George made quick and dirty work of her logistical problems. Rube made the first step easy when he broke his ironclad rule of never letting anyone use his vehicles. So George was able to get to work on time even after a few quick shopping errands. She parked Rube's car in Delores's spot. Delores was not using the space today, and it pained George to recall that she would never use it again.
Now George had to go into the office and delegate enough authority so that she could leave at 11:30. She had the use of Delores's desk for the day. Just as George had hoped, Delores had left out a detailed copy of the itinerary for her visit to Microsoft. It looked to George as if the itinerary had originally come by email, and Delores had printed out one or more hard copies. There was a Microsoft logo at the top of the first sheet and a "to-and-from" heading that was the kind that appeared on email.
George took it and studied it at her own desk. It showed that Delores was to check in at the front desk and that she would be escorted up to HR by somebody named Patricia Lovejoy. After a meeting from 9 to 11:30 – oh God, George thought, what a final experience to have before death – but then she remembered that Delores was not George and would probably get a kick out of an otherwise boring meeting, especially because it was at Microsoft and would mean more work for Happy Time. When a company press release said that managers were excited to announce a deal between their two companies, it was usually hyperbole, but in Delores's case it could be literally true.
Unfortunately, Delores was not going to live to enjoy her success.
Damn it, George, she told herself. Stop being morbid and stick to the job at hand. Take the next step, and then the next. A step at a time. Then George remembered that Delores was the one who had ingrained that approach to a difficult project.
"Lunch at Abe's Restaurant at 12:00," the itinerary said.
George repeated the name of the restaurant to herself in an effort to pronounce it correctly. She had seen it written before but never heard anyone say it – let alone been there. Rube told her it wasn't "Abe" as in "Honest Abe Lincoln." It was a Japanese name, pronounced "Ah-bay." In this case, it was the name of an upscale Japanese restaurant located between Seattle and Redmond.
George looked at her Smartphone. It was almost 11:25.
"Crystal," she said to the receptionist who intimidated everyone without ever saying a word, "I need to go out for an hour or so. Can you hold down the fort?"
"Yes," said Crystal. It was already turning into one of the longest conversations they had ever shared. Leaving the office in Crystal's inscrutable hands was not the best decision, George knew, but, at this point, Delores, Crystal and George were senior to every other person in the office. If somebody got out of line, though, what was Crystal going to do, George wondered, lick their telephone receiver while they were at lunch? But it could not be helped.
"I'll try to get back as soon as I can," George said, "but I might not be able to come back as soon as I want to."
"Where will you be?" Wow! Crystal actually asked a question, and a good one, too.
"I need to deliver some important papers to Delores. She forgot them."
"Can't you fax or email them?" Crystal was on fire. The one day George wished she would be her usual tight-lipped self.
"They're proprietary documents," George lied. "For Herbig eyes only." George tried to laugh at her own – or, rather, Delores's – joke. She searched Crystal's face in vain for a reaction or any indication that the receptionist was buying any of this. Whatever was going on behind Crystal's eyes, it had never shown before and did not now. "If that's all your questions for now," said George, "I'll see you when I get back."
With that, George walked quickly out of the office and headed to the parking lot.
When she arrived at the restaurant, it was 11:59. George parked in the lot behind the building and changed. She took off her blazer-and-skirt suit and rolled down the pant legs of the slacks she had put on underneath. On the way to work, she had made a point of buying a brand new blue shirt so as to be wearing something that Delores had never seen before. To perfect the disguise, she took the Scunci out of her hair, which she then carefully mussed up. Then she put on a new pair of CVS reading glasses that had almost no magnification. She studied the effect in the rear-view mirror. It was not intended to prevent anyone from recognizing her, just to throw someone off long enough for George to toss some of her patented pixie dust in their eyes.
She then scoped out the scene. Abe's was located in a mall that was made to look like a miniature small town. If that seemed redundant, it was not. Few small towns would have been as small as this one. The sidewalk around the restaurant was very narrow and there were sapling trees on every corner. Someone must have thought they would eventually grow, but for now they were almost tiny.
The people from Microsoft had not come yet. George sat at the bar and nursed an unsweetened ice tea. Anyone who asked was told she was waiting to meet someone. No one asked whether her party had reservations because, even in this swanky joint, there weren't enough customers at midday to require reservations. That is, unless you were a party of six, which was Microsoft's reservation for noon. George peeked at the reservation book to gather this intelligence while the maitre d' was bending over to pick up the new CVS makeup case she was using as a faux clutch purse.
It was now 12:04. Delores's party was running late. Now, was "it" going to happen inside the restaurant or outside? George would have to keep an eye on the parking lot, as well as the time. Thanks to the big glass windows, she could see all of the front parking lot from the bar.
At 12:05, a dark minivan, without any logo or other telltale markings, pulled into the lot. Six people got out. Delores was one of them. She was smiling and laughing. One could say that she looked excited. For real. Delores kept touching the arm of a svelte young woman in a navy pantsuit. George bet that this was Patricia, the corporate host. Patricia was smiling and trying to laugh to keep up with her guest, but nobody could keep up with Delores.
At 12:06, the driver rushed in to check with the maitre d' to make sure that the reservation was secure. It apparently was.
At 12:07, the party came in and was escorted to their table. George turned away and tried to blend in with the crowd – such as it was – at the bar. The trick was going to be taking Delores's soul without influencing the situation. The last thing George wanted to do was actually cause Delores's death, even accidentally.
An accident. That was what it would have to be, but George could not tell how it was going to happen.
It was 12:08, and George caught sight of a graveling going through an opened door leading into the kitchen. She leaned over to catch where it was headed, but she couldn't see.
"Millie?!" It was Delores, and she sounded shocked, disappointed and disbelieving all at once.
Millie hated to do this to Delores, but she had prepared for the possibility of running into her face-to-face.
"I'm sorry," said George. "You aren't going to believe this, but I'm not this Millie person, but I do get mistaken for her all the time. Who is this beautiful girl?"
Delores was properly thrown by this ploy, and she could not dismiss it completely. "No kidding?" she said. "Well, aren't you the spitting-image of my good friend, Millie. You are right, though. You are considerably more dressed-down than she would be at this time of the day, and your hair is not as nice as hers."
"Well, I truly hope to meet this lookalike someday," said George.
"I'd like to arrange it," said Delores. "Do you have a business card?"
"No, but I'm in the book in Redmond," said George. She looked over Delores's shoulder. The clock on the wall said it was 12:10. "Your party looks like their waiting for you. The guy in the chef hat just brought something to your table. Looks like a special platter."
Delores beamed. "We're celebrating a new contract," she said. "They want me to have sushi with them." She put the edge of her hand to the corner of her mouth to affect a stage whisper. "I've never had sushi before."
"Hope you enjoy it," said George, reaching out her hand. Delores shook the offered hand, and George took her soul.
"Thank you," said Delores. "I still can't get over how much you look like Millie. I wanted to tell her that we got the contract, and telling you makes me feel as if I already have."
"Go figure," said George smiling half-heartedly.
Delores turned and started back to the table, but she stopped and turned around.
"You said you are in the book, but you didn't say your name."
"Georgia. Georgia Smyth. With a Y in Smyth."
"Really? Georgia Smyth. I think I can remember that." She went back to her table. It was 12:11.
There was a lot of laughter and banter at the table. Some people dipped right in and scarfed down some sushi. They were coaxing Delores to try some of the fish on the tray. George heard somebody say it was a great delicacy, which George took to mean it was very expensive. Delores was being a good sport and ate the fish. She laughed while struggling to keep her mouth shut.
"Don't chew," said the woman George thought was probably Patricia from HR. "Swallow it whole."
Suddenly, Delores clutched her throat and tried to stand up. She was turning purple, and George was amazed to see her face swell up to what appeared to be twice its normal size. There was a loud commotion at the table as people called for help. The chef practically had to climb over Microsoft execs to get to Delores and begin first aid, but it was too late.
"What the dickens is going on?" asked Delores. She was standing beside George at the bar.
"You died, Delores."
Delores did a double take at George.
"You – you really are Millie, aren't you?"
"Yes," said George. She had already removed the fake glasses and had run her fingers through her hair to smooth it back, but that wasn't what made Delores recognize her.
"But wait," said Delores, narrowing her eyes. "You aren't just Millie, are you? You're that girl. You said your name was Georgia but it's not Smyth, is it? It's – its…."
"Georgia Lass. It's been me the whole time."
"What is this? What are you?"
"When Georgia Lass died, she became a grim reaper. Somebody who has to take the souls of the dying to lessen their suffering."
"Why did you come back to Happy Time? Was it to take revenge for the mean way I treated you when we first met?"
"No, no, Delores. Not at all. I came back because I needed a day job, and Happy Time was the only place I knew to go. I really have valued our friendship, and I wish you didn't have to go, but these things are decided way above my pay grade."
"To be honest, and not to talk out of school," Delores said, as she always did when she was about to say something even mildly critical of Happy Time's parent corporation, "they must not pay you much if you had to come back to work at Happy Time."
"They don't pay us at all," said George.
"Really? That doesn't sound like a very efficiently run organization."
"You're telling me," said George.
"Where to now?" asked Delores. She was squinting at the on-going commotion around her unseen body, presumably still lying on the floor behind the growing crowd. An ambulance arrived outside, and the EMTs piled into the restaurant. Sometimes they actually saved lives, but never when George was around. George figured that said more about her than them.
"Usually, there is a light show somewhere that attracts the recently deceased," George told Delores. "See anything?"
"I think I see something outside," said Delores, and she started out of the restaurant, walking right through some of those who were coming in. George was momentarily afraid that Delores would freak out, but, after an initial shiver, she smiled at George as if the experience was exhilarating.
George followed Delores outside, and there she saw something, too. A giant Excel sheet reached from the parking lot to the clouds and from one side of the lot to the other.
Delores walked toward it but stopped and looked over her shoulder at George.
"Maybe I'll shake things up and get you a paycheck," she said.
"A modest stipend would be enough," said George.
"You know I can do better than that," Delores said. She smiled. "I just won a contract with Microsoft."
"I hope we meet again," said George.
"Me, too," Delores said, "Georgia Lass." With that, she turned to face the Excel sheet, which had a cell in the middle of the bottom row that read "Herbig, Delores." Delores looked around at George one last time. She smiled, tilting her head, and pointed to her big brown eyes. Then she put her hand on the cell with her name and instantly turned into little swirling balls of light. These and the cell swiftly rose to the top of the sheet where they and the entire vision disappeared.
George turned back to see the ambulance driving away.
The HR woman, Patricia, looked distraught, but she pulled out her cell phone. She dialed a number, and, to George's surprise, her own phone began to vibrate in her pocket. She had taken the precaution of turning off the ring so as not to call any attention to herself. Nevertheless, she dashed around the corner of the building before taking the call.
"Hello," George said. "Millie speaking."
"Hello, this is Patricia Lovejoy, director of human resources at Microsoft."
"Hello, Ms. Lovejoy. What can I do for you?" George was not sure she was going to pull this off, emotionally. But she imagined that Patricia Lovejoy was having the same feeling.
"I'm calling about Delores. Delores Herbig?"
"Yes?"
"I'm afraid there's some dreadful news."
"What is it?"
"Well, I'm afraid that she collapsed during lunch and has been taken to the hospital."
"Oh, my God," said George. She was focusing on trying to be supportive of Patricia, since she had already made her peace with Delores. "How did it happen?"
"She ate some bad sushi. 'Puffer fish', I think somebody said. I don't know. I've eaten at this restaurant dozens of times, and this is the first time I've seen this happen."
"That's awful. Are you okay?"
"Oh, yes, I'm just fine," said Patricia. "Thank you for asking. I'm more worried about Delores. We just signed a contract with your company this morning, you know."
"I know," said George. Catching herself she added, "I mean, I know that is what we were anticipating." Then she said, "I am slightly curious to know how you got my cell phone number."
"Delores gave it to me," said Patricia. "She said that if I couldn't get hold of her, she trusted you implicitly to deal with anything that came up. I guess this is one of those things. I called you on your cell instead of at your office because I figured you might be at lunch."
George looked at her Smartphone and was surprised to see that it was 12:25 already. "Well, tell me where the hospital is, and I'll be out the door."
"She's on the way to St. Joseph's, I think," said Patricia. "I'm going there right now."
"I'll see you there shortly," said George. She was sitting in Rube's car soon after hanging up. She had to kill a little time so as not to show up at the hospital too soon. She changed into her suit and rolled up the pant legs on her slacks again. She brushed her hair and replaced the Scunci. Then she called the office to break the news. Crystal seemed even more upset about Delores than George had expected. She gave George the number for Happy Time corporate, and George called Delores's boss, Peter Potter. George usually thought his name was funny, but not today. She was able to truthfully say that she was on her way to the hospital because she was slowly rolling toward the parking lot's exit while she was on the phone.
"I appreciate you're taking charge," said Peter. "Delores was always positive about your contribution at Happy Time. I don't want us to get ahead of ourselves, but I'm afraid I've heard of puffer fish poisoning before. If it turns out to be a worst case, we'll have to talk about transitions, but let's put that off for now."
"Let's hope it isn't necessary," said George.
"Of course," said Peter. "I'll let you go. Keep me posted."
"Will do," said George. She hung up and joined the traffic on the road, heading in the same direction the ambulance had taken. She realized that Peter had just implied that Millie might be promoted to Delores's job. George felt guilty about her first thought: more money. Her second reaction was to the prospect of more responsibility. She never really wanted Delores's job because she knew that she wouldn't really like doing it and preferred knowing that Delores was taking care of a lot of bullshit so that George did not have to. Delores, on the other hand, loved the responsibility. It had meant the world to her.
George then remembered the conversation over breakfast that morning. Reapers all have that portrait in the attic that is getting older, even if there isn't an actual painting – or even an actual attic. In another ten years, Millie would still look twenty-something. Rube had said that while it might not be today or tomorrow, pretty soon the gang would have to move on. George would, too. Even if she took over Delores's job, it would not be for long, because the future held not only a new restaurant but a new job, and maybe even a new girlfriend. She had already lost so much that if there was a way she could keep something, she wished that it could be Charlotte.
But tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with the rest of George's afterlife. Today belonged to Delores.
END
