Put The Sepia On Read Online Free PDF

leg (hiking that dress a little closer to Heaven to do it), and one more, about the size of my little useful gun, from her bra. “Satisfied?” she asks me.
    “Never.”
    She leans a little further over the desk, and drops her voice, and her lower lip, about an octave. “Never?” The only reply that makes any sense is pouring myself another drink.
    She says my name, slowly, breathy. She says it as a recrimination. I pretend I don’t get it. She presses on. What a champion.
    “You know, the last fella I visited offered me a drink.”
    “The last fella you visited musta liked you better than I do.” She was still smiling, and my heart was still on the third lap of a million mile track.
    “Nobody likes me better than you do, sugar,” she coos without a drop of doubt in her voice. And why should there be? She’s not wrong. I find myself wishing I hadn’t left my big, obvious gun at Lime’s. Not because I need it to defend myself, but because I feel like it might compensate for something.
    “Well, there’s a whole lotta nobodies in this world.” That one finally stings her a little, and she sits up.
    “Ouch, baby,” she’s stung, but not wounded. Still the ghost of a smile on her.
    “Why are you here, Rita?” She doesn’t answer, so I ask her again. “Why are you here, Rita?”
    She cocks her head, feigning curiosity. “Rita? Rita… that name sounds so strange coming off your lips… that’s not what you used to call me. It’s a little rude, calling me a new name, you know.”
    I grit my teeth and play her game. “Why are you here, baby?” I try to say it without any affection in my voice. I’ve probably failed worse in my life, but not recently.
    “I’m here, baby ,” she stresses the word, “to offer you a job. Your old job.”
    I don’t know what to say. I hate her. I hate her more than I hate the Dogs, the Corporation, and myself. And I hate all three of those things plenty. But the difference is that in her case, and only her case, hate finishes a distant second in the emotional marathon. I try to spit out something witty, or something cruel, but all I can think about is how nice it’d be to be back in that office, back in that bed. Sure, my morality would keep me up at night, but with her around I’d have better things to do at night than sleep anyhow.
    I remember why I left the first time. But I can’t remember why “why” was good enough. I smell jasmine and I see her and I realize I’m twice the deer Coral is, and Rita’s the headlights. And she’s coming fast. She’s over my desk and into my lap in a flash, and those lips touch me and I remember what LIFE feels like.
    “Darling,” she says, and means it, “I’ve missed you.” I kiss her, an d I’m twenty-three again.
    “What about the war?” my inner detective miraculously convinces me to ask.
    “We know it’s coming,” she says between kisses, “and we’re not so worried; besides…” she pulls my shirt open between thoughts, “I’ve spoken with Lime and we’re on the winning side either way.” She tastes like Heaven would taste it had a better chef behind it.
    It’ s a few hours and a whole lotta sweat later and I still haven’t given her an answer. She doesn’t look too worried about it. She pulls that dress back over her and all of a sudden the world’s a little bit worse place to live.
    “You can have tomorrow off, naturally. We’ll see you early, the day after?” she asks without looking at me.
    “I haven’t said yes yet.”
    She looks over her shoulder (her shoulder is prettier than most women’ s faces) at me, and says without a shred of doubt: “You will. And I’ll be thrilled when you do.” She even rolled the r on “thrilled”. Just her voice could teach the Kama Sutra a thing or twelve.
    She walks out of my door, and maybe my life, without another word. Her armor still hasn’t cracked until she hits the threshold. She turns, slow, and if I had to bet I’d say without wanting to, and