Ricky Jay.  

Tell your boss you enjoy what he has you doing, about how you wake up in the middle of the night with ideas. You'd like more to do; you have time. He'll laugh when you joke that you're developing a loyalty habit that's like a twitch. Stop before you admit you don't want to go home.

Remember the details he'll soon forget he mentioned. So when you say something he's forgotten he told you, he'll tap his forehead with a pen, and say, "Here you are again, Carly, inside my head."

Be subtle, just a bit inappropriate. This requires balance. The world's full of blatant need and honesty. All those handshakes that run a beat too long, footsie under the table. Avoid skin. Think of whispers, and how, when you want to hear one, you only adjust your head.

Elevator rides are great opportunities for intimacy. They're like bed standing up. You step in front of the boss, lean back a little, and hope someone else gets on.

Offer to work overtime without pay, to help him put together his Power Point presentation.

Always know how you look. Lips slightly parted, hands alive as you talk. Know what your legs are doing, if they're crossed or you're bouncing your heel.

These things also work: Tuberose perfume. Nipples through black shirts. Hair in your eyes he'll watch you brush away, wanting to do this.

Offer him one of the long neck beers you've stashed in the fridge in a grocery bag.
Walk slowly in and out of his office with corrections. Don't be deferential anymore. Call him Albert often. Albert. Albert. Albert. Put the papers in front of Albert, who will take your wrist and pull you close to him. Kiss Albert back.

The desk is a mess of papers and transparencies. Also too high and too hard.

Move to the rug. You don't want this to be just one time, so set up a reason for the next time. Tell Albert how very close you are, just a minute away, when you know he can't last seven more seconds. Tell Albert you've never had an orgasm fucking. "You'll want to watch, I think, yes." He promises he'll be the one who pushes you through the next time, who gets on your map.

After sex, tell him something pretty. How you were the kid who always stayed after school to erase the blackboard because it was nice to run through the day's work. Forget that you don't mean any of it, and that you stayed late not to help your teacher, but because you didn't want to go home to your quiet mother, and that all you felt after you'd clapped the chalk out was the time you still had left.

The next day at work, stand beside his chair so he runs his fingers up your bare calf.

Bring him chocolate covered almonds. Spike his coffee with Amaretto.

After the security guard shows Albert the tape of two people fucking in the middle of the floor, try not to be frightened you'll get fired.

Take a closer look.

Have the guard rewind and replay, rewind and replay. It may look like you, or it may be the woman from the third floor you saw Albert talking to in the parking lot after he left you with a few more corrections, both of them nestled in the open V of the door of her car, because he was considering the drink she'd offered. You don't have shoes with 4" heels; your knee was screwed up in a car wreck.

Raise your skirt and point to the scar. He'll wave you off, tell you to keep your voice down.

Raise your voice. Fill every cubicle of the office with your voice. Rattle the windows. Make coffee jump out of mugs. Ask him this: "You fucked her after me?"
Pitch all of Albert's notes and corrections and the Power Point zip disk into the trash. Pour what's left of your Coke in there. Try not to look down at your sensible shoes.

If you have to think of yourself as a trophy, don't let it be the brassy thing you win at swim meets. Be the five point deer head in the lodge. That's funnier, don't you think? The sporting kill he made? The proof he hangs in his den -- next to the smaller deer in heels -- that his wife will put in the trash if he dies first.

When you wake at 4 a.m. and your brain's on fire, pretend you're swimming in a lake alone and the water's cool. Slow down. Go easy now. The feeling that love's a kind of home -- well, it won't go away, but you can put it away. Just dam it and trust the banks will hold once the water stills.

Read the newspaper the minute it hits your door. Notice bad days happen to other women. Be grateful for that.

Find your next job in the want ads because you want to be seamless. Then you have a highway with no red lights. Just high speeds and miles of road. A place where you can drive all night. Texas. The roads in Texas are black velvet because those people care that much about their trucks.

(This piece ran a couple of years ago on Word Riot.)
 

I read inside a stiflingly hot yellow school bus this weekend to four people. One of them was Andrei Codrescu, who preceded me and was kind enough to stay after his reading to a fuller bus, although his cell phone rang through the last line of my story. It's okay. I like saying my work out loud. The lazy sentences make themselves known. Off with their heads. My Scruffy Designs T-shirt was soaked.  

After reading this, I couldn't buy a copy of Florida fast enough, and I found a used copy of "Nightworks" I'm betting will rattle my world. Here's a taste of Christine Schutt's writing to hold us over until the mail comes. I hope she sells a truckload of books.