by J. S. Badham
As for work, one thing had drastically happened. And no, that wasn’t Claire’s long campaign to get an upgrade for better coffee beans was accepted. It was that Monica no longer worked for Benson’s Corporation. While she would have loved to have seen the woman leave because of dismissal, she was in fact leaving on her own grounds. It came as such a surprise, but not really a surprise for why.
Monica, who had been Claire’s and Darren’s thorn in their sides for the past four years, was leaving. It was on Thursday morning when she announced her decision, her faded red curls clipped to the side and a tissue in her hand. Graves was standing nearby, a little distant towards the commotion but nonetheless present. It looked as if she were about to cry, but if there was one thing Claire knew, it was that Monica was able to put on a show.
Clutching her tissue and ensuring it was the hand where her large engagement ring could be on show, she said in a weak, most award-winning performance of sounding distressed that she was leaving. “My fellow colleagues,” she had begun, causing Claire to roll her eyes. What was this, a beauty pageant? “I’m calling quits today, for I am leaving…” She paused once again to add dramatic effect.
“To head off to Milan with my fiancé.” There were a few gasps in the audience, perhaps those who had literally worshipped Monica. But if not, many were just content like Claire to be given some time off from working to listen to this woman speak. “We are building a fashion business together!” she exclaimed excitedly, changing her tune suddenly from that dismal state to a woman who looked as if she won the lottery.
“However,” she added, lifting her index finger up, her red lips smiling haughtily, “I couldn’t leave without you guys meeting my groom-to-be.” Then she happily jumped on her toes, beckoning a man to come out who was hiding inside Graves’ office.
Claire’s mouth snapped open like an alligator. Was she surprised? Yes and no. An aging, greying man dressed in yellow chinos, a white polo top, and several golden rings on his fingers with black sunglasses covering his eyes appeared from the office. It had to be a joke, but it clearly wasn’t when he hobbled on over, sliding his hand around her waist.
Claire could see some expressions of humour on several of her colleagues’ faces, but most just consisted of pure shock.
“What on earth?” she heard a few mutters. Much to the male population’s disappointment, the woman they had slept around with had found an old man, old enough to be her grandfather, digging his dick in for gold.
Bon voyage to that cow at least.
“Oh, I’m gonna miss you guys so much.” She gave a fake display of affection as she cuddled some at the front at arm’s length whilst her aging fiancé looked deliciously content.
Claire also noticed how Graves was itching with jealousy and appeared ticked off by this news. As if he hadn’t heard it already from Monica, he had to watch as she publicly announced her departure and give not a lick of affection towards her old lover.
“Farewell, children.” Claire could hear Monica’s patronising tone follow her into the kitchen even as she shut the door to block out the sound. She couldn’t stand that woman.
At least it was great news to share with Darren, who she had almost forgot was not standing there with her and was instead at home. Sliding her phone open, she disregarded the unopened email notifications and phoned Darren up.
“Hello, Darren?” Claire said, a little too urgently down the phone.
“Yeah, what’s up? I’m here,” he replied and heard the shutdown of voices in the background what she suspected was the television he had become so accustomed to each and every day.
“I have some good news. And boy, do you wish you were—I mean—” Claire stopped short as she flushed red, knowing that Darren was still in too much distress to be thinking of attending work nor worrying himself over good office gossip. “Erh—”
“Spit it out, woman.” Darren chuckled a little, surprising Claire by his encouragement. “What news?” It was almost there for a second, he sounded like his old self.
“Monica is leaving,” Claire said nonchalantly.
“Oh my god! Really?”
“Yes. And she’s marrying some old guy, and they’re heading off to Milan.”
Darren exhaled down the line. “Boy, our Monica, a gold digger. Not surprised, but…” He paused for a second. “I’m actually going to miss the bitch. Never thought I’d say that, but we’ve had our fun with our bitching sessions over that woman. Now, she’s heading off. Good riddance, but damn, how…things just change like that,” he muttered, confirming to Claire that he was in deep thought. Still not the same old Darren that she knew.
Keeping the same casual tone as her friend, she agreed. “Yeah, off she goes. To make a fashion business, as she has kindly shared. Graves doesn’t look too pleased. Confirms he was enjoying their affair even if she clearly wasn’t into him, however he saw things. But yeah, no more Monica.”
“Gives your boyfriend one less job to think about—oh, wait,” Darren apologised. “Zack—”
“No, it’s…fine,” Claire reassured herself, nodding as she twirled her index finger upon the table. “I’m starting to reconsider things these past two days. I’m slowly getting there.” She wondered if that meant she was able to push aside all this and start things all over again.
“You’ll get there. Just keep thinking it over, babe.”
Claire exhaled. “Yeah…so, how are you today?”
Darren yawned. “Well…I’m just watching some Jeremy Kyle at the moment. I have some other stuff I’ve got to attend to later…” The lingering silence afterwards made her very suspicious, yet only for that second. “And then, nothing. You’re welcome to come around after work. I could do with the company, and well, I’m sure being alone in that apartment isn’t exactly healthy towards your judgment on things,” he offered.
“Yeah, that would be great,” Claire replied, smiling slightly to herself. “Hey, I’ll let you get on. I better get back before my presence is missed, and I wouldn’t want to miss Monica standing there, holding a bunch of flowers as if she had won the goddamn Miss World Competition.”
Darren laughed a little at that, but it was too soon before his weak, defeated voice returned. “Yeah, I’ll see you later, Claire.”
With another round of goodbye, Claire ended the call and slipped her phone back into her suit trousers’ pocket. It wasn’t any revelation that, as she exited the kitchen, Monica was still being pampered by those who adored her. It made no sense. Those people must be on drugs to think that woman was a kind, considerate, and fair woman.
Claire had expected to hobble back over to her desk with no interference, but Graves appeared, startling her as he tapped on her shoulder. “Can we talk please?” He pointed his finger towards the office door as he barely made eye contact. His attention was still diverted by his old lover, who was laughing and moving her body closer towards her older man. Her hands remained around the old’s man neck as he shoved an unlit brown cigar in his mouth.
As Claire passed them, Graves warned for the man not to smoke, shunning his eyes away from Monica. This time she stopped short to glance at the man she had fooled into thinking she loved him. What a fucked-up love story, Claire thought, entering the office and listening as the door shut after them.
“Monica no longer holds her position,” Graves said, gesturing his hand towards a chair so Claire could sit down. “I think I can now reconsider that placement.” Walking behind Claire, he suddenly placed a hand on her shoulder. She refrained herself from jumping up, not knowing what the gesture was suggesting, nor did she want to take it the wrong way around. Yet thankfully, its position there was brief. He was not attempting to suggest anything inappropriate.
Graves walked around his desk, not taking a seat, but standing behind his chair. “The promotion is there for you, Miss Winter. Do you accept?” he asked solemnly.
This incompetent, selfish man was now providing her the one thing she had wanted since last year. That one fuc
king promotion she’d thought she had in her reach until Monica got the position. And had things changed around here? No. She had the chance now. The chance to make things right. The position offered more money, more packages into her pension, holidays, and more influence within the department. It was right there in front of her. Right in her hands.
“So? You can start immediately, right now. What is your answer, Claire?” Graves asked once again.
She was literally a word away.
“No.”
Gone. That was it. She had said it.
“No?” Graves reiterated with an expression of confusion. “Surely, this is what you’ve worked for, Claire. Are you certain?”
“No.” She nodded. “I have to say no, Mr. Graves. I cannot take the placement. I’m sorry, but I do not want it.” And with that as her final answer towards his proposition, she stood up, thanked him for the offer, and left without his consent. She wasn’t going to accept a job that she knew was hers from the beginning, a job that had been tainted by the likes of Monica because Graves couldn’t keep his stiff member from jumping into action. Her hard work was not going to be subjected to that just because the man was suddenly angered by Monica’s departure.
And why was she not surprised that just as Monica was about to leave, Graves announced that Susan—the office’s one and only gossiper—was appointed as his second in command. That same job he had offered Claire only moments ago. That was why. It wasn’t done out of consideration, only as pure mockery towards Monica, who gaped a little from his quick action at replacing her only an hour later. And besides, she couldn’t work under a man who treated his colleagues how he has, and what’s saying she would even manage a word in?
***
At the end of her shift, Claire was exhausted. She still had to go back into the building to retrieve her bag and head off home, but as for now, she was content with just lingering outside the fire exit door, taking in some air.
She didn’t want to move; she just wanted to stand there at the back of the building where she was, looking up at the sky.
From the corner of her eye, she saw a car suddenly pull up; a fairly middle-aged man opened the back door before returning to the driver’s seat. Out of curiosity, she remained where she was, her hand resting on the handle as she saw another fire exit door open down at the bottom of the building to where she believed whoever was being escorted out of the building to the car would exit.
Claire almost fell to her knees at the sight of Zack, holding his phone to his ear as he passed through the door. She had thought the distraction of his phone was enough to keep him on target, but a swift look towards the left brought him to meet her gaze.
She held her breath. She couldn’t look away, nor did she want to. How badly she wanted to run up to him and throw her arms around his neck, but her feet argued otherwise, remaining in her place. She had expected Zack to drop everything and flee over, but instead, he moved the phone slowly towards his chest and just smiled. It was that type of smile that was sympathetic or trying to offer a route of ease. It was weak. Barely evoking the same energy as a full spread one.
It pained her. She could see how he was trying to restrain himself. It lasted only for a second longer before he lifted the phone back to his ear and got into the car. The door shut, and the car drove on.
Time she asked of him, and time he was giving her. But why was she so unsure now?
Chapter Fourteen
Zack
The car was too far in steady, fast acceleration for Zack to abruptly change his mind and run back after Claire. There was the option of jumping out the car, rolling onto the side of road, hoping it was possible to dodge a few cars before landing onto his two feet like he was James Bond escaping from danger. Yet he wasn’t exactly trained as a stuntman in a movie, nor was he an agent enlisted with the task of saving the world. So staying in that comfortable, black leather seat seemed more appropriate. Besides, he was attempting to stay at a distance from Claire, despite the nagging thought of wanting to do opposite.
Zack slid open the lock screen on his phone, his fingers hovering over her name. Maybe he could just call her? See how she was or explain why he hadn’t come over, just in case she hadn’t put two and two together? But he didn’t press the button; instead, he very much sighed with exasperation and shoved his phone back into his navy blue blazer’s pocket.
Glancing up to look ahead onto the road, he took notice as Wickes missed the turn to his usual route home. “Er, you missed the turn, Wickes.” He chuckled, his index finger following the passing scenery adjacent to him.
“Sorry, sir. It was deliberate. Your mother has requested your presence,” he replied in his usual reserved and composed tone. Wickes turned right, accelerating as he hit a forty zone, then flicked his eyes towards the rear mirror as he saw the growing vexation upon Zack’s face. “I believe it is another house gathering.”
“Well, isn’t that great,” Zack grumbled, sitting back as he began to adjust his watch. “Just what I wanted.”
Wickes offered an understanding smile. “I believe she strictly instructed me to ensure your arrival. No other options were given.” In the back, Zack gave a weak smirk, shaking his head as he knew all too well there was no saying no to that woman. “Well,” Zack inhaled, glancing out the window as they crossed into the country lanes. “Let’s not anger the queen.”
His parents’ residence soon came into view, the twisting green vines running up at the side trellis extending up the sides of the manor. The usual stone columns forming the structure of the front stood proud and polished, and already he could see hired valets collecting guests’ cars as they headed inside. Zack cringed. He despised these sorts of parties, particularly ones that involved his parents’ guests, who were outright stuck up and couldn’t tell you the meaning of walking. Oh no, you had to be served as if you were a baby unable to move and twitch a finger.
“Shall I wait for you?” Wickes asked, parking the car near the edge of the lawn.
“Yes, I’m hoping I won’t be here for long. Otherwise, please just do come in and enjoy yourself, Wickes. Take a glass of champagne, maybe two, three, or four. There’s got to be a fucking dozen in here,” Zack replied as he exited the car.
Wickes chuckled before pulling out his phone, causing Zack to smile. If he knew that man, then he knew he would exactly be tapping his finger towards catch-up TV and comfortably sitting there for however long he had to, enjoying a couple soaps. Zack shut the door, his feet crunching against the gravel as he sighed once more at the sight of some late arrivals heading indoors. Just what he needed.
There was the struggle at these sort of parties, complete concentration for one, could just easily slip at the sound of a monotonous tone dragging on as one bragged about their achievements or discussed business. The majority of the females here dressed extravagantly and laughing tirelessly at another’s joke were housewives. And of course, they were tied up with drama; it came with the package of marrying one of these women. A rumour here and there and that summed up their tedious lives. Zack had heard a few; he could remember at his last attendance one woman had spread that another was flirting with the pool boy who was half her age whilst the husband dallied with a secretary at work. Just how cliché! No, when you walked through these parties, you could see nothing but falsities. You could see the insecurities of those who mistrusted their husbands, the odd gold digger scattered about, and the growing smiles on their faces. A true reflection in the mirror.
Take for instance now Zack, as he meandered through the grand living room, saw a wandering but not lost husband was flirting shamefully with another woman he was not wed to. Typical. Although this was not the case for everyone. As for Zack’s parents’ marriage, that was genuine, and the few elderly couples standing by appeared true enough.
But dear mercy did Zack hate these parties. If it wasn’t enough to reply with hello here and there to whoever glanced his way, it was refraining from collecting more than one glass from the hired
waiter’s board.
The food selection was all right, partly because the small cakes were delicious. The food was small, meant to be nibble size, no choice to choose something sloppy or sticky; it would be a disgrace to offer a guest dolled up in a gown or suit something messy. And as for the music, he could already see a hired pianist in the far corner of the dining room. No CD playing from a stereo was allowed. It was all about keeping up appearances with these sorts of parties. Even as a child, Zack could not be allowed to run or play but stand at the foot of his parents and brother as they spoke and only answer when spoken to. Manners, manners, and manners was the word drummed into him as a child, not that he couldn’t see the good in them, but at parties, it was different. His plum cheeks had been squeezed so many times by strangers as a child that he was sure he’d be stuck with permanent marks. He hated cooing; it was as if he were a toy or diamond necklace on display.
There, standing in a blue gown, embroidered in diamonds across the waist and her hair stuck up in a fancy do, was his mother, laughing as another woman across from her spoke with a glass of champagne or perhaps prosecco within her hand.
“Mother,” Zack said, interrupting whatever conversation she was engaged with. Turning her attention immediately towards her son, she blinked several times, a notion he knew flashed her vexation. “Can I please speak to you for a moment?” Ignoring her displeasure, he gestured towards the door adjacent to the grand bookcase of pointless books he knew neither of his parents had read; it was only to give the appearance of being studious.