Maybe wait 'til tomorrow." She paces the room whilst wagging her index finger. "We don't want people to think you've turned into a power-crazed bitch – not on your first day anyway. But after that you gotta let them know – you're Chiefzilla you're not to be fucked with."

"Cindy!" I snatch her coffee away. "I think too much caffeine may be seriously affecting your brain."

"I'm fine," she replies, snatching the cup back. "And after you fire somebody, take lunch – a long lunch. Buy some more of those pantsuit things, more expensive ones. And shoes, buy more shoes, you need better shoes. You can afford better shoes because you're rich now, six-figure rich. I looked up your new salary on line and –"

"Why are you talking so fast?" While she's been rambling I've regained control of her coffee cup. I taste the contents. "It's not the caffeine, it's the sugar. Cindy, there's sugar in this."

She shrugs. "Last night was a late one. I needed a little something to get me started this morning."

Cindy and sugar is not a good combination. She gets a mad rush. It only lasts about fifteen minutes. "Take a deep breath," I tell her. "And another, and another . . . That's right, keep going – deep breaths."

"Even back when you were just an intern you've proven pretty adept at identifying and extinguishing developing fires – that's your forte. Honey, it's what you do, it’s what you're good at. You can't be throwing the towel in on the off-chance somebody somewhere may have a box of matches that you don't know about. If a fire starts put it out, but until then go to work and do your job, chief."

"You really think I can do it?"

"No doubt in my mind. Girlfriend, this is your god-given opportunity. It's what you've worked so hard for. It's your time. Step up."

Her little pep-talk appears to be working. I fill my lungs, raise my head slightly, and clench both fists before pressing them against my sides.

Cindy frowns. "What are you doing?"

"It's my superhero pose. I'm going to go into work, kick some ass and take some names."

"Good luck with that."

 "Right." She checks the time. "And on the subject of work, I really gotta go and do mine."

 

Every morning the journey into work on the Metro is an ordeal. We're packed into the cars like sardines in a can. The rules of personal space don't apply during peak hours. Recommended prophylactics are antibiotics and birth control. When I eventually get in to work it's all a little bit surreal. In my new of there are flowers, fruit-baskets and champagne. I don't get it, I'm doing what I did last week, the week before that, and every week since I joined this administration, but I'm doing it from this huge, big-assed office rather than my pokey little desk. And now they all refer to me as ma'am. I feel at least 20 years older, and maybe I should start wearing pearls. It's been a while since I've had a pearl necklace.

TMI. Strike that.

Out of the corner of my eye I notice Munchkin's approach. "I've got a lot going on today. What do you need?"

"I've got a girlfriend," he mumbles.

I turn square to him. "Congratulations, some days the sun even shines on a dog's ass."

"But she's pregnant."

"If you want my advice: ditch her. You don't want to be bringing up another man's child. Whosoever knocked her up . . . He broke it. He need's to buy it."

"What. No! Madeline loves me. She would never . . . I'm the father."

"Oh, right. I didn't think your balls had dropped yet  . . . but whatever. Thanks for sharing. Now, shoo!"

"But I gonna have to get married and stuff. I need to –"

"Where are going with this? I think over the past few months we've clearly established; I don't like