Flash fiction: Capricorn, Inc.

Photo by Marten Bjork on Unsplash

The slender woman opened the door to enter her high-rise apartment, and let it slam behind her with a satisfying bang.

“Ahhhhh,” she sighed, pleasantly closed off from the outside world, at least for a few hours.

She kicked off her designer, patent-leather heels to the side of the foyer.

“Hey babe!” she called, unsure whether her boyfriend was cooking dinner or out running errands.

“God, I hate people!” she continued. “Public transportation is the worst. It’s smelly, there’s no air conditioning. I mean, I’m sweating like a dude.” She half-dropped, half-lay her leather bag on the floor next to her shoes. Next, she shrugged off her blazer and hung it on a nearby chair, wondering whether it would be all right to wear again without having to pay for it to be dry cleaned.

“I’m tired of riding with the plebes,” she continued. “I’d drive to work if it weren’t for the fact that I would sit in traffic for hours, wasting time and gas.”

“I’m sorry, babe,” her man called from the kitchen. “Dinner will be ready soon. Would you like some wine?”

“Yes, please.” The woman went to the kitchen, stretching out her bare feet as she walked.

She took the proffered glass from him, thanked him, and drank a relaxing mouthful of pinot noir.

“I’m tired of this place,” she said. “Of this town. It’s so damn expensive. Do you know what we could get for $500k in someplace like Dallas or Nashville? If we could save another grand a month, we could probably retire when I’m 45, or even earlier.”

“What would that be like?” he wondered wistfully as he stirred something in a large pot on the stove.

“It would be awesome. We could travel or do whatever we wanted. Then we wouldn’t have to work for somebody else. Wouldn’t have to deal with incompetence all the time.”

Her eyes wandered to the small table in the kitchen, which they used to eat almost all of their meals. She thought, for the hundredth time, that a “formal” dining room was a monumental waste of space. They would hardly ever use it, and it would take up room unnecessarily.

“Did we get any mail?” she said absently, shuffling through the envelopes on the table. “I mean, anything other than junk?”

“Something from the cable company,” her boyfriend said.

She opened the bill and read it, becoming instantly angry.

“Goddammit. They charged us $50 for a professional cable installation when I refused that service. I set up the cable myself. See, this is why we have to scrutinize everything. Everyone’s out to screw us over. As usual, I’ll have to do everything myself because literally everyone in the world is incompetent.”

“I’m sorry, babe.” He turned around to face her. “ What can I do for you?”

“I’m good.” She smiled at him. “Sorry for being so negative. How was your day?”

“It was all right. Oh, I got the offer for that other job.”

“That’s awesome!” She closed the distance between them and placed her hands on his chest.

“We can talk about it later,” he said, then kissed her lightly on the lips. “It’s higher pay but the commute is longer.”

She shrugged. “We can do a cost-benefit analysis later.”

“Ooo, I love it when you talk business.”

“Excuse me. I’m all business, all the time.”

“Oh, is that so?” He put his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. “All the time?”

“Well,” she said in a mock dreamy tone as she put her arms around his neck, “most of the time.”