“Have Emily deliver the Belkins portfolio to Delphi on the 17th, and put the Orpheus prospective on my desk, right middle,” Arden dictated into her phone, staccatos on the consonants just to make sure Anne didn’t muddle it all up. “And make sure there’s a Starbucks sitting on my desk, not lukewarm, but hot just as I like it, so I can edit the lingerie section in peace.”
Arden hit the End button and went back to reading the text from the Joffrey manager – they needed the photo shoot on the 13th, not the 14th, and please send Oliver if you’ve got him, otherwise we’ll do it the 20th or the 21st, Joffrey said. She texted back, We’ll make it the 14th –
“Ma’am, that’ll be $38.75,” the cashier said, and Arden looked up a moment, not long enough to register what she looked like – all she got were the cashier’s eyes, halfway rolled up in to her head, and the round blob of a mass beneath the raisin-shaped head – but sighed and put her phone on the register ledge and reached for her Amex.
“Here you are,” Arden said, going back to her phone. “— don’t worry about Oliver –“
“You got to swipe the card yourself, ma’am,” the cashier said, this time her voice two tones higher, a bit too tinny for a woman of her proportions, Arden thought, angry that she even had to waste time thinking about this woman’s tinny voice.
“Oh, all right, everything has to take so long at this check-out counter.” Arden fumed at the incompetence of everyone she encountered today – right down to the Bergdorf’s saleswoman who questioned her when she asked for a black suit. As if she had any right to question her order, never mind the fact she was wearing all black today, too – just like in every day.
“Just the way it is, ma’am. Here’s your receipt.”
Arden went back to the Joffrey text. “—Oliver will do as I say.”
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