Science Fiction Multi-Feature Picture Show

The Interview: (2) Beverly

The traffic was going to kill her. Beverly huffed at her watch, biting her lip. It was going to be a near miss, getting to the Prime building on time. Dammit, she should have taken the bus. Then at least she could city transportation for her tardiness instead of sleeping past her alarm. Finally the grid lock traffic broke up a bit, allowing her to do some creative weaving in her Kia, nearly clipping the side walk as she went.

A bum shuffled in front of her car. She slammed on the brakes and her horn simultaneously. A young woman with a frizzy snarl of hair turned to look through the windshield, her eyes distant and unfocused. Come to think of it, the young woman was impeccably dressed for a bum, but her clothing was wrinkled, matching the disarray of her hair. A junkie then. Beverly huffed, leaning out the window when the idiot didn't move.

"Oi, move it crackhead, I've got places to be!"

The young woman's face crumpled a bit as she tripped back ward onto the sidewalk. Beverly ignored her, putting pedal to floor as she pealed back into the rush of cars. A couple of indignant honks followed her. She ignored them. Shit, she was going to be late. That would not do. She needed this damn job. Beverly didn't know what business the Prime building even housed but it beat waiting tables for less than minimum wage. She was a month late on her rent and shuffling bills to keep her cell and electricity on. Marathoning seasons Sex and the City only let you run away from your problems for so long.

She slid into a parking space across the street from the Prime building, cutting off an elderly gentleman in a sedan. He had a handicap plate, let him actually use it. He started cussing her out from behind the steering wheel. She flipped him the bird as she hurried across the street. Five minutes late. Shit, shit shit, if there was a god, let their clocks be running late. Let the dude before her run over, something!

The lobby was drab as any office building, rather full of doom and gloom with the black on black color scheme. A frumpy receptionist with an overbite and lipstick smudging off her lips watched her approach the desk with raised eyebrows.

"Beverly Clare, here for an interview."

"You're late."

"I would have called, but there was no phone number to do so." When in doubt, brazen it out. She smiled.

The receptionist rolled her eyes. Gaudy bitch.

"Elevator down the hall, room 314."

"Thank you," said Beverly, smiling with her teeth. Her heels clicked down the hall as she went. There were a few paintings on the wall, nothing impressive. She didn't bat an eyelash at the weird cave scene just before the elevator. These people clearly needed a new interior decorator. Whatever, she pressed her freshly french manicured nail for floor three.

The doom and gloom atmosphere continued there. None of the offices seemed to be open on a Monday. Whatever they did, apparently Prime wasn't all that successful, just great. Might as well get this interview over with.

She knocked on door 314.

"Come in." Oh good, her interviewer sounded like Vincent Price. She opened the door and stopped, debating the wisdom of running for the elevator. What an absolute creeper! Not to mention, what was the deal with the room? It needed a potted plant or something.

"Have a seat," said Creepster. The nameplate on his desk read Mr. Argyle. All Beverly could think of were socks. Creepy sock man. She slid onto the metal chair and winced, the icy metal immediately freezing her bare calves. Never had she regretted forgoing pantyhose. She was so going to take a long soak in the tub when she got home. Minutes of silence passed by. Beverly fidgeted, feeling a pinch in her calf.

She said nothing, refusing to break their stalemate. Let him be weird and creepy all he wanted. Nothing would be Uncle Don after a few beers. Though she did feel a bit light headed.

"Whoa," she said, grabbing the edge of the desk as the world shifted. "I have to use the bathroom." Her words came out garbled and slurred. She felt like she was about to vomit. The world slowly settled down. What the hell? Her legs felt wrong. She shook her head trying to clear it.

"Are you alright Bev?" She turned toward the concerned voice and barely bit down on her scream. A freaking alien! Straight out of close encounters with the spindly arms, and legs, the bulbous head and monochrome tracksuit. Beverly thought she was having a full on Close Encounters of the 3rd Kind until she caught sight of herself, reflected along the wall. Oh, oh no, she did sign up for this. Wait, okay breath, this was obviously some wacky hallucination, probably brought on by skipping breakfast. She was hallucinating she was an alien in a poorly designed tracksuit. Ugh. She attempted a smile, determined to ride it out.

"I'm fine, just fine."

The other alien, male or female, continued to look concerned. "The captain said the atmosphere might make us a bit woozy as our bodies attempted to adjust to such an oxygen rich environment. Are you certain you want to continue? The natives of this world are rather primitive. We need to be in prime condition for our initial meeting."

Prime, that's right the interview. Maybe the other alien chick was really Mr. Argyle asking her questions through her hallucinatory haze. Brazen it out.

"I'm fine, let's proceed."

The other alien nodded, leading her down a corridor of opaque glass to a door that slid soundlessly open. Beverly had to pause. Hallucination or not, the view was damn breath taking. A primeval forest rose around her, towering trees, dripping vines, jewel green moss coating their trunks. A dense fog threaded through the trees like cloth through wooden spokes, giving it all an ethereal feel.

"Come Bev, they are waiting."

She tore her eyes away from the beautiful sight, following her alien pal to a dubiously looking cave. Who the hell were they meeting in what looked like Satan's butthole? Smelled like it too, as a whiff of seriously dank air clogged her nostrils. Despite her apprehensions she committed herself to following the other alien into the hole, waving smoke out of her eyes.

Smoke?

She looked further into the cave, catching sight of a cluster of Encino man rejects hovering around a feeble fire. God, she could smell them from here. They huddled together in blood stained furs, their matted hair ten to one crawling with lice. What was this, a charity project? Beverly bit down on her disdain as the other alien approached the yammering primitives, hands up and non-threatening.

"Easy, we come in peace."

Beverly rolled her eyes. Really, best they could do? What a walking cliche. The cavemen started yammering and hollering in an unintelligible language, probably because their brain was the size of a walnut. One of the men scooped up a suspiciously goopy handful and hurled it at them. It hit her full in the chest with a wet splat.

How dare he? Beverly grabbed the nearest thing handy, a big old rock, and threw it back, clipping the caveman across the temple. He went down like a sack of lead, blood seeping from where the rock had cracked his skull open. Served him right.

Beverly looked up at the other alien who stared at her in horror. "What? He started it!"

"I believe that concludes our interview, Ms. Clare," said the alien in Mr. Argyle's voice. The air shimmered, the hallucination coming to an end. Beverly blinked. She'd never been happier to see her own legs, even if her brown dress skirt wasn't really her color.

She smoothed the wrinkles out of the fabric, looking up at her interviewer. Odd, but he looked almost angry. What had she said?

"Oh, well, thank you for the interview, sir," she said, extending a hand to shake as per protocol. Wine and bubbles here I come.

Mr. Argyle's long fingers tapped the desk. The man could really use a manicure. "I am afraid we have no use for someone of your caliber," he said. What a jerk. Whatever, she would find something else. She gave him her signature tight smile just as she felt another prick in her leg.

She really needed to take more potassium or some-

Beverly's eyes rolled up in her head as her brain shut down.