Sliced Bread 2: The Greatest Thing Since Sliced Bread

No luck on the costume thing. I asked Ingrid about it yesterday and she just shook her head.

"Well, what happened?" I asked.

"I figured the best way to shake him with it would be to put the costume on myself and pretend like I was a version of him from a parallel dimension."

"You figured that'd be the best way, huh?"

"Shut up. So I did, and he just looked at me kind of blankly. Anyway, it turns out he's never seen that costume before in his life."

"No way," I said. "How the hell did it get in the storage room without him seeing it?"

"We figured maybe Itzhak sent it over and Carl or someone took one look at it and chucked it in without telling anyone."

"He's gotta be lying."

"Nope," she said. "He doesn't lie to me."

Sure he doesn't. Oh well. That was no fun.

--

For obvious reasons, nobody's supposed to be able to call me at work. But in Carl's Giant Binder (CGB) he left instructions for how to set up a call-forwarding deal where I can set up a number from one of the other buildings we own and have any calls to that number automatically and untraceably relayed to my desk phone. So, like an idiot, I did that. Like another idiot, I gave the safe phone number to Ron and my parents, just in case they needed to reach me in a hurry.

Ring ring.

"Hello; Dennis Relser speaking."

"Dennis! Hi! It's Erin!"

The hell it is. "Erin? How'd you get this number?"

"I just talked to Ron--his sister is friends with Candace." Oh, right. Damn Ron. "How are you? I haven't seen you since last year!"

"Um, I'm okay. Listen, I can't really talk . . ."

"We have to have coffee. When tomorrow morning are you free?"

"Ten?" I wanted to say, 'I'm not,' but I didn't have the lie ready. We arranged a meeting and I hung up. Goddamnit.

Erin and I went out for a couple of weeks in sophomore year. Her deal is that she wants everybody to get along with everybody else. Therefore I had to let her loser friends hang around with us--the girl who refused to speak English and insisted on smoking in my room (I asked her to put it out and she just said something in Spanish and blew smoke in my face) and what's-her-name with the tattoos who stole my Vanderboom CD. Erin and I didn't like each other well enough for our relationship to survive the resulting argument.

But as I say, she insisted that everyone get along with everyone else, and that means she and I had to get along. Which is why she keeps calling me. I got a Christmas card from her last year. Didn't send one. She didn't care. It's not that she can't take the hint; it's that she doesn't want the hint. She disputes the hint. What in the name of the baby Jesus is she doing in Empire City, anyway?

Oh yeah. And where does Ron get off giving her my work number? Ron should know better. Ron does know better.