Abby worried in the days after the coffee shop encounter that things would be weird between her and Charlie. She could have seen it going either way: Charlie starting to hang around her house or something horrid like that, or the whole other end of the spectrum, with him coming into work and ignoring her, making her feel used and discarded. Neither scenario happened. She saw him the next day that she worked and it was perfect. All three partners were standing by the front door, about to go out to lunch together, waiting for one of the women back in accounting to come up to join them for her review.
“Abby, would you mind buzzing Sharlene? We haven’t got all day,” said Clark.
“Sure, of course,” she said. She still had no idea how to ‘buzz’ Sharlene. She picked up the phone and pressed a few buttons. “Hi Sharlene. It’s Abby. Misters Lorbmeer, Messdiem, and Miller are waiting for you to join them for your yearly review. Thanks.” She hung up. They’d told her to call them ‘misters’ when she was talking about more than one of them. To her, it sounded wrong.
“Thanks, Abby,” Clark said. He said it like, At least you can do something right, unlike Sharlene, who keeps us waiting all day. Abby nodded, praying that Sharlene came up before they asked her to do it again.
Charlie walked in. “Hello,” he said to the partners and Abby. He was all postal professionalism, giving away nothing. Sharlene came up front just then and she and all three partners left, leaving Abby and Charlie to have a moment alone.
“How’ve you been?” he asked her.
“Good. I miss you constantly.”
“I miss you too. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“Classes start soon,” she said.
“I’ve been thinking about that. I want to see you more than a couple of hours a week, though.”
She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “I know. Me too. What are we going to do?”
“Can’t you leave your husband?”
“It’s not that easy.”
“What would he do if you tried?”
“Oh my God! You have no idea.”
“I can help you,” Charlie said.
“I can’t talk about this here.”
“Will you talk about it with me sometime?”
Abby nodded. “You look great, by the way,” she said.
“So do you. I mean, that’s the understatement of the year, right?”
The front door opened; Sharlene was back. She looked surprised to see that the mailman was still chatting with Abby. Not that surprised though. She seemed to quickly brush it off, assuming it was a one-sided flirtation and Abby was an uninterested captive audience.
“Looks like rain. Clark asked me to run back and get his umbrella,” she said, disappearing into Clark’s office.
“Anything outgoing today?” Charlie asked loudly.
“Here you go.” Abby handed him a couple of letters. Their gazes locked for a moment and then Charlie was out the door, back on his way.
Sharlene came back up front with two umbrellas. “Do you know which of these he uses?”
“You could bring both?”
“Yeah, I guess so. Can you believe they’re supposed to be taking me out for lunch, and then halfway there they send me back to get an umbrella? Pretty frickin’ rude, wouldn’t you say?”
“Totally rude. Where are they taking you to eat?”
“Bistro 814. Right down the street. You ever eat there before?”
“A couple of times. It’s nice.”
“I wanted to go to Wong’s Pagoda, over on Murdock Street. It’s a buffet.”
“I’ll have to try it sometime.”
“But they thought it was too far away, I guess, even though it’s only another block away.”
The phone rang. “Is there anyone back in accounting to get this, or do I have to answer it?” Abby asked.
“No one’s back there right now since Debbie is out sick and I’m about to get my review, and everyone else is at lunch. Answer it and I’ll help you out if you need me to.” Abby’s official title, she’d discovered upon receiving a huge box of business cards, plunked down on her desk by a disgusted looking Danielle, was Marketing Director. Because of this, the accounting department excused away her general incompetence, assuming she did hard stuff they didn’t understand.
“Thank you for calling Lorbmeer, Messdiem and Miller. How may I help you?” Abby said.
It was Clark. “Is Sharlene there?”
“Yes,” Abby said. “Would you like to speak to her?”
“No. Tell her to meet us at The Boar and Bramble instead. Bistro 814 is too packed and we don’t have time to wait for a table.”
“Okay, I’ll let her know.” Abby hung up the phone. “Now they’re at The Boar and Bramble instead. Bistro 814 was too crowded.”
“Those motherfrickers. The Boar and Bramble is acrossed the street from Wong’s Pagoda.”
“Maybe they didn’t realize that.”
“You can’t miss Wong’s Pagoda. The sign flashes.”
“Well, The Boar and Bramble sometimes has nice Irish music playing,” said Abby.
“They’re all in rotten moods today. Did you notice that? I have this feeling I’m not even going to get a raise. Ten years and two raises in all that time. I’m a single mom trying to support myself and two kids on $27,000 a year while they spend three or four times that much on vacations every year. They really do! I know ‘cause I take care of their personal shit too, and I can see how they spend their money. It’s bullshit.”
“Yeah.”
“What’s your story? Sorry, Danielle told me but I forget. Are you married? Have you got kids?”
“Yeah, I’m married. No kids. My husband actually knows Clark Lorbmeer.”
“Oh! Oh shit. Please don’t say anything about what I just said. I was way out of line.”
“I won’t say anything. I promise.”
“Goddamnit. Foot in mouth disease. I’ve got it big time.”
“It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone what you said. Good luck at your review.”
“Thanks,” Sharlene said, hanging her head, shaking it with apparent self-hatred as she went out the front door.
As soon as she left, Abby grabbed Danielle’s calculator out of her top desk drawer. Clark had given her a raise after Randall had squawked at her making a measly $28 an hour. Now she made $35. She usually worked ten hours a week, now that she covered for Danielle’s lunchbreak. She multiplied thirty-five times ten times fifty-two. This meant she was making $18,200 a year.
At first Abby didn’t understand what Sharlene was complaining about. She made almost ten thousand dollars more each year than Abby did! Then she realized that Sharlene worked about forty or forty-five hours each week. She decided it was probably forty-five. She got the calculator back out of the drawer and punched in 27000 and worked it backwards, dividing it by fifty-two and coming up up with 519.23076. She then divided that number by forty-five and came up with 11.538461. Was this right? Did this mean Sharlene made $11.54 an hour? That seemed impossible and wrong. If that was right, why would she bother working at all?
Abby tried working it forward the way she’d done to come up with her own income, and sure enough, $11.54 x 45 x 52 came to $27,000. She became convinced she’d done the math wrong, got frustrated with herself, cleared out the calculator, and picked up one of Danielle’s Lady Lizabeth Lingerie catalogs instead.
She scanned through it, imagining herself wearing cute, sexy outfits for Charlie. Having someone so sweet and appreciative, not to mention sexy, gave her a whole new outlook on sex. Maybe even on life in general.
Without further hesitation, she sprinted down the hall to her own office and grabbed her credit card out of her purse. Back up at Danielle’s desk, she called the number on the back of the catalog.
“Lady Lizabeth’s Lingerie, your source for sensual shopping. This is Brit. I’ll be your personal shopper today,” said the woman on the other end of the line.
“Hello,” said Abby. Since a
ll three partners were tied up with Sharlene’s review and Danielle was at a dentist appointment, she felt pretty safe. “I’d like to buy a few things?”
“Sure! Do you have an account with us?”
“Not yet.”
“Let’s get you started,” said Brit.
“Okay.” Abby gave Brit her information, as she continued paging through the catalog.
“I’m ready. What’s your first item you’d like?”
“The bra and panties set with the little tulips on them. They’re on page fifteen. They’re item number J4587B2.”
“Ooh! Nice choice. Very cute. Say, Abby, have you been to our website?”
“No. I’m looking at your catalog.”
“Well, I’ll let you in on a little secret. We have other items that aren’t featured in our catalog. That set with the tulips is adorable, and I’ll definitely get it added to your order, but we have other options that aren’t shown in the catalog.”
“Oh. Really?”
“Yes! Are you up for something a little sexier?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“I’m guessing you’re getting these to please a special someone? Or are they just for you?”
“I guess they’re for a special someone,” Abby admitted.
“I knew it! We have all kinds of options that turn the heat up a little hotter. What do you think?”
“Like what do you mean?”
“Well, the tulip set is really pretty, but what about a thong?”
“Oh, sure. Yeah, add some thongs to my order,” said Abby.
“Great. What colors?”
“Whatever you think,” said Abby.
“Okay. How about crotchless panties?”
“What?”
“Crotchless panties?”
“What would be the point?”
“They’re sexy! Don’t you want to be sexy? You must if you’re calling Lady Lisabeth!”
“Well, okay. You probably know more about this than I do,” said Abby.
“How many pairs?”
“Five?”
“Okay. And if you’re going to get crotchless panties, you might as well try some of our peek-a-boo cup nighties.”
“I guess you could add whatever you think people are wearing now. I’m kind of out of the sexiness loop.”
“Ooh! You’re fun to shop for,” said Brit. “You’re going to make someone very, very happy with all these goodies.”
“Fabulous,” said Abby, hoping things with her and Charlie didn’t fall through any time soon.
She forgot all about her purchases once she got home and was hit by the mundane reality of her day-to-day life. Ron and Suzanne Bertram came over while Randall grilled steaks. The two couples played cards out on the patio and, as usual, had too much to drink. By the time the Bertrams left, Abby was so drunk and tired that she could barely get herself to bed. A few moments after she passed out, Randall came plowing into the bedroom and shook her awake.
“Why did you spend $1,554 at a place called Lady Lizabeth Lingerie today?”
“Oh, shoot,” Abby said, still not fully coherent. “That was supposed to be a surprise.”
“There aren’t surprises. You know I look at our accounts every day.”
“I thought I’d do something fun and different,” Abby said. Now she was fully awake. Randall had turned on the light when he’d stormed in, and they could see each other perfectly. There was none of that dim, lie-hiding shadowiness that would have come in so handy right about now.
“Why would you want to do that?”
“Just to be nice.”
“Just to be nice?”
“Yeah. Is that okay?”
“If you mean it.”
“Of course I do.”
He stood back up and paced around the room. Abby considered settling back under the covers, but sensed that it was better if she stayed sitting up a little longer.
“You just felt like it. For no reason,” he said.
“One of my co-workers had a Lady Lisabeth catalog sitting by her desk. You know, Danielle, the girl whose lunch I cover every day? And I thought I’d take a look at it, and then I saw all kinds of fun stuff and decided to buy some of it. I didn’t think you’d be mad.”
“You haven’t done anything like this in years. No. Strike that. You’ve never done anything like this. Not to this extent.”
“If you’re not comfortable with this, I’ll send it all back once it gets here.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he said.
“Well, I didn’t mean for it to upset you,” she said. He looked less angry now. Maybe a little confused and suspicious, still, but his fury seemed to be softening. She sank back down into the bed.
He started to leave the room, turned off the light, but then hesitated in the doorway. She looked at his backlit silhouette as he stood there staring at her.
“What is it?” she asked him.
“You’re not twenty anymore.”
“Yeah?”
“You know those girls in catalogs like that? They’re just that. They’re girls. They’re nineteen, twenty years old. Maybe twenty-five. Maybe. Maybe a few of them are twenty-five. I doubt it. But they’re not in their late twenties.”
“Okay,” Abby said.
“You’re in your late twenties. You’re probably ten years older than those girls.”
“I heard you the first time.”
“Don’t get me wrong, you still look good to me, but you’re not in that category anymore.”
“Okay. I’m glad you still think I look good,” Abby said, imagining Randall keeling over right in front of her, right now. Twitching. Not dying right away. Suffering and begging for her to call 911.
If she were young and spry, like when she was twenty, maybe she could reach the phone, maybe she could help him. That’s what she would tell him.
“You’re welcome. And I mean it, Sugartitties. For a woman pushing thirty, you’re hot.”
“Got it.”
“Can’t wait for your purchases to arrive,” he added. She saw his eyebrows wiggle a little, catching the hall light.
“Me neither.”
“Goodnight,” he said, closing the door after him.
Chapter 21
“Are you comfortable?” Charlie asked her.
“Yeah,” Abby said. Actually, she wasn’t at all. Her new lingerie was incredibly itchy. She didn’t mind though. It would be coming off soon.
“It’s one thing having the day off, but spending it with you? I feel like I’m dreaming,” he said.
“Me too.”
They were in Charlie’s apartment and she was taking her biggest chance ever. It was a Wednesday morning and she was supposedly at a movie. Something she almost never did by herself. To fake Randall out, she’d mentioned the movie casually two times over the past few days. It was a movie Randall would have no interest in: a story about children getting saved from an orphanage by some kindly older women during World War II. She’d bought her ticket, a box of Raisinets, and muted her phone. She had then hid the phone inside a paper towel machine in the restroom, since the parking structure for the theatre was across the street and she feared it might be obvious to Randall that her phone was there and not in the theatre. She’d then met Charlie at one of the theatre’s side entrances. From there he’d whisked her away to his apartment.
His apartment turned out to be a small but fairly clean one bedroom place. It was conveniently hidden from public view, its entrance facing a deserted alley. They had settled in together on Charlie’s sofa, his arm draped around her.
“So good to see you again,” he said softly, giving her a little kiss. They kissed for a moment. Part of her wanted everything to happen right away, but another part wanted to take it slow. The movie about orphans was three hours long. Besides the unappealing-to-Randall subject matter, its length was the best thing about it.
“What do you think?” Charlie asked her. “Should we start the movie, or should we go
in the bedroom?”
She took a long look at him. He had on jeans and a t-shirt, like a normal guy. No jumbo, adjustable-waist pants with a crease down the front and cuffs, like she was used to seeing Randall wearing. Charlie’s casual hotness was wonderful. Amazing. And right in front of her. All hers for the taking.
“Movie now, or movie later?” Charlie repeated.
“You choose,” she told him.
“I’d say we should start the movie, but then again, I’m not sure we’ll be able to focus on it if we don’t take care of other things first,” he said. He took her hand, leading her down the short hallway. Before they were even on his bed his jeans were halfway down and her shirt was off. They fell into each other’s arms. As more layers were peeled away, he reached across her to the nightstand and opened the top drawer. He took out a condom. Abby cringed internally, feeling, for the first time in many years, like a woman in her twenties. She’d forgotten the landslide of insecurities that came attached to liking a guy: Why does he have condoms? Were they for anyone, or did he buy them just because of her? Did he do this a lot? Was he so slutty that she didn’t even matter to him?
“I’m afraid my husband will smell the latex,” she said.
“We don’t have to have sex. We can do everything else,” he said. He put the condoms back in the drawer. They weren’t a new box, just for her. She felt unreasonably crushed.
“It’s not just that. I want to be close to you. I don’t want anything between us,” she said.
“So what are you suggesting?”
“I want to do everything else and sex,” she said. She didn’t mean to, but she said it pouty, like a little girl. He laughed.
“You’re naughty, aren’t you?”
“I want to be.”
“I think you already are,” he said, kissing her on the nose and then moving down to kiss her lips, her neck, her breasts.
“You can do anything you want to me,” she whispered.
“Anything?”
“Everything. Just don’t use that condom, please.” If there were consequences, she’d worry about them later.
So they did everything. She didn’t care. Actually, she cared a lot. It was the best time she’d had in years. Maybe in her entire life.
Run Away Baby Page 8
