I have some quiet time so this is a good opportunity to delve into this story and see if Brandon has anything to offer. He did look cute today with his birthday party invitations in his hand, like a little boy. About fifty pages in, I hear a quick tap on my door and Rebecca is in my office.
“Hey, what’s going on? I’m so bored. Any new gossip around here?” Her eyes are huge with anticipation.
I tell her how stressed out I am over filling these editor positions.
“It isn’t just because of your own discomfort with these books?” She shifts in her seat and leans forward.
“What? No.” She’s staring at me and I cave. “Okay, yes! I hate these books and I don’t want to talk about sex with Frank and Tim. This was never in my job description!”
“Claire, we are not the moral police. You need to stop being such a prude. These books fill a need and a desire in society—mainstream society, Claire. My mother reads them. Not everyone comes from a sheltered, conservative background. Yes, they are not high level literary works, but they sell. There is a place for every genre in the publishing world.”
My lips are pursed and my glare tells her that I am not going to respond to her speech.
“I have no choice but to deal with this, but I don’t have to like it.” I pause and continue, “I am also going to find out who works at our competitors and maybe steal an editor away from them. We need to generate more candidates.”
“That’s a good idea, but just remember you can’t let your own sexual frustration and fears skew your professional judgment.”
“Thank you for the lecture, but it isn’t my sex life causing the problems.” I roll my eyes and sigh. “Between you and me, I hope I can find a woman for this job.” I regret those words as soon as they leave my lips.
“That’s because you’re afraid of talking to men about sex? Wait, where’s my socket wrench? You’re looking a little constricted again.” She tilts her head and folds her arms across her chest.
“Don’t hold back, Rebecca. Just tell me what you really think!” She can be so infuriating. “It is true—I am not a sexually experienced woman and this whole thing is freaking me out. It’s bad enough I’m dealing with this crap in my personal life—I had a strange man in a leather thong in my living room! Is it too much to ask for work to be boring and sex free?” I rub my temples and roll my neck muscles to ease the tension. “So yes, I guess I need a socket wrench!”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I just hate to see you struggle so much. You’re making a big deal out of nothing. Maybe once you demystify sex with other men you will see that you are overreacting on both fronts.” She looks at me hopefully.
“Maybe so, but I am more comfortable with a woman in this role. I know admitting that puts me in violation of HR policy, even though brandishing a whip at your co-worker is apparently acceptable.”
“So dramatic!” Rebecca puts one hand on her heart and the other across her forehead, like a modern day Scarlett O’Hara.
I stick my tongue out at her and sigh. “Maybe if I can get Pam to pick up Brandon’s book we can have something more enticing—in a professional way—to dangle in front of the new editor, after she finishes with the smut.”
“Who’s Brandon?”
“My neighbor. Remember? He gave me his manuscript to read? I started reading it just now. I’m not too far in but it’s well written. Odd topic though.”
“He looked familiar. I’ve seen him someplace before. What’s the book about?” Rebecca looks around my desk and adds, “Where are all your treats? No donuts? Cookies?”
“I can’t eat that stuff anymore. The doctor says I’m a ticking time bomb. But never mind that. The book is about adoption.”
“Like adopting children? Is it fiction?”
“Yes. It’s about a family who adopts a baby but the birth mother wants an open adoption. I guess that’s common now. Isn’t that scary? Can you imagine adopting a baby and you have to let the mother see the child? And then sometimes they come back and sue to reclaim custody. I’ve seen that in the news.”
“Is that what his book is about?”
“I don’t know yet, but it will be a difficult read for me if that happens.”
“Yeah, I can see why.” She pauses and looks at me tentatively.
“What?”
“Claire, have you ever thought about adoption?” She blurts this out and looks away slightly.
“No, and I don’t even want to talk about it. There are so many ways that can go wrong. I couldn’t even get up the guts to adopt a dog. And besides, I would have to be married, and for a certain number of years.” I start aimlessly moving papers around on my desk. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“How was your massage?” She folds her hands in her lap and forces a cheerful expression.
My mind wanders back to my fantasy. Hmm… “It was good. Yep, Julie has the magic touch.”
“Good. I need to get back to work. I have about a hundred self-evaluations to read, but I don’t have yours yet.” She folds her arms and tightens her lips, but with a whimsical grin.
“Damn it, that’s another thing I need to do. I’ll get it done by Friday.”
“I’ll cut you some slack as a fellow single gal. Have fun tonight!”
“Tonight?” What did I forget now?
“Didn’t you tell me you were having dinner with Audra and Rachel downtown?”
“Crap, yes! Thank you. I need to check my e-mail and see where I’m supposed to meet them.”
“Claire, you need more than a massage. You need a vacation. I could show you those cruise brochures.” Rebecca smiles optimistically. I feel sorry that I don’t want to go with her, but I would have to take a whole bottle of Dixie’s sedatives every day if I went on a cruise ship in the middle of the ocean. I wonder where Rebecca has seen Brandon.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I’m meeting Audra and Rachel at Cous Cous, which is downtown by the river, on a cobblestone street. On the weekend nights they feature dancing girls and the bartenders perform flaming tricks. The music is thumping and the crowd is barely legal, but during the week they offer abundant Mediterranean food and a unique atmosphere, with jewel toned draperies and linens, and dark wood furnishings.
They’re already there when I arrive, enjoying a glass of wine and sitting on the deck. It is unseasonably warm, and I give silent thanks that it isn’t raining.
“Hi, ladies! It is so good to see you both!”
We proceed to give hugs and kisses all around. “You look great!” “Love that skirt!” “Did you change your hair color?” “Isn’t it a beautiful day?” Back and forth we exchange pleasantries and do the dance of compliments that women perform with their girlfriends.
Audra and Rachel were roommates years ago, when Audra first came over from England. I worked with Rachel when I was newly married. She’s a stay at home mom now and Audra is a physics professor at the university.
“So, Claire, how have you been? Any new men on the horizon?” I try not to visibly cringe at Rachel’s question. I tell myself that she has to sleep with her husband every night, and while there is nothing wrong with him, she is likely jealous of my thrilling single girl escapades.
I entertain them with the stories of my recent dating debacles—the old man with the hat, the bug killing freak. I even tell them about our new line of books, and how difficult it is to fill the editor’s job. I share the Meetup experience and how Rebecca and her friends had to drive me home, but I leave out Brandon and Justin. Matthew’s hair falling off kills them. That one is a real crowd pleaser.
They are both laughing hysterically. Audra slaps her leg and throws back her head. “Claire, you kill me. So many ‘whack-jobs’, as you like to say. I can’t even bother trying to date. I never see any men I like. Of course you’re a lot younger than me so your prospects are better.”
I choke on my water. Did she not hear about the furry thing on my feet?
“Are you alright?”
Rachel is such a mother. In a good way. She is my age and has two little children. The boy, William, is four. And I can’t remember how old Anna is—maybe almost a year.
“I’m fine. So how are the kids? George? Little Anna must be getting big.”
“She’s nineteen-months-old now. She’s starting to talk, and she and William are so cute together. You should come visit some time. Let me show you their latest picture.” She starts scrolling through her phone and stops when she looks up at me. She forces a smile and she squeezes my hand.
I pull it away and fumble with my napkin. So much time has elapsed. I meant to visit when Anna was born, but it was so soon after my hysterectomy I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I kept saying I need to get over there, but I put it off.
“I’m sorry, Rachel. I would love to see the kids. Is George still working from home?”
“Yes, but at least he travels a lot. I adore the man, but it drives me crazy having him under foot sometimes.”
Why do I feel like I am the only woman who wants a man around? And why does that not improve my odds?
After a delicious meal and easy conversation, we say our goodbyes with promises to get together again soon, even though it will probably be months before we coordinate our schedules and take the initiative.
In my car, I check my phone for messages. Justin called, right after five. “Hey, Claire. I was hoping to catch you before you left the office. I was going to head downtown and wanted to see if you could meet me for a drink at O’Malley’s, since I’m not a dick now. Haha…call me.”
O’Malley’s is two buildings away from Cous Cous, and I am parked in the lot across the street. Maybe he didn’t come since I never called him. Who am I kidding? Justin doesn’t have a problem finding a drinking companion. My rejection isn’t going to send him home from work to a beer and Domino’s delivery.
It’s already eight o’clock. He must assume I’m snubbing him. I slink down in my seat in case I’m spotted, even though it’s dark. I will just send a friendly text and drive home. I will probably have to see him at the office tomorrow, but it’s a perfectly reasonable excuse that I had other plans. He just assumes I’m free at the last minute because I’m old and not as attractive as his stable of hot chicks.
“Hi, Justin. Sorry I missed you—had a fun dinner downtown with my girlfriends. Didn’t get your message until I was on the road.”
No, I don’t have to explain when I got the message. I am not obligated to respond to him right away.
“Justin—sorry I missed your call. I was out with some friends and I’m just getting in.”
What if he saw my car? He’s probably parked in this lot too, if he did come down here. I suck at lying.
“Hey, Justin—just heard your message. You probably already had that drink. I was…”
Oh hell—“Justin—let’s just fuck. I know you have a thing for older women, so come on, let’s do it.”
Before I get to delete that one (obviously I am not sending that—duh!), the knock on my window startles me, and I jump and hit my head on the windshield.
“Oww!” I rub my head and cringe (it’s barely healed from my floor diving stunt at Lorenzo’s). I turn and hope that it’s Audra or Rachel returning a lipstick I left on the table.
“Hey, Justin. What are you doing here?” I try to act pleasantly surprised.
“Did you get my message? Were you wanting to meet up?” He gestures towards O’Malley’s. Crap. Now he thinks I didn’t call him back, but I decided to show up and hide in my car.
“I did just get it, and I was actually here having dinner with some friends over there.” I point to Cous Cous, as if I have forgotten the name.
He looks a bit disappointed. “So, did you want to have a drink?”
“I’ve had enough wine and I need to get home. I have a new manuscript I’m reading for work, and I took Dixie to the vet today and I need to check on her.” I am explaining too much, but my mouth keeps running on like an old fashioned wind up doll with a broken pull cord.
“I just thought it might be fun to hang out outside of work. I’m going to have a beer then. I’m sure some of my buddies are here. See you at the office.” He turns to walk away.
“Justin?”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe another time?”
“Sure, Claire.” He walks away looking as though he is not expecting another time. I could have just gotten out of the car and gone in there. What is one drink going to hurt? Oww, speaking of hurt. I need to get home and put some ice on my head before it looks like Quasimodo’s. Maybe the ice will cool down my thoughts, too.
On the highway my phone beeps with a text. I normally don’t text and drive, but I’m curious and won’t be home for at least twenty minutes with the bridge construction delays. Good, we’re stopped. Uh oh, it’s from Justin.
“Claire, is this a joke? Because if it is, it isn’t funny.”
What is he talking about? I didn’t send him a text. I gasp and my heart starts racing. No…!
I frantically scroll back through my sent messages and the last one I composed to Justin went through. This is a nightmare! I must have hit send by accident when I hit my head. I should have known I was tempting fate writing text messages for my own amusement. Can’t I just think funny things like normal people? Now what am I going to do?
Traffic is moving again so I can’t respond. Now the phone is ringing. He must have realized that I can’t text because I’m driving.
I look down and it’s only Jane.
“I’m in big trouble.”
“What’s the matter? I was just calling to see if you’re still coming over Saturday night.”
“Jane, I did a stupid thing. A bad thing.”
“Worse than flashing the neighbor or hurling yourself into a band?”
I explain the events of the evening, and my costly mistake.
“He’ll know you’re not serious, right?”
“If I wasn’t serious, it would be a sick joke, and that is even worse. Now he probably thinks I’m mocking him or that I think he’s a dick again. I’m going to throw up.” That big, delicious meal isn’t settling so well.
“Calm down. Just explain it was a mistake. You were just being silly. Apologize. What else can you do?”
“I have to get a new job. By tomorrow.”
Jane continues to attempt to console me, but to no avail.
“Are you going to call him?”
“I don’t want to, but I guess I have to. This is such a mess. I need to get out of town. Too bad I haven’t witnessed a mob hit—I could join the witness protection program.”
“Right, like Brandon?”
“Don’t remind me. He’s another one I don’t want to deal with.”
“What did he do?”
“Nothing. I’m going to throw up and then call Justin. Or maybe throw up before and after.”
“Good luck. See ya Saturday.”
I’m sweating, my heart is racing, and my stomach is doing flip flops. I feel worse than after doing the Jillian Michaels video, but with none of the slimming and toning benefits. I take a deep breath and dial Justin’s number.
It rings many times, and just as I am thankful for being lucky enough to get his voice mail, he answers. “Claire?”
“Hi, Justin. Listen…about that text—”
“Hold on, Claire,” he shouts. “I need to walk outside. I can’t hear a thing in here.” I hear the bar noise as he heads outside. Try not to make this worse, Claire!
“I’m outside. You were saying?” His tone is annoyed and flat.
“Justin, I am so sorry about that text. I got your message and I was trying to figure out what to say, so I wrote a bunch of different messages and kept erasing them. That one was just a little joke to myself. I didn’t intend to send it, but then you startled me and—”
“Stop. You clearly don’t want to see me outside of work or even at work, and you obviously still think I’m a dick with one thing on my mind. And you we
re hiding in your car!”
“That’s not true. I—”
“You think I don’t know what you and Rebecca gossip about with your heads together all over the office? ‘There’s Justin, the good looking young asshole’.”
“Well, a lot of guys—”
“I’m not a lot of guys! You barely know me, and I said I was sorry for all the times I acted like a jerk. But I do NOT have an older woman fetish, and you aren’t even old!”
“I wasn’t hiding. I just didn’t want you to know I was there.”
“That’s very different, Claire. Seriously?”
“I’m sorry, Justin, but I’m not used to this type of attention from someone like you.”
“Fuck! You are so frustrating!” He pauses and I hear him breathe deeply. “Claire, I like you. I am attracted to you, and you’re not old. I’d like to get to know you and have some fun. Is that so terrible?” He sounds defeated.
“No, Justin. It’s not.” I sigh. “I think I may be the dick now.”
He’s silent for a moment. “Listen, I’m going to go back inside now. Watch that accidental texting. Who knows what you could get yourself wrapped up in.” The smile has crept back into his voice, and I can imagine the green eyes shining like jewels in the night on O’Malley’s sidewalk.
“Good night, Justin. I really am sorry, and I’ll see you at work.”
I let out my breath. Whew…now all the stress in my neck that Julie loosened up is back. I wish I could keep a massage therapist on retainer. Maybe I could go out with Justin for fun. I never have any fun. I survive the rest of the ride home without doing any more stupid things, and as I turn into my cul-de-sac I giggle to myself. I’m the dick now.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The office is quiet on Good Friday, and Justin is making himself scarce, but maybe he’s busy wrapping up the IT audit (or he’s still mad at me). Lots of employees take this day off to travel for Easter weekend, do stuff with their kids, or go to church. I am hoping to have an uneventful day in the office followed by a quiet night at home. My mother warned us about Good Friday partying, and since I didn’t give up anything for Lent, and I have eaten meat on more than half the Fridays (by accident!), I have some penance to do. Plus, I have committed five or six of the seven deadly sins just this month. Yep, still going to hell.
There Are No Men Page 11
