Page 100 of Prince Charmless
“Melina,” I greet her before turning back to unplug my phone from Julien’s charger.
“Taylor Guilbert Alexandria le Favresse-Reginald II.” She butchers my name like she’s casting a magic spell. “Julien said that you were here,” she slurs. “Wanted to say hi.”
“And do what?” I turn back to face her. “Tell me you’ve been a very bad girl?”
She looks down at her outfit. “S’Halloween,” she clarifies as if I couldn’t use my context clues to figure that out. “I’mCherfromCluelessbestmovieofalltime.”
What?
I try to leave, but she’s standing on the threshold like a gate.
“Did you, uh, have a...fun night?” I ask to the ceiling.
“Yep-a-roony,” she says. “D’you go trick-or-treating?”
I shake my head. Citing cruel security reasons, I wasn’t allowed to go trick-or-treating as a kid.
“While you’ve been out God knows where drinking nail polish remover, I’ve been here writing thank-you notes.” I grab one off the desk and show her.
Julien thinks the donors (who are mostly older) will feel more important if they get something handwritten from me.Boomers like that kind of shit,he explained.
“You have very princely handwriting,” she says in a British accent for some reason.
I put the card down. “Well, I guess that would make sense.”
“That looked like the Treaty of Paris.”
“What do you want, Melina?”
She leans against the doorframe. “I dunno. I just thought you’d enjoy how short this skirt is.”
This is painfully endearing.
“I’m not into blondes.”
To her credit, if she were sober, she’d just have to snap her fingers, and I would’ve slid everything off Julien’s desk and acted out her twisted teacher/student fantasy right then and there.
She slides the wig off, then tugs at the elastic of her bun to let down her real hair. I shouldn’t have joked. Now she just looks like herself.
“I feel like Hannah Montana,” she says while scratching her head like it’s been itchy for decades.
“Melina, darling.” I put my hands on her shoulders, then meet her at eye level like they tell you to do with children. “You’re making a fool of yourself.”
She bites her cheek. That seemed to get through to her.
After turning around, she instantly stumbles on her first step.
I quickly grab her arm before she topples over. “Take your shoes off. You’re going to kill yourself in those.”
She scowls at me, then steps out of her pumps. “You’re so demanding.”
“I know,” I say as I pick them up off the floor. “How are you getting home?”
“I was gunna take an Uber or a...Uber or something.”
“I can take you.”
“You don’t have to do that, but I ’preciate the jester.”
