Little White Lies   by Larry Low              Page 1

Reading Comprehension

Short Story Master Glossary

Puzzle Page

She was within spitting distance of spilling her guts to the nearest stranger. She was as close to spouting off as a pot threatening to spew over the stovetop and down onto a freshly waxed kitchen floor the very second it’s left unattended.

Jane was habitually a mellow-minded workaholic who simmered in silence when need be and occasionally blew her stack. After forcing herself to take a couple of deep breaths, she was no longer on the threshold of doom. Making a scene would never do, especially not in an executive lounge at YVR where she was altogether too well known.

She felt her anger ebbing away. Oh great, she muttered. Now I’ve got the worries. Greg will be fine. He’s just forgotten me. That’s all. When he wakes up to the realization that I’ve gone and he wasn’t there to say goodbye, he’s going to feel like a louse. If the shoe fits, she told herself. Her cell phone played Maizy Doats, 'N Dozy Doats and Little Lambs-a-divey. How embarrassing! She hadn’t gotten around to changing that damned ringer to something a mite more professional sounding. Greg and his pranks!

An elegantly  dressed little old lady, sharing a snug corner of Cathay Pacific’s Business Class lounge, gave her the oddest look. She was eighty if she were a day. Fishing the insane object out of her handbag, Jane smiled and was granted a gracious smile in exchange. The elegantly dressed one moved to the centre of the lounge, as if to say, “You’ll never catch me using one of those newfangled gizmos,” or was her behaviour merely an example of old-fashioned courtesy?

“Jane McLean.”

If that don’t beat all, she thought. No longer fuming or anxious, she was now decidedly miffed. In a monotone,she said,“Hello Greg.”

“It’s only for six months and the money is fantastic. Besides, it can’t be helped,” Greg said. "It’s too good an opportunity to miss. It’s not as though we won’t see each other. I’ll most likely turn up when you least expect it.”

Greg was allowing that all too familiar whine into his voice again. It somehow crept in whenever he didn't get his own way instantly. The slightest hint was enough to give her second thoughts. It wasn’t so much a whine as a wheedle. A single touch of it on her eardrum and his macho image vanished only to be replaced with one of a sloppily dressed Clark Kent. She felt like asking him if he’d like a bit of cheese to go with his whine, perhaps a Camembert or a Brie.

“What do you mean, it’s too good an opportunity to miss?”

“It just is,” he said. “I can’t talk now. This is no longer a secure line.”

“You’re going for six months?” Her tone changed from angry to incredulous. “To Iraq?”

Page 2

ebbing

habitually

spouting off

Camembert

Brie

Iraq

elegantly 

macho

miffed

newfangled gizmos

wheedle

workaholic

threshold of doom

louse