Run up a section. Run down a section. Sit ups. Push ups.
Repeat.
Repeat.
At the time, I didn't know how she found me. I was doing my weekly workout at the Stadium, and there she was, sitting back in one of the chairs, her feet up on the seat in front of her. Black boots crossed primly over one another at the ankle like the sweetest, most proper thug you've ever seen.
I'll admit, it was hot in a kind of creepy way.
But her husband had just hired me for some weird assignment. I don't fraternize with coworkers. And I don't do married chicks.
Still, those clunky, black boots caught my attention. My eyes traveled up her legs. Her legs were long and super skinny like some kind of extra-stretchy superhero.
"I brought you a smoothie," she said. "A tour de stad is an impressive workout, so I figured you would be thirsty. Pineapple passion." She held the extra large, frosty cup in my direction. I did not immediately take it. "That's cute how you do that thing with your one eyebrow," she said in that baby doll voice. I willed my skeptical-bitch-face to become a resting-and-impassive-bitch-face. She smiled at me like we were in some kind of Disney movie. I was tempted to look around for the fucking baby rabbits, fawns, and butterflies. She fucking batted her eyelashes at me. "Come on," she said, jiggling the cup before me. "Extra protein. The green stuff with caffeine."
"What are you, stalking me?" I asked. I grabbed the cup and pulled the little piece of straw off of the tip, then took a long sip. Damn. There is something to be said for a woman who can get your drink order perfect on the first try. It didn't taste poisoned either.
"Stalking? Don't be silly, Sameen. I just thought it would be nice to bring you a drink. And maybe we could hang out?" She put her legs down and stood up in a graceful swoop that seemed feline and almost absurd. The woman had more legs than a bucket of chicken. She had almost a full foot on me, or maybe she only seemed larger than life standing there on the Stadium steps with the sun behind her making her just about glow. Cue the singing mice and bluebirds.
"Hang out?"
"Sure."
"Can you just cut to the chase and let me know what the catch is here?"
"Catch?" She smiled. "There's no catch. Do a couple of ladies need a catch to share some quality girl time?"
"I thought we already established that I do not do 'girl time'." I snapped, referencing the night of that infernal cocktail party when I shot down her coy invitation to ballet class or whatever the yoga fuck it was. I could feel my pulse slowing and wanted to get back to my workout.
"I suppose it just depends on your definition of girl time, then," she sighed. She reached behind her and pulled a gun out from the back of her pants. She held it casually in her right hand in a manner that was about as threatening as a Barbie doll holding a hairbrush. I'm not great with social signals, but it was almost like she was saying 'Show me yours and I'll show you mine'. The sun glinted off the silver metal of the gun and off the shiny black polish on her nails. "We could go shoot some stuff up and then get our nails done. How does that sound?"
"Listen, Mrs. Groves-Finch-" I began.
"Please," she interrupted. "Call me Root."
"Root? Ok, whatever. Root. I work for your husband now, and I don't know what this is all about, and as much as I like- actually love- shooting stuff, I don't really commingle with the boss's wife."
"Wow. Well, maybe Harold and whoever else was wrong about you, Sameen."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"I was led to believe that you had certain tendencies that I considered charming. But it seems you have a moral code after all."
"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you. Now if you can get out of my way, I'm going to continue my workout. Thanks for the juice." I shoved the half empty cup back in her direction. She took it back and wrapped her plump, pink lips around the straw, then sucked up a mouthful of the drink with a lascivious sigh. She didn't break eye contact with me, so I took it upon myself to turn and start running back down the steps. I got about six steps down when I heard her call out.
"I read your file, Sweetie."
I turned and pounded back up the steps. She had set the drink down on the arm of a seat, and was tucking her gun back in her pants. For a second, a sliver of her moon-white abdomen flashed in the sun. It caught my eye and then it disappeared. "What the fuck do you want?"
"I told you. I just thought we could have some fun together."
"I don't do fun. And I don't do games. And normally, I don't tell the boss's wife to go fuck herself, but, go fuck yourself."
"Oh dear." She reached up and stroked the side of my face, tucked my stray bangs behind my ear. "You don't do girly stuff. You don't do fun. You don't play games. What on earth does that leave us with for 'us' time, Sameen?" She made air quotes around 'us' with those long, skinny fingers, and then she took a step closer to me. She bit her lip. That puffy lower lip. I laughed in spite of myself.
"Are you flirting with me?"
"Would you like me to flirt with you? Is that what you're trying to tell me?" She smiled and reached out to touch me. Her fingers dragged along the moist skin at the base of my sports bra.
"Have you ever been told that subtlety is not your strong suit."
"Have you ever been told-" she started, but then she abruptly stopped talking. She cocked her head slightly as if she were listening to something. I looked around. I couldn't see anything, and I certainly didn't hear anything. "Ok," she said softly, but she definitely was not speaking to me. I'd seen people in the institution do this kind of thing. I'd seen it during my psych rotation after residency. I'd also seen this kind of thing during the, uh, 'quiet time' that I spent inside. Schitzos who were responding to internal stimuli. I wondered if this chick were really out of her gourd. "Got it," she said in that same, small, soft voice that was in no way directed at me. "Shit, Sweetie," she said brightly. I looked around and realized this time she was in fact talking to me. "I've got to dash. Catch you later!"
She trotted down the Stadium steps and disappeared from sight. I resumed my workout, trying not to wonder when Princess Psycho would reappear.
Run up. Run down. Push ups. Sit ups.
Repeat.