Under My Skin

by A. E. Dooland

  She proceeded to show me the jeans she was talking about and ask me about sizing, and while she was loading me up with them I just agreed they looked great and the deal was good value because I figured it would make her go away faster. It did, but by the time I went into the change room under the guise of trying on the women's hoodies, I had my arms full of men's jeans. I dumped them all in the corner of the cubicle.

  The lighting the change rooms was actually pretty flattering, but I still had to face myself in a bra before I got the first of the hoodies on. It was one of the women's, and the sleeves were too short. That probably wasn't an enormous problem in itself because I always pushed them up my forearms anyway, but I felt like it was a sign. It also was a pastel purple and made me look as if I was trying too hard to be cutesy when I just wasn't. Well, so much for trying to buy something that I could actually wear in public, I thought. I scrapped that idea.

  That hoodie had gone so badly that I didn't even bother with the other two pastel ones, I just went straight for the men's. It slipped over my head so much more easily than the purple one, the sleeves covered my arms and it hung at a really comfortable length down my middle.

  It looked weird with a suit skirt, though.

  In the reflection of the mirror, I could see the jeans I'd just dumped in a pile in the corner. I frowned at the glass. Min, you came here for a big comfy hoodie to wear at home. You'll leave with this one. What the hell are you going to do with those jeans? Hang around the house in them? You can save a 100 dollars and just do that in your trackies.

  Then I remembered my trackies were currently soaked in Henry's sweat. I could use something comfy to wear while they were at the laundry.

  So, wait, I was going to buy really expensive, really ultra-fashionable men's jeans because my 100 year old trackies were going to be gone for two days to be washed? And then what was I going to do with the jeans after that? Where was I going to wear them? I had never been a big fan of jeans.

  On the other hand, the only reason I avoided wearing jeans in the past was because the skinny jeans I had at home were tight and uncomfortable. If I had big boot cut ones maybe I'd feel more like putting them on.

  But, seriously, if I did really like them, where was I planning on actually wearing them other than at home? Those jeans screamed ‘man’. There was nothing feminine about them at all. They belonged on a sepia-tone billboard under rippling abs and visible Calvins, not on me.

  I bent down and picked up a pair of them. Fuck, they were so cool, though. I really wanted to put them on, regardless of who they were meant for. But what would it mean if I liked them?

  I made a frustrated noise at myself. Who cared what it meant? Jesus, Min, get a fucking grip, the sky is not going to cave in if you put on a pair of men’s jeans and like them. What the hell is wrong with you? This isn’t high school anymore, no one’s going to draw moustaches on photos of you and post them online just because you’re wearing men’s jeans.

  I ended up just kind of holding them up and scowling. Great work, Min, I thought. How balanced of you. You're having a fucking personal crisis over a pair of jeans. A pair of goddamn jeans.

  I was in there for ages, so long that the clerk came to check on me. “Is everything okay in there?” her cheerful voice called through the door. “How are the sizes?”

  I looked at them in my hands. They were enormous. “I'm good, thanks,” I called back, “I'll be out in a sec.”

  My final verdict was that I didn't have time to make this decision now. And since I wasn't sure when I'd be able to come back, I just decided to buy them and worry about everything later.

  I wasn’t sure what I had expected, but the girl at the counter didn’t seem at all weirded out by the fact I was buying men’s clothes. I supposed women did it all the time—probably not for the same reasons I was, though. I felt like she could read them all over my face as she greeted me and I was almost bracing myself for that smile to disappear. “Are these for yourself?” she asked, still smiling for now.

  I panicked. “Why?”

  That made her look a little surprised. “Because I can put them in a non-transparent recycled paper bag if you want to hide them from someone in particular.”

  I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling so, so stupid. “That sounds great.” Then, completely unnecessarily, I added, “They’re for my boyfriend.”

  The girl smiled while she was running my card. “I’m sure he’ll love them.”

  Fuck, I was no better than Bree: ‘they’re for my boyfriend’. Min, really? You're going to lie to her? And Henry most certainly would not love them if he saw me in them, either. But whatever, I wouldn’t wear them around him. Or anyone. They were for me.

  Even in that paper carry-bag, I was actually too afraid to take them back to work. It was ridiculous, because if anyone saw the bag and what was inside it, they would assume I had bought them for Henry. Just as a means of avoiding that conversation, though, I walked all the way home and left the bag inside my door before I returned to work.

  I was late back from lunch, but given the amount of overtime I did, the only comments people made were more of the 'long lunch date?' variety.

  “Yeah, I'm cheating on Henry with clothes shops,” I said dryly when Sarah asked. She laughed at it, though, which made me feel a bit better.

  “I didn't think clothes shops were your type,” she said afterwards, handing me a USB. “That's pink diamond sales in North America and Mainland China,” she said. “Actually China's hedging out the US at the moment.”

  I accepted the USB from her. “Interesting,” I said, and then asked, “and you didn't think clothes stores were my type?”

  Sarah laughed again. “You don't seem like the kind of person to go shopping, that's all. I'm not having a go at your fashion sense. You dress way better than me, anyway. I'm lucky to brush my hair in the morning.”

  And yet you look amazing, I thought, a little bit enviously. I bet she never got stuck stressing for half an hour in a change room. Envy aside, though, she was right, I wasn't really a fan of shopping. Rather than think about why that was and spend too much time dwelling on what I'd just bought, I reviewed the figures that Sarah had dug up for me.

  I didn't need our data-crunching ex-intern to tell me that the US was out, but I wasn't too sure sales in China were strong enough to justify positioning ourselves there, either. I gave the USB to the team members and asked them to see what they could mine out of it while I sat back and tried to think of what the hell we should do.

  Okay, so it was only day two and I didn't think anyone other than me had really expected we'd be completing the marketing requirements document by now. Still, with only four weeks we really didn't have time to spend ages figuring out who we were even trying to sell these things to. There was just so much to do, and I had a sudden panic that the four weeks would be up and we would have achieved nothing, that I would be demoted, end up in admin and need to tell Mum what a terrible failure her daughter was.

  Shit, and with everything that had gone on I hadn't even told Mum about the promotion in the first place. I was clearly losing the plot.

  “Back in a second,” I told my team, and then grabbed my phone to head outside.

  Several of the levels in our building had their own alcove balconies, and ours was usually full of smoking marketing reps, especially around lunchtime. Today, though, there wasn't anyone out there when I pushed the door open and dialled Mum's number. As usual, she picked up almost instantly. “Min!”

  Predictably, Mum was overjoyed for about five seconds and then started playing her usual game of running through a list of catastrophic what-ifs about if I blew the opportunity. I had been walking backwards and forwards and half-listening to her, while I privately what-iffed about those goddamn jeans, when the balcony door opened and Sean Frost came striding out.

  I stopped walking. What was he doing here? He never came onto level 36 because it was Diane's stronghold. I didn't even think I'd been this close to him be
fore.

  He was supposedly an enormous heart-throb, but even from this distance I couldn't see it. What I could see was how fit he kept himself and how well dressed he was, but those things never really impressed me, anyway. He did seem much more easygoing than his sister; compared to her the only intimidating thing about him was his obvious self-confidence.

  On that note, he smiled amicably at me when he saw me looking. The smile turned out a bit crooked because he had an unlit cigarette between his lips as he felt around in his pockets for a lighter. He didn't find one.

  Because I was on the phone, when he walked up to me he just mouthed, “Lighter?” as he made a lighter motion with his hand. I shook my head. He nodded once, and then proceeded to search around the pot plants, seats and railings for an abandoned one.

  I couldn't help being amused; this man was a co-CEO of a billion dollar mining company on his hands and knees in an Italian suit, retrieving a fallen lighter from underneath a bench.

  He stood up and showed it to me as he triumphantly lit his cigarette. I smiled back, and I didn’t even have to force it. Before I got too friendly, though, I caught myself: this was the guy that had broken the law and made Henry really upset last night. This was the fucking asshole fuck and all those other things Henry had called him.

  I should have been really angry with Sean on Henry’s behalf, but I was finding it really difficult. I mean, Sean definitely wasn’t doing to me what he did to most of the female staff and maybe a few of the men, but he was very charismatic and very likeable one-on-one. Definitely a far cry from the cool professional I’d seen give speeches at annual general meetings, and an even farther cry from the things Henry had called him last night.

  “Min, Min? Are you listening to me?”

  Shit, I'd completely forgotten about the phone against my ear. “Sorry, Mum, I'll call you back later,” I said, and hung up.

  Sean looked over towards me, and that's when he saw my expression. He cringed, clearly thinking it was about the fact he'd been scrounging around for a cigarette lighter and not to do with Henry's opinion of him. “I promise I don't normally crawl around on the concrete,” he said. He had a pleasant voice. “It's just been a really hard day and I really needed a cigarette.”

  “I hear you,” I said, surprising myself by actually speaking.

  I meant that it had been a hard day, but Sean thought I was asking for a cigarette. He patted down his lapels and his pockets. “I'm sorry I can't offer you one, they're in my office,” he said, and then considered me for a moment. “Min Lee, isn't it?” he asked.

  I was too surprised he knew who I was to correct him about wanting a cigarette. When I didn't, he put the cigarette between his lips and dusted off his palms, walking over so he could shake my free hand. I was taller than him, but he didn't make me feel awkward about it. In fact, apart from the fact I knew Henry hated him for some reason, everything about him put me at ease. “I work with your boyfriend. There's a picture of you on his desk. Pleasure to finally meet you—I hear you're the rising star of Marketing at the moment.”

  I wasn't sure he was supposed to know about my position, but it was possible Henry mentioned something. “Henry does tend to exaggerate his praise of me.”

  Sean laughed. “I'm the same with my beautiful wife. So, how’s your new team? Political project, is that correct?”

  It seemed like a perfectly innocent question, but following Diane’s advice I was careful to be appropriately dismissive. “You know how they go.”

  He was still smiling, and I could see where he got his reputation for public relations. “Fortunately, I'm pleased to say I don't,” he said. “But according to my sister you get results, and since that's what she cares about, I'm guessing we'll have a politician or two in our pockets by June.” He nodded politely, finishing his cigarette and butting it out in the bin. He gestured towards it. “Sorry again you had to witness the awful lengths I'll go to in order to feed my nicotine addiction. Now if you'll excuse me, unfortunately I have to run.”

  I smiled at him as he went back inside, but I didn't follow him straight away. Henry hated that guy? Really? I unlocked my phone with the intention of texting him, but then I saw I had a note on Deviant Art. I didn't have to check who it was from.

  “sooooooo,” it said. “did u have a shower yet?? :) :)”

  I pictured the smiley face Bree had drawn on my shower screen and grinned for a fraction of a second before I remembered what else she'd done. You lied to me, Bree, I thought, but then I realised how many times I’d lied today and felt like a raging hypocrite. That didn’t change the fact I was grumpy with her about it, though, so I decided to leave that message for now. I did end up texting Henry, but he didn’t answer either so I figured he was already back at work and busy.

  I’d better get to work, too, I thought, and then went back inside.

  That evening I was the last one to leave as usual, but Sarah didn’t leave very long before me. She gave me a bit of a measured look as she held the door open, but she didn’t say anything other than goodbye.

  “Bye,” I said absently, trying to figure out why I hated the colours that Canada had chosen for their scheme so much.

  I didn’t get home until about 9 or 10. The recycled paper carry-bag was still inside my door, so I took it with me into the bedroom and only faced it again after I’d had a shower.

  Since my trackies were off with the laundry, I was sort of forced to put on my new comfy clothes. I wasn't too unhappy about that. Despite my inner conflict, part of me was looking forward to wearing them.

  The jeans were seriously fucking cool, and when I pulled them on they were really comfortable. Not baggy, exactly, but nice and loose. I’d bought one size bigger than I probably needed so they sat low on my hips; if I was going out in them I’d need to wear a belt. I stopped for a moment: yeah, right, ‘going out in them’. Just, no. As if people didn’t stare at me enough already because of how tall I was, I didn't need to add 'wearing men's clothes' to that. I put a soft t-shirt on under the hoodie, and then shot myself a passing glance in the mirror while I was throwing away the bag.

  It was just supposed to be a quick look, just to check nothing was on back-to-front and no tags were still attached. It didn’t end up being quick, though, because my reflection was just so different from what I had expected to see.

  I wasn’t wearing any make-up and I had my hair tied back because I’d just been in the shower. Between my hair seeming short and the fact I was wearing men’s clothes… fuck, what was I doing? They were only supposed to be comfortable, that was why I’d bought them. It wasn’t even about how I looked at all.

  But that didn’t change the fact that I looked good like this, really good. And better than that, I looked right.

  My heart started racing again, and I forced myself to look away from the mirror. No, I thought. I’m not doing this, not now. I had way too fucking much going on in my life to want to add more stupid, whimsical complications to it. Work was already making me feel like I was on the brink of losing it, I didn't need something else to worry about. I just needed to dag around my home and enjoy my new comfy clothes like anyone would. That's enough, Min, please just leave it there and stop thinking about it.

  I followed my own advice, poured myself an enormous mug of wine and went to quickly eat some dinner. In doing so, I was sitting opposite those evil flowers and they reminded me that it had been a while since I'd replied to anything Bree had sent me.

  When I went to get my phone so I could, there was already a message waiting for me. It wasn't from Bree, though, it was a text message from Henry. “Hey, Min, one of your co-workers—Sarah, she said her name was—invited us out for dinner on Friday night with her and her boyfriend. Obviously, I said yes.”

  I stopped chewing mid-mouthful.

  You’ve got to be kidding me, I thought, she went behind my back and just asked Henry?

  God, she was as bad as Bree. I reconsidered that and made a face: okay, no she wasn’t, no one wa
s as bad as Bree. She was sneaky, though. I still had no idea what to do about Bree, but I knew one employee who was about to find herself with a lot of very boring paperwork for the next four weeks as penance for ganging up on me with my boyfriend.

  EIGHT

  I got to work early the following morning so that when Sarah arrived, it was to a desk covered in analytics printouts. She stopped in front of them, looked from them to me, and then walked over to my desk and placed a can of Red Bull between my keyboard and my monitor. “Still glad I did it,” she said as she went and sat at her own desk. She sounded like she was grinning.

  “You say that now,” I said neutrally as I pretended to be very busy, “until I tell you that I ‘accidentally’ deleted the spreadsheet for those and I need you to re-enter all the data.”

  Even after all those years she’d been working with me, she still hadn't learnt. “Oh my god, Min, are you serious?” She turned back to all of the printouts on her desk with this look of total horror on her face. “I can't believe you'd seriously do that to me because I asked you to eat food with me and...” She never finished that sentence because apparently I was doing far too good a job at looking completely innocent. “You're messing with me!” she accused. “And after I bought you a Red Bull, too!”

  I shot her a half-smile before I looked back at my screen. “Of course I'm not. I'd never do such a thing. Now get to work,” I said, nodding my head sideways at her printouts. A crumpled-up ball of one of them flew past my face and I gave her an unimpressed look. “Good thing it’s only contracts you pitch.”

  I saw one of our teammates who was sitting beside Sarah roll his eyes. I left it, though, because Sarah had started laughing and that made me chuckle.

  Since my cover was blown, there was nothing standing between me and the Red Bull. I plucked it from between my keyboard and monitor and I toasted it in the air towards Sarah. “Cheers,” I said, opening it to a very satisfying hiss. “A-plus job at sucking up to the boss. Now I need you to tell me what rich 25 to 34 year olds on Facebook are saying about pink diamonds.”