There Are No Men

by Carol Maloney Scott

  As I begin opening up my messages, quickly answering the easy ones and sorting the ones requiring more work, I sense eyes on me. Before I look up I know who it is.

  “Good morning, Claire—you’re here early.” He must have pulled in right after me. The smile is electric. How is he so perky this early?

  “Hi, Justin. Yes, I wanted to get a head start on some stuff...because of the new assignment I got in the meeting yesterday… remember?” Shut up, Claire.

  Yes, I said it earlier—Justin is hot. He is not a “little” anything—punk, prick or asshole (although sometimes he acts like a bigger version of all of these). He is about six feet tall and has blond hair (darker than mine with streaks of honey) and emerald eyes. Justin could be a model. Or a Greek god, or maybe a Viking with that hair. I have been recruiting IT professionals for years, and they never look like Justin.

  So even though I am not interested in him, a woman would have to be a blind lesbian nun to not be affected by him. It is cruel how he taunts me like this. I try to pretend that I don’t like him and I think he’s a silly kid when others are around, but every time I see him I get tingly from head to toe and sometimes a little light-headed. I hate when I have to give presentations in meetings when he’s there. Even Rebecca doesn’t know I feel this way, and I don’t want her to figure it out. I try to act mad and indignant when he says stuff to me in front of her. She doesn’t seem the least bit affected by him, but then again she is old enough to be his young mother. If she knew my true feelings she would push the issue. She is always trying to get me to go younger, but she doesn’t understand my situation.

  “Yes, I remember.” He says this slowly as if he’s talking to a cute four-year-old girl who needs to work on her finger paintings at day care today. Only with a look that would be highly inappropriate to give a child. “Have a good day, Claire. Stop by and say hi some time.”

  “I…will,” I say to his perfect butt, which is disappearing from sight. Enough! Maybe if I didn’t work with him I would indulge, but he is obviously not relationship material for me, and I can’t sleep with someone I see at work every day. I still think he only flirts with me because he knows he’s hot and he unnerves me. When I first interviewed him two years ago (right after I got back from my hysterectomy leave of absence), I was so flushed and sweaty I thought I needed to call Dr. Mason and ask him if the surgery was sending me into early menopause.

  Justin is likely amused by my ruffled state, and probably went back to his desk to call one of his many twenty-year-old super model girlfriends. He is much nicer to me, and less inappropriate, one on one. He’s a bit immature, and obviously likes the attention of saying things for shock value and embarrassing people (ME) in front of co-workers.

  My reaction probably gives him more fuel, but I can’t control it. Maybe I will stop by his desk later and try to act normal and professionally friendly. I need to work on breaking down this tension between us and diffusing this situation—I don’t need more stress at work. To make matters worse, Daniel hasn’t called yet, and I still have thirty more e-mails to answer before my eleven o’clock meeting with Frank, our Editor-in-Chief.

  I arrive at Frank’s office a little before eleven and he is ready for me. Frank is short, bald and skinny, and fairly new to his role. He is a former colleague of Tim’s, and when the Editor-in-Chief position became available, Tim recruited him. I haven’t had many professional interactions with him yet, but I’m assuming this will go smoothly. At least I hope so. This new material is such garbage and I’m sure he isn’t thrilled with it either.

  “Hi, Frank. How are you today? Ready to get started?” I poke my head in his office and find him cleaning his glasses.

  “Yes, Claire please come in. You don’t need to shut the door. I have an open door policy.” He puts his glasses back on and waves me in.

  I don’t tell him that an open door policy means you are open to people coming to see you unannounced, not that your door is physically always open.

  I walk in and Frank comes around his desk, and motions for me to sit with him at his small conference table flanked by stuffy grey chairs. His office is all grey, black and red. It works, but it’s a little severe for my tastes. He asks me if I would like coffee, but I brought my iced tea, and I get tired of explaining that I don’t drink coffee. “No, thanks. These are comfy chairs. The ones in my office are like slabs of cement. Good thing you have an open door policy or you would be tempted to nap.”

  “Hahaha…that’s so funny. You’re funny, Claire.” It wasn’t that funny.

  “I received the job description and it seems pretty straightforward. These are standard editor positions. Is there anything specific you want me to look out for before I send you the resumes? These people do have to be comfortable editing some explicit material, and I am a bit concerned about that.” I open up my file folder and prepare to take notes. I feel beads of sweat forming on my brow and upper lip. I am grateful for Frank’s literal open door policy. I would prefer not to be in an enclosed office with a man talking about our new erotica line. At least not a man who is almost as old as my father.

  “Yes Claire, I’m aware of the new material and what is driving this need. You will need to screen for this skill when you talk to candidates, but I don’t see it as a big issue. We work in a pretty liberal industry, right?” Why is he winking?

  “I do think it’s going to be difficult. We need to search for people who are comfortable in that business.” I lower my voice and lean forward.

  “Such as…?”

  I take a sip of my iced tea and say, “I don’t know, Frank. Who is going to want to edit this trash? I guess there are editors with this experience. I just hate the idea of recruiting from the porn industry.”

  Frank starts choking on his coffee and some may have shot out of his nose. While he is trying to regain composure—“Frank, are you alright?”—and as I am coming to his aid, Justin walks by. He flashes his signature smirk, but when he sees Frank choking he looks more concerned. Then he starts laughing.

  I ignore Justin and he walks away. He really is a dick sometimes.

  Frank regains his composure and says, “Yes, I just took a sip down the wrong hole. Claire, these people need to be professional editors. So if similar books are written under the umbrella of the porn industry, then that’s where you have to look, but this is a popular genre. It has gained more recent mainstream notoriety, but this type of story has been told since the dawn of time. You can find editors who have worked in this genre. These books are selling by the millions. Someone is editing them.”

  “I’ll do my best. We probably need someone from outside of our market too, so hopefully we have some relocation budget.” I can’t believe I have to deal with this nonsense. It pisses me off that we are even selling this crap! And why can’t Justin go fix the server or something? My face feels flushed again, and I’m resisting the urge to scream in frustration. I don’t know who we’re going to get. We should just hire some hookers to proofread them in between visits from their johns or drug dealers, but it’s probably hard to find hookers with English degrees.

  “I agree that it isn’t the classics, Claire, but you saw the numbers in the meeting…” Justin walks by again and mouths “is he okay?” and starts cracking up again. I scowl at him and he makes a pouty face.

  “Claire? Are you listening to me? Here, I know something that will loosen you up.” He hops up and runs to the corner of his office and comes back with—holy crap—it’s a whip!

  “What are you going to do with that?” I turn my attention back to Frank after non-verbally chastising Justin, who is wearing a light blue button down oxford that looks amazing with his hair and eyes, with the sleeves slightly rolled up. I can see his forearms and—is it hot in here?

  “Claire, relax. You’re wound so tight. I am not doing anything with it. It’s a joke. My wife gave it to me when I told her about the new books. She said I can use it to keep the employees in line at work, and her at home. She’s
hilarious. She said all of her girlfriends can’t wait for the new releases.” Frank puts away his weapon of torture and sits back down. He frowns when he sees his joke did not produce the desired effect.

  “Claire, I would rather we produce something a little more literary also, but we need to make money, and the company isn’t doing a great job of finding promising new authors who write quality fiction. Hopefully this is just a Band-Aid, but I know you can find us a couple of solid editors who can polish up the manuscripts to salable condition.”

  I hope so. If anything, I think illiterate porn stars may be writing the ones in the sub box because apparently they need a lot of basic work. “Pam Rogers in Acquisitions is working on future titles in more literary genres. We have an editorial opening over there too, and I’m working closely with Pam to get that filled.”

  “Great, Claire. Glad you’re on top of this, even though you are clearly uncomfortable. Maybe you should talk to someone about it. We need all of our key staff members on board with the changes, and you especially, since you interface directly with potential candidates. They’re just books, Claire. We aren’t selling anything but fantasy and a little harmless fun.” He pauses and gets up, signaling the end of the meeting. “Please just forward the resumes and we’ll get the interviews set up.”

  I stand up, smooth my skirt and gather up my folders. “Thanks, Frank.”

  As I get to the door Frank is smirking and says, “You might want to try to recruit phone sex operators—they have a lot of material.” Just as the words “phone sex” come out of his mouth, Justin reappears. Is he doing laps around the 2nd floor for exercise? “Phone sex?” he mouths at me and wrinkles his forehead.

  “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. Claire, you should see your face. I’m sorry—just trying to ease your tension.” He is fighting back the smirk now. Jerk.

  “Haha, yep. Phone sex. Hilarious, Frank. Thanks!” I close Frank’s open door and turn to face a confused Justin.

  “I get the cold shoulder and you’re in there talking phone sex with good old Frank.” He shakes his head and one piece of flawlessly highlighted and styled hair escapes and grazes his forehead. I resist the urge to reach out and push it back to join the others.

  I grab him by the arm and pull him in the direction of his office. Justin has a big corner cubicle—no door but a nice window and a seating set up similar to Frank’s. At twenty-five, Justin is the head of the IT department and reports directly to Tim.

  “It’s these stupid books we’re publishing. Everyone is turning into a whack-job.” I let go of his arm as he follows my march to his door.

  We reach his cubicle and I plop down in his comfy guest chair. His is red. This whole floor has the same color scheme, but I like ours better on the first floor—dark purple, grey and forest green. I have never been alone with him in his office.

  “Yeah, they are pretty stupid but I was hoping maybe you would read some and get some good ideas—I hear there’s one about a steamy office romance.” More smirking and his green eyes sparkle.

  I sigh in exasperation. “Justin, this is getting tiresome. Would you stop it already?”

  “Stop what?”

  “Making fun of me.”

  “When do I make fun of you?” He looks so sincere.

  “All the time.” I fold my arms.

  “Claire, I flirt with you and I tease you.”

  “Justin, I’m a lot older than you, and you obviously only like to shock and embarrass me. You’re not interested in me, and it’s cruel and unprofessional to taunt me.”

  He pauses and looks out the window. He has a flawless profile—what a chin. “I guess I do act like a dick sometimes. I’m sorry. I am not used to women being so difficult. I have girls following me around all the time and they’re mostly airheads. I know that sounds conceited, but you’re different. I don’t get to meet women like you when I go out, and you do pose quite a challenge. It gets a little frustrating.”

  Could he be interested in me? No, it’s just fun for him. Why can’t I be a confident, sexually experienced super model with a uterus and a bright future? “Let’s just try to be friends at work and more professional.”

  He looks a little hurt but he says, “I’ll back off. I didn’t realize it upset you so much. At least you’re not punching me.” He smiles broadly.

  “You’re going to keep reminding me of that, huh? You caught me on a bad day. That’s why you keep this up. You know I won’t do anything to you because you can hold that incident over my head.”

  “Claire, I’m teasing you again. Why don’t you have a sense of humor?”

  “I need to get back to work. I’ll see you later, Justin,” I say quietly.

  As I turn to leave he slowly walks over, puts his big, warm hands on my tiny shoulders and lowers his head to my ear and whispers, “It’s too bad. Our kids would be beautiful.”

  Hot tears immediately form in my eyes. I am speechless and my body is frozen with his hands on my shoulders. As my body stiffens, he lets go and I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, just enough for him to see my tears.

  “Claire, what’s wrong? What did I do now?” He looks genuinely bewildered as I mumble that I have to go and run out the door, heading down the hall to the elevator. As I leave, I hear him trying to explain about how I’m beautiful and that’s why he said that, or something like that. I’m not listening. I hear his footsteps coming as I jump in and hit the “close door” button before he can catch me. The door slides shut on his dejected expression.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I get off the elevator and walk swiftly to my office. Once inside, I close the door and stand for a moment up against the door and try to compose myself. Justin doesn’t know. He isn’t that cruel, and I can’t expect the rumor mill was ever interested in my hysterectomy. It was only a life shattering event for me. For others it just meant I had surgery and was out on leave for a few weeks, and it has long been forgotten. No one told Justin after he was hired, “Hey, if you’re ever looking to impregnate a co-worker, stay away from that one.”

  I relax my muscles and attempt to stretch out my neck and back, where I hold all my tension. I close my eyes, and I can still feel the sensation of Justin’s hands, and it makes me shudder.

  I take a few deep breaths, and sit down at my computer. I open up my Monster account to see if there are any new job applicants when I remember I still haven’t heard from Daniel. Just in case, I pick up my phone—I left it on my desk when I went to meet with Frank—and I see that I do have a message from him. He wants to meet at mini golf Friday night and to have drinks afterwards. I write back telling him I would love to meet him. Now, what to wear…as I begin to ponder that dilemma, Rebecca knocks and comes right in.

  “Hey, what’s up? How was your morning?” She stands in the doorway and smiles.

  “I met with Frank on the new editor positions. That was interesting to say the least. It seems everyone but me loves porn and wants to be whipped. Speaking of whipped, do you want ice cream for lunch? You love brownie sundaes and Brewster’s is open now.” I sit up eagerly like a little kid.

  “Sure, I can eat my Lean Cuisine later—it isn’t enough food to fill one tooth. You can tell me your Frank story on the way. He wants to be whipped? That naughty boy.” Rebecca wags her finger in mock disapproval.

  As I get up to grab my purse, I search for my file with all the info on the editor positions. Did I leave it in Frank’s office? No, damn it—I left it in Justin’s office. Great. I don’t need it to do the work—everything is on my computer. I only printed it so I could refer to it in the meeting, but now Justin has a legitimate business reason to stop by. No matter what, I won’t be able to avoid him forever.

  Rebecca and I had a good chat about Frank and Daniel (Justin who?) in the car, and I thoroughly enjoyed my raspberry white chocolate scoop in a cup. She yelled at me for being a prude and told me how we need these books, and they’re fun and all of the usual crap I’m tired of hearing.

  �
��You’re making too much of this. They are books! No one is going to whip you. Fantasy is fun and exciting. I keep telling you to loosen up. Sometimes I think your libido is so tightly shut it will take a socket wrench to pry it open.” She licked her spoon suggestively just to piss me off.

  “He brought out a whip! Isn’t that sexual harassment? I was not comfortable with that!” I slammed down my red plastic spoon to emphasize my discomfort.

  Rebecca just sighed and rested her head in her hands. “Claire, he was just joking. He didn’t know you were really offended, because most normal adults in our industry wouldn’t be. If he cracks you with it, let me know.” She rolled her eyes and resumed stuffing her face with brownie and chocolate sauce. “Maybe you should get a job at the Bible factory—”. She ducked in time to miss getting nailed with the red spoon.

  The rest of the workday was uneventful, thank God! I found a few good candidates to send to Frank (they will have to pay relocation for most of them), I had a good meeting with Pam about the acquisitions position, and Justin was nowhere to be found (but I was not looking). I bet he took the rest of the day off, probably to run a marathon and have sex with a porn star. He has probably forgotten all about the hormonal lunatic crying in his office.

  Speaking of sex, I need some soon. With a man. Preferably one who is age appropriate and will not humiliate me, ruin my career or even worse—make me fall in love with him and subsequently dump me for a young baby making machine with no cellulite. It would be nice if he doesn’t bring any weapons to bed, either. Who knew this would even be a consideration?

  My lack of sexual experience is clouding my judgment and making everything more daunting than it actually is. I may need to just pick a guy and do it. Get it over with and remove the mystique. Maybe Daniel will be a good prospect.

  At home now with Dixie, I settle in to read a good book (not a Bella Donna Press selection), but then decide to call Jane.

  “I saw you were home. I was waiting for you to settle in. Are you in the bubble bath yet?”