Irvine Welsh - If You Liked School, You'll Love Work

There is a three-second total silence in the office.

— You fucking spoiled little… Marilyn breaks the impasse with a gasp, then whines painfully, — You don’t know me, and she looks around at her subordinates in appeal, — you know nothing about me… Kennie, you’re upset, I…

— I know that you’re so fucking lame. She looks around at the others. — All of you are! Get with the project: the real-estate market here is dead! They cannot make the pre-sales to keep constructing those horrible fucking condos and you’re all gonna be out on your lazy fat asses soon! And another thing, she focuses on Marilyn again, — you are always the laughing stock on our nights out, right, Greg?

Greg reddens and turns away sharply, as the front door opens and Stephanie, flanked by Stacie, steps into the open-plan office, carrying Toto in her arms. Seeing Kendra, he lets out a short volley of excited yelps. — Hey-ey-ey! Guess who showed up! Stephanie sings.

Kendra turns to face them, her mouth in a quivering spasm in response to the evidence of her eyes and ears. Her first thought is: could she be hallucinating? She’d gone up to her parents’ place in Highland Park for a few days to regroup, retrench, wait by her cellphone in hope, and then, when nothing happened, to mourn Toto. In the sleep deprivation, the Xanax, and the mind-mashing heat, she no longer totally trusts her senses.

— Chef found him trapped in the vent shaft down in the laundry room, Stephanie smiles, to Kendra’s bemused delight. — He must have opened that grille in your front room behind the couch and fell down there. He was okay, just a bit startled, hungry and thirsty. Chef gave him a good feed and he’s fine. She pushes the dog into Kendra’s arms. — Where have you been?

— Oh my God, I… I… I went to my mom’s, I was so depressed… but he’s back! My baby is back! She gasps as the tears of joy flow. — He came back…

— You don’t make fun of me, do you? Greg? Cassie? Marilyn pleads. Then she fixes Kendra in a poisoned glare. — Get out of here! Get the fuck out! Take that fucking little rat with you!

— I gotta go, Kendra smiles at her friends, walking to the door, with Stephanie and Stacie in pursuit.

Stephanie stops, turns around, and fixes the ranting Marilyn with a look of disdain. — Advice: try cock. Or at least find a bitch with a tongue that works .

— Ooh-hoo! Hell, yeah, sister! Stacie choruses in black girl’s voice, high-fiving Stephanie.

Marilyn screams at their backs as they go through the exit doors, — You fucking do not insult me in my place of work! I’m calling the police! It’s trespass, is what it is! Trespass!

— Jeez, Stacie exclaims, as they head into the street, Marilyn’s rant still ringing in their ears, — what happened back there?

— I guess I’m looking for a new job, Kendra says, filling her nostrils with the scent of Toto.

— Wow, Stacie smiles, thinking about Kendra’s finances and that empty spare room.

Stephanie pats the dog’s small head. — Chef was doing laundry when he heard the noise coming from the overhead air ducts. He left you a note but you’d gone. We thought you would be round at the restaurant today.

— I haven’t been back to the apartment… I came straight here from my mom’s…

— You missed such a feast, Kennie, Stacie sang. — Chef made us a big platter of wild boar. I got a fright when he took us back into the kitchen and made me open up the refrigerator and a big boar’s head was staring at me! He’s a real character!

— Thank you so much. You two are just the best friends ever! Kendra gushes, as her cellphone goes off. She digs it out of her bag with dexterity, as she’s still holding Toto. — Hi-i-i… she coos into the mouthpiece. — Okay, okay… no… this evening at eleven round yours is fine. Okay. See you.

Stephanie feels something ominous settling inside her, ready to fall like a lump of lead. She can’t speak. Stacie nonchalantly chirps, — Who was that?

— Trent. He called me this morning. Says he’s being stalked by some psycho-bitch, Kendra says matter-of-factly. — Apparently he and some loser had a drunken makeout last week and she’s been bombarding him with texts, emails, and phone calls ever since. You know the type, she shrugs. — I’m gonna go round and cheer him up, she smiles, oblivious to the blood draining from Stephanie’s face. — But right now I think I need some quiet time with this little prince, Kendra nods at her dog, then dabs at a few tears which form over her smile, before adding, — alone. Thanks… you two are the greatest!

Stephanie gasps, feels giddy and weak in the heat, and can hear nothing outside of a ringing in her ears and some traffic noises. She can see Stacie mouthing something at Kendra, who is waving them goodbye as she turns and heads briskly down Clark toward her apartment clutching Toto in her arms, who sits in his exhalted position, imperious in his regard for the other dogs.

IT’S GOTTEN BEYOND cold and I don’t feel uncomfortable no more. It’s nearly my time and I don’t even care. Why in God’s name should I? I ain’t leavin without her and I sure as hell can’t take her with me.

It ain’t like I’m feelin anythin; my arms or legs, and I ain’t even sure whether or not my eyes are open. I guess it don’t much matter that all I got is thoughts. They ain’t worth shit but I don’t see them stoppin for a while. The joke is that it’s gonna be the cold that’ll take me away, when outside, beyond those thick stone walls, they got people frying in that heat. Guess we all gotta go sometime. It’s just the circumstance I would never have figured in a thousand years.

I suppose I paid for my arrogance, just like he did. And yeah, I finally understand that crazy ol drunk now: just another asshole who fell on the sword of his own vanity. You get to thinkin that you’re the man: the ice-cool, shit-talkin, big-dicked artist . Everyone else: why, they’re just your itty-bitty subjects. So then you reckon this means you can just do as you damn well please. That it somehow gives you rights. But it gives you no goddamn rights at all.

When did it start?

It started and it ended with Yolanda.

Miss Arizona.

She was an ol gal, who looked like she’d been rode hard and put away wet. Yep, she said she was Miss Arizona at one time. Well, I was darned if I ever could see it. She sure was one heavy lady; I’d seen gals in Louisiana trailer parks had asses didn’t wobble like the flesh on her arms did when they moved — usually to pick up a drink. Ol Yolanda had the type of red hair that might have been comely at one time, tho I reckon it had long since come outta bottle; piled high and lacquered stiff on that big piggy-eyed head of hers. Her skin was white as your momma’s sweet milk; the sort that don’t take too kindly to the sun, and that’s one thing they got plenty of round here.

Miss Yolanda mostly kept away from it. If she were outside she’d be in the shade, sometimes sittin on the back porch over-lookin that small rear garden, with its little scrap of grass as brown and dry as the ruined old ranchlands that surrounded her house. The scrubby patch sure did contrast with that beautiful, turquoise swimmin pool. Even though Yolanda often sat in a candy-stripe one-piece swimsuit (usually with a big floppy straw hat sat on her head and a robe over her shoulders, while a big fan blasted her with cool air), she never seemed to get into that pool. Probably didn’t want to mess up that hair of hers. But that damn pool was kept so good I always reckoned it was a crime for it not to be used, specially in these parts. But yeah, skin like that and here she was in this place; right in the middle of the goddamn desert, a good three hours’ drive from downtown Phoenix. She just sat there on that chair under the parasol, with ropes of blue vein runnin out from those pale, flabby thighs, turning coal black as they got down to her skinny calves. Yep, she was Miss Arizona. Reckon right about when that state was counted under Mexico.