Page 31 of Debugging Love

“I need to finish this block of code. I’ll be down.”

“Don’t work too long.”

“I won’t,” Danni says robotically, fingers typing away, her face glued to her monitors.

The blonde notices I’m standing there. “Are you coming? If you don’t, you’re stuck here until five.”

“Yeah. I’ll come.”

I let people file out before me, not sure where we’re going, and not wanting to ask. We head downstairs and out the main doors, and then swing to the right and do a U-turn back into the building under a neon sign that says “Stinny’s Bar.”

“Rustic” best describes the place. A century of wear has softened the brick floor and eroded the main walking paths. The ceiling is aged wooden beams contrasted against modern lighting and ductwork. Behind the bar, the antique tin signs create a patchwork around the shelves of liquor bottles.

The group chooses a spread of tables beside a long booth. The five tables fill up quickly, leaving me alone next to the window. A waitress comes around and takes our drink orders. I order a Sprite. Switching things up.

Bruce, who’s sitting at the table next to me, shoots me an odd look. “No alcohol?”

“None for me, thanks.”

“So that’s how you maintain that complexion.”

I don’t know how to answer. I give him a half smile. It was a compliment, I guess. A weird one.

Bruce is a large man. Thick arms, thick hands. A bit of a belly. Permanent valleys line his forehead, deep wrinkles frozen in time. His black and white paneled bowling shirt complements dark wash jeans, the ensemble upscaled by stiff black dress shoes. The guy knows fashion. I need to own a pair of those shoes.

I pull up Amazon on my phone and type in “men’s dress shoes.” Some scrolling brings me to wingtips. For kicks, I search for wingtip cowboy boots. Unsatisfied with the search results, I type in “men’s cowboy boots.” All right. Now we’re talking.

“Where you goin’?” Bruce hollers over to Jeb who is two tables away.

There’s noise on top of noise here too. The continuous garble of conversation is layered beneath a blast of house music. I can’t hear a word of Jeb’s response, but I gather it went something like: “Home.”

“Not tonight,” Bruce says. “I mean where is your new job?” He over-enunciates.

Jeb answers while I’m scrolling through cowboy boots, wondering how smart it is to order two-hundred-dollar shoes through the mail. I bought three pairs while I was in Austin. That’s probably enough.

I don’t have a pair of black ones, though.

I keep scrolling.

“Oh. I worked there during my early contracting days,” Bruce says. “Strange thing I observed. None of the employees had worked there over fifteen years. I was suspicious of that. I half wondered if corporate was killing people off.”

I pause my scrolling to observe Jeb’s expression.

“They worked us overnight more than once,” Bruce continues. “I slept in a sleeping bag under my desk. Woke up with a cockroach on my face. Seventy-hour work weeks for months on end. We upgraded their loan processing application in under two months. They had their little award ceremony, all proud and stuff. Boss said we were being recognized. I thought, monetary award maybe? You know, for almost eating a cockroach. Nope. The Site Director handed us some fuzzy blankets that were so small they barely covered my right leg.”

Jeb’s complexion pales. He reaches for his drink that isn’t there. The waitress hasn’t brought them yet.

“Who knows,” Bruce says. “I’m sure you’ll love it there.”

If I had my drink, I’d be spitting it across the table right now.

Jeb sinks into his seat. It seems almost cruel to drag this out. But I’m thirsty.

To my relief, the waitress soon brings our drinks. Five minutes later, Danni walks in. She eyeballs the seating options. There are none. Her eyes rest on me, her eyelids tightening around her irises. I wave to the chair across from me in offering.

Danni spins slowly. No one has seen her but me.

“Get over here, girl!” her young blonde friend says. “Pull up a chair.”

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