Down the Rabbit Hole

“Well—”

“That was all just a load of crap, wasn’t it?” she continued.

“Gina,” he said calmly, patting the chair next to him. “What’s going on? You went into the restroom just fine, and now you’re mad. Did something happen?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “Are you going to tell me that you didn’t pick these seats so you could see your ex-girlfriend again? Are you using me to make her jealous or what?”

“My ex-girlfriend?” he repeated, but he couldn’t muster the tone to make confusion believable.

“Yes, your ex-girlfriend. Don’t play dumb with me. I just heard her on the phone in the bathroom talking about you. You were dead set on coming to this restaurant too. Was it because you knew she’d be here? You were never interested in me for one second, were you? Admit it.”

She had him pegged. What could he say? All of it was true.

He had visions of Queenie Hartz giving him the evil eye when he returned to his cubicle, so he said, “All right. It’s true, at least partly. And I’m really, truly sorry. But the circumstances aren’t what you think.”

Her color had risen along with her eyebrows. “Oh yeah? I think I ended up on a date with a stalker, that’s the only circumstances I’m seeing.”

“Please sit down,” he pleaded, low. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Macy exit the hallway down which the restrooms lay, glancing at him as she made her way back to her table.

His date, apparently, barely heard him.

“If I were your ex-girlfriend—and if I were ever your girlfriend I can guaran-damn-tee I would be an ex—I’d run screaming for the hills if I saw you. You are one twisted son of a bitch.” She leaned forward and poked him in the chest on the word “twisted.” Heads were beginning to turn in their direction. “I’ve got half a mind to report you to iLove at the very least, if not the police. Or maybe I’ll just clue your ex in when she comes out.”

“Please don’t say anything to iLove,” Jeremy said, rising.

“Why? Are you already in trouble with them? Have others complained too?” She shook her head. “Damn it. I knew you’d be too good to be true. First I thought you’d probably used someone else’s picture, but then I saw you and you were that same good-looking guy. Well. Now I understand. You’re sick. You’re—”

“Yeah, I know, you’re absolutely right. Let’s just go.” He tried to take her elbow to guide her toward the door, but she jerked away from him.

“Take your hands off me!”

The bartender was approaching, a disturbed look on his face.

Jeremy held up his hands. “Okay, whatever you say. I’m sorry. Do you want to leave first, or should I?”

“And don’t try to contact me ever again, even to apologize or anything, because I am blocking you, buddy. You’re the worst bad news I’ve had for a long time, and if I see you again I will report you.” With that, she stalked out of the restaurant, leaving a long bar full of curious faces to gawk at him.

He swallowed and chuckled impotently, feeling his face go hot. Then he glanced over to where Macy sat with her date. Both of them had turned to see what the commotion was. Macy’s face was confused, but her date looked decidedly wary.

Could it be any worse if he walked over to her and asked to talk for a minute? He could try to explain, though what he could possibly say at this moment eluded him. He could at least request another time to talk—surely bizarro would let him out if he had a bona fide date, even if it wasn’t through iLove. Then again, it would be more of an appointment than a date. And making an appointment with her and not showing would be the death knell for his chances of winning her back.

No, he had to talk to her now. He tried to take a step in her direction, but when he picked up his foot it got yanked to the side. He looked down, expecting to see himself caught on something, maybe someone’s coat that had fallen off their chair. But there was nothing, and in another instant his other foot was jerked in the same direction. Then as if someone were pushing on his back he was propelled straight toward the door. He tried to resist but it was futile, and as he pushed through the door, tilting and flailing, he felt that weird suction and instead of finding himself outside on the sidewalk his feet felt the industrial-grade carpeting beneath them and he stumbled into the corridor just across from his cubicle.

Despair hit him like an anvil from a high window. He wanted to scream, but was afraid he would scare himself with the lunacy of it.

Then it got worse. The floor trembled and a loud voice called out, “Where is he? Where’s my boy Jeremy? A little birdie told me he hasn’t been paying attention! And you know what happens when we don’t pay attention?” Queenie Hartz turned the corner at the end of the hallway and lumbered toward him, her eyes gleaming red like a dog’s in a flash photo.

Nothing, he wanted to say, but the dread in his gut turned into outright fear, and he launched himself into his cubicle, locking his eyes on his screens.