Science Fiction Multi-Feature Picture Show

The Interview: (3) Mike

Mike wondered if that high class slut gave him crotch rot or something. He woke up with an uncomfortable itch that persisted through his morning shower. He scrubbed extra hard, getting all the nooks and crannies just in case. He was surprised to still see the bed occupied when he emerged from the bathroom. Normally they crept out by now, when it was apparent breakfast and snuggles weren't on the menu. He yanked the sheets down, waking up the naked woman in his bed. Lazy skank.

"You're still here?"

She gave him a hurt pout he didn't have time to deal with.

"Out, scram, I got somewhere to be."

"Asshole," she said, gathering up her clothes.

"Yeah, you licked that too last night," said Mike as whatshername scurried from the room. He tied his tie in the mirror, listening for the familiar slam of the front door before he gathered his car keys and headed down the stairs. He passed last night's pleasure sobbing quietly on a bench in the lobby. He hoped she had the decency to clear up before he came back. He hated it when they stuck around, trying to guilt trip him. He made no illusions what kind of night he offered, one night only, no strings attached.

Midtown traffic lightened up a bit by 10 in the morning, allowing him to pull up behind a cherry red Kia a full fifteen minutes early. He eyed the Prime building, trying to remember what, if anything, he'd heard about the place. An interview, right, for something he hadn't applied for. Though he'd bet solid money one of the execs at his firm put in a word for him. They were as impressed with him as they were eager to get rid of him. Fine by him, there was real potential to advance in a new place after swimming with sharks for years.

He strolled through the front door, whistling to himself as he took in the expensive cut marble decorating the lobby. Maybe a little overboard with the marble but at least it was uniform, clean, none of this calming pastel bullshit or worse, drab gray. He approached the desk, distracted by movement in the corner of his eye.

Well, wasn't she a unique little snowflake. At first he thought the young woman might be homeless, judging by the rumpled state of her clothes and fly away brown hair. A second look revealed that under the wrinkles her blouse and pants were high end, expensive stuff, right down to her open toed pumps. Despite that rat's nest on her head, she actually wasn't bad looking either, with cinnamon and creme skin, soft round features, and lips made to be savored.

"You lost, honey?"

She looked up at him, her dark eyes vacant and empty. Nope, damaged goods to the max.

"I'm here for an interview," she said softly. Well, his estimation of Prime just went down ten points.

A black woman entered the building in a cheap pant suit. Make that twenty points.

"Can I help you?"

He turned back to the tired looking receptionist at the desk, doing a fast walk to get there before the space case and ghetto chic.

"Hi, there, Michael Harper, here for an interview."

The receptionist studied him with a critical eye. "Elevator down the hall. Room 314." She sounded reluctant to dole out the information, as he if somehow offended her ancestors. Obviously she needed a good shag.

"Thank you, darling," he said with a wink, leaving the other two in his dust as he made for the elevator. The black marble ran all the way up to the silver doors, though a couple paintings on the walls. There was one he noted by the elevator, of a city under attack by airships. Odd selection for an office lobby, but what did he know. The hall leading to room 314 was drab and disappointing. There wasn't anyone here, even though it was ten on a Monday. Did they practice three day weekends? He could get behind that. He hated Mondays. He knocked on the door.