It is a goal. I have a plan.
While I can afford to observe him from a safe vantage point, those poor PA suckers are a different story.
They are the ones in the trenches. I learn from their mistakes. I tell myself it’s so I can play along, place winning bets, supplement my meager income through their misfortune, but honestly, it’s primarily to support my shoe addiction.
I know his favorite coffee, its substitute, and the proportions of cream and sweetener. I know he prefers oat to wheat and never, ever rye.
There’s something he favors about conference room C; I suspect it’s the projection equipment. For all his perfectionism, he manages to drip on his tie fairly often. He never sends red roses. No one gets the chance to interrupt him twice.
All in the name of winning the office pool. That’s what I tell myself I watch him for.
I know I’m lying.
Madeline waves the tattered green bill in front of my face, breaking my reverie. “So, Emma, what am I putting you down for?”
“I just cannot stand idly by and let anyone go through that.” I start toward the redhead’s desk.
“If you fix it, I reserve the right to change my bet,” Bert says and bolts out of his chair.
I nod in agreement and smooth my hair and skirt as I approach the PA’s desk.
The air crackles thickly the closer I get to her desk, to Canon’s door. Behind her, behind those solid walls, I picture him in his crisp white shirt, pacing while on a conference call.
“May I help you?” The PA du jour doesn’t even bother to look up from her papers.
“Actually I think I can help you.”
This gets her attention. She turns her head and narrows her eyes. “Oh, really? And just what makes you think I would need your help?”
Wow, she is brusque. I shrug it off. “I can run out on my break and pick up the lunch order for you.” I force a smile. Her demeanor is so off-putting. I tell myself that anyone would be on edge in her position.
“That won’t be necessary,” she snaps and spins in her chair.
“Oh.” I’m not prepared for this from her at all. “I had heard you were going to have to pick it up yourself. It sounds as though you have made other arrangements. Good.”
She’s so defensive, and I can’t figure out why. But she’s going to let me know.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice you, missy.” She stands and pokes her long fingernail in my chest before I can shrink back. Her red polish glares up at me from her peep-toe pumps. “You staring over here, salivating. You want this position. You think you can show up with the delivery and take the credit. Well, you’re out of luck. I have done my homework on him, and I am not going anywhere.”
Oh, sweetie. I wouldn’t do your job for anything. I swallow back all the things I would like to say to this crass and unpleasant woman and depart, giving her a simple nod.
It’s not really a nod. It’s a goodbye.
“Put me down for twenty bucks and two p.m.,” I say to Madeline as I pass her desk. “Today.”
“What?” she and Bert say in unison.
“She doesn’t want any of my help.” What I don’t say is that she’s got acrylic nails, is chewing bubble gum, and wearing open-toed shoes with hosiery.
I don’t know about her, but I have done my homework.
Day of Employment:
360
10:18 a.m.
YESTERDAY, A TEARFUL MISS STRAWBERRY BUN collected her personal effects and left the premises at 2:30 p.m.
I was off by about half an hour with my bet, but I still took that money and added it to my shoe kitty while Bert shook his head. Poor guy got wrangled into taking notes during the board meeting. During that time, I made sure I was as scarce as intact hymen the morning after prom. I can only imagine what that atmosphere was like. It seems the lunch order took longer than expected, and the PA was late getting back. Shocking.
2:58 p.m.
*
Location
: Break room.
*
Caffeine
Dependency
: Approaching twelve-step program territory.
TODAY, THERE IS A THINNED CARPET PATH worn between here and the cubicle in which I spend the bulk of my days tethered like veal. I have never ventured to the coffee machine this often before. We’re forming a bond. We may have to be introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Coffee at this weekend’s upcoming office holiday party.
Alternative Dispute Resolution class last night coupled with two final take-home exam briefs due tomorrow have Nosferatued the life from me. My get-up-and-go has got up and gone. Of great concern is that this end-of-semester stress coupled with demands at work and life in general may invoke the lanky, bearded spirit that manifests in my nightmares during periods of turmoil. Beside the coffee pot, a collection jar of shiny silver and an inordinate amount of patina tinged copper catches my eye.
I shudder. Put a fistful of coins in that jar and a pin in that thought. I have been lucky thus far. No need to jinx it.
Down the hallway, I can hear the telltale rumblings of an international conference call. On a hunch, I peer out of the break room entryway just in time to see the door swing open. Canon exits and makes straight for his corner of the office area. Just before the conference room door clicks shut, a collective sigh reverberates from within the room, as if the tension of the entire place decompressed upon his departure. I doubt it is a cheerful call. Our numbers are down. I don’t know this for a fact because I don’t generate those particular reports, but I have observed the general morose climate and that the volume of requested estimates and orders are on the decline.
That, plus an announcement that the office party is not going to be an open bar this year. Always a surefire clue to economic downturn. One doesn’t exactly need to be a resident of Baker Street to arrive at such a deduction.
Having noted that Canon is without the barnacle of his phone, I decide to venture out in the hopes of encountering him without the distraction when he’s on his way back to the meeting. I’m annoyed that I could not get so much as a blink out of him yesterday, and far more annoyed with myself that it seems to matter to me.
I just want a glint or glance and maybe a little nod in greeting customarily extended to another member of the human race.
Just need to get that and then put this foolishness to bed. Wait, no. That invokes some seriously dirty thoughts. Just need to put this behind me. Speaking of behinds…
Ugh. I really have to quit fixating on buttocks.
This is going to be the end.
*rimshot*
Okay, I give up.
Halting my sense of humor’s complete metamorphosis into that of a pubescent boy, Canon enters the hallway. I aim for nonchalance and walk evenly into his direct path. He deftly steps aside, eyes fixed straight ahead and never breaking stride.
I might as well be a puff of smoke.
This crap is fast getting on my reserve nerve.
8:02 p.m.
*
Dinner
: Being eaten on sofa.
*
Roommate
: Inquisitor, it seems.
“SO,” I SAY, SOUNDING TOO DELIBERATELY CASUAL even to my own ears, “there’s this guy I keep seeing at work—”
“A guy? What guy? You never mentioned a guy.” Clara stops mid-carrot-bite. “You’re seeing a guy at work?”
“I see him at work. Not ‘seeing’ him.” My fork runs through the rice. I like Clara’s idea better.
I think.
“Aren’t there a lot of guys that work on your floor?” Clara talks around a mouthful of food. Somehow, she manages to still be cute. I would look like a cow with cud.