“I try to meet our new, ahem, students at least once but I hope in our case we encounter each other again and again, Ms…”
“Krakow,” spoke Marsha to Dr. Paul Mouse, head of the organization and secretly working for Head, often known as Perch.
“Yes, Marsha Krakow, hmm. And with an additional name if I remember correctly. One only friends can say.”
“Correct, Dr. Paul… what was it?”
“Mouse,” said Paul Mouse.
“No. A middle name.” She smiled wryly.
“Oh yes — clever. I’ll give you mine and you’ll divulge yours. Well, mine is [delete name].”
“Never heard of that. Well mine is Pink, spelled like the color and not the cologne.”
“Not p-n-k, then. I remember from when my wife got me some a couple of Christmas’ ago. Still sitting on the shelf above the medicine cabinet, unused.”
“But other people swear by it. Man of your,” not age, she thought — *distinction*, “*distinction,*” she said aloud, “– might be handy is all I’m saying.”
“So you believe in its love potion powers. You are a true P-n-kie.”
“Look at me,” Marsha spoke about her appearance. “I use to sell it. I had a hot pink car before I traded it for a yellow. Got tired of seeing putrid yellow-green as an aftereffect all over the road on sunnier days.” So for the first time we understand the color.
“Interesting. But do you *really* believe–”
“That is for me to know and you to find out.” Could she wield her considerable powers over *him*? This is what her mother feared, why she was put into that totally colorless black and white cow costume and forced to forget. Venus power. All this, she realized, all this organization must be about her.
He realized he was staring at her uncomfortably. He pretended to organize his files about her before him, shuffled Pink on top again from the bottom. This was no time to bring up the 3-n-1 and the presence of Shelley Johnston Struthers (I was right!) and Frankie Brown Beige (or Beige Brown!) within as well. Pink on the surface; Pink she is. If only Marsha to him still, not counting as a friend. Yet.
(to be continued)
Sunklands 