(no subject)
The next day the phone rings at 8:54. Seymour answers it.
“Mushnik & Son’s, how may we help you?”
The voice on the other end is stuffed up and little more than a croak, but Seymour knows it intimately. “Seymour….”
“Audrey.” The breath has left his body; all he can manage is her name.
“I can’t come into work today. Got the flu.”
“I’ll-I’ll let dad know.” He swallows. “Audrey-” about last night I’m so sorry it was my fault….
“I….” Her breath is a heavy gasp, like she’s fighting back tears. “I don’t think I’m coming back to work. Ever.”
He can’t speak. He can’t think. Shock rips everything from him, followed by pain. He can hear Audrey breathing shakily on the other end.
“He wants me to go back to school,” she continues. “He’s…not a bad guy, Seymour. He cares so much about me, about making me-making me into a better person. He can…he’s just intense…a little, sometimes, but, but it’s all because he-he cares. So…don’t worry, okay?” She waits for a moment. When he doesn’t respond, she adds, “Promise?”
“Promise,” Seymour echoes, because it’s so pathetically easy to say that instead of saying what he should be saying.
“Is that Audrey?” Mushnik asks, coming out of the back room. “Why isn’t she here yet? Lemme have that.”
Seymour passes the phone over to Mushnik.
“It’s almost 9:00, why aren’t-? …You’re what? You can’t be serious! We’ve never been busier and you want to-? Is it a raise you’re after? …Oh, don’t give me that meshugaas about that boyfriend….!”
His anger falters and Mushnik looks deeply uneasy. Seymour can hear loud sobs coming from the phone. “Hey, sweetie, stop it, will ya? Listen, we’ll discuss this when you can pull yourself together, okay?” He hangs up, shaking his head.
“Oy vey,” Mushnik grumbles as he flicks on the radio. Bryan Adam’s “Hard to Love” starts playing (It’s so easy to touch you / and so hard to let go / it’s so easy to want you / that I can’t get enough / tell me why do you have to be so hard to love?).
“Well don’t just stand there moping, boychik! Get to work!”
Seymour can barely think all day. He thinks that Mushnik is rather distracted too.
“Sir,” Seymour asks as they close up shop, “What’re we going to do about Audrey?”
Mushnik sighs heavily. “I hate to lose her, but if she’s determined to go….Well, there are plenty of people looking for a job in this city.”
“But…but her and that…asshole, there’s gotta be something we can do-”
“I tried to get her to see the light, poor girl. That guy is bad news, I told her.”
Seymour hadn’t noticed Mushnik doing anything of the sort. Then again…now that he thinks back, hadn’t Mushnik called her into the back room a few times over the past weeks?
“But-but, sir, there’re the cops, there’re programs to help women, there’re-”
“As if I didn’t tell her that! But it fell on deaf ears, boychik. She worships the ground that pig walks on. When she comes in, you and me, we’ll try to convince her to stay. But, truthfully? You’ve got to learn when a thing cannot be helped.”
Mushnik shrugs then takes the deposit forms to the back room. Mushnik has always been so good at knowing when things are a lost cause.
Seymour doesn’t even try to sleep that night. The nausea that’s been with him all day returns full-force. Audrey’s in pain - the flu, moving boxes, tripping on stairs, how the hell could he ever have fallen for that? - and it’s partly his fault. He went after her.
Seymour goes up to feed the plant some more raw meat. Its vines are beginning to turn brown around the edges.
Twoie turns towards him, jaws open. He feeds it and opens up yesterday’s cut, which hasn’t fully healed up yet. He’ll have to soak it in iodine, he reminds himself with an anticipatory wince.
“Tough news about the little lady, innit?” Twoie comments.
“Yeah. It is.” I don’t think I’m coming back to work. Ever.
“That motherfucker don’t deserve her.”
“Yeah. He doesn’t.” You can be so busy looking for things to turn out right that you miss making things turn out right.
“Only one thing a guy like that deserves, and it ain’t a trip to motherfucking Disney World.”
“Twoie?” Enough to get you anything your greasy little heart desires.
“Mmmhmm?”
“It has to be human?”
Twoie smiles.