Love to Hate You

by Anna Premoli

  She laughs and throws a cushion at me. “Remember you’re a lowly tax consultant, not a justice of the peace!”

  “And it’s precisely because I am their tax consultant that I know everything about my clients’ lives!”

  At that moment, Laura walks into the room, looking gloomy.

  “What’s the matter?” we both ask.

  “I broke up with David,” she answers, in a tone somewhere between serious and desperate. For the record, Laura breaks up with David once a week and it's a drama every time.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Because he’s an idiot, because he doesn’t want to commit! He doesn’t want to get married, even though we’ve been together for seven years! Seven years, can you believe it?” she asks rhetorically, throwing herself down on the sofa next to Vera.

  To be honest, we all know perfectly well why, because for the past seven years David has been telling Laura that he doesn’t want to get married because he's not the marrying kind, but that he does want them to move in together. And that's the main problem: David would like to live with Laura, but she will only leave this house in a white dress. These two positions are apparently impossible to reconcile.

  But they are deeply in love, so a few days later they’re back together again. It doesn’t take long before they’re arguing, though, and then it starts all over again. And again.

  “What about if, instead of getting married, you moved in together?” I offer.

  She gives me a glare.

  “Never,” she declares. “I've got my values and beliefs, and in my life I'll either have marriage or nothing at all.”

  I feel like pointing out to her that living together is far from being nothing – that it’s just like a marriage and that my parents have been living happily together for over forty years, but I know it would be pointless. When she’s in a mood there's no point trying to explain anything to her.

  A heavy silence falls on the room, until Vera says, “I know what we all need!”

  Laura and I look at her in fear.

  “We need to do our hair!” she says decisively.

  Vera's dyed her hair so many different colours that she's probably in the Guinness Book of Records. She is a proper expert – far more competent than many hairdressers.

  And for once, she might even be right.

  “I’m in,” I say, “I think I need a radical change in my life.”

  I try to push away the nagging doubt that the only reason I’m considering a change is because a certain someone suggested it. How ridiculous: if I decide to change my hair style it’s because it's what I want, not because bloody Ian said so.

  Suddenly, even Laura perks up. “I always thought Jenny would look good as a blonde.”

  “Me, blonde?” I say in shock.

  Vera agrees. “Absolutely. But it needs to be a proper blonde, with strong highlights.”

  “Are you two both off your heads?”

  Vera is already standing up and heading for the bathroom. “I think I've got everything I need,” she says after a few minutes. “Come on, let’s get started!”

  “Girls, are you out of your minds!? Blonde? And listen, I'm sure you know what you're doing, Vera, but are you're really sure you want to do my highlights?” I ask, worried.

  For a second, Vera pulls an offended face and crosses her arms as though to challenge me, but then she sees the terror on my face.

  “You said you need a radical change, so why not this? You know how good I am with hair! There's nothing to worry about.”

  I’m not worried about her skills – it's the final result that scares me.

  “Come on, sit down here in this nice, comfy chair and close your eyes. You can keep them closed until we finish if you'd rather. My assistant, Laura, and I will take care of everything.”

  So I let them talk me into it and, for the first time in my life, I dye my hair.

  Chapter 5

  It’s half past seven on Monday morning and the office is almost empty. Good, I think to myself calmly as I step out of the lift and take a look around.

  Looks like my nemesis hasn't arrived yet, probably because it really is unusually early for an ordinary Monday morning. But it’s not just any Monday to me. This Monday I start working with Ian. God, what a thought.

  Tamara appears in front of me out of nowhere, just as I’m about to enter my office.

  “Good morning, Jennifer,” she greets me pleasantly. She's always so nice and kind to everyone, it must be her nature. Pity her boss is a total bastard. I hope at least it helps strengthen her character.

  “Good morning, Tamara,” I answer in the same pleasant voice, and then realise she’s standing immobile in the doorway, gazing at me with mouth agape and an expression of total shock on her face.

  “Is anything wrong?” I ask innocently. I know perfectly well why she's staring at me so intensely.

  “No… nothing”, she answers, then goes back to looking me up and down. “It’s just… you look so… different”, she dares in the end.

  “You bet I do,” I answer with a smile.

  I look totally different, and I'm actually finding it quite enjoyable. Vera did a brilliant job: my hair is now very blonde, slightly wavy and falls down to my shoulders. Quite a difference, as for the last twenty years I’ve always worn it in a ponytail.

  Moreover, I’m wearing a black suit, with an audacious slit up the side of the skirt and high heels. And I’ve always been the woman in trousers and flat shoes.

  “It's a… radical change—” she continues, before hastily clarifying, “But you look great.”

  “Thank you.” I know she’s right.

  In theory, this change in my appearance should also represent a spiritual one. Let’s hope that's the case. Let’s hope I’m done with the losers and the deadbeats.

  A few second later, George arrives and makes no efforts to hide his approval.

  “What the hell happened to you?” he asks. “I’m not saying I don’t like it, but bloody hell, it's a pretty drastic change.”

  “I broke up with Charles,” is all I say. No point beating about the bush.

  He nods. “I'm genuinely glad to hear that. I mean, come on, Jenny – where the hell did you even manage to find a philosophy professor nowadays?” he teases.

  I admit he’s right and his question makes me laugh. “What can I say, I've got a gift for it—”

  “Try and choose somebody with a bit more backbone next time. Not as much backbone as you, that would be tough – but someone with maybe half as much?” he suggests.

  “To be honest, I don’t want to see anyone for a bit. I want to catch my breath and concentrate on work. And anyway, I'll have Beverly to keep me busy for the next few weeks.”

  “Ian's put his name in the agenda,” says a perplexed Tamara.

  “I know,” I confirm, as though I didn’t care about it. God, I wish I didn’t, but to be honest, I find the whole thing unnerving. That man will give me an ulcer before I’m forty.

  “We're going to be working on it together, since that's what the client has requested,” I explain.

  And they both open their mouths like fish trying to breathe outside an aquarium.

  “You two are going to… work together?” asks George. “I mean… I heard about it last Friday, but I thought you’d have figured out a way to get round it—”

  “Yes, that was the initial plan, but it proved impossible to put into practice,” I admit.

  George and Tamara look at me in astonishment. Usually, nothing's impossible for people like us two.

  “Break a leg”, says George, with a laugh.

  “You’ve been saying that a lot lately. Well, thanks, I'll need all the good luck I can get.”

  *

  A few hours later, Colin shows up at my office door, and I see immediately that he too is stunned by my new look.

  “Good morning, Jenny,” he greets me without taking his eyes off of my head. As if it was strange for a woman to change the colo
ur of her hair. His secretary does it once a month and nobody makes a big deal out of it.

  “Good morning,” I answer, without moving my eyes from my monitor.

  “The meeting room's free for you,” he informs me, and I know that when he says “you” he doesn’t mean just me.

  “Thank you, that was a good idea. Better off meeting on neutral ground.”

  Colin smiles with satisfaction. “That's what I thought, so I booked it for two hours. But remember, it's not soundproofed.”

  “I know, I know – I've got years of experience behind me, remember?”

  My boss raises his eyes to the ceiling. “Let’s just say that in the past you two used to put on quite a show in there. The secretaries have been complaining that everything's got a bit too quiet and predictable since you stopped working together.”

  “That’s why the news that we’re working together again is creating such a stir—” I say, finishing his sentence for him. “But boring's good in our case, don’t you think?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if someone had bugged the meeting room just to hear you two talking. You have a… what’s the word… intense way of going about things,” my boss declares.

  I look at Colin in confusion. “Well, that's not exactly the way I'd put it, but I suppose that's how it might look to some people,” I admit.

  Colin is about to leave, but he turns towards me one last time. “Anyway, you make a gorgeous blonde.”

  He gives me a wink and leaves.

  *

  The meeting room furniture is spartan and bare. They say they took everything out back when I used to fight with Ian, because they were worried we'd go for each other with blunt objects. Seeing the way things ended up, they weren't actually that far off the mark.

  I walk into the room with a determined step, and notice Ian is already sitting there comfortably, talking on his mobile. If it had been anyone else I'd leave so as not to disturb their privacy, but Ian’s not worth wasting any niceness on, so he can go to hell.

  He gives me an inquiring look without interrupting his call. His expression is inscrutable, but he continues to stare at me.

  “I have to go,” he says finally. “I really don't know what my plans are for that day. I can’t promise anything, but if I’m around I'll definitely show my face. Bye, mum,” he says, as he hangs up.

  He quickly puts his mobile in his pocket and prepares to attack.

  “Tamara told me you'd undergone a radical re-styling,” he teases, “but I wouldn't have imagined anything so dramatic.”

  I had really been hoping to startle him – to at least have this psychological advantage over him – but his secretary had obviously gone running straight to her boss and told him everything, ruining my surprise.

  “Women change their hairstyles all the time, what’s odd about it?”

  “You never have,” he answers simply, putting an end to the conversation.

  “Well, I have now, and I might even do it again. I was thinking of dying my hair red next time. Is there any law which says I always have to stay the same?” I ask sarcastically.

  “Your problem is that even if you change the outside, deep down inside you’re always the same. That's your curse – you can’t escape yourself,” says he, in a know-all voice.

  Oh that's a good one.

  “And has it ever occurred to you that I have no intention of escaping from myself?” I snap in irritation.

  “You might not, but apparently your boyfriends do – big time”, he replies, playing his ace. Before today's over, I'll have Tamara’s decapitated head on my desk, the little snake.

  If I punched him on the nose again, who would blame me, tell me that? Aren’t these little verbal attacks equally hurtful?

  “Ha! Coming from someone who doesn’t even remember the name of the woman he slept with last night, that sounds like a compliment,” I answer. “But I've got a solution for you: just call them all 'darling', that way you won't run the risk of mixing them up. It'd be so plebby to come out with the wrong name right when things are getting interesting, wouldn't it, and I know that never letting the regal mask slip is a big deal for you!” I provoke him.

  Ian’s facial expression suddenly changes, becoming intensely irritated. Bullseye!

  We glare at each other for a few seconds until I decide to cut short the pleasantries. “Right, if we're done with the small talk, what do you think about getting down to business?” I ask, sitting down next to him and opening Friday’s presentation folder. I haven't even time to get the papers out of the folder when I feel him moving closer.

  “Before we start, there's something I'd like to point out,” he says in a serious tone.

  I say nothing, inviting him to continue.

  “People like Beverly want to carry out their business in a traditional way. It’s a question of relationships and not of solutions. Your idea might be the most brilliant ever, but the only thing that really counts is how you present it to him. He’s a man who's used to always getting his own way, and he expects to continue getting his own way. If he proposes something, it means that he wants to realise it, and he doesn’t want other suggestions. You must never put the idea that he is the one who comes up with the most efficient solution in doubt.”

  I study him, trying to work out if he really believes what he's saying. His deep blue eyes tell me that this time he is serious.

  “In that case, I don’t understand what he's paying us for. If he can do everything by himself—” I say quietly, articulating the words calmly.

  As usual, Ian loses his calm immediately. “Don’t be silly, you know perfectly how these things work. The secret lies in suggesting things for him to then propose back to us, as if they were his ideas. We just have to put a flea in his ear.”

  “You’re kidding, right? I have no intention of pandering to some ridiculous old snob’s delusions of grandeur!” I exclaim with annoyance.

  Ian snorts accusingly. “Always the same old story with you, isn’t it? It's all about class, as far as you're concerned!”

  I violently flick away a rebellious curl which keeps falling onto my face.

  “It’s nothing to do with class, it’s to do with logic: if you pay an expert, it’s because you want their opinion. If you can solve the problem yourself, you don’t go looking for help!” I explain vehemently.

  “Ok, here's what we’ll do. I propose observing him for a while before taking any decisions. We'll carefully evaluate Beverly and his way of thinking for a certain period of time, after which we'll discuss this fundamental issue again. Because no solution we come up with will have any value if we can’t present it to him in the most attractive way possible.”

  “I hope you're not suggesting that I don't know how to do my job!” I warn him.

  “I’m not suggesting anything, but the fact is that you’re about as sensitive as a bloody rhino!”

  “Me? And what about you? The personification of sensitivity and perspicacity!” I reply as I lean towards him threateningly.

  “Well I'm nowhere near as bad as you! It's as though you weren’t born, you were carved out of granite!”

  “Envious of my character, Ian? You could have just admitted it—”

  And we'd have gone on happily insulting each other forever, if Colin hadn't entered the meeting room. Just in time.

  “For the record, I did knock before coming in. But then, how could you have heard me if you were shouting like that?”

  Colin is livid – you can tell by the way his nostrils are trembling. There’s electricity in the air, and it's not just coming from Ian and me.

  “You've got two minutes to calm down and come to my office. I want to see you both looking happy and smiling. And by ‘smiling’ I mean I want to be able to see your bloody wisdom teeth as you walk down the corridor,” he says in a menacing voice.

  That said he walks out and slams the door behind him.

  “Oops—” This time we’re in trouble.

  “Yes—” nods
Ian. We gather our stuff quickly and follow him as fast as we can.

  Everybody is hanging about the corridor waiting for us. They've obviously been eavesdropping and have heard everything. We try and smile as we walk quickly towards Colin’s office. Ian opens the door and gestures for me to enter first, and for once I obey without arguing. He follows me in.

  Silently, we sit down on two chairs in front of Colin, who, still fuming, is writing something on his computer. After a minute of deadly silence, he finally decides to look up at us.

  “I thought I was working with grown ups, but apparently we’re in a kindergarten, so I will have to treat you like children. From now on, you will meet after work. You will go out at six and will have an after work drink somewhere, a long, long way from this office. A very long way, got it? Where nobody can see you! I suggest choosing somewhere with a bad reputation, and I suggest going there incognito. I would suggest meeting at one of your homes, but leaving you two alone without witnesses might end with a 999 call, so we'll forget anything like that for the moment.”

  I am about to reply, when Colin motions me to stop with his hand.

  “I've run out of patience with you two. After that ridiculous year, I thought you'd have been able to behave like adults and find a way round your problems, but I realise I was kidding myself. You're a couple of idiots, and believe me when I say that I’m being nice. Anyway, you’re free to ruin your own careers, but you're not going to ruin mine as well. Is that clear?”

  I’ve never heard Colin say anything like this. I’m hugely, enormously ashamed.

  “Yes, very clear,” I answer with a red face. “Perfectly clear,” confirms Ian in a gloomy voice. “Right, so decide where the hell you're going to meet tomorrow evening and hammer away at each other as much as you like – outside this office. And when you’re done, I'd like you to start talking about work. In a serious, productive way. Because on Saturday morning, Beverly will be waiting for you and you will be spending a fabulous weekend at his Scottish property, since you’re his favourite tax consultants. And frankly I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes.”