Do Not Respond

by M R Field

  I growl in frustration as my nails clack against the keys. I wiggle them a little to shake some sense into them, whilst my thoughts continue to be cluttered, causing me to muddle the appointment times for two clients before thumbing my mousepad to open up a new email.

  To: lchase@innovationdesigns.com.au

  From: lchase@innovationdesigns.com.au

  Subject: DNR

  Date: Mon: 23/6/18 10:07am

  He just HAD to touch me, didn’t he? What was that? Who was he? What was he doing? Why do I want to jump him? Normally, I’m plotting his demise … not thinking about his marsupial.

  I thought he hated me. But today, I saw the boy I crushed on taking care of me, and my heart started to fall again. All before he’ll likely crush it to smithereens.

  Nope. I don’t care, Cole.

  You won’t do this to me again. Not a fucking chance. I’m not your puppet.

  You wanna play games? Well, bring it. Make your move, but I sure as shit won’t be the pawn.

  Yet, if you’re going to be nice to me now, I’ll take that. But I won’t take your shit.

  I weave my fingers together and bend them back to make the clicking sound that drives Steve up the wall. As expected, I see him flinch and cut me a glare that could break glass, and I smile at him knowingly, raising my eyebrow to annoy him even more. I bend my hand back and forth just to stir him further, and then I pull my arms above my head to stretch. I need a coffee, but I am already behind in the morning schedule. Thankfully, no appointments are scheduled for this morning—otherwise I’ll be a vague mess.

  The door to the bathroom opens and out comes Cole, his backpack in hand, dressed in a suit. How the hell does he do that? Is there some black hole to Hugo Boss in there I don’t know about?

  His hair is still wet from the shower, and my shoulders flinch as I watch him stroll toward his desk, nodding to the guys before tucking his bag underneath. Glancing at the clock in the corner of my screen, I roughly calculate. He’s gotten ready in ten minutes. How is that possible? Note to self: Check out bathroom for secret getaway hole and maybe use it sometime.

  My nerves wind up to hyperspeed as his cologne wafts over to me like some horny lovesick ghost. My arms tense, and I realise they are still above my head like I’m some awkward tree-climbing ape. I quickly put them down and scan my laptop screen, pretending that the emails are attracting my attention. All I see are blurred pop-up windows with indecipherable words, nothing sinking in. Cole’s scent lingers, and my pulse quickens.

  Get your act together, girl. Maybe he’ll be a normal boss and act like everything’s okay.

  Grabbing my spray bottle, I hit the plants with a bit too much force before placing the bottle back onto my desk. My poor bamboo is probably drowned in my lust fog. I’m surprised my plants aren’t choked by it. Even my unwashed Ridge mug isn’t bothering me.

  Yet, whilst my skin feels hotter than normal, a little excitement flutters around me. Maybe the Cole I grew up with has returned. The way he cared for me in that tiny bathroom, had the young girl in me craving to see him once more. To share a laugh or a joke.

  My jovial friend. Where did you go? Are you back? Can I trust you again?

  I stare across at him as he opens his laptop and hope that changes will come. Even after a crappy start to the morning, surely things can only get better, right? Right?

  After a few hours, I can establish a few things.

  Everything is not okay.

  In his bathroom, there is no black hole, but a cupboard that stores some of his suits. Why did I go and look? Because spending every moment in our office confirmed one thing:

  Cole is still a wanker.

  Or, maybe that’s what his problem is. He should’ve taken care of that in the shower to take the edge off. He is wound tighter than his bike pants, and that fucking pen he’s currently clicking is about to be shoved up his behind.

  “Leticia,” Cole’s voice interrupts my thoughts, and I refocus, my fingers clicking against the laptop. We are all seated around the table for an afternoon meeting, and I am kicking myself for saying no to another coffee. I need a bucket or an IV drip. Whichever works better. Theo is beside me, drawing a few little stick figures jumping off a cliff. My sentiments exactly.

  “Yes?” I purse my lips, waiting.

  He stares at me for a moment before continuing. “Have you organised the printers to get our design printed for the awards night?”

  “Yes, I scheduled it for next week after you asked me to do it last week.” I smile tightly, wondering where this is going. He may annoy me, but I’m not lazy. I’m organised.

  “Then why am I receiving an email checking to see if we’re going to use them again?” His elbow leans against the table, pen poised in hand as he stares at me.

  “Come again?” I break away from his gaze and scan my emails, locating the message that not only thanks us but also confirms the price. The boys have been actively working on the presentation for the Macaro mall they did last year, the one they are using to enter in the competition for Innovator of the Year. Instead of using our own printer, we sourced an external company to ensure our presentation is top-notch.

  “Leticia, I asked you to do this last week, and I have an email stating it’s not done. Is it too impossible of a task to get done?”

  “I have the email here confirming the time. I sent it to you”—I scan the date—“on the third at 2:52 p.m., to be exact.”

  “For Bluestore Printing? Or did you schedule the wrong company?” He stares

  back at me, his other hand gripping the edge of his laptop, as if the evidence is going to fly away.

  “No.” My voice hardens. “From Hunter Printing. We changed to them after the other printer was a bit ‘mediocre,’ as you described them last year.”

  He releases the laptop and nods. “Fine. I’ll make a note of it.”

  Looking at the rest of the guys, he continues to carry on the meeting like he hasn’t had a mood all day or tried to put me down. The fuck? I curl my fingers on my laptop as my Skype chat pops up. I forgot to log out last time. Normally, I sneak in a few chats here and there, but in meetings I try not to chat. After that? Nuh-uh. Odette’s window appears; I double check that my sound is on mute and proceed to dive straight into a conversation:

  LettyBetty: Cole is the biggest nut job on this planet.

  OdettedoesToronto: Hey you! You wanna chat?

  LettyBetty: In a meeting right now. You haven’t worked out the time difference yet?

  OdettedoesToronto: Whoa! Geez! So he’s a dick. Doesn’t mean YOU have to be.

  LettyBetty: Sorry. He’s just been wound up tight. I’ve wanted to throttle him ten times today. I haven’t even asked how you are. How’s your dick of a boss?

  OdettedoesToronto: I’m fine. He’s still the same. Except I’ll be going on a trip away with him in a few months. Not looking forward to it. How many emails have you written? Did you DNR his arse?

  LettyBetty: Three today. Normally it’s just one. He’s outdoing himself.

  Trip away sounds like a naughty weekend ;)

  If she knew that three of those emails were describing his body and how much it was screwing with my head, I think she’d be screaming at me right now.

  OdettedoesToronto: Ugh. Not a chance. Cole sounds like an over-achiever today.

  LettyBetty:

  OdettedoesToronto: Dude needs to get laid.

  I glance up to find Cole’s eyes on Steve, and I take a moment to stare at his jaw. The pen continues to click in his hand as the tension in my spine builds. I could leap across this table and snap it in a second. His forearm is bent, and the muscles appear out from beneath his rolled up shirt. I bet he would be an absolute animal in the sack.

  Whoa. Nope. Where the hell did that come from? On that note, I need to banish all future sexy-time thoughts of him. He is far too good-looking and of course must be an arsehole. Why can’t hot guys be nice? Is it that hard?

  LettyBetty: Maybe his bike can
help him out. If it had a pulse, I’m sure he’d go it.

  OdettedoesToronto: Ohhh, burn, baby, burn. I’ll let you go. Skype date next week? You need decent Wi-Fi at your house so we can chat more.

  LettyBetty: I have good Wi-Fi. It’s just selective over what I do. Besides, here doesn’t cost me a cent.

  OdettedoesToronto: I’m going to get Parker to send Cole more mail. Apparently, he’s been glitter bombing him in cards.

  LettyBetty: You are the best sister ever. That would explain why there’s an occasional speck of glitter on his desk. Thought it was nature rebelling against his cheerful disposition.

  OdettedoesToronto: I’d kill Parker if he did that to me, but Cole needs it.

  LettyBetty: We should pay someone to do that to his bike. That would really fuck him off.

  I smile, shifting my fingers to send her another note when Theo’s throat clears beside me and I turn my head to find him shifting his eyes toward the front. I look over to find Cole poised with his pen in his planner, looking at me. Odette’s new message flashes, but I ignore it, wiping the smile off my face. I straighten and stare at Cole whilst typing:

  LettyBetty: Having a stare-off with Cole. I’m gonna win.

  He breaks eye contact to write something else, and I grin as if I’ve won a competition. The little things that amuse me. As opposed to the huge things that frighten me. Must. Not. Think. Of. Bathroom. Incident. My eyes flicker to the screen as a message is being typed. After a moment, it appears:

  OdettedoesToronto: Burn a hole in his head. Love ya!

  LettyBetty: On it. I won.

  I log out and smile mischievously, knowing he’s been looking at me the whole time. The fatigue and stress of the day has caught up with me, and I can feel my wall of caring crumbling. Giving zero fucks can be cathartic. Knowing he’s pissed about whatever he’s pissed about makes me want to stop sitting here like a stunned mullet, and, instead, beam with happiness and burst into a show tune. Nothing like being perky when an arsehole is suffering from PMS.

  I wink at Theo, who chuckles quietly, and I take in his tired but relaxed features. He is a little more chilled these days since he and Trin have finally started being an item.

  We continue our meeting, but I’m in a haze, and my smiling dulls down due to Captain Killjoy. Appointments with clients and the project presentation get discussed, and all is achieved under Cole’s robotic stare and demanding voice.

  By late afternoon, his gruelling temperament and that fucking clicking pen are enough for me to attempt slicing open our top window and throwing him out of it. Fuck the show tunes. Give me a thriller to mimic. What has gotten into him? Even Steve, our resident shit stirrer, isn’t making his usual jokes.

  Did he hurt himself this morning? That must be the reason for his surly attitude. Maybe a part of his bike got lodged up his arse? Who knows? It’s almost time to leave and I have a comfy couch to get home to.

  A new email pops up in my inbox, and I smile when I see it’s Annette from the gallery. I click on it eagerly.

  Letty,

  I’m thrilled to let you know that your recent three canvases were sold. I have transferred the money over to your account. Congratulations, and keep those pieces coming. We have a few fundraisers coming up, if you’d like to participate in those as well. My friend in Canada would love your artwork. I may contact him, if you’re happy for me to do so. Who knows? You might be able to visit your sister while there as he’s in Toronto too. Imagine that!

  You might find it interesting to know, it was the same gentleman as in the past who bought your pieces. Perhaps you two should meet one day. Let me know your thoughts.

  Regards,

  Annette.

  Wow! The same guy returned. That’s at least four times that I know of! It’s exciting to have a fan. I wonder who he is?

  I reply eagerly, thanking her for the news and replying with a “hell yeah” to her suggestion of contacting her friend in Canada. More exposure would be amazing, and if it comes with an opportunity to see Odette sooner rather than later? Even better. I squirm excitedly in my seat, flicking my gaze around the room, grateful that more canvases sold means my ticket to Toronto to visit Odette is just a whisper away. Maybe I could even make it a proper career. A girl can dream.

  Between creating pieces for the gallery, I have been working on a few new items for Maggie’s friend, Julius. It’s a great opportunity for me to showcase my work at the end of next month. After spending Saturday with Dad’s new angle grinder, I made two pieces that I am keen to use. Even though Cole expertly showed his dickish behaviour in my parents’ house, the dick sculpture isn’t one of them. Oh, but it is coming. My body jitters with excitement.

  We finish our day, and I sort out my last-minute correspondence whilst checking for any deliveries that are due and haven’t arrived.

  Most of the office is cleared by the time I am ready to leave. I pick up my spray bottle and water my plants one more time as Cole finishes at his desk. He stands with his satchel in his hand and leaves for the bathroom, and I use this time to make haste. Dumping the bottle, I snatch my bag from the drawer, closing it quickly, and head over to the doors. I can imagine Cole flicking each light with contempt, thinking how dare they shine so bright. I chuckle, which stops immediately when the elevator doors close, leaving me to wait. I hit the button a bit too forcefully, moving from side to side, realising that I should have peed before this. I am too lazy to head back in there now.

  As the elevator light illuminates each floor on its way back up, the door behind me closes and the jingle of keys sound. Damn. He’s coming. I shake my head at my foolishness. I can ride with him in an elevator. Not stand here like the Road Runner. I can spend a minute in his presence without choking him with his tie, especially after this morning.

  The ping of the elevator cuts through the quiet as the doors open, revealing an empty car. I step in and turn, pressing the button to the basement and the sanctuary of my sister’s car. I have an Ed Sheeran CD to listen to and a busy day to forget. Cole enters and stands to the side, holding his bag. For a moment, I wonder if he will be all right to ride, and then I remind myself that the guy is grown up and can take care of himself and his bullshit attitude.

  The doors close and the elevator lowers, prisoning us together in the small space. We stand there silently. I watch the numbers on the panel and soundlessly urge them to speed up. The silence makes me almost want to speak. Almost.

  We were never like this as kids. We could talk about everything and nothing. I just wish … forget it. I chew my lip to stop thinking about that time. Now, anyone would think we were strangers who worked in the same building.

  I reach into my bag for my lip gloss when an intense screeching of brakes sounds and the elevator screams to stop mid-descent. I grasp the bar next to me and look to Cole, who leans against the wall. I’m about to ask him what is going on when the lights flicker and Cole’s face disappears, as we’re plunged into darkness.

  I don’t know what’s more alarming—us being trapped God knows how high up, or me being trapped with Hannibal Lecter here.

  The only sound that cuts through the deafening silence is a curse from my frightened lips. “What in the hell?”

  Cole

  I adjust my satchel and reach out in the black space behind me for the rail, trying feebly to get my bearings.

  “Are we going to fall? What the hell is happening?”

  I move my arm toward the sound of her voice and say, “It’s probably just a freeze. It happened to me last year.”

  “You’re joking!” Her voice pitches. “We might fall, Cole!”

  “No, no, not at all.” I try to reassure her, but can hear her breathing intensify. I’m about to speak when an announcement sounds from the speaker above us and the emergency panel illuminates, showing Leticia’s silhouette. I drop my hand immediately.

  “Good afternoon. Our systems have shown a momentary glitch that will be fixed shortly. Are all passengers okay?”
<
br />   Leticia’s fingers move to the emergency panel to hit the response button. “I’m fine,” she stammers, “Cole? You okay?”

  My throat tightens at the hint of worry in her voice. “Yes.” I clear my throat. “I’m fine.”

  “Thank you,” the lady responds. “We expect there to be a twenty-minute delay. We will try to get you out as soon as possible.”

  “It’s dark in here.” Leticia’s voice raises slightly. “Can you switch the lights on?”

  “Unfortunately, it’s part of the glitch. Lights will appear soon. Thank you for your patience.” The click of the call ending is heard, and Leticia growls in frustration. The emergency light from the switch only shows so much if someone’s outline is near it, so now that she’s moved away, all I see is darkness.

  I dig my phone from my pocket and turn on the home screen to hold it in the air. Leticia’s startled face comes into view. I instantly step closer but cringe at the pain in my side. I needed to soak in an ice bath five hours ago. Her eyes squint, and I tilt the screen to face away.

  “I can put the torch on, if you want.” I lean forward to see the battery icon. My charge is at 20 percent, but I don’t care if it flattens it. I’ll keep it lit for however long it lasts if it wipes that look of terror off her face.

  I move closer and think about touching her elbow to reassure her, but even in this suffocating darkness, I’m afraid my hands would be the last thing she wants.

  “I could use my phone.” Her head looks down to her bag, but I wave my phone in the air. “No point in wasting both batteries. We’ll do mine first.”

  “Fine,” she mutters, and I adjust the settings to have the torch going just a little bit brighter, then place it between us on the floor.

  “You okay?” I lean to my non-hurt side, my sore hip pulsating.