Sixty-three : Do Not Disturb

((Max & Mel))

She was burning the midnight oil, her head being held by one hand by an elbow propped up on her desk, while the other hand was scribbling furiously on a piece of paper trying to come up with a brilliant design for a new spy gadget that she was coming up with. ’What is original?’ she wondered to herself. ’That’s been done.’ Scratch. ’That’s also been done.’ Another scratch. “I’ve needed a supply upgrade for so long. That’s not efficient,” Carmella said as she scribbled over another idea. At this rate, she wasn’t going to be able to get anything done.

It didn’t help that her phone was ringing every five to ten minutes. As she picked up the cellular device, she didn’t even need to check the caller ID to see who it was. “Remind me again why the hell I gave you my phone number in the first place?” she asked to the person waiting on the other line.

“Melly, baby! I just wanted to tell you I miss you!” exclaimed the annoying-yet-lovable (?) man on the other end of the call. Carmella sighed exasperatedly. “Maxwell! I told you I’ve been trying to work on something. This isn’t a good time to call!” she yelled, and hung up, clicking the “Call End” button and tossing the phone over her shoulder and onto her bed.

Scribble. Scribble. Scribble.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Still no ideas for a way to make her gear more efficient in tactical missions.

“New binocular goggles?” She looked to the utility belt that hung on a coathanger pole next to her desk, well-used, searching for signs of bulkiness. “I don’t think this is going anywhere,” she concluded.

Whatever. There were folders on her desk that needed to be looked through. Job offers. As in job offers (new targets). Wanting to avoid Max after having been forced to deal with him for days on end, she flipped through the contents of the files. “Maybe some separation would do us good.” It wasn’t as if she disliked the man. Carmella tolerated him, but couldn’t stand his antics. She wondered what that redheaded girl saw in him.

At least Carmella’s boyfriend could keep her entertained. But how long they would last, she didn’t know. “Do I want to keep him around or not?” she asked herself of the dark man who was as skillful with a knife as she was. He was a perfect gentleman, everything she ever wanted in a man. Nodding to herself, Carmella tried to convince herself the benefits of an alliance with him. At least it wasn’t like she had to babysit him like she’d done for Maxwell Kane. ’Thank God for that,’ she reminded herself.

The phone rang again. She exhaled through her nostrils, closing and opening her eyes slowly. ’Let it ring thrice, then answer,’ she instructed herself. Only he called her every so often. She rarely received calls from her brothers or her workers, as all resided in the de Rosencourte mansion with her, and as such, were accessible by personal intercom.

“What is it?” she asked in her frustrated French accent.

“Is now a good time?” answered the same familiar voice.

“Considering I can’t get any work done because you cannot shut your trap, I don’t think anytime will be a good time,” she replied coolly.

She heard chuckling from the other end. “Melly, Mel-Mel. I wanted you to join me for dinner!” Max offered. “I was getting lonely over here and my girl’s off doing some modeling job or something. Let’s get together, you and me,” he said, trying to convince her.
Carmella shook her head. “I’m tired,” she lied, and hung up again. And that’s when she realized what she needed in life. Someone to bug the hell out of her. Someone who actually worried for her and wanted to surprise her once in a while. While she had that from her current boyfriend, none of those gestures matched the way a certain second-generation Irish male did.

For the rest of the night, she watched as her phone vibrated every few minutes. She lay on her bed, the lights turned off, and lay the phone on the other side of her bed, imagining the person whose calls she wasn’t taking at the moment.