No More Terrible Dates

by Kate O'Keeffe

  “You wouldn’t want your loyal followers to miss out on the incredible strength of the unanyo. They would miss out on experiencing the deep, deep healing power of body connectedness, the power you, yourself, have been privileged to experience with me here today. And you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

  Larissa shakes her head. “No, I wouldn’t.”

  I message 104 again, this time followed by a series of “!!!!!!” to show just how urgent this situation has become.

  “Might I be so bold as to suggest closer to ten thousand units, Larissa?” Aleron continues. “You have a massive international following, after all, and I’m absolutely certain you’d want everyone to experience the life-changing benefits of the unanyo.”

  Even though I’m fully expecting it, when the door bangs open, I jump right out of my seat. Maureen O’Connell’s imposing figure virtually fills the space where the red door was closed only moments before. She pauses to survey the room before she strides in, a determined look on her face.

  “Maureen,” I say, widening my eyes in mock surprise at the head of our Accounts Payable team. “What are you doing here?”

  Of all the brave people who respond to the 104 distress messages, Maureen’s my absolute favorite. She brings a touch of the theatrical, and, if I’m honest, it doesn’t hurt that she’s almost six feet tall and wears a men’s size ten shoe. When dealing with pushy salespeople, sometimes size does matter.

  “I had a sudden need to be in this room,” Maureen replies as she pulls out a seat at the table and drops down. “I can’t explain it. It was like I had a . . . a calling.”

  Or a message on her phone.

  “Well, if you had a calling, you must be in the right place,” I say with a wise nod of my head.

  You see, this is one of the benefits of working for Larissa. You can use any kind of excuse you want, like “my chi made me take an extra-long lunch break today,” or “my soul told me to stay in bed way past my alarm.” She simply accepts it, so long as it has the required New Agedness to it, and so long as you do it with the right attitude. Maureen knows it, I know it. We all know it.

  “Maureen, this is Aleron Whitehead. He’s showing us these amazing Ethiopian charms that help work on the cellular levels of your cells’ cells,” I explain to her, my eyes wide with mock amazement. “Isn’t that unbelievable?”

  “Wow, they do sound unbelievable, Darcy,” Maureen replies, her face serene.

  Gosh, she’s good. That’s why I use her for these sorts of situations. She’s only getting started right now, but I know she’s tough and uncompromising. One time, she was on my bowling team when Larissa decided the whole company needed to “get back to basics” by playing the game of the “common person,” and she smashed the opposition. Literally. I won’t go into details. All I’ll say is it wasn’t pretty.

  Maureen picks one of the “charms” up in her hand and Aleron eyes her suspiciously. I’m quite certain that right about now, he’s wishing both Maureen and I would have a “calling” to leave the room entirely so he could manipulate Larissa into purchasing even more of his little bundles of twigs.

  Maureen holds the “charm” up in the air and says, “This must be why I was called in here.”

  “It could well be. The unanyo is very powerful,” Aleron says.

  “Unanyo,” Maureen says. “Interesting. Tell me more about them.”

  Aleron launches into his speech once more about circulation and the cellular level of our cells’ cells.

  Maureen nods along, looking as though this is the most interesting thing she’s heard in her entire life, although I know better. She’s sitting there, working out when to pounce.

  His spiel done, Maureen sits back in her seat. “How much are they?”

  Aleron throws her a look of irritation. “For Larissa, and only Larissa,” he turns back to her, “I could be persuaded to let them go for $45 apiece.”

  $45? For literally a pile of twigs that are probably from his garden down the road? This guy is gooood. But not good enough. Not when Maureen’s in the room.

  “You could sell them upwards of $150,” Aleron adds hopefully. “That’s a huge profit margin for your business.”

  Larissa bites her lip. “Okay. I think ten thousand at that price sounds reasonable.”

  Aleron works hard to suppress a smile.

  This has gone on waaay too long. I shoot Maureen a look, and she leaps into action.

  “Listen, Al. Can I call you that?” she says.

  “It’s Aleron.”

  “Great. The thing is, Al, we already have something very similar in our warehouse right now.”

  “We do?” Larissa asks.

  “Yes. They’re the,” she looks around the room until her eyes land on a bottle of water on the side table by the window, “the Evian-ilors.”

  The Evian-ilors. Brilliant, Maureen. Brilliant. I almost break into applause.

  “Yes, that’s right,” she continues. “I saw them on an inventory list I was reviewing only last week. The Evian-ilors. They’re from French Polynesia. Remember, Larissa?”

  Larissa’s brow is as furrowed as her Botox will allow. “It does sound familiar. . .”

  “From memory, the power of the Evian-ilors is that they work on the cells of your cells’ cells’ cells. So, you know, one better than these.” Maureen picks up one of the unanyo once more and then drops it carelessly on the table.

  Now I want to give her a standing ovation, she’s so good.

  Aleron-slash-Colin opens his mouth to speak, but before he gets the chance, I jump out of my seat and say, “Thank you, Maureen. We had completely forgotten about the Evian-y things.”

  “Evian-ilors,” Maureen corrects with a satisfied smirk.

  “Yes. Those.” I turn to Larissa. “Larissa? You’ve got that ten o’clock, remember?” I tap my wrist and raise my eyebrows.

  “Oh, of course. My ten o’clock,” she says, looking as confused as a Kardashian in a camping store. She stands up. “Aleron, can we pick this up some other time?”

  Colin—sorry, Aleron—narrows his eyes at me, and I smile back at him.

  As I hustle Larissa out of the room, I hear Maureen say, “Thank you for your time today, Aleron. It’s been so enlightening. Would you like to take a bottle of Evian with you when you leave?”

  ——

  Later that day, Larissa is back in her office going over product descriptions for the online store with one of the guys from marketing. She looks up at me as I walk in the room.

  “The unanyo really was very potent,” she says.

  “Yes, but the Evian thingies are even more so, Larissa.”

  “You know, I really don’t remember those.”

  “I’ll get you one.” I roll one of the spare Swiss balls over to her desk and sit down on it. “Hey. Joseph, right?” I say to the marketing guy. He only started here in the last week, I think.

  “That’s right,” he says with a smile. “Larissa, if you’re happy with these, I’ll get them uploaded on the site.”

  “They look amazing. Thank you for all you do for us.” She reaches out and takes him by the hand. “You are truly a valued member of our family. Here.” She presses a unanyo into his hand.

  He looks down at it, clearly unsure how to respond to being given a clump of twigs. “Err, thanks for the, ah, gift. I’ll go get on with these.” Joseph’s eyes dart around the room. He’ll work out how these things go. You accept whatever thing Larissa gives you and act grateful. Then she’s happy.

  “See you soon, Joseph. Enjoy your twigs,” I say to him with a warm smile. There’s no need to spook the horses. Or the product marketers, as the case may be.

  Once he’s beaten his hasty escape, I say to Larissa, “I want you to see what I’ve got for the new gallery.”

  She beams at her. “Oh, goody! Show me, show me.”

  I got in early this morning and hung the photos Alex gave me on the hallway walls. I take Larissa to see them. As she oohs and ahhs over th
em, I tell her, “I’m collecting the ones you saw at Cozy Cottage High Tea later this morning.”

  After “The Incident” at Alex’s place on Sunday, I did what he suggested and contacted Sophie to collect the photographs from Cozy Cottage. Not having to see Alex after I upset him so much is simply a side benefit of the arrangement.

  Larissa pauses in front of the photo of the little girl in the field. Instantly, I think of the other photos in that collection, of the beautiful woman Alex didn’t want me to see. “Oh, this one speaks to me. You know, I didn’t think I wanted people to be the focus in my pictures, but this changes my mind.”

  “It is gorgeous.”

  “Oh, it’s more than gorgeous. It’s transcendental. Alex Walsh has such an eye.” We both look at the photo until she says, “Darcy, darling, write this down.”

  I flip open my trusty notebook, my pen poised. In some ways, I like to think of myself as the anti-millennial. I still know how to use pencil and paper. It’s one of my superpowers.

  “I need to know how Alex Walsh thinks, how he feels, how he taps into his higher state of consciousness.”

  I write down “how A.W. thinks, feels, higher state of consciousness.” I look back up at Larissa. “How many more of his photographs do you need to answer these questions?”

  “Oh, I need to talk to him. Face to face. I need to search his soul for these answers. Darcy, I want you to bring me Alex Walsh,” she says with a flutter.

  My throat tightens.

  “Couldn’t you just call him, instead?” I suggest. “I’ve got his number,” I add feebly, thinking of the name he tapped into my phone: “Alex the photographic genius.”

  She shakes her head. “I want him here, in the Red Room with me. I want to know everything there is to know about Alex Walsh. I want him totally exposed. Naked.”

  She wants Alex Walsh here, totally exposed and naked? Nope. I cannot have that image in my head. Not after seeing his amazing, creative side in his photographs. Not after seeing the sweet way he is with his nephew.

  “And anyway, you’ve got to collect the photos from the café, don’t you?”

  She’s got a point. “I’ll, ah, see what I can do.”

  “I feel very strongly that this is something important. So, Darcy? Just do it.” She stands up straighter. “Hey, that’s a great, motivational line: just do it.”

  “That’s what Nike thought.”

  “Oh. Shame. I liked the sound of that.”

  An alarm sounds on my phone, signaling that it’s time for Larissa’s kale fix. “I’ll go get your juice.” As I leave her standing in the hallway, gazing at Alex’s work, my insides tighten at the thought of having to see Alex again.

  And after what happened at his apartment, I’m pretty sure I’m the last person he wants to hear from right now, too.

  Chapter 11

  The weather turned cool and blustery while I was in the office, so I’m grateful for the warmth of Cozy Cottage High Tea. Sophie’s at the podium, talking with some customers. I look around as I wait patiently for her to finish. There’s no sign of Alex or his photographs. They must have been removed, ready for me to collect.

  “Hey, Darce!” Sophie greets me with a quick hug. “I’ve got the photos out back, boxed up and ready to go. They looked so good here, though. I hope you don’t sell any of them at the opening because I really want them back.”

  “I hope we do! Larissa will not be happy otherwise. A large part of her ‘vision’ is always to make stack loads of money, you know.”

  She chuckles. “I bet. Come with me. I’ll get you the box.”

  “Actually,” I say as I put my hand on her arm, “I need to talk to Alex first.” I look nervously around the room once more, trying to appear casual—and not like I inadvertently invaded his personal space and made him all angry about it. “Is he here today?”

  “He’s working at the café.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Darcy? Why do you look weird?”

  “Weird?”

  “You know, nervous or worried or something.”

  “Who? Me?” I wave my hand in the air. “Why would Alex make me nervous or worried?”

  She raises her eyebrows in question. “I don’t know.”

  “Exactly. There’s no reason.” I arrange my limbs into a relaxed pose but probably look nothing but.

  She twists her mouth. “You are acting strangely, though. Did something happen with him?”

  “What?” My voice sounds a lot like a guinea pig’s squeal. “Of course nothing’s happened with him. Don’t be silly, Soph. I’ve just got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

  She eyes me up. “All right. Well, come back to get the photos when you’re done.”

  “Will do. Now I’ll, ah, go find him next door,” I say.

  “You do that,” Sophie replies. Her eyes are narrowed as though she’s trying to work something out.

  I push my way through the door out into the street, round the topiary at the entrance to High Tea, and then in through the door to the café. The place is full, and as the tempting aroma of coffee and freshly baked cakes reaches my nose, my tummy rumbles, right on cue.

  I scan the room quickly, looking for Alex. No sign. Well, since I’m here, I may as well get something yummy. A girl’s gotta eat, right? And kale juices and acai berry granola really don’t count as food in my book. I’ll wait in line until Alex turns up. I know I’ll need a major sugar boost for that conversation.

  As I wait in line, my mouth waters as I work out which of the Cozy Cottage cakes I’m going to indulge in this morning. The cakes here are so good, all moist and tasty with ample frosting. If I worked close by, I’d be in here so often that I’m certain I’d be a prime candidate for obesity or diabetes. Probably both.

  “Hi, Darcy,” Bailey says with a smile when I reach the front of the line. “What can I get you?”

  “Hey, Bailey. A cup of Earl Grey and a slice of carrot cake, please.”

  “Earl Grey. Nice. Coming right up. Oh, did you get Alex’s photographs? I think Sophie’s got them all ready for you next door.”

  “Yes, thanks.” I shoot her a smile, and add, “Is, ah, he around?”

  “Our soon-to-be-famous photographer is out back having a break right now.”

  “Oh. I guess I’ll wait for him. I need to talk to him about some things to do with the gallery.”

  She leans closer to me, and says, “How about I let you go back to see him while I fix your tea and cake?”

  My heart rate kicks up—from nerves and something else I can’t quite name. Or don’t want to. I push my confused feelings away. “It’s fine. I’ll wait here. I don’t want to interrupt him.” And there’s safety in numbers out here in the café.

  “Oh, don’t be silly. Come on. I’ll let you in.

  “Thanks, that would be awesome.”

  Awesome and completely terrifying, that is.

  I walk with trepidation past the cabinet and around through the counter flap, which Bailey holds up for me. The last time I came through here was with Alex to find a place to put the hyacinths. Back then, my feelings about him were simple and straightforward. I hated him, end of story. Now, the hate is mixed with guilt, and both emotions churn around inside.

  “I’ll bring your tea and cake out to you if you like?”

  “Oh, this won’t take long. I’ll take them to go, thanks.”

  She smiles. “Sure. They’ll be here at the counter when you’re ready.”

  I make my way past her and into the kitchen. Alex is sitting on a stool at one of the stainless steel counters, his head down, concentrating on something on his phone.

  “Alex,” I say, my voice suddenly croaky. At least I no longer sound like a guinea pig. I clear my throat and try again. “Alex,” I say more firmly, hoping my tone is bright and breezy.

  He looks up directly into my eyes, and my belly twists. As recognition registers, his features grow dark. “Darcy,” he says, only unlike before, there’s not a hint of amusement in his voice, n
or a smile on his face.

  As irritating as I found those things before, right now, I miss them.

  I squeeze my hands at my sides and step further into the room. “Can I talk to you?”

  He puts his phone down on the counter. “What about?”

  “I wanted to thank you for the photos you gave me on Sunday. Larissa absolutely loves them.” I think of the way she ooh-ed and aah-ed when I showed them to her. She sounded like she was in the throes of utter ecstasy when she saw his photo of the little girl in the field.

  “Okay.”

  “Larissa thinks . . . we both think you’re really talented.”

  “Good.”

  He’s really not giving me anything here.

  Like the fool I am, I press on, regardless. “I also wanted to say that I’m sorry. Again. I-I know I’ve said it already, a few times, actually. But I want you to know I mean it. I should never have looked at the photos in that box. It was private, and it was wrong of me. So, so wrong.” I pause, hoping he’ll say something.

  All he does is sit and watch me.

  It’s obvious to me I need to say more. “If they were my private photos and you accidentally looked at them, I would feel just as angry as I’m sure you do right now. Even though it would be an honest mistake, and we would both know that. Nevertheless, I would feel aggrieved. Like you do. Right now. Totally and utterly aggrieved. So—”

  I know what I’m doing. By babbling on, I’m filling in the silence, the one thing I know I shouldn’t be doing. But I’m feeling so freaking thrown by this guy. It’s like he’s got some kind of weird hold on me, and I’m trying desperately to talk my way out of it. It might not the best thought-out strategy, but I’m running with it now.

  “—and even though the photographs are exquisite, I know they’re your personal items and not—”

  As I continue to waffle on, I wonder why he’s not saying anything. All he’s doing is arcing an eyebrow as he watches me carry on with (un)happy abandon. It’s like he’s enjoying this. Yes! That’s what this is. He’s enjoying me waffling on about how I was in the wrong and he was in the right.