Sellevision - Augusten Burroughs [47]
“I don’t have a pen, but I can prick my finger and you can write with my blood, if you like.”
Bebe rolled her eyes and signaled for the flight attendant. Once she had a pen, she began circling items in the catalog.
Eliot watched her, amused.
Bebe leafed through the magazine, writing down item numbers.
“You smoke?” he asked, when Bebe selected a carton of Dunhill menthol cigarettes.
“Not me,” she said. “But I’m sure I know someone who does.”
T
he box arrived via certified mail, so Peggy Jean signed for it, personally. “Close the door behind you,” she ordered the mailboy on his way out.
Under his breath he muttered, “Sure thing, bitch.”
What could this be? she wondered. A thoughtful gift from her husband? Perhaps she had ordered something herself and simply forgotten?
Opening the thick paper revealed a simple, flat white box, wrapped in plastic. Sometimes chocolates arrived in such a box. She smiled at the thought, but silently warned herself against eating more than two. If they were chocolates, she would place them in the hosts’ lounge for others to enjoy, along with a little note: “Enjoy! God Bless, Peggy Jean.”
She placed the box squarely on her lap and opened it. But it wasn’t a box of chocolates.
It was a crucified rat.
The tiny little paws were thumbtacked to a homemade cross, Jesus style. The rat’s neck had been cut so it sported a collar of dried blood. And then there was the smell.
Peggy Jean let out a high-pitched scream and leapt up, sending the box tumbling onto the floor. She dashed out into the hallway, and ran screaming for the exit.
In the parking lot, a heel snapped off one of her Easy Spirit pumps. Frantically she tried to open her car door, but it was locked, and she’d left her keys and purse in her office. Tugging on the door handle caused the car alarm to begin wailing, the horn honking, and the lights flashing.
When the security officer arrived, she was hyperventilating. He handed her an empty Taco Bell Express bag to breathe into. “Just calm down, Ms. Smythe. Breath into the bag, then tell me what’s going on.”
Peggy Jean placed the bag over her face and breathed. The bag inflated and shrunk against her mouth.
“I thought it was a box of chocolates,” she said, heaving into the bag. She was aware of the scent of nachos . . . or was it a Burrito Supreme? She pulled her face out of the bag and waved it in front of her open mouth, as if to fan more air into her lungs.
Then she limped alongside the security officer back to the building. She led him to her office but refused to step inside herself.
“Well, how about that,” the security guard remarked upon seeing the crucified rat. “Poor little thing.” An older man, near retirement, the security officer seemed genuinely saddened by the fate of the rodent. “Sure are a lot of crazies out there.”
“Just get rid of it,” Peggy Jean cried. “Get it the hell out of my office.” Her arms were folded tightly across her chest. She was shivering.
Once the security guard and the rat were gone, Peggy Jean sprinkled Giorgio perfume on the floor where the rat-box had landed. Then she took two Valium and washed them down with one of the little bottles of Frangelica.
“I don’t like the taste of liquor, so it’s okay,” she said aloud.
A moment later, Trish appeared in Peggy Jean’s doorway. “What’s this I hear about someone sending you vermin on a stick?”
Peggy Jean started, and immediately tucked the little empty bottle in the pocket of her jacket. “Tic Tac?” She picked up the small plastic box and rattled it at Trish.
“Sure, thanks.”
Could Trish have . . . ? Peggy Jean wondered. No. She had to stop thinking like that. It was a sin to suspect her cohost and friend. “Oh, Trish, it’s just awful. It’s that Zoe woman, she’s terrorizing me, and I’m going absolutely out of my mind.” Peggy Jean’s hands were visibly shaking as she popped a mint into her mouth. She was sweating profusely.