She Is Haunted

by Paige Clark

  GWENDOLYN WAKES

  Gwendolyn worked at the Department of Recovery. Her specialty was ex-boyfriends but she reconnected clients with ex-husbands, ex-girlfriends and ex-fiancés too. Despite her expertise, in her entire thirty-four years on the planet, Gwendolyn had never had a boyfriend or a girlfriend. She had never even, to her knowledge, had a crush. It was not that she was asexual. At night, she dreamt of having sex with a being. She often [insert bodily response to sex act here]. Maybe she was one of those people who fell in love with ghosts. Or maybe all of the work at the Department of Recovery had left her jaded and horny, able only to get off on the tragicomedy that was other people’s lives.

  Her whole life, people had thought Gwendolyn was exceptionally attractive, meaning incredibly Anglo-Saxon. A send-away DNA test revealed she was almost completely Anglo-Saxon. Even though those tests usually lied to make very Anglo-Saxon people feel better and said twelve per cent Mediterranean or Polynesian. Gwendolyn herself did not think this trait made her exceptionally attractive. Instead, she thought it made her very boring. She believed women who were very black or very brown or very yellow were very beautiful. Though she knew, intimately, how others fetishised minorities. She knew they thought [insert racist stereotypes here]. Callers to the department told her. There were all types of fetishes—fetishes about acquiring autoimmune diseases and fetishes about having sex with ghosts. Maybe this was what gave Gwendolyn the idea that she was sleeping with a celestial being in the first place.

  The work at the department was not all about sex. Most of it was about careers, babies, physical changes and general ageing. These parts of relationships turned Gwendolyn off. Within minutes of meeting someone, she saw them five years down the track, when they had stopped shaving their [insert body part here]. She understood their head hair would thin and their taut body would soften. She knew it was only a matter of time—it was always only a matter of time—before they would pick their boogers or crap with the bathroom door open. Gwendolyn could get all of that and more from her mother.

  Gwendolyn’s current call was Clara May , who refused to move her beloved three-foot-tall childhood doll out of her bedroom. Her ex had complained it was watching them during [insert sex act here]. This was why she was dumped. But the why didn’t matter in Gwendolyn’s line of work. In fact, at the department they were trained to recognise that the why often covered up the real reason a person got kicked to the kerb.

  ‘Let’s begin,’ Gwendolyn said. ‘You’re accessing a service provided by the Department of Recovery Victoria. Your call may be monitored and recorded for quality assurance purposes. What was the status of the relationship before you broke up? Husband? De facto partner? Boyfriend? Or Other?’

  ‘Boyfriend.’

  ‘Great. Now I’m going to ask you a series of questions of a personal nature. I need this information to process your claim and ensure your case has the best possible outcome.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll do anything.’

  Gwendolyn assessed the level of Clara May ’s vocal distress. About a five. Sooky but resilient. ‘Let’s continue. How long were you in a relationship and was this the first time you broke up?’

  ‘Four years. Yes. Four years and a few months.’

  ‘Was there fighting?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How often did you fight? An estimate is fine—once per week, for example.’

  ‘Once per year.’

  ‘Infrequent fighting, then.’

  ‘The fights were really bad when they happened.’

  ‘Was there any cheating on your part or on his?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Physical changes in either party besides general ageing?’

  ‘He started working out.’ The woman began to cry. Gwendolyn added *** in the margin of the onscreen transcript. The point at which the client broke down usually indicated the cause of the relationship’s demise.

  ‘When did he start working out?’

  ‘About three months ago.’

  ‘Great. We’re about halfway through. One of the major reasons relationships end is because of resentment. We look for the most common signs of resentment, though there can be many more. Are you happy to continue?’

  The woman sniffled. Gwendolyn cleared her throat to mask the sound.

  ‘Did your boyfriend ever raise the issue of your timekeeping?’

  ‘Like, me being late?’

  ‘Or excessively early.’

  ‘I was never excessively late.’

  ‘Can you elaborate for me?’

  ‘I often run ten minutes late. I get caught up doing my makeup or picking out what to wear.’

  ‘Did your boyfriend ever mention this to you specifically?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did he ever raise any issue with your listening skills?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Accuse you of being overly critical or putting him down?’

  ‘No. Well. No.’

  ‘Please elaborate.’

  ‘I didn’t like his smoking. That’s fair enough, right? It’s bad for his health.’

  ‘Unfortunately, in my role I am not able to draw conclusions on what is fair or not. If your claim is escalated or you are referred to a counsellor, then they will be able to help you with your concerns.’

  ‘Sure.’ More sniffles.

  Gwendolyn processed twice as many claims per day as her colleagues, because she did not slow down for blubbering. She simply ***ed and moved on. The smoking was an obvious issue for Clara May . It was a disgusting habit, of course. Gwendolyn’s body was a temple. She worked out before and after work. She was a vegan ally: she primarily ate vegetables and whole grains, unless she was fine dining. Then she ate everything. She drank only on occasion, but when she did, she had impeccable taste in wine and in booze generally.

  ‘We’ve only got a few questions left,’ she said. ‘Did your boyfriend have unrealistic expectations of you—i.e., did he demand elaborate gifts or expect you to complete the majority of household tasks?’

  ‘He wanted me to get rid of my doll. He said it creeped him out.’

  ‘Of course. Here at the department, we find we’re more effective if we can work in general terms rather than specific ones. I’ll repeat the question. Do you think he had unrealistic expectations?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did your boyfriend claim that you were stubborn or always needed to be right?’

  ‘He said I always wanted my way. My mother gave me—’

  ‘Okay, great, Clara May, great. Thanks. Give me a second to process this.’ Gwendolyn knew the outcome of the claim before the computer. The relationship was troubled, but not a lost cause. She estimated that the recovery score would be seventy-four. Not all doom and gloom for Clara May . Her ex’s working out signalled dissatisfaction. There were also minor signs of resentment—nothing that couldn’t be overcome by the department’s most commonly recommended plan of action for a standard application, 30DNC/SIR.

  The computer finished its processing and the relationship analysis appeared. Seventy-six. Two points off.

  ‘I have excellent news for you, Clara May. The relationship scored a seventy-six, well within the recovery range. I’ll be able to provide a plan of action for your relationship immediately.’

  ‘Really?’ Clara May squeaked. Typical response. Gwendolyn selected ‘enthusiastic’ in the dropdown menu under client reply to the plan of action.

  ‘The department recommends a strict thirty-day no-contact period. We also recommend a self-improvement regime.’

  ‘I can’t talk to him for thirty days?’

  ‘I’ve emailed you a detailed overview of the plan that explains the thirty-day no-contact period. No contact means no texting, no calling, no in-person visits. Even if your ex-boyfriend contacts you, you must ignore him. Some people send a message before they start their no-contact period to inform their ex of the steps they are taking. The department recommends this as it keeps all parties involved up-to-date. Of
course, your actions are up to you.’

  ‘So even if he contacts me?’ There were the tears again, but this time they weren’t worth ***ing. Everybody cried when they heard about the no contact. Boo hoo, Gwendolyn thought.

  ‘Thirty days. The department is strict about this. You won’t be able to re-access our services until you’ve completed the no-contact period successfully. The self-improvement regime is self-explanatory. It involves increasing the amount of exercise you do, evaluating your grooming and hygiene standards and practising mindfulness. This is all spelt out in the email. Can I help you with anything else today, Clara May?’

  ‘That’s everything, I think.’

  ‘Excellent. Please stay on the line to complete a survey about your experience with the department today.’

  Gwendolyn hung up the phone. Another happy customer!

  She remembered there was a new staff induction after lunch. She would squeeze in as many assessments as she could before then. In her years working at the department, she had trained herself to eat lunch while on the phone. She directed her mother to buy her snacks that were easy to chew and easy to swallow. Yogurt was a go-to. It was a completely silent food. Soups were obvious but involved too much testing and blowing. Who had time for that? There were abandoned and tormented people out there. They needed a plan.

  The new recruits were always like all of Gwendolyn’s other co-workers—sluggish or sensitive. Most had degrees in politics and international relations, or worse, sociology or psychology. The do-gooders were more intolerable than those after a cushy role in government. Gwendolyn was neither. She came from data entry. Career call centre. Her game was spreadsheets, imports, exports and typing at over 120 words per minute. She did not have a degree in anything, but in the Thursday weekly reports her numbers were the best.

  Gwendolyn finished up the paperwork for Clara May ’s claim, then went to the lunchroom, microwaved some black rice and added a dash of soy sauce. She avoided eye contact with both of her co-workers in the lunchroom, Kolbie and Walker. Walker was talking about a client who had been dumped by his ex-boyfriend’s father. Kol was nodding along and eating, alternating between a toasted tuna sandwich and a large pickle. Such loud food! It made Gwendolyn’s skin crawl.

  Gwendolyn returned to her desk and dialled her next assessment. She ate her lunch out of a ceramic rice bowl she brought from home. Painted on one side was the face of a Chinese man with slanted, smiling eyes, a long golden moustache and a golden goatee. She listened intently to the man on the other end of the line, who had broken up with his girlfriend because she had thrush. Surprise, surprise: he wanted her back. He had been a horndog, he lamented. He didn’t know thrush was curable. Now his ex-girlfriend was healthy and letting someone else access her yeast-free [insert body part here]. For once, Gwendolyn was happy she wasn’t eating yogurt. She took a bite of rice, mashed it between her tongue and the roof of her mouth and swallowed. She completed three more claims before the induction.

  When Gwendolyn arrived at the orientation, her boss Mr Boos patted the seat next to him. Then he sat as close to her as he could. Once formalities were over, Mr Boos introduced her and Gwendolyn stood up to face the newcomers. It was her job to give a presentation on professionalism and efficiency. She fixed her hair into place behind her ears, conscious of the effect this had on strangers. Let them look. None of them caught her eye.

  Gwendolyn offered a pearl of wisdom to start. ‘The best service is fast service,’ she said. ‘It is unfair to all of your other clients if you devote too much time to any individual.’

  ‘Excuse me.’ She ignored the voice. No doubt it was a bogus upstart with a background in public health. Someone always piped up about now to blather on about the right to access care. It happened at every orientation.

  She continued. ‘I bet you’re asking yourself what about the right to care? Absolutely, every individual has a right to access care, but that’s not the service we provide here. A client’s assessment may include a referral to a health professional. It is your job to provide that referral, not to provide emotional support.’

  ‘Excuse me.’ It was the same voice as before. ‘That’s all well and good, but can we talk about targets? What number of assessments does an average employee like yourself conduct per day?’

  Gwendolyn was stumped. She had never—never in her life!—been affiliated with averageness. She turned to Mr Boos for the answer.

  After Mr Boos gave his answer, the voice asked, ‘And what about your best employee?’

  Mr Boos did not mention Gwendolyn by name.

  The audacity of talking about Gwendolyn’s numbers right in front of her as if she didn’t exist! She squinted at the crowd, aware that the gesture made her look severe. There, sitting next to a white woman with a single dreadlock for hair, was the voice. She knew it was him because he was sitting up straight and taking notes. The dreadlock sitting beside him chewed vigorously on a piece of gum and stared out the window.

  The voice looked up from his notes and made eye contact with Gwendolyn. He was an East Asian man in his thirties with spiky, bleached hair. He did not have a moustache or a goatee, but besides those omissions, he was the spitting image of the man on Gwendolyn’s rice bowl. And, for once, in her thirty-four years of life, Gwendolyn was speechless. She both wanted to perform [insert sex act here] on the man and [insert violent act here] him, in no particular order.

  That afternoon, Gwendolyn could not concentrate. She assessed a woman she should have immediately referred to the Department of Unrequitement. Such a rookie mistake! She missed all of the tell-tale signs that Janice Meredith ’s ‘boyfriend’ was actually just a friend who used her for [insert sex act here]. She was lucky she caught the error herself before she processed the claim and the system alerted Mr Boos to her oversight. Friends with benefits! That was baby stuff.

  After work, Gwendolyn exercised for twice as long as she normally did, had a meal of quiet foods—tofu, steamed spinach and buckwheat—with her mother in front of the TV and went to bed. Every night before she fell asleep, she counted the number of claims she had processed that day. She was usually out by the time she got to the seventh or eighth claim. Tonight, she got all the way up to twelve claims. Then she remembered the snafu with the woman she should have directed to Unrequitement. [Insert expletive here]! The code for that application haunted her—30TR/DU. Thirty Days to Terminate Relationship/ Referral to Department of Unrequitement. She got out of bed, had a glass of orange juice and a marshmallow, then returned and tried to get some rest. She counted the claims from the day before—there had been twenty-five seamless assessments—and eventually fell asleep.

  That night she had an erotic dream about the man with the same face as her rice bowl. In the fantasy, he chased her around a giant spreadsheet, chock full of data. They [insert sex act here] on top of a row of optimistic application assessment scores. There was a ninety-six! And two ninety-twos. Even the lowest numbers were in the eighties. Gwendolyn [insert bodily response to sex act here] twice.

  She woke up refreshed, exercised, and ate a bowl of porridge. She usually got to the office early to get in a few assessments or complete paperwork before anyone else arrived. She cherished those moments she had to herself and those she shared with the office janitor Mr Washor. He and Gwendolyn both preferred to work in the dark and they spent many peaceful mornings in each other’s company, watching the sun come up over the empty desks. Gwendolyn would *** the unrealistic expectations Lenny had for his ex-wife to dust his extensive taxidermy collection, while Mr Washor vacuumed around her. But today, three was a crowd. All of the lights were on.

  ‘Thought I’d get here early and get a head start,’ the voice said. ‘I got IT to give me access yesterday. I’ve already processed a few claims. Would you mind looking over them before you start? I had two 30TR/DUs. Busy morning.’

  He was even more efficient than he’d been in Gwendolyn’s dream. Normally she made Mr Boos check over the work of the newcomers, but she
was here early, after all.

  ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘I’m Gwendolyn, by the way.’

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Let me show you these claims.’

  ‘What was your name?’

  ‘Forrest. Have a look at this spreadsheet.’

  Gwendolyn scanned the screen. She had an eagle eye for errors. The numbers were all in the low eighties at least. There was a ninety-six. And two ninety-twos. She reached out and put her hand to Forrest’s upper back. She couldn’t recall the last time she had touched someone who wasn’t her mother. And that was usually by accident when they were doing the dishes. Forrest turned his head up to look at her. They made eye contact for milliseconds before he looked back to the screen. He shook her hand off his back.

  ‘Where did you come from?’ Gwendolyn asked.

  ‘From Essendon,’ he said. ‘But I’m Chinese, if that’s what you’re asking.’

  Gwendolyn felt her face warm. ‘I meant, where did you work before this.’

  ‘I’ve always worked in data entry,’ he said. ‘Before this job, I was an efficiency expert at a call centre.’

  Gwendolyn’s mouth fell to the floor and her heart dropped to her stomach. She looked at his taut forearms, thick from typing. ‘I’ll just be right over there,’ she said and pointed to her desk.

  He grunted, picked up his phone and started dialling.

  ‘I’ve got the best numbers on the team, so ask me anything.’

  He motioned for Gwendolyn to be quiet and pointed to his phone. She backed away, watching him as he worked. His dexterous fingers danced across the computer keyboard. Oh, what those fingers could do!

  Gwendolyn processed three assessments, but by the time she got to the fourth with Stuart Jay , she found herself daydreaming about sucking Forrest’s [insert body part here] in the lunchroom. She would be down on her knees, underneath the table. Above her, Forrest, Kol and Walker would talk about unrequited love and eat tuna sandwiches. Then Forrest would [insert bodily response to sex act here] in her mouth. His [insert bodily fluid here] would slide silently down her throat.