Page 8 of Minding the Minotaur
I drive more carefully after that, watching every traffic crossing, and trying not to daydream about the minotaur, nor think about the fact that I am jobless and soon-to-be broke. My head is likely to go into a weird place if I dwell on any of those things.
But when I draw up outside my apartment and get wearily out of my car, my mood takes a dive. I live in the least salubrious part of Sparkle, Garnet Gardens. Everything here is named after precious gems of ancient days—emeralds, diamonds and all. But this side of town only gets named after semi-precious stones. And while the buildings are still white,the yards orderly, it’s lacking in vibrancy and charm. Garnet Gardens is Sparkle on a budget. The fittings are cheap, there’s no plush entry to the building, just a stairwell, and I’m on the 6thfloor with no elevator. I trudge my way up to my tiny one-bedroom apartment and let myself in.
Once in the kitchen, I head straight for the pantry, take out a loaf of sliced bread and a jar each of peanut butter and jelly, and start slathering them onto the bread. I squash the two pieces of bread together until the insides ooze out, and dive in. I’ve taken three big bites before I realize what I’m doing.
Eating to stop myself feeling.
I freeze, the sandwich in mid-air. The minotaur’s admiring eyes float in front of me again.
He liked you the way you are.
I don’t know how I sensed that, but I did.
He thought you were beautiful.
Nope. That’s too hard to swallow.
“Don’t be stupid,” I mutter. Stuffing the sandwich into my mouth, I chomp angrily.
I don’t let myself think until I’ve devoured the whole thing. But as I reach to make another, my hand stills. I brush the crumbs off my chest.
He liked your tits.
I frown at the thought, lick my lips. Then I take a deep breath and allow myself to appraise my situation without numbing out.
I have pretty much no chance of getting another job anytime soon, not after what I did. Ronald DeVine may smile benignly from billboards all over the city, but word is, in reality he’s a prick of a guy. He won’t stand by and have the DeVine name humiliated. And then there’s the small issue of how to fess up to Mom and Dad. Hopefully they’ll be too busy playing golf and drinking cocktails with their retired friends on Paradise Beach to read the papers and discoverhow their one and only daughter has sullied the Buggins name.
I’ll probably have to move into a shared dwelling, and there will be no coin left over for the entertainment that makes living in Sparkle aFestival of Pleasure—another idea that the billboards everywhere keep selling us.
What do you do if you can’t afford to party?
I could worry myself into eating the whole freaking loaf if I dwell on that.
Or I could try and find out more about the minotaur.
But how?
I rack my brains. The library? The municipal offices? They will be closed now.
Guess I’ll have all the time in the world tomorrow to investigate. But investigate what exactly? Portal capes and monster appearances? As if I’d find anything. Historical records are not available to ordinary citizens. The Sparkle mantra isLive for NOW. It’s an endless cycle of hedonism, partying, clubbing, attending movies and events. I guess the authorities don’t want thousands of folks stuck under a dome to get uppity. Makes sense. Because since getting sacked from DeVines and meeting the minotaur, I’m feeling decidedly uppity.
A buzz on the doorbell breaks through my thoughts. I go over to the intercom and press the button. The crackly voice on the other end is Clem’s.
“Hey, girlfriend. I bring food, wine and tissues.”
I laugh, press the entry button, and go to open my front door.
In another minute, Clem has breezed in, barely breathless from climbing the stairs. She dumps a bag of take-out and a bottle of cheap plonk onto the counter. I’m not hungry anymore, but I don’t dare tell her I’ve just stuffed a peanut butter jelly sandwich down my throat.
“How are you feeling?” Clem asks as she briskly plates up the food.
“Kind of wobbly. It’s been a pretty shit day.” I laugh nervously. Clem chats in her upbeat way about her sleazy boss in accounts, and how boring her day has been. I know it’s her way of trying to make me feel better, but to be honest, I don’t really listen. I’m thinking about the minotaur. Should I tell her about meeting him? Clem has a pretty open mind, but I’m sure it will still wig her out. How could it not? Either that, or she’ll think I’ve gone stark raving bonkers. Maybe I have.
But when we’re seated, barely a minute passes before I blurt out, “Something strange happened just as I was leaving DeVines.”
Clem looks at me over her forkful of noodles, brows slightly raised.
“Yeah?”
