Just As You Are

by Kate Mathieson

  My mind was racing. What was going on? Were they a couple? From the looks of it, of course they were. I sat on a park bench and took a sip of what was left of my coffee. I tried to shake off the idea of Honey and Nick cuddling on the couch. No, they wouldn’t cuddle, it would be more like she’d be a Spooning Seductress, lying perfectly on the couch, her petite frame, her perfect long blonde hair; she’d be holding a glass of three-hundred-year-old Chablis as if it were a glass of water and didn’t cost an arm and a leg – what man wouldn’t swoon? Oh, God, he was with Honey. They were, like, a thing. And I’d helped them get together. I was their matchmaker.

  My appetite for exercise and being outside suddenly disappeared. Besides, I didn’t want to accidentally run into them again. The ocean breeze picked up. I shivered and walked quickly, head down, back to Bondi. Now, I was even more confused. Was Nick a nice guy who looked after his sick elderly friend? Or was he the kind of guy that dated girls that were fifteen years younger than him, who were obsessed with taking the perfect Instagram photo? I remembered back to our night in Fiji, and I was sure that was something we’d joked about, how people lined up for hours to perfect their poses, with filters and airbrushing, and what the hell was the point? But now, here he was, with someone exactly like that. I couldn’t work him out, no matter how hard I tried.

  On the bus ride home, I stared at my reflection in the window and thought, Gosh, I look tired. But I didn’t just look tired, I looked older. Must be all those late nights, I thought. When I got off the bus, I walked passed a shopping mall and maybe it was how tired I looked, or felt, or that I wanted to feel better about my grey bra life, because I made a split decision.

  Five minutes later, I was sitting in the hairdresser’s, staring in the mirror, at my long wavy hair. I wanted something sleeker. More mature. Something that said PR Woman. Something that said ‘Maybe with a New Haircut I’ll Like My Life in Sydney’. Even though I knew that sounded ridiculous.

  When Jo, the hairdresser, asked if I wanted a trim, I pointed to the girl on the cover of a Vogue magazine and said, I want that.

  Chapter 22

  ‘What is that on your head? WHAT IS IT?’

  I grabbed at my head. ‘Oh, God, I don’t know! What’s there? Is it a spider?’

  Phil leaned back in horror. ‘I think it’s a fringe,’ he managed to splutter.

  I sighed. ‘Oh, yes, funny one, Phil.’

  And that was how my day went. Everywhere I went. Every phone call I took, every meeting I attended. There was Phil whispering comments, and when he couldn’t speak he’d write them down in meetings and hold them up so only I could see them.

  Emma, 1980s called. They want their fringe back.

  Hey, Lily. LILY. LILY ALLEN. Oh, sorry, Emma.

  Ems, why are you wearing a helmet on your head?

  Why are you sporting a skull-shrinkage device? I thought torture was out ruled in 1600s?

  Oh, piss off, Phil.

  Thankfully, Nick wasn’t back in the office until Wednesday, and by then I’d almost managed to make my fringe look presentable. Or so I thought.

  Except Nick looked at me strangely as he and Sadie passed our desks heading towards his office. Sadie peered at me. ‘There’s something different about you today, Emma.’

  Phil piped up, ‘You can’t see her eyes any more?’

  Sadie laughed. ‘Oh, Phil.’ Phil looked pleased with himself.

  Suddenly, next to Sadie, I felt more like a schoolgirl than ever, with my silly fringe. Her hair was perfectly straight and sleek, falling in a chic bob around her angular chin, lacquered with spray so not a hair moved. She looked amazing, her long legs, nude high heels, and a tailored navy dress falling above her knees, showing off her athletic body, and a scarf tied casually around her neck. I glanced at the label. Hermes. Her scarf cost more than my entire outfit. More than my monthly food shop. More than my life. Sadie was channelling PR Success Woman completely, and I was channelling Year Ten Schoolgirl.

  ‘Looks, uh, nice, Emma,’ Nick said kindly, even though we all knew he was lying.

  Sadie and Nick went into his office and closed the door, and every time she trilled with laughter I felt as if someone were running their nails down a blackboard. This horrific sound continued for an hour.

  Mid-morning, I was in the kitchen dunking a tea bag repeatedly into a mug of boiling water. I kept trying to turn my head around so I looked like Lily Allen in the microwave window reflection, at least from some angle.

  I didn’t.

  What had I been thinking?

  Anyway, I couldn’t stop to think about my hair disaster; Macabre was fast approaching and all my focus had to be on that.

  When I got back to my desk, Nick was standing chatting to Phil, then smiled at me. ‘How are the media alerts, anything about Honey?’ Again, he was cool as a cucumber, the consummate professional, as if I’d never seen him at the park with her.

  I was almost tempted to ask him what ‘work’ Honey had been helping him with, but Professional Emma was in full force. Even with a fringe. ‘No negative coverage, a few small mentions, but all good. I emailed them to you this morning.’

  ‘And the runsheets for Macabre?’ He looked as if he was checking off a list in his head.

  ‘All done.’

  ‘And the budget sign off?’

  Oh, no.

  That was the one thing I’d forgotten, when I’d thought I’d been on top of everything else. With everything being so hectic, I’d completely forgotten about the budget sign off from the CFO, Charles Newton.

  I nodded again. Another lie.

  ‘So you got it all? Without a problem?’

  Thankfully, my phone started ringing. It was Honey. ‘Sorry, I have to take this.’

  Honey declared down the phone that she wanted Chinese food, particularly lemon chicken, but without onions, and with free-range organic chicken. I had to call six places before I found one that said they were organic. I wasn’t sure I could trust them because they kept saying yes to everything I asked, but I figured Honey would never know if it was actually organic or not.

  ***

  When I arrived at her hotel suite, she was curled up in her white silk gown, at 2 p.m., as if she’d slept all day. She took the chicken from me, and said, ‘Care to join?’ and I had to say no, I had work. But she wanted to talk about what she was wearing to the next press conference, and to the event, and she had an arsenal of questions, which I tried my best to answer, and not let myself fall asleep on her actual bed. Gosh, it looked comfy.

  Thankfully she didn’t say much about Nick, just prattled on a bit about how he was a gentleman, and did I know how lovely he was? How smart he was? How witty? To which I replied ‘hmmmm’ and then prayed she would change the subject, because thinking of the two of them together, from underneath this fringe, made me feel a little claustrophobic.

  I stayed for as long as I could, hiding out in Honey’s room, listening to her natter on about her new nail colour and handbag purchases, and I put up with all of it, with a smile on my face, because all of this was better than seeing Nick and having to admit I didn’t have the budget approved or signed off. When I finally got back to the office it was past 5 p.m., and I knew Nick would have already left for the offsite IAH client meeting. I strode straight to my desk, picked up the phone, dialled Charles’ EA and requested an urgent meeting.

  Chapter 23

  ‘There’s a solid increase.’ Charles scrutinised the pages from behind his large black desk that had been sheened to perfection. It was a place that would keep fingerprints forever if any ever got on there. ‘Why are the expenses up ten per cent?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ I stood awkwardly to the side of Charles’ desk and looked out onto the city at dusk. It was 6 p.m. and I was crossing my fingers this could be done and dusted and back on Nick’s desk for the morning.

  ‘Well, I can’t sign the budget off, unless I know more of a reason than …’ he put his glasses on and peered over and read ‘… than
“unexpected increase to forecast”.’ He paused. ‘And if you want this signed by the expiry time on this paper, which is …’ Charles checked his calendar ‘… tonight, then I suggest you get going, because I’ll be leaving at 8 p.m., for the airport.’

  ‘Yes, sure, on it!’ I said a little too anxiously. Because how was I meant to get Nick’s explanation since he’d already gone home? I took the budget papers back to my desk and picked up the phone, calling Nick’s mobile. It went to voicemail. I left a quick message – ‘Can you please call me?’

  I sat there drumming my fingers on my desk, waiting for the return call. After ten minutes I sent him a text – please call asap, quick question.

  I watched in anticipation for the three dots to appear on my screen, suggesting he was writing me back, but there was nothing. I could see it hadn’t been delivered at the bottom of the text screen.

  I looked around the office. Phil had gone home. Sadie had gone home. Glenn was in a meeting. Who else could I ask? Finally, I picked up the phone and dialled HR, in case they had any other ideas. A girl I’d met at a department meeting, Gaby, picked up.

  ‘Oh, that does sound like you’re in a pickle!’ she said when I’d told her the situation. ‘Look, I normally wouldn’t do this, but I know how hard it is to juggle so many priorities. Plus, I know what Glenn’s going to be like if you don’t get this. He’ll probably fire you and Nick!’ She laughed. ‘Sorry, I’m not meant to say that! I do have an idea of how to get ahold of Nick, but you can’t tell anyone.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ I said, eager to hear her idea. ‘I won’t tell a soul.’

  Gaby whispered into the phone. ‘OK, so I’m going to give you his address. Do you have a pen?’

  His address? I was going to his house? After hours? ‘Yes, I have a pen,’ I said, my palms sweating.

  ‘It’s Unit 800, 45 Bayside Road, Hyde Park,’ Gaby said. ‘OK, I’ve gotta go, so don’t tell anyone you got it from me, OK?’

  ‘OK,’ I said thickly down the phone. When I stood I felt a bit woozy. I was actually going to go to Nick’s place. Nick’s place. I opened the fridge door and took out a beer from the corporate stash and skulled it over the sink. Nick’s place.

  On the way over in the taxi, I felt dizzy and clammy. Would Honey be there? Would I be interrupting something? The cab arrived at Nick’s place, a swanky apartment block that was ultra-modern with a large glass door, and inside industrial cement and marble lined the hall and walls. It looked exactly like where someone who worked at Maker should live.

  A doorman held open the door for me. ‘Madam?’ He had a doorman!

  Taking a deep breath, I signed in and walked over to the large lift, my high heels echoing against the cool tiles. At the lift I pressed number 8, which said ‘Penthouse Suites’. God, he was in a penthouse.

  When the lift door opened, I checked in the mirror that my navy pants and cream top were in place. Staring at my reflection, I saw that my cheeks looked red and my eyes a little panicky but there was nothing I could do about that.

  At the top the hallway was entirely black. After the glare of the mirrored elevator, I could hardly see a thing. It took a minute for my eyes to register, and then the small ground lights came into focus, and I followed the sign to Unit 800.

  I raised my hand and knocked. I took a deep breath. A few seconds passed. Maybe he wasn’t home. I knocked again.

  ‘OK, OK,’ a muffled voice shouted. Nick opened the door wearing a long white bathrobe. His hair was wet and tousled. ‘Emma?’ He looked completely shocked.

  God, I’d interrupted his shower.

  Shower. Fiji. Warm suds.

  ‘Charles needs you to write more in this section,’ I said, shoving the paperwork towards him, my finger pointing to where he needed to fill in.

  He still looked surprised to find me on his doorstep, as if he wasn’t registering.

  ‘I tried your phone several times,’ I explained. ‘Emails, texts, calls …’ My voice trailed off.

  He reached down into his pocket and pulled out his phone. ‘Oh, my battery must be flat. I didn’t realise, I was in the shower.’

  ‘So it seems.’ Berry foam. Lathering. Slippery thighs.

  He looked up at me. ‘How did you know where I lived?’

  ‘Um, I …’ I stammered. ‘Someone at the office knew.’

  ‘They did?’ He looked confused.

  ‘Well, can you sign this?’ I tried changing the subject so I didn’t get Gaby in trouble. ‘It’s on a deadline.’

  ‘Oh, sure.’ He looked down. ‘Did you want to come in? This could take a few minutes.’ He said it so casually, as one would say, ‘Oh, did you want to see my new orchid?’ Rather than, ‘Hello, person I’ve had sex with before, did you want to come into my house whilst I’m wearing a bathrobe and possibly nothing underneath?’

  ‘No, I’m fine,’ I said, shifting in my high heels, feeling it was more professional to stand at the door.

  ‘Suit yourself.’ He walked down the hallway and disappeared off to the left. I could hear some banging of drawers, and then silence. Five minutes later he came back, papers in hand.

  ‘I’ll get these back to the office now,’ I said, because I was almost used to this life now, working late each night, living off coffee and microwave meals, and having zero social life. I dashed back down the lift to my waiting Uber, and then back to the office. Thankfully it was only 7.30 p.m. so Charles was still in his office, and signed the papers happily, telling me the funds would be released the next day.

  ‘Oh, Emma?’ Kyle called out to me in the hallway, from his office next to Charles’. I stiffened. Kyle was Glenn’s boss. One of the bigwig executives who looked after all Sales and Marketing, and I hadn’t even thought Kyle knew my name. I whirled around and walked quickly into his office. He was sitting at a desk, which was larger, if that was possible, than Nick’s entire office.

  ‘Did you just say that you saw Nick?’ he said without even looking at me.

  ‘I did. Just now.’

  ‘The swimwear art campaign needs Nick’s signature ASAP to go to printing.’

  ‘Sure. When?’

  ‘Tonight.’ He pointed to a load of files, still all without looking at me. ‘And take the latest marketing figures he wanted.’

  ‘Right,’ I said, picking them up, expecting him to at least thank me. He didn’t. Which felt slightly unfair, because it wasn’t my job to give him the figures; I knew it had to be someone’s, but it sure wasn’t mine. Until now. Looks like I’m not going to be home before 8 p.m. after all, I thought bitterly.

  I knew Glenn and Kyle were still working at night, but I could guarantee they were getting paid six-figure salaries at least to do the extra-long hours. What was I getting? About a quarter of that, maybe an eighth. Literally. No one seemed to care that I was working fourteen-hour days, every day, and was literally doing two full-time jobs between Macabre and Honey. I felt super unappreciated and as I sat in the Uber on the way back across the city, I felt a pang of jealousy for those out enjoying their lives or those in bed.

  ***

  By 8.30 p.m. I was back in the lift at Nick’s place. This time when he answered the door, he was wearing dark brown pants, tapered at the ankle, and a white open-collared shirt and no shoes. He smelt fresh, like mint and deep forest woods again. His smell.

  ‘Emma. Again.’ He looked surprised.

  ‘Yep. Me. Again,’ I said, feeling exhausted. ‘Kyle said you need to sign off on the final art campaign for Tiger tonight. Finance have already okayed it. And here are the latest marketing figures.’

  ‘OK.’ He nodded, flipping through the files. ‘Thanks for coming back so late.’

  I sighed, feeling flushed and drained; it had been a big night and the longest of days. The only thing I wanted to do was fall into bed and sleep for a hundred years.

  ‘Did you … ah … want to come in, for a drink?’

  ‘Am I taking the cover art back to Kyle?’

  ‘No. I can email it.’r />
  ‘Well, I don’t need a drink, but I could do with some battery – I’m down to two per cent and I have to get an Uber home.’ I held up my phone.

  I followed Nick through his dark hallway, where at the end it opened up to an open-plan living room, set three stairs down from the hallway, with scallop-shaped couches, in black and brown leather, and an entire one-hundred-and-eighty-degree view of the city.

  ‘Wow,’ I said.

  ‘Breathtaking, isn’t it?’ Nick said, hooking up my phone to a charger. ‘How about a tea while you wait?’

  ‘Sure.’ It can’t hurt, sitting on the couch, I thought.

  Nick switched on the kettle.

  ‘How long have you lived here?’ I looked around the impressive lounge.

  ‘Five years. My idea was to renovate a place in the inner west, have those DIY projects on the go, keeping me visiting hardware stores every weekend. But then I found this place, and the idea of easy living sounded a lot better. So now I get to enjoy a piece of urban paradise.’

  He poured me a tea. ‘Milk?’

  ‘No, just plain is fine.’

  ‘There you go.’ He passed it to me carefully, his hand briefly grazing mine as he held it out. He slid in next to me on the couch, holding his own cup of tea.

  I tried to ignore his touch. He was my boss. And he was with Honey. But I couldn’t help but imagine him leaning over and kissing me.

  ‘Do you live here by yourself?’ Then I caught myself. ‘Sorry, that was prying. You don’t need to answer that.’ I hesitated, because I was burning with curiosity.

  ‘Not alone, unfortunately,’ he said. ‘Brett, my good friend, lives in that room over there.’ He pointed across the hallway. ‘He’s in Melbourne for a sales trip at the moment.’

  Nick’s phone buzzed and he excused himself to take it. I could hear mumblings from the hallway. ‘No, I’ll email it to you. The figures? Yes, the ones we talked about earlier. Yeah, first thing tomorrow.’