"Abernathy's Henchman" - alternate story written for but not submitted to NYC Midnight 250-word Flash Fiction 2021

I felt that this story did not fit the assignment as well as the one I submitted.

The assignment was comedy/loading a dishwasher/option:

"Abernathy's Henchman"

Mr. Abernathy paced on the back porch, talking with his hands as he yelled into Bluetooth. “Option it! That’ll slow it down ‘til our movie’s raking in returns. Yeah, eighteen months, fitty-K — No, dumbshit, we don’t have to buy it. Just put it in development hell!”

Meanwhile, I rinsed dishes. Abernathy never cooked. Even so, he made a remarkable mess in the kitchen: crumbs, sticky smears, whipped cream in martini glasses, abandoned wasabi crusting on handmade plates, hardened noodles marooned on the backlit carnelian counters. Million-dollar kitchen that looked like the inside of a supervillain lair in a volcano, all black and glowing red. Too bad he treats it like he has henchmen.

Guess I’m the henchman. Well, a part-time hench for a cheapskate twice-weekly housekeeper’s salary.

“Gotta go,” he bellowed. Loudmouth. Lucky the neighbors were acres away. He raked me with his eyes, winking salaciously. “Hey, Marty, what’s good? Gonna hit the clubs? Yeah, but s’okay. Mostly cleared up, y’know? Huh? No big. Paid the bimbo fitty-K. 11:30? Cool.”

He hung up and breezed in, tracking dirt on the Turkish rugs I just vacuumed. He looked at my tits. “Hi.”

“Hi, Mr. –”

He cut me off with upheld finger. “Hi, Jimmy? What’s good!”

I bent to load the dishwasher because he insisted on “sanitizing” everything after hand-washing.

He slapped my ass as he passed. “Hey, soap those again first, pumpkin.”

I finished loading, added half a bottle of Dawn, turned on the dishwasher, and left.

Soap this, motherfucker.

 


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