Gorilla, Let Down Your Hair

Chapter 1: Hope Sinks

"If you're hearing this, your name must be Vicky, since I only used this number with you. Sorry, kid, but consider this your notice of termination, effective immediately. I've decided that, given the current political atmosphere, the best thing I can do is retire, and I see no reason to wait. I already mailed the relevant paperwork, including a reference letter. At the end of the month, this line will be disconnected, so I won't be any more help with future employment. Good luck, Vicky. You were the best assistant I ever had. Have a nice life."

Instead of a beep to mark the start of recording, an electronic voice informed Victoria Grunell that the mailbox was full. A click, and then a dial tone buzzed in her ear. Automatically, she dropped her phone on the white tablecloth and tapped the red circle on the screen. Her forehead joined the phone on the table a moment later. Tears she could no longer suppress flowed down her nose to be absorbed in the crisp fabric. The final lines of Gillian Welch's "Paper Wings" haunted her thoughts.

This morning she'd arrived at Mason Plather's office with two coffees and two fresh bagels from his favorite deli, as usual for their Saturday morning planning meeting, and the electronic lock refused her code. Since this was not its first malfunction, she called the security company that installed it to get the current bypass code. She entered the office only a few minutes after nine, an apology half-formed on her lips, to an unrecognizable space.

All the office furniture was stacked by the front door: desks, chairs, file cabinets, paper shredders, and two bookcases. No computers. A pair of bulging black plastic bags concealed piles of multicolored confetti, the shredded remains of all the paper records she'd kept meticulously organized, no doubt. Invoices taped to one of the desks confirmed the sale of the furniture to a used goods store, and the hiring of a cleaning company. One final slip of paper noted the early termination of the office lease, and the payment of an undisclosed fee related to the matter.

Naturally, she called Mason to see what was going on. They'd worked together for years, been friends even longer. She helped craft his first campaign for his district's school board, stood by proudly at his city councilman's swearing in, and filed the official candidacy paperwork for his mayoral run just last month. It was a rare day they didn't speak in person about professional or personal details of some sort. Rarer still were the days without at least a text or a phone call about the same. Yesterday had not been one of those days, and he'd made no mention of pending disaster.

Then that blasted message and impersonal beep. Her first voicemail accused him of playing a practical joke and teased him about his coffee getting cold. An hour later, her second voicemail demanded he call her back, that the humor of the prank had worn off. Then reporters swarmed the office, and she fled. The questions they hurled at her retreating back sparked her doubts. A quick Google search, and she knew Mason's "retirement" for what it really was: fleeing from justice. The joke really was on her, just not how she expected. Those poor girls. With no time to recover from the blow, she stuffed her writhing feelings in a box and moved onto her next – and most important – engagement of the day: celebrating her best friend's new relationship status.

The distraction of the past few hours helped maintain her composure, but now Claire's wedding reception had gained a momentum of its own. Her services as an amateur wedding planner were no longer required. She'd ushered the newlyweds out to their waiting Jeep a few minutes ago, per their plan, the first verse of Lyle Lovett's "Smile" pinning up her happy expression until they drove away. Then the morning's trauma crashed over her again, sending her to an unoccupied table far from the crowded dance floor. Calling Mason's phone to convince herself that the entire day hadn't been a fever dream of some sort broke her emotional floodgates.

A thunk beside her cheek startled her. Jerking upright, she twisted in her seat and glanced around. Her vision caught the sparkle of a glass and an unfamiliar looming form settling in the chair beside her, both rendered blurry with her remaining tears. She felt blindly for a napkin to dry her eyes. The stranger pushed one under her questing fingers, and she smiled in gratitude in his general direction before ducking her head low to dab at her face. Warm fingers brushed her hair behind her ear, sending sparks of static electricity dancing on her temple. She blushed at the familiarity and dabbed harder. FInally able to see clearly again, she twisted toward his chair, only to find it empty.