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I knew about Rick Randy…namely that his parents were deceased.
    “I don’t know about Superman, but I bet he’s a boy wonder down under. You think he might be bi?”
    “Okay, first I have no idea what kind of appendage he might be carrying. And second, I doubt he uses it on men.”
    “Did you flirt with him? I mean, God, he’s gorgeous.”
    “No, but he kind of flirted with me, I think.”
    “Oh, now that’s dish. How can you be so blasé? Don’t you think he’s hot? Come on, Marley, he looks like Chris Pine, and I know you crush on Chris Pine just like I do.”
    I thought about this for a second and had to agree with Dillon. Rick did have a similar resemblance to the hottie that played Captain Kirk. “I didn’t notice. I just think of him as the dick that’s going to fire my ass,” I said giggling.
    Dillon giggled with me. “Is that what we’re calling him? Rick the dick? Or how about just…big dick?” I shot him a cynical glance, but Dillon’s chocolate brown eyes just gleamed. “Come on, Marley, you can’t even admit he’s hot?”
    “Okay, he’s hot. He’s that guy who’s hot and knows it.”
    “Yeah, well he’d have to be mentally impaired or have an aversion to mirrors not to know it. He’s not just hot, he’s like hot sex on legs.”
    “ Dillon !” I chided, but he just laughed.
    “I mean, sure he’s going to fire all our asses, but you have to admit it. Even his name exudes sexuality…Richard Randy.” Dillon had this faraway look in his eyes he got when he talked about hot guys. I felt bad that as his best friend I could only reply by making a gagging noise.
    “I guess.” I bit down on my pencil, a telltale habit that I was thinking very hard. Dillon cocked a well-groomed eyebrow at me. “Dillon, do you know the meaning of randy?”
    He smirked. “Of course, I do. That’s why I said that about his name. What, you don’t?”
    I hesitantly relayed the airport debacle to Dillon. Then I stared, incensed, as Dillon proceeded to howl with laughter, putting even the TSA agent’s chortles to shame. I had to tell him to be quiet several times, so people didn’t think I was in a closed-off office, tickling him to death.
    “Oh, that’s precious, Marley,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye. Was it really that funny?
    My office phone rang, interrupting Dillon’s rambunctious antics, and I was thankful for the break. The temporary relief was short-lived when Kathy Carver—in a brusque and miraculously cough-free voice—requested my presence in Mr Henley’s office. Dillon sensed the shift in my expression and smiled sympathetically at me.
    “I got the call. I guess they decided not to wait for payday.” I tried to keep the smile pasted on my face for Dillon’s sake.
    “I’m sorry, kid.”
    I didn’t know why Dillon called me ‘kid’ when we were close to the same age, but I’d always liked it. “It’s okay, at least I’m prepared.” I kicked the cardboard box below my desk that contained all my personal effects. I’d packed it the day Mr Bellman had left.
    “Don’t worry, I’ll probably be following you in a few days myself. We can work the breadlines together.”
    I stood up and clasped his hands, realising that this might be the last time I talked to him at work. “Dillon, please, please, remember to take your pills at lunch. You know you can’t take them at night. Promise me.” I always made sure he took them, because I had seen him when he didn’t. The cleaning crew had threatened to quit because he’d followed behind them, pointing out spots of dust they’d missed. Although some people said it was cute, Dillon did have a disorder, and I knew he became antsy and nervous without his medication. One time, he’d re-arranged every drawer in his house for ten hours straight until he’d started crying.
    “I promise, Marley.”
    I brightened my smile not wanting either of us to start crying. “Gotta go, have to get fired now…or I guess, you would