It Should Happen To You. Kathleen O'Reilly
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she hit Reply and started typing.
“M, glad you asked. What to do, what to do? I’m not a girlie-girl. I don’t want to be a girlie-girl. But I keep doing these stupid men things. Just like a girlie-girl. Does that make me an idiot?”
Then she clicked Send.
Magically, a few moments later, she had new mail. She started hammering away at the keyboard.
“M, no, you’re not a girlie-girl, because all members of the Coleman family—except your mother, and we’re not going to talk about that—are scientists. We use our brains to succeed where others have failed.”
Send.
“If I’m not a failure, then why am I being blackmailed with a sex tape? Why am I considering an affiliation with the mob? Why am I attracted to Dominic?”
Send.
“M, I lied. You’re a loser AND a girlie-girl. Get over it.”
Mickey stared at her screen and wished that the J-woman was back. Jessica wasn’t this harsh.
Maybe she should build Beth a computer and teach her how to use it. Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea. Tomorrow, definitely tomorrow.
She took a quick look up to the front of the bull pen.
Damn, John was in. His Michael Crichton Sphere screen saver flickered eerily in the fluorescent lighting. Of course he couldn’t be sick today. Illness would be nice. Something vile and long lasting with symptoms that included pain-racked stomach spasms, huge bouts of nausea and perhaps a high fever, where he might be so incapacitated that he would simply hand over the tape.
She’d seen that on TV once.
When he walked into the room ten minutes later, he looked disgustingly healthy. Now, when she looked at him, her poor vision free of lust and alcohol, she could see the weak chin, the beady eyes that darted like a rat’s. Man, she had been so blind before. It was probably his golden hair that had blinded her to the rest of his faults. Yeah, definitely. The laughing blue eyes—that darted like a rat’s, of course—hadn’t helped.
Then he winked at her. Winked. As if she would be happy to see him. He was lucky she wasn’t working in the Tevatron. Proton collisions could be really messy. One false move, and zap—a human body could be transported to—well, everywhere, really. Just tiny Monihan particles floating in the air. Wouldn’t that be nice?
Oblivious to her degenerative thoughts, he lifted his Coke in greeting and strolled over. “Top of the morning, Miss Coleman. We on for this evening?”
She stared down at him over her glasses. “Go choke on a quark, Monihan.”
“I love it when you get feisty.” He pitched his voice an octave higher, “Oh, baby, yeah, right there…”
Had she really said that? Thank God she’d been too drunk to remember. She kept her eyes on her computer screen and whispered. “I got friends, Monihan. Friends that can really hurt you. I wouldn’t be so quick to make jokes.”
He leaned forward, the laughing blue eyes deadly serious. “You think this a joke? Not at all. Your career’s been shot into a black hole unless you cooperate. You know the presentation for Heidelman? I’ll bring the video.”
“I could go to Heidelman and just report you for sexual harassment.”
He looked intrigued. “Are you going to? A tough character-defining choice. Which is more important to you? Justice or your academic image? That’s how you know what you’re really made of. Which path are you going to take?”
Mickey looked up, close enough where she could see the true ugliness of his nature. “What has happened to you? You used to be nice, now you’re just a bastard. Have you ever seen what a positron beam can do to human flesh? I’d say that’s one directional splatter we’ve yet to map. What do you say, John? Want to go down in history?”
He took a sip of cola, looking completely unfazed by threats of evaporation. “Does that mean we’re on for tonight? I’ve got to work late in the lab this evening, but for you? I’ll wait up.”
Wait up? He’d have to wait for hell to freeze, for time travel to be possible and for the discovery of Higgs Boson. “I have a hot date with my boyfriend,” she said.
“You don’t have a boyfriend, Mickey. Remember?”
She raised an eyebrow. Very Queen Elizabeth. “Maybe I do.”
“Yeah, right. Look, I’ll let you have your fun. Tonight you’re off the hook. And I’ll be nice and leave you the weekend free, but come Monday…” His voice trailed off, and he flicked a finger under her chin.
At his touch, she flinched, saddened that she’d actually had a pleasant carnal-knowledge experience with this creep. “You’re watching too many bad movies, Monihan.”
He walked over to his computer and clicked on his mouse a few times. Instantly the air was filled with moans and heavy breathing.
She slapped her hand down on her desk, welcoming the pain. “Shut it off.”
“Monday night?”
When the seventh quark was discovered, and not a moment before. Mickey shot him a dire look. “Whatever.”
IT WAS DARK OUT; the apartment complex was in a seedy part of the South Side. Thankfully, security lights were nonexistent. Mickey brought out her flashlight as they made their way to the side of the building.
“Ready?” she asked, whispering behind her.
“Are you sure we should be doing this?” was Beth’s sole vote of confidence.
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Yeah, you do. Hire Dominic.”
“He’s too expensive. And besides that, he’s dangerous.”
“Well, yes. But expensive means that he’s good, and you live for danger.”
Mickey shone her flashlight in Beth’s face to see if she was serious. Not a trace of a smile. Sometimes Beth scared her.
“I can do this,” Mickey answered, just as she found the old fire escape. Bingo.
“And why do you think that?”
Mickey pulled at the ladder, and the whole world resounded with the painful creak. “I researched breaking and entering on the Internet.”
Behind her, she heard the sound of Beth rolling her eyeballs.
Now wasn’t the time for naysayers, though. She searched through her bag until she found the can of WD-40. There’s always another use. Little did the advertisers realize, it could also be used for B and E. One spritz and the ladder was as quiet as the lab on Sunday.
“Okay, Shifty, what do we do next?” asked Beth.
Mickey climbed onto the fire escape and got to the second floor. Quickly Beth scampered up behind her. Then Mickey shone her light on the wooden window frame. It looked just like the diagram on the Net. “We can lift up on this and slide it off its tracks.”
“I’ll take this side,” said Beth, positioning herself at one end.
Mickey put down the flashlight and grabbed the other side. “One, two, three. Lift.”
They heaved.
Nothing.
Mickey took a long breath. “Okay, we’re just not putting enough into this.”
“Excuse me. I was. I put everything into that lift. Aren’t you supposed to know how to do this? Can we just teleport it, or something?”
“Transport. And that only works in Star Trek.”
“I’m losing faith in you, Mickey. I didn’t think this was going to work, but I told myself, ‘No, if anybody can