by Bonnie Dee
I limped upstairs to the street, and by the time I exited the building, whatever amusement I’d gotten from yanking their chains was gone. I can admit when I’ve been a dick. I just can’t seem to stop doing crap like that. It’d be easy to call it part of the impulse control issues brain-damaged people are prone to, but my little sister, Katie, will tell you I’ve always been a douche.
By the way, I never had a brother.
After the meeting, I had a few hours to kill before work so I went to the park across the street from the office building and hung out with the homeless. Some of them were wasted or batshit crazy, but others could carry on pretty interesting conversations. Anyway, I didn’t have any place better to be, and I wanted to get to work early. I hoped to run into Anna, or at least catch a glimpse of her before she left. If I arrived early for my shift, our paths might cross. I’d officially become a stalker.
At about five o’clock, I bid good-bye to the crazies and druggies and random down-and-outers and headed to the three-story office building across the street that it was my nightly pleasure to clean from top to bottom. It was a solid six-hour shift with decent pay for a menial job, so I couldn’t complain. I’d vowed to take no more handouts from my parents, who’d been practically bankrupted by my hospital bills. I was determined to pay my own way from here on out no matter how cheaply I had to live.
“You’re here early.” Shelly, the building receptionist, greeted me in the foyer. Then she turned her attention back to the e-reader she kept hidden in her desk. No need to put on a show of being busy for me.
I went to the cleaning closet and gathered some props. If I was going to the Haggenstern and Lowe offices on the second floor, I’d need some task to accomplish. That was as far as I’d gotten in my planning. I didn’t really know what to pretend to do. I wasn’t as good at creative thinking as I used to be. The normal routine of my day kept intruding in my mind. Usually around now, I ate dinner, packed a snack for later in the night, and caught the bus to work. Today I’d dropped out of group after making an ass of myself, skipped dinner, and showed up at work early. Everything felt off-kilter, and I don’t deal with off-kilter too well.
I spent nearly five minutes in the janitor closet, staring at bottles of cleaning fluids and trying to figure out what to do next. Moron, she’s going to be gone by the time you get up there. The thought got me moving at last. I grabbed a pack of lightbulbs and headed upstairs. The building has an elevator, but I wanted to see the spot on the stairs where I’d met Anna last night and relive our conversation one more time. Was I only imagining there’d been a connection between us? Probably she’d forgotten me the moment she walked away, while I was obsessing over her.
When I reached Haggenstern and Lowe, the lawyers and paralegals were leaving for the day. I went to one of the wall sconces and unscrewed the lightbulb, burning my fingers before I remembered to wrap a rag around the bulb. I stood fiddling with the new bulb and watching the people walk past, chatting about their day. It’s not easy to appear busy when you’re doing nothing. I felt like a stalker, hovering there waiting for a glimpse of Anna. The man I used to be probably would’ve laughed his ass off at the pathetic loser I’d become.
A flash of blonde-streaked brown hair caught my attention, and I immediately recognized her throaty laugh. She was walking down the hall, talking to a balding man in a suit. Anna wore a tailored jacket and skirt but didn’t look very lawyerly. She gave the impression of a little girl dressing up in her mom’s work clothes, but she must be at least in her midtwenties to have finished her degree and passed the bar.
She glanced up and met my gaze. I turned my attention to the lightbulb in my hand, studying it as if I’d never seen one before. I reached inside the wall sconce and began to screw the bulb in the socket.
“You’re here early.” Anna’s voice came from beside me.
I let go of the bulb and turned, heart pounding as if I’d been caught jacking off or something. The man she’d been talking to had walked on, and it was just Anna standing there.
“Yeah. Had some…things to take care of.”
Her left eyebrow shot up. Just one. So cool. She smiled, and I knew I was busted. “Important stuff, it looks like.”
My mind went blank; then I decided there was no point in pretending I was there for any other reason besides seeing her. “Hoped if I came early, I’d see you.”
I winced. As if she’d be pleased some guy like me was stalking her.
Anna glanced around the office, probably hoping no one had noticed her talking to me, but the lawyers seemed more focused on getting out of work as early as possible on a Friday night.
“That’s sweet,” she said.
It was better than get lost, weirdo. “Maybe there’s something in your office you need me to fix,” I said.
“Like replace a lightbulb?” She paused, then said, “Why don’t you come and see what you can do about the stuck drawer in my file cabinet?”
I guessed Anna wouldn’t want me trailing after her for everyone to see, so I finished screwing in the lightbulb while she retraced her steps back down the hall. Then I followed her to her office.
****
The moment I caught a glimpse of that blue coverall, I knew I was in trouble. Instead of pretending to be involved in my conversation with Jules and ignoring Jason, I stopped to talk to the janitor.
A shapeless coverall doesn’t do anybody any favors, but on him… I don’t know. There was something about his long, lean build and the breadth of his shoulders. Or maybe it was his eyes, which had seemed to pierce right through me last night. I wanted to look into them again, if only to convince myself they were nothing special.
But when Jason turned toward me, I realized I’d been completely right about those amazing eyes. A flutter of anticipation shot through me. After my meltdown in court the previous day, I didn’t need more scrutiny from my coworkers. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to see me flirting with the janitor. I should’ve offered a polite greeting to Jason and moved on, but instead I asked him to fix my stuck file drawer.
As I walked to my office, I had time to ask myself at least a dozen times what I was doing. We’d had a two-minute conversation last night, and, just because the man had cheered me up when I was feeling really low, I was crushing on him. It was inappropriate. I decided to play it cool, show him the sticking drawer, but put a halt to any more flirting.
Still I couldn’t stop the fluttery nervous feeling when he followed me into my office. The limp in his right leg made me wonder again what had happened to him. Perhaps he’d been in the military and gotten injured in war. I showed Jason the file cabinet and stood back, watching him struggle to slide it open.
“See? Stuck,” I said.
He was able to wrestle it halfway out and peered inside. “I thought files were on computers these days.”
“Not everything. There still have to be hard copies. So, can you fix it?”
He reached into the drawer and messed with something, then easily slid it closed. He grinned at me with such a devilish smirk I wanted to kiss it off his lips.
I smiled back. “Show-off.”
“I am the fixit guy.”
Before the moment of silence that followed could grow too charged, I interrupted it. “I wanted to thank you again for stopping to talk to me last night. After such a bad day, it was nice to have someone bother to try to make me feel better.”
“No problem.”
“I did the sheep-counting thing the rest of the night. Couldn’t stop thinking of the damn things, but you’re right, they were a distraction and calmed me down.”
Another little smile quirked his lips. “Never tried it myself.”
I laughed. “So you’re dispensing untried mantras? Quack.”
He frowned. “Quack?”
I wasn’t going to take the bait if he was teasing me, but the uncertainty in his eyes convinced me. “Quack doctor. A faker.”
His confusion cleared. “Oh, right. Some word
s… I don’t remember everything I used to know.”
It was the perfect opening for me to ask questions. “You said you had a head injury?”
“Car accident.”
“I’m sorry.” I searched for something to add. “It must have been a very difficult recovery.”
“Yeah.” Jason changed the subject back to me. “Anyway, it seems like you’re doing better today.”
“I just had to pull up my big-girl pants, stop feeling sorry for myself, and get back to work.”
He glanced around my office. “Still wondering if you made the wrong career choice?”
“As you said last night, I could be doing something worse.”
“Like cleaning office buildings.”
Before I could amend my insult and say what he did was as necessary as what I did if not more so, he added, “Don’t bother pretending being a janitor is anyone’s career goalie.”
I blinked at the word “goalie,” but Jason didn’t seem to notice. I figured it was another symptom of his disability. I’d spent some time that afternoon researching brain injuries and their issues which might include memory loss, mood swings, motor-control issues, or depression.
“When I was in law school, I used to waitress,” I said. “I know I wouldn’t want to do that again. Too stressful. But your job seems kind of, I don’t know, peaceful. Nobody yelling orders at you. No urgent deadlines to meet.”
I bit my tongue. Could I sound more condescending? I’d basically just pointed out that his job was so undemanding any idiot could do it.
One corner of his mouth quirked. “So you want to switch jobs for the day, like a Disney movie?” He walked around my desk and sat in my chair.
“That didn’t come out right. I didn’t mean to sound so…” I exhaled an irritated breath. “You see? This is exactly what happened to me in court. I got flustered and started babbling. All the facts I knew flew out of my head, and I had to keep referring to my notes. It was awful.”
He swung the chair gently from side to side. “What kind of case?”
“I can’t talk about specifics, but suffice to say it was a pretty simple one to argue, which is why it was assigned to me for my first time in court. And still I managed to blow it.” I sank down in the chair on the other side of the desk. It was strange to look at my desk from this angle. “But as Jules says, everybody’s allowed to screw up once in a while so long as they don’t make a habit of it. I’m moving on.”
Jason picked up a pen from my desk and started clicking it. I noticed his movements were slow and deliberate. I thought about movies I’d seen in which people in rehab worked to reclaim the simplest motor skills, usually in an inspiring montage set to music. How awful it would be to lose everything in one life-changing moment.
Then, because I apparently couldn’t think of any other subject to talk about besides work, I asked, “How long have you had this job?”
Click. “Awhile.” Click. “I don’t remember.” Click. “I lose track of time.”
“So do I. Can’t believe I’ve been here almost six months already.” I fished for something not job related to talk about and then wondered why I was having this conversation with the janitor, who probably had things he was supposed to be doing. “I suppose I should get going and let you get to work.”
There was a brief rap on the door, and Cindy stuck her head in. “Anna, you’re still here.”
“Uh, yeah.” I bolted up from the chair as if my butt had been burned.
Her gaze shot between me and Jason. Back to me. Back to Jason. It was almost comical, but not.
“I was just showing him the stuck drawer in the, uh, file cabinet.”
Back to Jason. Back to me. “Okay. So, some of us are going to Flamenco’s for drinks. Wanna come?”
“Sure. I’ll be right there.”
“Great.” Back to Jason. “If you have time, could you clean the window in my office? I know windows probably aren’t part of your job, but there’s a big puddle of bird crap on the glass, and who knows when they’ll get a window washer in to take care of it.”
Jason dropped the pen on my desk and rose. “Sure. Which office?”
“Two doors down on the right.”
“I’ll take care of it.” He moved from behind my desk and toward the door. Cindy stepped aside as he walked past and gave me what-the-hell? eyes behind his back.
I shrugged. I was second-guessing that drink at Flamenco’s. Cindy was not going to drop this without questioning me, and I had no intention of explaining anything. Hell, I couldn’t even find a good explanation for myself.
Chapter Three
That night, as I scrubbed bird poo off a windowpane, the nip of ammonia stinging my nose, I felt pretty good. I’d hoped to catch a glimpse of Anna and maybe exchange hellos. Having an entire conversation exceeded my expectations.
I had a hard time focusing on work, though, and jerked from an Anna-induced trance about five minutes later, still rubbing the same pane of glass. This was exactly why I was stuck doing an undemanding job. Sometimes I had trouble keeping on task. Give me the pressure of working in a fast-food joint and I was liable to lose my shit. I was sure as hell never going to take over the family business as my dad had once envisioned.
My dad liked to point out that there’s honor in any work so long as you do it to the best of your ability. I once told him maybe I should work in the porn industry since it was something I had an affinity for. He wasn’t amused.
With the pane sparkling, I closed the window and returned to my regular routine. It should’ve been like breathing, I’d done it so many times, but that evening I had to refer to the laminated sheet on my cart a few times in order to remember all the tasks on my list.
I was starting on the second-story offices when my cell phone rang. Mom. I didn’t want to talk to her, but guilt won out, so I answered. She wasted no time getting down to business.
“Jason, I wish you’d quit ignoring my texts. You know I worry when you don’t check in.”
“Still here, Mom. Nothing new to say.”
“Did it ever occur to you maybe I have things to say? Maybe I’d like to hear your voice once in a while without having to hound you? Never mind. I called to remind you about your dad’s birthday party. Write it down, and I’ll remind you again on the day.”
“It’s already written down. You don’t need to remind me. I’ll be there.” I’d be there gritting my teeth and smiling no matter what. It was the least I could do.
“Also, Katie misses you. Even if you don’t want to spend time with your father and me, you owe it to your little sister to be there for her. You haven’t gone to any of her soccer games. There’s one coming up on Sunday.”
Guilt upon guilt. “Okay. Text me the information. I’ll make a game unless I’m at work—which I need to be getting back to right now.”
There was a pause, and Mom continued in a sad voice guaranteed to reduce me to lower than dirt. “Your father is feeling pretty weird about turning fifty-five. It’s kind of a big deal. Don’t blow off this party, Jason.”
Knowing my dad, I thought he’d probably rather not make a big deal of it. The huge family-reunion event my mom had planned was really more her thing. But all I said was, “I won’t.”
“All I want is our family to be close again. Is that so much to ask?”
“No.” I cleared my throat. “Sorry. I’ll try harder.”
I hung up thinking we were never that close. But my mom believed the fantasy, and who was I to deny it to her. She deserved a lot more than that from me after what my accident had put her through.
I put on my rubber gloves, grabbed the toilet bowl cleaner, and headed into the john. Too bad dealing with family wasn’t as simple as scrubbing urinals. It was easy to be Zen when I was alone and performing simple jobs, easy to give Anna advice about finding her calm center. But come the day of my dad’s birthday celebration, I knew my nerves would be fried and it would be all I could do to deal with the crowd of relatives. No amou
nt of deep breathing or counting sheep was going to fix that.
****
“Seriously, what was that?” Cindy hammered me again. “Tell me why the janitor was sitting in your chair.”
“It squeaks. I wanted to see if he could fix it.”
“Bullshit. He wasn’t testing the chair for a squeak. Looked like you guys were having a conversation and that’s…weird.”
I stabbed the cherry in my drink with a toothpick over and over. “Why would it be so weird to have a conversation with the guy?”
“Oh my God, tell me you’re not into him. He’s the janitor.”
“So what?” I looked at her. “We live in a classless society.”
“Except we don’t. Not really. And anyway, the guy’s got mental issues, doesn’t he? You can’t honestly be thinking of tapping that.”
“I’m not tapping anything. You’re the one inventing fantasy romances just to make the office less boring. I was having a simple conversation. That’s it.”
But I wouldn’t be doing it again if Cindy was going to spread rumors. She could never keep her mouth shut. She was the one who’d outed Trent Park’s relationship with that lawyer from a competing firm and nearly gotten him fired.
“Tell me about your sister’s wedding.” I changed the subject to something I knew would distract Cindy for a while.
“We have our fitting this weekend. Can I tell you again how much I hate the dresses and how expensive they are?” She showed me snaps on her phone of some particularly ugly retro-seventies bridesmaid gowns, then started complaining about her sister.
I made a mental note not to go for drinks with Cindy again unless I knew for sure more people from work would be there. She’d made it sound like a group hang, but nobody else showed up, so I was trapped.
“Oh man.” I rubbed my stomach. “That drink is not sitting right.”
“You need something to eat. Want to order here or go someplace else for dinner?”
I shook my head. “I think I need to go home.”
