2.b.iii
Where did all
these wrinkles come from? The question,
in one form or another, had stirred in her mind daily for the past few years,
each and every time she looked in the mirror.
She’d adhered to all the latest beauty regimens. Avoided sunlight, moonlight, and fluorescent
light. She’s injected the toxins of
almost all stinging, hive-building insects into her face and rubbed gallons of
honey across her cheekbones, forehead, chin, and neck.
And still the
wrinkles creased her face.
She hadn’t
smiled in months for fear of those lines.
What were they called? Crow’s
feet? She even avoided crows in hopes of
warding off certain facial destruction.
Perhaps she should carry small scarecrows in her purse to–
Bzzz Bzzz
Bzzz.
Her desk phone
broke her train of thought. It would
take her twelve days to remember the scarecrow idea.
“Yes,” she
said, fingering the speaker button.
“We just got
word ma’am–”
“I’m terribly
busy right now.”
“But The Greed
is–”
“As fat as he
ever was, I’m sure.”
“No. We have–”
“Please stop,”
she said, shaking her head slightly, though not too much or else gravity might
work another crease into her face.
“He’s
tracking–”
“I don’t
care.”
“Corporate
Man!”
“What?” Her eyes flared wide.
“You heard
me.”
A scowl bit
down between her eyebrows.
“I’ll be right
up,” she said.
Corporate Man.
She smiled.
Her mouth had
far too many teeth in it.
Two small,
invisible crows landed at the edges of her eyes.
