The List

by Joanna Bolouri

  ‘Show me,’ I whispered.

  He leaned in and kissed me. Oh, he kissed me good style – softly at first, then his hands were on my face and in my hair. I pulled back and we both paused for a minute to get a grip on what was happening. Next minute my top was off, my skirt hitched up and I was straddling him on his swivel chair. He lifted me off his lap, spun me round and bent me over his desk. Excitedly, I pulled down my underwear as he put a condom on.

  Within seconds he was inside me.

  It was intense, it was hot and it felt amazing. We did it over his desk, then on the floor, where our knees sustained dreadful carpet burns. It was intense, it was hot … and it was totally WRONG. What the fuck is the matter with me? So, what, now I can’t even have a drink with my wretched boss without having to shag him?

  ‘Just as depraved as I’d imagined,’ he smiled, fastening his trousers. ‘Maybe next time we’ll do this somewhere nicer than my office.’

  ‘Next time?’ I was genuinely surprised that he didn’t think this was a one-off. How arrogant. ‘This was a mistake, Frank. This will cause all sorts of problems,’ I told him as I clumsily buttoned up my shirt and started searching for my heels, finally finding them under his desk.

  ‘You still haven’t answered my question. Anything else you think I can do? From your reaction, I’m guessing no …’

  ‘No, it was fine. I think the best thing you can do for Vanessa is not shag anyone else. I’m going home now.’

  I ran out of the office and caught a taxi home. For some reason Christian Bale’s voice appeared in my head shouting, ‘So you fucked your boss, Phoebe. OH GOOD! GOOD FOR YOU!’

  But to be honest, it wasn’t ‘fine’; it was incredible. That said, the more I think about it the more I realize that Frank probably never had any doubts about how good he was in the sack. I’ve just been played. Pam Potter was absolutely right; she called this weeks ago. That shithead. Pretending he was naive about sex, making me think I was in charge when all the while he was seducing me. I could murder him.

  JUNE

  Wednesday June 1st

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Frank said when I marched angrily into his office first thing this morning, ‘But after you asked me to kiss you, I couldn’t help myself.’

  ‘You absolute fuckbastard. All that nonsense about wanting help and pretending you weren’t sure what to do – it was all bullshit, wasn’t it? Did you plan this?’

  He looked at me. ‘Keep your voice down. We both wanted last night, Phoebe. Don’t act like you hadn’t thought about it too.’

  ‘We will never speak about this again,’ I insisted. ‘Tell Vanessa I said hi.’ And I left his office and got on with my work.

  By seven this evening we’d screwed twice in the staff toilets.

  Thursday June 2nd

  Although shagging my boss wasn’t on my initial list, I hate to admit it, but it feels exciting. But it shouldn’t feel exciting. It should feel icky and vile and degrading and embarrassing. I mean it’s Frank, for God’s sake. Improved or not, this is the man who buys infantile art and wore that rubbish sparkly watch and thinks he’s so much better than every other human being on the planet; the one who, in the past, I’ve wanted to stab repeatedly with the spoon I keep in my desk for yogurts, and the one who made me come twice on the floor of his office and gives me butterflies now every time I think of him. Whenever he walks past my desk I get flashbacks of him inside me, of his breath on my neck and his hands on my ass, and although there’s a huge part of me that wants to kick the shit out of him, the sex is pretty knee-trembling.

  A phone call from him earlier made me believe he feels the same:

  ‘Phoebe. Meet me in the station car park tomorrow after work.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked, knowing full well why.

  ‘Because I’m going to take you back to my place, pour you some champagne and make love to you. Properly.’

  Oooh, ‘properly’. Of course he’d say something totally cheesy like that when I’m surrounded by an office full of people and can’t shout at him. It’s certainly taken my focus away from Alex, which can only be a good thing, but I have the feeling I’m getting into something that will eventually turn round and bite me on this ass.

  Friday June 3rd

  Why can’t I be one of these women who gets excited about rich men? It would make life so much easier. I’d be all: ‘Look at my boobs! Now give me some money for something! Anything!’ and he’d be like: ‘You’re the best girlfriend EVER. Have some euros!’ (Because he’d be French.) I’m certain it would be very nice living in luxury and having wads of cash thrust at you, but I’ve always been more interested in a meeting of minds than the contents of someone’s wallet. Anyway, after a quick fumble in the car after work Frank and I drove to his flat – brand new and undoubtedly worth a fortune. He opened the door to reveal a massive entrance hall with doors leading off it and a very large living room at the end. As expected, the decor was truly misguided. His walls are covered in a bizarre mix of abstract and tribal art, with a zebra-print rug sprawled out on the floor and a chandelier hanging from the living-room ceiling. There were wooden statuettes everywhere, minimalist furniture and a flat-screen television the size of my bed.

  ‘Champagne?’ he asked, taking my coat. ‘Have a seat.’

  I sank on to the huge red corner suite and nodded, unable to take my eyes off a luminescent dragon statue glaring at me from the corner of the room.

  ‘So, your flat is … spacious, Frank. You have quite the eclectic taste.’

  ‘Yes, I do. I think it’s entirely possible to appreciate many forms of art and design at the same time.’

  ‘And in the same room.’

  ‘You have Sophie’s World in your desk drawer. I wouldn’t expect someone who reads chick-lit to grasp art.’

  ‘Sophie’s World isn’t …’ I began, trying very hard not to laugh. ‘Never mind. You’re right, Frank. I have no insight into your world. Seeing what makes you tick on a personal level really is an eye-opener.’

  ‘Indeed. But I don’t believe we came here to discuss literature.’ He took the glass from my hand and placed it on a stained-glass coaster.

  ‘Did we come here to discuss those coasters? Because I really think we should.’

  ‘You’re a funny wee thing, aren’t you?’ he said, taking my hand and pulling me to my feet. All I could think was, You patronizing shit, where’s your girlfriend? but I kept my mouth shut and followed him into the bedroom anyway, dying to see whether he had mirrored ceilings and a couple of tigers roaming around in there. He dimmed the lights and actually tried to romance me, which, given that our previous sessions were all lust-filled and frantic, seemed strange. I expected him to clap his hands and Barry White’s voice to start floating out of the lampshade. Instead, to my horror, I heard the opening notes of Celine Dion’s ‘My Heart Will Go On’ coming from the stereo.

  ‘No. No. NO. Turn that off!’

  ‘I thought you’d like that song. It’s romantic.’

  ‘Are you kidding me?! That song makes me want to hurl myself off a boat that’s not even sinking …’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘… or in water …’

  ‘FINE. I get it, Phoebe. I’ll change it.’

  Celine was replaced with Dean Martin and then he kissed me softly, and stroked my hair, and, to be honest, it was really annoying.

  ‘Stop being so gentle. I don’t want to make love, I want to have sex.’

  ‘No. This is nicer and you’ll—’

  ‘Shut up, Frank. I’m not asking you, I’m telling you.’

  He stopped dead. Then, grabbing my arms and throwing me down on to the bed, he pulled my underwear to one side and began ramming me hard. Too hard at one point – perhaps I should have been clear that though I wanted sex, I didn’t want him to poke a great big cock-sized hole in my kidneys either. Nonetheless, it was over quickly and I reached for my skirt, hoping he’d just disintegrate.

  ‘I don’t know what it is about you, P
hoebe Henderson,’ he said, watching me dress. ‘You’re such a pain in the arse and you swear too much, but there’s something about you that I’m drawn to. Until you open your mouth, that is – then I just want to throttle you.’

  Tuesday June 7th

  Drinks with Hazel and Lucy this evening in town. For once Lucy was on time and I was the last to arrive. The bar was busy for a Tuesday evening but I scanned the room and eventually saw them sunk into a brown leather couch near the window. Hazel looked wonderful after her holiday. Her tan was flawless.

  They waved me over, Lucy lifting up a glass to indicate she’d already bought me a drink. I hugged Hazel before sitting down.

  ‘You look amazing! The sun has really lightened your hair, and that tanl God, you make me sick.’

  ‘I never tan. You’re so lucky!’ Lucy added, glaring at the freckles on her own arms. ‘I need to wear total block or I start to fry. So, tell all! Did you have a good time?’

  ‘It was great,’ Hazel said, taking a sip of her French Martini, ‘I feel so rested. Kevin was wonderful and spent the entire time looking after Grace. Well, when he wasn’t throwing himself down water slides. I’ve taken loads of pictures and will bore you with them some other time. What have I missed here?’

  I decided against announcing that I’d been doing Frank since the end of May, opting instead for ‘Not much. Y’know. The usual.’

  ‘What about you, Lucy? Any men worth discussing?’

  She grinned, pulling up the bra strap that was making its way down her arm. ‘Actually, yes. I met a guy who works in the library near my house. I’ve told him I’ll go out with him if he can remove the fines on my overdue books.’

  ‘How do you find them?’ Hazel asked. ‘The man who works in my library is over sixty and wears a bow tie. I’d rather just pay my fines.’

  ‘You don’t have Lucy’s magical powers. Another drink?’ I asked.

  Six cocktails later I was in a taxi, heading to Oliver’s for an impromptu, look-how-drunk-I-am booty call.

  He answered the door in his bathrobe. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Oh, that’s a nice welcome!’ I laughed. ‘Let me in. I need a pee.’

  I pushed past him and ran to the bathroom. He followed me in. ‘If you don’t leave now, you’re going to see me urinate and that definitely isn’t on my list, young man. Go and warm the bed up for me.’

  ‘It’s already warm. I have someone here, Phoebe. You need to go.’

  The sound of my peeing made (a very drunk) me start to laugh. ‘Oh Christ, this is awkward. Who is it? Is it Simone? Can I say hello?’

  ‘No, it’s not and, no, you can’t. I’ll phone you a taxi.’

  ‘Who is it then? Tell me. IS IT A MAN? I definitely have to say hello.’

  ‘It’s just some girl I know. If I’d known you were coming I’d have got rid of her earlier, but we’re in the middle of it now, so you have to go.’

  I made him look the other way while I wiped and pulled up my tights.

  ‘Fine. Go have sex with your mystery man. I’ll just grab a cab outside.’

  As I stood on the pavement waiting for an empty taxi I kept looking up at his bedroom window. I realized that a) looking up while drunk isn’t a good idea, and b) I felt foolish. Even though he hadn’t technically done anything wrong, I still felt rejected. Ugh. What, did I expect him to turf the other woman out into the night just because I’d arrived? Well, yes. Actually I did.

  Wednesday June 8th

  Last night I had a dream that I bought coffee for people who didn’t deserve it.

  I had the hangover from hell but I managed to make it into work without throwing up on the train. At tea break, I slipped into the conference room and laid my head on the table, desperate to close my eyes for five minutes. The silence was wonderful until the door swung open, interrupting my nap.

  ‘Phoebe! It’s bad enough that you came to work looking like you got dressed in the dark, but this is too much. Pull yourself together.’

  ‘Go away, Frank. I’m entitled to fifteen minutes. This is how I choose to spend them.’

  He closed the door and walked over to me. ‘I’m serious, Phoebe. I’m still the boss around here.’

  ‘That’s very true,’ I replied in a whisper. ‘But it’s hard to take the boss seriously once you’ve seen his penis. Now stop speaking so loudly. I’ll be out in a minute.’

  ‘Get a coffee and something to eat and then get back to work. I can’t be seen to be doing you any favours here.’

  I pulled my head up from the desk and headed towards the kitchen to make coffee, passing Kelly who looked thrilled that I’d been reprimanded by Frank. ‘That was very undignified, Phoebe. I can see why Frank is angry.’

  I returned five minutes later drinking a black coffee. From her mug.

  By noon I was starving. I’d arranged lunch with Lucy in the canteen – she was surprisingly fresh-faced. I ordered more coffee and a bacon roll and demanded we sit at the back, away from all the noisy people. Again my head made its way downwards and on to the table.

  Lucy laughed. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so hung-over. I feel fine, but I only had three cocktails. Those shots you were doing would have floored me.’

  ‘I did shots? That might explain things.’ I took a small bite of my lunch.

  ‘I saw you and Frank earlier. What’s going on there then?’

  I nearly choked on my roll. ‘Going on? What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, he’s obviously got it in for you. All those office rants, the way he speaks to you in front of folk – I’d complain. Cheeky shit. Although, saying that, he does have a spring in his step these days. Must be that new girlfriend of his. Poor cow.’

  Oh thank God, I thought she’d twigged. ‘Yes, quite. I don’t know what his problem is with me, but if he doesn’t pack it in I just might complain,’ I said, desperately trying to think of something to change the subject. ‘He’ll get bored of it soon enough and pick on someone else.’

  How I wish that were true, but somehow I doubt it. I cannot let Lucy find out about this. I would have no idea how to explain it. Frank might have tricked me into this situation, but I’m hardly blameless and that’s the most confusing part. If I can’t understand it, how could she possibly begin to?

  Thursday June 9th

  I called Oliver tonight to apologize for Tuesday. He didn’t seem bothered.

  ‘It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’m not.’

  ‘So your friend wasn’t annoyed?’

  ‘Nah, she just thought you were some crazy girl who needed to use the bathroom. Cos that’s what I told her.’

  ‘Ha, that’s fine. I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.’

  ‘I’m not. She’s just someone I know. I mean, you’ve hardly been around lately, and when you have you seem distracted. And we haven’t had sex since before your food poisoning. I thought maybe you’d decided to take a break. Thought you were getting bored with me or the list or something…’

  Perhaps Oliver is also feeling a little rejected and I can understand why. I’ve pretty much dropped off the radar recently. It wasn’t intentional, I’ve just been caught up in the whole Frank business. Still, I couldn’t face telling him I’d actually been humping Frank; his ego would never recover.

  ‘Not at all! It’s just been work stuff, but I’m still up for the remaining challenges, if you are. We still have three left.’

  ‘Absolutely!’ I could hear him smiling down the phone. ‘Just let me know when.’

  ‘Now?’

  He hung up and was outside my door fifteen minutes later. He pushed me against the living-room wall and we had sex right there. He’s asleep in my bed now and looks so peaceful I feel bad that I’m about to wake him up and demand sex again. Once with Oliver is never enough.

  Saturday June 11th

  It’s Hazel’s birthday today. She’s thirty-nine and not happy about it.

  ‘I didn’t even want to do anything,’ she moaned as we arri
ved at the restaurant. ‘Kevin insisted on getting my mum to watch Grace and going through this whole bloody charade. I don’t want to celebrate being closer to forty and my face collapsing.’

  The first thing we noticed when we walked into the restaurant was a huge ‘Happy Birthday, Hazel’ banner stretched across the entire, balloon-filled main room.

  ‘Oh forfuckkssake,’ she laughed. ‘He’s hired out the whole place! Why did I agree to this public humiliation?’

  ‘Because you love it really,’ said Lucy. ‘You get a night off from Grace, you get to drink booze which we’ll all pay for, eat like a piggy and then you’ll go home and have noisy sex with your husband. What’s not to love?’

  Kevin walked over and placed a great big kiss on Hazel’s pink lips.

  ‘Thank you, darling. Lucy says we get to have noisy sex tonight. Up for it?’

  Kevin winked at Lucy. ‘YOU BET I AM!’ He howled.

  We left Kevin baying at the moon and took our seats at the table. ‘He’s a good guy, isn’t he?’ Hazel whispered.

  ‘Of course he is,’ I replied. ‘He went from Jack the Lad to Superdad the moment you announced you were pregnant. You got a good one.’

  The Chinese buffet was tremendous; I must have got up seventy-two times at least and nearly punched someone for the last prawn toast. Kevin bought Hazel a beautiful locket, which made my gift of a photo frame look pitiful but at least I didn’t give her a crotchless, fishnet catsuit, UNLIKE LUCY. Kevin loved it, Hazel wasn’t so sure. ‘I’m going to look like a seedy superhero in that, Lucy. But cheers.’ We all left around half eleven and Kevin and Hazel headed to their hotel, Citizen M, for the night. I went there once with Alex and loved it because it was furnished in the style of Ikea-meets-Star-Wars; Alex hated it for the same reason.

  Lucy and I wandered down to the taxi rank. ‘I’m going to ask that librarian out again tomorrow,’ she mused. ‘He seems a tad slow on the uptake. Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear enough.’

  We shared a cab home. Lucy shamelessly flirted with the cab driver to get money off the fare and his phone number. Sometimes I want be her.