by Brea Brown
I stick my tongue out at her and go into the break room, where I stand in front of the open refrigerator for a few seconds after setting my lunch on the crammed shelf.
“Libby,” I hear behind me.
Quickly, I close the fridge and turn around to face Gary, who’s standing there, cup of coffee in hand. I don’t know how he can drink that when it’s a hundred degrees outside.
“I need you to work with Jude today on his presentation for the art museum.”
“Okay,” I answer readily, perkily, and approachably. “When’s the presentation?”
“Monday. Clear your workload. Give any other work you have to Lisa, Leslie, and Zoe. This is priority one.” He sips his coffee, then pours the rest down the sink. “I’ll check on you guys later to see how it’s going.” He sets his dirty mug in the sink (which is right next to the dishwasher, by the way) and walks out.
Sighing, I rinse the cup and place it in the dishwasher for him. Then I head back to my desk.
I dump a few minor projects in Lisa’s and Zoe’s laps. A really unsavory job I was dreading goes to Leslie. When I tell her what needs to be done, she narrows her eyes at me. “What are you going to be doing all day, then?”
“I have to help Jude with his presentation for the Art Museum Board,” I declare, careful to keep the gloat I’m feeling out of my voice. “I’ll be in his office if you have any questions about that.” I point to the stack of spreadsheets she’s supposed to consolidate into one workbook.
I knock on Jude’s office door, which is open. He spins around from his drafting table. “Right. You’re here to help, I take it?”
It’s not the warmest greeting I’ve ever received, but I’m used to being treated like a piece of office equipment. “Take it or leave it,” I answer cheerfully. “What do you need help with?”
“Everything,” he says despairingly. “I’m crap at presentations. I design. I draft. I don’t do public speaking.”
“Show me what you have so far,” I say, going to his computer.
He follows me around his desk and opens a document titled, “Art Museum Presentation.” It’s blank.
“You’re kidding me, right?” I start minimizing things on his computer desktop, trying to find his real notes.
He gulps and scratches his head. “Nope. Not joking. I’ve got nothing.”
“Well, you have to have something!” I try to keep the panic at bay. Nothing will come of both of us breathing into paper bags all day.
“I don’t!” He crosses his office and closes the door so no one overhears us. “I don’t have a bloody, sodding word. Not even an idea.”
“But Gary’s going to come in here this morning for a run-through!”
“He is?” His pale face whitens further and takes on a green tinge. “Oh, blimey.”
“How long have you had to work on this?” I ask.
“Two weeks.”
“And you have nothing?”
“We’ve already established this,” he confirms, growing impatient. “I can get out the thesaurus and give you some synonyms if you don’t like the word ‘nothing.’”
I drop my hands from my forehead and tilt my head inquisitively, “You say ‘thesaurus’ funny. Say it again.”
“Thesaurus,” he says, putting the accent on the first syllable. “What’s wrong with that? You say it funny. TheSOREus. Bizarre. How do you say ‘aluminium’?”
“Not like that!” I crack up. “Al-yoo-MIN-ium? You put an extra ‘I’ in there!”
“What are we doing?” He grins hysterically. “We don’t have time to muck around!”
“No, it’s definitely not in our shedyule,” I crack.
“Bugger off.”
“Whatever that is, we probably don’t have time for that either,” I say. “Okay, let’s get serious. You’re in deep shit.”
“Whilst that’s very helpful information, it doesn’t actually solve the problem,” he replies.
“Show me your drawing.” I walk to the drafting board and stand over the huge blueprint draped over it. “This is bad-ass,” I breathe reverently after a few minutes of studying it.
He stands next to me. “Thanks. I mean… well, the thing is, it’s a wing that’s going to be dedicated to modern art collections. So, I thought it should look modern. But the trick was making a seamless transition from the traditional architecture of the original structure. That’s the purpose of this corridor here.” He points to a part of the drawing, and I notice for the first time how nice his hands are. Slim fingers, clean, short nails, but not girly.
“Also,” he continues intensely, oblivious to my study of his hands, “it’s not enough for it to look modern; it has to look timeless. I don’t want it to be dated in twenty years, for someone like me to walk past it and say, ‘Oy, that’s so retro-looking.’ That would defeat the purpose of having it look modern, if it only looked modern for a decade. So I added a lot of classic elements to it to soften the more contemporary features. I feel it will serve to balance it out in the end.” He looks up at me, seeking my approval.
“It’s… awesome.”
“Seriously? You’re not just saying that because I’m bricking myself and have sweet F.A. to show Gary when he comes in here?”
Still staring at the drawing, I answer distractedly, “I have no idea what the hell you just said, but this is really beautiful.” I trace a line of the building with my finger.
He laughs. “Well. I can never get enough of flattery, but we really need to figure out what I’m going to say.”
“What’s wrong with what you just told me?” I ask, snapping out of my trance.
He starts to enumerate all the problems with it, but I interrupt him. “Well, obviously, we’ll shine it up. And we’ll have to add to it, but we can hide a lot of deficiencies with sweet computer graphics.”
I walk to his desk and pick up his phone, calling down to Marvin in Graphic Design. I tell him what’s going on and that Gary says it’s our top priority. He listlessly informs me that he has nothing better to do today, anyway, and he’ll be right with us.
“We’re going to take the Museum Board on a virtual tour of your new modern art wing. And they’re going to be blown away,” I assure Jude. “In the meantime, sit down over there and repeat what you told me.” I settle myself at his keyboard and start typing what he says. When we get the skeleton down, we go in sentence by sentence and tweak the language.
I have him come around the desk to read it through. When he finishes, I say, “Plus, let’s face it; you could stand up there and recite the alphabet, and they’d be impressed and consider you an authority because of that accent.”
“I don’t have an accent,” he says, still leaning across me. “You do.”
I’ve seen that face before. This close to me. At that angle.
“Your eyes are so stunning. I find myself thinking of them at the oddest moments during the day.”
“Like when?”
“Constantly. Mostly at work, when I’m supposed to be concentrating on other things. But also when I’m in bed… alone. You drive me to distraction.”
“Well, I’m here now. Why don’t you do some of the things to me that you imagine doing?”
“What a fabulous idea,” he mutters as he slowly and sensuously begins removing my clothing.
Neither one of us seems to breathe. I see for the first time a slight bump in the bridge of his nose, only noticeable at this distance (or lack thereof). He licks his lips. I mimic the gesture without thinking.
“Knock-knock. Someone call a graphics genius?” Marvin asks as he lets himself in.
Jude stands up straight, and I roll away from him on the chair. After I explain to Marvin what I’m envisioning (for the presentation), he complains, “I totally should have known about this a week ago, dudes. What you’re asking for will take days. I’d have to work through the weekend to get it done.”
“So you’ll do it?” I half-joke hopefully.
He stares me down. I stand up
and clasp my hands to my chest, pleading, “Please? It’ll be so awesome; it’ll be worth it.”
“Says the girl who’s not going to spend her weekend at work.”
Suspecting I’m going to regret it, I say, “What do you need me to do to help? I’ll work this weekend if it means you’ll do this for us.”
Jude steps in. “Ah, no. No worries. Never mind. I’ll simply… mount the drawing on a backing and frame it, put it on an easel. It’ll be fine. You shouldn’t have to work through your weekend, mate, because I made a pig’s ear of this whole thing.” I notice he didn’t say anything about how I shouldn’t have to work on my weekend.
I shoot Jude a dirty look. I almost had Marvin ready to agree. I could see it. I place a silencing hand on Jude’s arm and say to the graphic artist, “Seriously, Marvin, I’ll do what I can to help. So will Jude. We’ll all work this weekend, if that’s what it takes. And… and…” I desperately search for anything else to sweeten the pot. “And I’ll take you to a Cubs game, my treat. Next weekend. I think they’re playing the Cardinals. Big rivalry!”
Now I have his attention.
“I do likes me some Cubs,” Marvin says in a silly voice.
“Oh!” Jude cries. “Now this is getting a bit ridiculous. If anyone should be bribing the bloke, it should be me. I’m the twit who got myself into this mess.”
“No, no,” Marvin is suddenly very accommodating. This will work just fine. As a matter of fact, you don’t even have to work the whole weekend with me. Just come in for a couple of hours tomorrow so I can make sure everything looks the way you want it to look.” He points to me. “You. Call me later and give me your cell phone number. Before you leave today.”
I want to cry when he actually winks at me.
I gulp. “Okay.”
He waves in Jude’s general direction. “You, too, I guess. In case I have any questions or problems.”
“Really—”
But before Jude can object any more, Marvin’s out the door, a copy of the plans under his beefy arm.
I smile sickly but bravely at Jude. “Well, we still have a lot to do before Gary gets here. Let’s get back to work,” I say, trying not to think about what I’ve gotten myself into.
And for what? Some guy who’s a procrastinating ‘twit.’ But it’s not really for him. It’s for his presentation, for the company.
And I have to admit, this is the most fun I’ve had at work in a long time.
8
Jude was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago. We’re going to see what Marvin has so far. I don’t know why I’m needed. I’m pretty sure I’ve already paid my dues by agreeing to go to a ballgame with a freckled, microphone-headed, beady-eyed computer geek who’s shaped somewhat like Barney the dinosaur and sweats excessively, which is not going to mix well with the summer sun beating down on the outfield bleachers at Wrigley Field. But you get what you pay for. And I think it’s going to pay off. It had better, for Jude’s sake.
I’m lingering at my desk in the mostly dark, totally empty office, putting off going down to the graphics suite. I don’t want to be alone in a cramped, dark room with Marvin. I think it might not be safe, actually. And a girl can never be too careful.
It’s eerie to be at work when no one else is. Due to a new company policy, everyone’s computers are off, so there aren’t even any screensavers blinking or scrolling or doing all the other things screensavers do. And it’s amazing how much quieter it is when the PC fans aren’t all whirring. For a second, I’m tempted to go over to Leslie’s computer and turn it on so it looks like she broke the rules. But I don’t move from where I’m standing. I don’t want to chance Marvin hearing me move around out here. Until Jude arrives, I decide to lie low.
I know he’s not here yet, because the door was locked when I got here, and I still have his key. I keep forgetting to give it to him.
I unclip it from my keychain and stare at it in my palm.
“What’s this?” he asks as I offer it to him.
“A key to my London flat,” I answer coyly.
His eyes mist over. “Oh, wow. This. Is. Big.”
“I know,” I start to get emotional, too, but I smile through my tears, then laugh as he wipes them from my cheeks.
“You’re even gorgeous when you cry.” He smiles, his white teeth gleaming. Ting! “But I have something for you that’s even better.” He goes down on one knee and holds a sparkling ring between his thumb and forefinger. Ting-ting! “Will you do me the honor of being my bride?”
All I can do is nod. I’m overcome by emotion. I’ve found someone who wants to be with me forever. Someone not from the feline family. I watch him slide the ring on my finger. Violins are playing. I lean down and take his face in my hands, kissing him. “You want to marry me?” I ask after a very long, intense kiss.
“I do.”
“Wotcher got there?”
“Aggh!” I drop the key, and we both bend over at the same time to pick it up, resulting in our banging our heads together like two people in a predictable slapstick comedy.
He comes up with the key in one hand, his head in the other.
“Sorry,” he says sheepishly.
“You scared the shit out of me,” I gripe, rubbing my gourd. “And you have a really hard head!” And I’m the one with the titanium plate in her head. I’m pretty sure I’m going to have a goose egg.
“Better than a soft one, I s’pose, which yours is definitely not, either,” he mumbles, holding the key out to me. “Here; you dropped this.”
“Really?”
“You don’t have to be all snarky! I said I was sorry. I thought you heard me come in. It’s not like I was quiet about it.”
As I shake off the afterglow of my fantasy and get back into reality, I inform him, “I think that’s your key.”
“You’re pulling my plonker.” He holds up and inspects the piece of jagged metal, as if he’s going to be able to recognize it on sight.
“I most certainly am not pulling your… whatever.” I wrinkle my nose disgustedly, but mostly at myself for kind of liking the sound of that.
He takes in my expression, wrinkling his nose, too. “Ew. It doesn’t mean whatever you obviously think it does.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
I barely prevent myself from screaming at his echo of Fantasy Jude’s exact words. I suck in a gasp, then choke on my own spit. While I sputter with my fist against my mouth, he thumps on my back. After I can talk again, I step away from him and wheeze, “You’re late.”
Even stranger than seeing the office empty is seeing him in casual clothes. He’s wearing longish shorts that are frayed at the hem, but they look like the kind of shorts that you pay big money for them to look like you dug them out of the trash. He also has on a plaid button-up, short-sleeve shirt, unbuttoned, with a plain white t-shirt under it. And he’s wearing flip-flops. He looks like he worked really hard to look like a slob. The idea of him worrying about what to wear today comforts me for some reason.
Concentrating by sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, he slides his key onto a ring that also holds his car and apartment keys. “Yeah. Sorry. Car troubles.”
“Oh, you had to take the El?”
“No,” he says, shaking his head, “but just about. I called the car club when I barely made it here. They’re supposed to tow it to a garage and ring me.” At the mention of his phone, he checks to make sure he hasn’t missed any calls.
“Well, let’s get this over with,” I say, sighing. “I have better things to do today.” It doesn’t matter that it’s a lie, as long as he believes it.
Seeming nervous suddenly, he shuffles his feet, putting one hand in his pocket, then the other. “O-okay.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask him, worried that he’s about to deliver more bad news. Maybe Marvin already talked to him and demanded two dates with me. No, I refuse to call them dates. Although… then I’d get my “extra credit” from Dr. Ma
rsh…
“Nothing,” he quickly answers. “Not a thing. Where does this Marvin fellow hole himself up to do his best work?”
I keep him in my sight as I point the way. His twitchy behavior continues. He takes his keys from one pocket and switches them to the other, then pulls them out again.
“You’re acting like a ’tard,” I bluntly state.
“Charming. It’s a wonder you don’t have more friends,” he drawls back.
His comment hurts more than I’d ever admit, especially to him. I start walking and snap, “That’s not something I’d expect to hear from someone who owes me, big-time.”
“I never asked you to take control of this… this… production,” he claims.
“What?” I stop in the middle of a group of dark desks. “Are you an amnesiac? You were frantic, panicked, ‘bricking’ yourself, or whatever the hell you called it. And I rescued you from a crash-and-burn that hasn’t been seen since the likes of the Hindenburg.”
“‘Oh, the humanity!’” he gasps, laughing.
“What the…?”
“I’m only joking!” he explains. “I know I owe you a lot. That’s why—”
“Yo!” Marvin calls from down the hall. “What’s taking you guys so long? Preparing to be amazed?”
I sigh and whisper loudly to him as we continue on, “Do you really understand the magnitude of my sacrifice?”
He scratches his nose. “Yes. I think I do. If I were a woman…”
“Which, coincidentally, there’s a rumor going around that you are.”
He laughs. “Great. Anyway, if I were you, I would be contemplating the pros and cons of doing something to put myself in traction sometime before next weekend.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” I give him grudging credit. “Need another rugby teammate?”
“Or you could just tell the bloke that you don’t fancy him and the game is strictly a platonic thing. That is,” he rushes on in whisper, “I think he may be getting the wrong idea…”
Before I have a chance to respond to that ridiculous notion, we turn into the dark editing room, where Marvin’s waiting for us. I’m starting to understand why he resembles a mole. Before my eyes can adjust to the dark, I move too close to Jude in the tiny room, my leg rubbing against his, which is warm and fuzzy and immediately conjures a vision of the two of us naked, tangled, and lazily kissing on a bed. I quickly step away and clear my throat to keep a hysterical giggle from bursting out.
