Page 59 of Pot Shot
Oh, no. Ido.
“Painful to watch, but necessary for her growth.” Graham looks up, sees me watching from the doorway. “Oh, hey Nomi.”
“Hey, bitch,” Eve says. “Another package came in for JM Enterprises. I put it in your office.”
Ugh. That’s the third time this month!
Eve turns back to Julian. “But seriously,canyou control yourself? You were really cool at the Pot Luck when you were stoned off your ass. Is that how you really are, and you just choose to hide it under this unhinged exterior? Or was it a neurological fluke?”
Julian absently dries a mug while he considers the question. “You know that phrase,the cat’s hackles raised? I think my hackles are permanently raised. They are stuck in the raised position.”
“They only go up,” Graham adds, then lifts his finger. “But can they gohigher?”
“Oh, definitely,” Eve says. “I’ve seen it.”
“Like when Carl came back in and asked for a refill on his latte,” Graham muses. “The hackles definitely went higher.”
Julian nods solemnly as I approach the counter, looking between my two best friends and then to Julian. “You know these two arereallyhigh right now.”
Julian hangs the mug on its rack. “I had my suspicions.”
“I think we should help him,” Eve says to me. “We should teach Julian how to be nice.”
“I am a lost cause, you mean, little lesbian.”
“No, really. We can help you,” Eve insists. “I’m great, Graham’s a sweetheart, and Nomi’s the nicest person there is.”
Graham tilts his head to the side. “Weeeeelll—”
Eve slams her hand on the counter, now in full salesman mode. “What if I told you I had ascientifically provenmethod to make you a nicer person—would you do it?”
Julian frowns. “What kind of science?”
“Science!” Eve declares with jazz hands.
This, apparently, is enough.
Julian rubs his chin. “Today?”
“We could start this afternoon.”
“Julian? Might I remind you—” I point at Eve, who’s now drumming the counter in a frenetic reggae beat. “They areveryhigh. Whatever she’s thinking, I guarantee it’s a bad decision.”
“Gare-un-teeeeed,” Graham says with a vaguely Cajun, almost certainly problematic accent. “What a weird word. Gare-un-teeeee. Garrrr-uhhh—”
“See?” I lift my palm like I’m serving uppotheadon a very small platter.
Julian slaps his towel down. “Let’s do it.”
JULIAN
“You want me to wear ashock collar?” I run the hot-pink dog collar emblazoned in sparkly gems that spell outREAL RUFF BITCHthrough my fingers with mounting horror.
“Yes, you’ll wear it around your wrist, like this.” Eve points, and Graham fastens the collar on me. The metal shock box makes the whole thing resemble a very bulky, very gay smart watch. “We’ve designed a series of trying personal interactions for you, and one of us will zap you every time you’re a dick.”
“No!” Nomi laughs, her eyes wide. “Don’t do this, Julian. This is batshit!”
“It doesn’t hurt,” Graham says mildly. “On the lower settings.”
