by Phyllis Souza
Beck Realtors. It was seven o’clock on a Friday night.
“Don’t forget to set the alarm.” George slipped on his jacket.
Audrey glanced up from her computer and said, “I won’t...First, I need to complete typing this addendum.”
After finishing her work, Audrey walked to the restroom. Storage boxes lined one side of a wall, and a three-foot nutcracker soldier stood in a corner.
When she turned the doorknob to leave, it broke off. In a squatting position, she slid the broken spindle into the hole; It didn’t connect. This sucks. I need to find something to trip the lock— The Nutcracker!
The sword was too big but the rods connecting the arms might work. With a pounding heart, she jabbed the steel pin into the hole and poked. No luck.
In the outer office, the phone kept ringing, but, of course, no one answered.
Her eyes darted around the room that had suddenly become her cell.
“I’m no goddamn prisoner!” Audrey pounded her fists on the door and kicked it. That hurt!
Taking one box after another, she flung them. Files and papers flew in the air. With disheveled hair and wide-eyed, she threw the soldier too.
Maybe I should try again. She sucked in a deep breath, prayed for a miracle, and put the knob back into the hole. Then, as if magnetic, it connected. She released the breath she’d been holding and turned the knob.
Not wasting a second, she grabbed her purse and phone and raced out of the office.
Just as she was getting into her car, George pulled into the parking lot next to her,
“I tried calling. Nobody picked up. I forgot to set the answering machine.”
“I was trapped in the restroom.”
“Oh, you’re such a joker.”
“Yeah, I’m hilarious. See you on Monday.”
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