Queenie
Page 16
“Sure.” I nodded, undoing his belt, deciding that I wanted it to happen but also to be over quickly. I slipped my hand into his jeans and his boxers, grabbing his erection.
“You’re so big!” I said truthfully, for the second time in my life. I was shocked; I had him down as a man with a very small, very narrow penis.
“You like that?” he asked, moving my knickers to the side and inserting a finger into me.
“I want to fuck you,” he said between greedy kisses. “Turn around, bend over.” I shook my head. He picked up his coat and laid it out on the floor. I lowered myself onto it awkwardly, not an easy or glamorous move when your tights are around your knees. He unzipped his jeans, pulled out his erection, and stared at me as I looked up at him from the floor.
“You’re so beautiful. Look at your beautiful brown skin,” he said; and before I could say anything about his “compliment,” Ted knelt and pulled my knickers and tights down to my ankles, giving me frog’s legs as he lay on top of me and tried to enter me.
“It’s probably not going to, hold on, I’m just not really warmed up and you’re really big and, just wait a se—” I tried to say.
“It’s okay, why don’t I just—” Ted spat onto his hand and wiped it between my legs.
“I’ve only ever seen that in porn,” I joked again uneasily as he eased himself into me, his spit allowing for entry. He thrust into me once.
“We should use protect—” I started.
“Oh, fuck,” he whispered in my ear. Three more and he was done. His entire body sagged and he lay panting as I stared up at the gray polystyrene ceiling tiles. He lifted his head up from my shoulder and kissed me on the mouth.
“Sorry, that was disappointing,” he said. “That’s not how I imagined our first time would be.” Ted stood, pulling his boxers up and buttoning his jeans. “I should go before anyone comes.”
He bent down and kissed me on the forehead quickly.
“The only person who came was you,” I said to his back as he ran out of the loo.
THE CORGIS
Queenie
I just had sex with Tweed Glasses in the work toilets
Darcy
Bloody hell, Queenie. Is this because we didn’t send you any memes?
Kyazike
You must have been REALLY bored, fam
Queenie
He was in the office and I tried to get on with work but he is so, so persuasive and obviously there’s been so much sexual tension between us in the last few months, so it all just came to a very explosive head and we got carried away. And now I feel like I probably, definitely should not have done that
Kyazike
Was it good?
Queenie
It was fine
Kyazike
Fine?
Kyazike
What happened?
Kyazike
He couldn’t get it up, innit? Or he bussed quick? Which one??
Queenie
The latter, BUT I think it’s because of the context? Excitement?, the fear of getting caught?
Darcy
Well, I’m glad you didn’t get caught
Cassandra
I’m breaking my no phone over the holidays rule to say TWO things. One: gross. Two: do not expect to hear from him again.
Queenie
You can psychoanalyze all you want, he’s not like that, Cassandra. This might all be a bit fragmented and messy, but I think he cares
chapter
FOURTEEN
WHY ARE PEOPLE always complaining about the dead period between Christmas and New Year’s? It’s complete bliss. Rupert and Nell have gone to their respective family homes for the break, so I have the house to myself.
Mainly I’ve been walking around in my knickers with the heating turned up, but the main joy is that I’ve been able to clean up after them. I don’t know how two people can generate so much mess, or how the cleaner puts up with it. I’ve never had a cleaner before, but is she the one to dispose of Nell’s used sanitary towels that she forgets to wrap up or pick up when she throws them in the bin and misses? It must be a cultural thing.
That these days all merge into one is wonderful. I’ve watched every good, medium, and bad film on telly, I’ve exhausted Netflix, my sleeping pattern has reversed so severely that I haven’t really seen daylight, and my appetite has returned enough for me to have been able to bake a tray of brownies and eat the whole thing with a fork (when I eventually found the baking tray under Rupert’s bed). The sleep has been doing me some good, although I have been going a bit mad with so much time to do nothing but think. Ted seems to have gone quiet. Maybe he needs space. I know that our beginnings aren’t exactly fairy-tale, but what if we worked well together? His intensity and passion would be a lot to get used to, and even though the sex wasn’t great, it would probably be better in a bed. And what would I say to Tom when he wanted to make things work again? Maybe it’s a good thing Ted’s gone a bit quiet.
I won’t think about it until I hear from Ted again; then I’ll know what his motives are.
* * *
As I ate pizza and watched Jools Holland and his reliable New Year’s Hootenanny, I reached into my dressing table and pulled out a pink leather Moleskine that I hadn’t yet managed to soil and decided to write some resolutions.
New Year’s Resolutions
1. Be kinder, and more patient with everyone. Up to and including commuters who push onto the Tube before anyone can get off, colleagues you overhear complaining about having no money even though you know that their parents cash-bought them a house, and also housemates who continue to cook seven-course meals in a shared kitchen which stops you from being able to make basic pasta and sauce.
2. Better vibes. In general, across all elements of your life and day.
3. Work harder, which should result in promotion:
a. Get to work on time.
b. Listen to Gina’s instructions.
c. Go above and beyond.
d. Less chatting with Darcy.
e. Be actively kind to the intern even though he is in a position of extreme privilege and will probably be your boss in five years.
f. No personal e-mail, no looking on Tumblr at work, phone permanently in desk drawer when working.
4. Try to sort things out with Tom. Obviously, the end goal is to get back together when he is ready, so continue to give him space, and in the meantime:
5. No more men:
a. Only speak to men if they’re attached, thus unavailable.
b. If you do speak to them, and they are single, don’t have sex with them. Adi was enough. In some ways.
c. Always use protection, always, even if you get carried away, which you do so often.
i. Maybe try to work out why that is.
d. No more of the dating apps, especially not on a Sunday when everyone is feeling sad and lonely and hungover and longing for a better life that they’re convinced comes with a partner thus obligatory weekend activities.
e. NO MORE GUY. He hurts you physically, and also overheard evidence of late suggests that he has a girlfriend. Either that or he is really very close to his housemate.
6. Spend more time with family:
a. Try to repair relationship with Mum despite everything (though this one you can break if it gets too much).
b. Go to see grandmother once a week, Sunday being best day as she will have roasted a chicken.
c. Reach out to your mainly estranged dad (while not expecting too much from him, thus saving yourself from inevitable rejection blues on top of Tom rejection blues).
7. Exercise. Possibly starting with something gentle like yoga, or swimming, once you figure out how to protect your hair. It might help with mental health, even though you are beginning to worry that you’re beyond repair.
8. Try to do something creative:
a. Writing?
b. Poetry?
c. Weaving?
d. Knitting?
e. Art? No
t sure about this one.
f. . . . You can’t think of any other creative activity, which in itself suggests that creativity is not for you.
9. Be less of a catastrophist: you will try to be an optimist and won’t be too harsh on yourself if pessimism creeps in, which it is bound to.
10. Give 50 percent of your things to charity after you Marie Kondo your room. No use selling on eBay, it’s not worth selling something you bought for .50 for $1.99 when the money could go to cancer research. Already a very kind suggestion, as per resolution 1.
11. GO TO THERAPY??? Think about therapy, at least.
I think that’s enough to be getting on with. In challenging myself to do anything at all, I’ve already set myself up to fail. But in limiting the resolutions, I can at least make the failure less disappointing.
* * *
After finishing my resolutions and inhaling a whole pizza, I took the grease-soaked box outside and shoved it into the overflowing recycling bin. I could hear cheers, and church bells chiming. I’d missed the countdown. Well. Another year.
Queenie
Happy New Year, Tom. I hope this year is better for us than the last. X
Tom
Happy New Year, Queenie. X
chapter
FIFTEEN
MY HEAD HURT, and I was so tired that I could see my heartbeat pulsing in my eyes. I’d finally fallen asleep at 4 a.m., and was woken up three hours later by Rupert’s usual disgusting sounds echoing around the bathroom and through my walls. When had he gotten back?
When he’d finally expelled every fluid from his body, I went into the bathroom after him to shower and wiped offcuts of his beard from inside and around the sink, then moved his pubic hair from the toilet seat with a tissue-covered hand. I didn’t have to do this with Tom. Maybe I should make a resolution to stop thinking about Tom three times a minute, and comparing him with everyone I encounter.
I left for work, and instead of putting on my normal shoes, I put on my old (but sadly not faded) bright-green running shoes and started walking to work. Resolution 7. I ended up getting the bus halfway, but, baby steps. I was waiting until I got into the office to change my shoes, but when I turned the corner and was walking up to the building, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked around and saw Gina shaking her head. I pulled an earbud out.
“No,” she said.
“No? What do you mean, no?” I said back.
“No. Those.” Gina pointed at my shoes. “Get those off, now.”
“Happy New Year to you too.” I shot her a fake smile.
“Queenie, this isn’t a joke. You aren’t walking into the office in those.” Gina’s tone got very serious. “Are you a fifty-year-old woman who has been wearing heels every day since the age of eighteen whose ankles need some respite? Or is it some sort of fashion statement?”
“No, but new year, new me—are you allowed to talk to me like that? This isn’t Mad Men,” I huffed.
“Do not try to suggest that I am sexist, Queenie. You’re a good-looking girl, don’t let your personal standards slip.”
Gina powered ahead in her five-inch stilettos as I leaned against a wall and changed into my black pumps without stepping on the ground in my tights. I got into the office and flew straight over to Darcy’s desk, swooping her up in a crushing hug. Darcy squealed loudly as Jean walked past, narrowing her eyes at both of us.
“Guess what?” Darcy said, pulling me toward the kitchen. “We’re both invited to James and Fran’s engagement party! The horror.”
“I don’t understand this, it’s like everything is on fast-forward! What is the rush?” I snapped, probably jealously. “You have your whole life to spend with this person, why do you need to lock it down ASAP, and do this big performance? Recipe for disaster,” I preached, spilling the milk across the kitchen counter.
“Are you all right? You seem very cross.” Darcy put a hand on my shoulder. I wasn’t being very optimistic, was I?
“I’m just tired, that’s all.” I took Darcy into a quiet room and read her all of my New Year’s resolutions, ignoring 3d (“Work harder, which should result in promotion: less chatting with Darcy”). I started work at around lunchtime and realized that I hadn’t heard from Ted. But this was a good thing, surely, because Tom had finally replied! And with an X!
On Wednesday, 2nd January, Jenkins, Queenie
You’re quiet. . . .
I waited, expecting Ted’s silence to be explained with an out-of-office. Nothing. After lunch, I checked my e-mail. Nothing.
I don’t want to be this girl. Something must really be up with my head if I was turning into this girl.
At about 4 p.m., a meeting invite from Gina popped into my inbox.
On Wednesday, 2nd January, Jenkins, Queenie
Gina wants to meet at 5 in her office. No explanation, no anything. I’m going to be fired, this is it, it’s over! I knew there was a reason she was ignoring all of the pitches I’ve been sending her. Why is she doing it now, why wouldn’t she just do it before Christmas? Maybe she thought that it would ruin my Christmas. It would be too cruel to fire me before Christmas. Oh God. Will you still love me if we don’t see each other every day? Will you remember me?
On Wednesday, 2nd January, Betts, Darcy
You literally just read me your resolutions. Number 9: Be less of a catastrophist.
Gina must know about me and Ted. I knew this would happen, I’ve been such a stupid, naïve little idiot girl. Maybe that’s why he isn’t replying, because he’s been asked to leave too, and they didn’t want us leaving together and drawing further attention to ourselves.
Maybe he confessed because he was feeling so guilty, or maybe the cameras filmed us going on all of our walks together, and security picked up on it? I wonder if it’s too late to pretend that we both went into the disabled loo because one of us wasn’t feeling very well?
I’ll have to e-mail him to get our story straight, but he’s not checking those—oh God, of course, they can read our e-mails, and I don’t have his number.
* * *
By the time 5 p.m. came around, I was almost catatonic with fear as adrenaline propelled me to Gina’s office. I knocked on the door with a trembling fist.
“Come in,” Gina barked. As I entered, she spun around in her chair like a film villain. “Okay, so let’s talk about your career.” I stopped breathing.
“Queenie, sit down.” My legs just about carried the rest of me to the seat in front of Gina’s desk. “So, the issue you filed after Christmas?”
“The one I had to fix?”
“Mmm, yes. You didn’t quite fix it enough, and I had to send it out to a freelancer.”
“Shit. Sorry. And sorry for swearing. Sorry.”
“And that plus everything else means, and I’m sorry to do this, but I’m giving you an official warning.”
“Me? But I was fixing Chuck’s mistakes!”
“Don’t worry, Chuck’s been warned too.”
“It won’t matter to him, though, this isn’t his job.” I threw myself back into my chair.
“But—you’ve been with us for how long now?” Gina asked, looking at a piece of paper on her desk.
“Three, I think, three years. Maybe a little more?” I answered, fear stripping my voice of any real volume. What did this warning mean?
“We don’t want to lose you,” Gina said, and my heart climbed down from where it had nestled in my throat. “You’re a bright girl,” she continued. “You really are, and, yes, you’ve been distracted the last six months, so I’m hoping that, by giving you specific career goals, I can bring you back from the brink. Okay?”
“Okay. So, what do I need to do?” I asked.
“One. Those pitches you’re sending me. They’re not tight enough, and not topical enough. Words and thoughts everywhere, and not enough hard fact. What I want you to do is
give me something long-form that I can show the magazine writers. You’re better at telling a story than you are at fast reporting, so let’s see if we can get your soft activism in the mag with that.”
I nodded quickly.
“Two. Chuck is in Boston with his family until the end of this week, and when he’s back on Monday, you’re in charge of him. Of his tasks, of his time sheets, and of his development. I want you to give him an ongoing project. You’ll feed his progress to me every month. Understood?”
“Er. Yes? I can do that? Yes.”
* * *
I went back to my desk and e-mailed Ted, out of both curiosity and sexual frustration.
On Wednesday, 2nd January, Jenkins, Queenie
Are you back at work? I haven’t seen you around. Anyway, hope all is well. You’re unusually quiet.
* * *
A week later, when I still hadn’t heard from him, I went up to his floor. His mixed signals were playing on my mind and I needed some sort of answer. The uncertainty was taking up too much of my brain space. Plus, if he didn’t want to continue things, it would be very embarrassing to see him around the office without at least speaking about it and making some sort of privacy pact. I did some Mission: Impossible–type moving around the sports section, only stopping to look quizzically at a whiteboard that appeared to have some sort of thinly veiled staff sex conquest and ratings system scribbled onto it. When I pulled myself away from it and kept moving, I saw him in the kitchen. I looked around and, seeing nobody near us, went in.
“Hello, stranger,” I said. Ted jumped out of his skin and dropped his mug on the floor.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he whispered, moving me out of the way so that he could look out the door. He closed it and began to pick up shards of broken china. “Why are you up here, Queenie?”