Little Bastard

Jill Zeller



J Z Morrison Press on Smashwords

Little Bastard
© 2011 by Jill Zeller
Cover art by

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Little Bastard

I watch the boss exercising nude in the workout room, but he doesn’t know I am here. I first saw him in there two months ago, when I brought my cart down the hall to clean the offices. He runs a business where they ride bicycles delivering papers to offices in the tall glass and steel buildings surrounding us. The boss installed the workout room for his employees. The boys and girls who work here are young and muscular from riding their bikes, and don’t use the workout room much. Only the boss does, every night after dinner. In the nude.

I know a lot about the boss. His name is Philip Neff. He knows nothing about me, Manuela the housekeeper, even though I was here to clean in the evenings before the bike messenger company was in this building. I doubt he understands the subtlety of how his wastebasket gets emptied and his green carpet gets vacuumed. I am careful replace the photographs of his wife and two sons back in their places on his desk. I dust the glass paperweight and the gumby toy and the eight-ball that gives answers to questions when you hold it and shake it and read what they say as they float up out of the darkness.

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