by Anita Claire
While still staring at his computer, he responds, “…And?”
He must want details. Not being sure what he wants, but knowing his personality, I’ll give him less information and then see if he wants more details. “About forty minutes into the meeting, they asked me the status on our project. I told them; ‘Our senior guys are on this. We’re close to a resolution. We’ll notify you as soon as we get everything working.’”
Roger raises his eyes, questioning, “Did Flint say anything about me not being there?”
“He asked me my name, and then added me to the meeting’s distribution list.”
With a scowl, he looks back at his computer, “Good work, plan to attend again next week”.
While standing in the doorway, I wonder if I should ask him some questions, like, who the other people were in the room.
Maintaining focus on his computer, he says, “You’re dismissed. Close the door.”
Walking back to my desk, I begin to wonder if there are any guys working at this company who don’t have Asperger syndrome.
Standing in front of my computer, I decide to take a walk around the building to process today’s interactions before getting started with my work. While walking, I check my Droid for new texts or calls, and see if there’s anything worthwhile on Facebook. Interestingly, I have a Facebook message from Nate Lombard—the doctor at soccer yesterday. Realizing I forgot to Google him, I’m still wondering if he’s a real doctor. My face flushes from just reading the message, even though it’s just friendly: I hope there were no unpleasant side effects. Are you feeling well today?
This gets me wondering whether he is being thorough, nice, or hitting on me. Sitting down on an outdoor bench, I respond: Feeling fine, must be the fast medical attention. Did your sister have a problem with you saving the opposition? After pressing send, I get up and head back to my desk.
At lunch, I tell Hita and the other women about Doctor Nate. They all agree: he’s hitting on me.
Kami asks, “Do you want him to be hitting on you?”
Just thinking about him contacting me, makes me grin. Yes, I’m glad he contacted me as I nod, yes. Though I wonder if he’s a player, I’m not interested in being played.
Caroline stops fiddling with her food to ask, “What are you going to do next?”
“I answered him. Now it’s his turn.” I reply.
She looks at me like I’m crazy. “No, how you are going to take it to the next level?”
“I’m just going to respond to him at the same level he’s writing to me. I’ll be cool and let him take it to the next level.” This is how she got herself into such a messed up relationship. She gets way ahead of the guy. I’m also taking some lessons from Cassie—her cool approach has reinforced my belief about getting the man to chase.
Caroline looks at me with disgust. “With that attitude you’re never going to be more then pen pals.” She shakes her head, and continues, “What’s going on with Abs Guy?”
“He’s still at swimming, still hot, and I still don’t know his name. Abs Guy could be engaged or married. Honestly, I don’t know if Nate will ask me out. It’s just fun to have prospects.”
Hita adds, “As they say over in sales, keep that funnel full.”
“Now that you bring it up, what does your ‘sales’ funnel look like? Are you filling it up?” I question Hita.
Hita rolls her eyes, “Some Indian guy asked me out. I’m not dating Indian guys unless they were born in America.”
Caroline opens the can of worms with,, “What’s wrong with Indians born India?”
This is one conversation I know too well. I lean back in my seat to brace myself for Hita’s lecture on “American-Indian” vs. Indian-Indian.
“Don’t you follow the news?” Hita responds with an irritated demeanor. “They have all kinds of problems with misogynistic behavior in India. It’s built into the traditional culture. I’m an American. I’m not dealing with some crazy ass mother-in-law telling me what to do. And I’m not going to cater to some entitled Indian husband who refuses to do anything for himself, either. I grew up in an Indian home, my mom’s a scientist. Even though she always worked fulltime running a lab, she’d come home and do everything. My father doesn’t lift a finger.”
“Hey, American guys want you to do everything for them too.” Kami interjects.
“The difference is that American guys want to be lazy. They’d be happy if you did everything for them. The thing is you can kick their butt and get them to pitch in. American guys don’t expect you to do everything for them. Indian guys have an entire family structure telling them that they shouldn’t be helping out—that the wife should be doing everything.” She follows it up with, “No way am I dating an Indian guy unless he’s totally Americanized.”
Just then the Vice President of Engineering whisks past the table. Sid is an American born Indian; he’s in his early thirties.
Kami points to him and says, “Sid’s not married, he’s Indian and born here.”
Hita rolls her eyes and shakes her head no, as she says, “Really, you’d think for a minute that I’d start off my career by sleeping with my boss’s boss’s boss? I worked hard to get into a top university and get an undergraduate and master’s degree in Engineering. No way would I undermine my credibility by sleeping with upper management. Anyways, guys like Sid don’t go for women like me.”
Kami looks bewildered. “We spend so much time here, where else are we going to meet guys?”
Caroline presses her lips together and then takes a deep breath. Agreeing she responds, “Yeah, plus no one will take you seriously after you sleep with a superior.”
Now it’s my turn to follow up. “What do you mean ‘guys like Sid and women like you’?”
Hita gives me the “really?” look. “He’s a hip fashionable guy living in San Francisco. Guys like that hang at the cool places with the other cool people. They’re not into geeky women who live down here. He dresses fashionably and goes to chic clubs. When was the last time you saw a hipster walking around Mountain View in the evening? They’re all on the company bus heading back to the city.”
Chapter 20
After staying late at fencing, I’m exhausted. Parking in our two-car garage, I pull in next to Cassie’s car. She’s either home, or Luke picked her up. I let myself into the condo and immediately trip over a pair of Louboutins. After swearing at her carelessness, I enter the living room and see her coat laying in a puddle on the floor. Her Fendi baguette bag is thrown on the couch—some of its contents have fallen out. Cassie is not neat, but she’s particular about her expensive stuff. She must be exhausted, or angry, if she just came home and dumped her posh things. From the direction of Cassie’s room, I hear moaning. Now I wonder if everything’s OK. As I walk towards my room, the sounds get more intense. I hear a few deep screams, for a split second I think that maybe there’s a problem—that Cassie’s been hurt. Standing in the hall, I pause as I contemplate what to do next. After a deep gasp and a male moan, I realize that’s the sound of loud, aggressive sex.
Now there’s another loud, deep, scream followed by more moaning. Oh shit, I didn’t realize that Cassie was a screamer. She wasn’t this noisy the other night. It’s embarrassing to listen to their noises.
I quickly head into the bathroom to wash up for bed. Even with the bathroom door closed and the water running, their love making sounds can be heard. Making haste, I head into my room. The other night I heard her having sex, but those noises weren’t nearly as deafening as these. Tonight I’m hearing every last detail, everything.
Cassie starts yelling, “Harder, harder, yes, yes, THERE, Oh, God, yes!” I’ve been home for at least ten, no thirteen minutes, and they’re still going strong. What could they be doing for so long? I guess football players must have a lot of stamina. After throwing off my sport shirt and yoga pants, I pull on my sleeping T and pajama bottoms. A particularly loud scream makes me jump. Promptly grabbing my purse, I look for my ear buds and D
roid. There’s no way I’m going to continue to listen to this. It feels creepy, like I’m a voyeur.
My mind wanders to last year with Stephan; did we ever sound like that? Did we ever have sex like that? He had a roommate; did his roommate ever sit in his room listening to us having sex? This whole train of thought makes me uncomfortable, paranoid, and embarrassed. Looking at my Droid I try to figure out which track of music will be loud enough to cover their lovemaking, but mellow enough to let me sleep. It sounds like they’re reaching climax because now I can hear the deep sounds of a man moaning along with Cassie’s squeals and screams. I certainly hope our upstairs neighbor, Charlie, doesn’t come down; I’d be too embarrassed to answer the door.
After a few more screams, I think “really?” How can they not be done? Even worse, how do I get this soundtrack out of my head? Not only is it making me uncomfortable, it’s also making me horny. My mind spins to Stephan? Do I miss him? No, definitely not. Certainly, I don’t ever want to have sex with Stephan again. It’s just that I want to have sex again, not random sex with any guy; I want to have someone special who’ll make love with me. What I want is a lover who’ll give me the kind of sex Cassie is getting right now.
Oh, their lovemaking is scrambling my brain. I turn off my light, stick my earbuds in and choose my favorite Pandora channel. Although I’m lying in bed exhausted, sleep does not come. After awhile, I pull out the buds. It’s quiet; they must have finally stopped having sex. The shower turns on and—oh, no—there’s that low, rumbling male voice and Cassie’s high-pitched laughter and squealing. Oh, great, they’ve moved to shower sex. A few more squeaks and then a couple of screams break up the silence. They’re having loud shower sex. Placing my earbuds back in, I realize how late it is; 5:50 a.m. will be here before I know it. Closing my eyes, I try to focus on the music, not the sounds of wild monkey shower sex.
The next thing I know my alarm is ringing. Meredith will be waiting for me. I’m not going to tell her about last night’s audio track. Thankfully, the condo is now quiet. My earbuds fell out at some point during the night. While heading into the bathroom, I make sure to lock the door. No more junk shots for me. I’m hoping last week was just because Luke couldn’t find Cassie’s bathroom, since it’s accessed through the master bedroom’s closet. I’m hoping it’s the reason Luke came into my bathroom the other day—or at least that better be the reason. Hopefully, he’s not some kind of perv that enjoys running around flashing his junk.
Chapter 21
After soccer practice the next evening I stop, off at Trader Joe’s to pick up some desperately needed groceries. Hopefully, Luke isn’t over; I’m not up for a repeat performance of last night.
When I get home, Cassie’s sitting on the couch watching a Love It or List It marathon on HGTV. After putting away the groceries, I join her on the couch.
“I could do this. I would be great at it,” she says pointing to the TV. “There isn’t anything that Hilary Farr is doing that I couldn’t do myself.”
Putting my feet up on the ottoman, I join in watching the show. “True, you would be great on one of these designer shows. You’re so photogenic, and all my friends think this place is amazing.” We watch for a little bit longer. I don’t ask where Luke is since I’m happy he’s anywhere but here.
“You know how I was going to remodel my bathroom shower. My mom had all these bars installed in the shower for my grandmother. I learned last night, however, that safety bars can really come in handy.”
Between this comment and last night’s audio track, I have way too much information about Cassie’s sex life.
Chapter 22
Abs Guy is at swimming. No amount of staring from across the pool will give me more information about him than I already know. He gets to the pool at about 6:00 and gets into the water at about 6:05. Does this knowledge make me a stalker?
After arriving at work, it hits me that I haven’t yet Googled Nate Lombard. At the office, I make a point of not taking any phone calls or performing any personal searches, especially with my company’s open office environment. There’s no need for these guys to know my business. Since no one else is in yet, I have a chance to do a search on him while I’m here. Typing “Nate Lombard” into Google, a boxer with that name comes up. By adding Doctor to the search, I immediately see Nate’s picture and a number of entries. A link shows that he graduated from Northwestern University, Feinberg School of Medicine, and is a doctor of orthopedics. He really is a doctor. What is most surprising is that he’s currently working in Minnesota at The Mayo Clinic. Why is a guy—who’s living in Minnesota—hitting on me?
My curiosity is piqued as I check my Facebook messages. Sure enough, Nate has responded: I’m not that fast, but I am thorough.
Wow, that is definitely a flirt. I want to know what’s up with him and Minnesota.
I Googled you and found out that you really are a doctor. Thinking about it, I add a question to keep the conversation going: Are you a thorough doctor or is there some other skill I should be wondering about? Is this too racy a message, I wonder? Taking a deep breath, I send the message anyway.
While scrolling through Facebook, I don’t see much going on with my friends. What’s interesting is my swim team is having a happy hour on Friday. This might be my chance to get a name associated with Abs Guy.
During my midafternoon walk around the building, I check Facebook again and see that Doctor Nate has sent another message: I have a lot of skills, and I am thorough with all of them.
Wow, now we’re flirting. Do I want to go in this direction? What I really need to know is if he’s still living in Minnesota. Changing direction, I type: I see you went to Northwestern. Was Chicago too warm that you needed to cool off in MN?
It takes till the next day for Nate to reply with: Weather is irrelevant, residents aren’t let outside.
Thinking about a response, I finally send: I get it, when you need to go outside you come to CA.
On Wednesday, he responds: Enough about me, what are you doing in CA?
Is he moving it to me now because he doesn’t want to divulge too much about himself? He didn’t deny being in Minnesota. First, I will answer him and then see where he goes next. It’s still baffling…. Why would a Minnesota doctor want to start something up with a woman living in California? Does he want a long distance relationship? Or, maybe he has a bunch of women he’s texting. Hopefully he isn’t like that NY congressman. I don’t want to be receiving some guy’s junk shots over texts.
I’ve lived my entire life within a five mile radius—born, raised, college, and now work. What’s your excuse?
Thursday’s message is: I’m originally from Buffalo; I’m slowly moving west.
I do the math: Buffalo, Chicago, and Rochester Minnesota; at the rate you move, in about 20 years you’ll make it to California.
Fridays’ message: I told you I am thorough, not fast.
My response: So slowly traveling across the country is your other great skill”
Chapter 23
On Friday, I work for a few hours before going to the mandatory companywide meeting held in the Cafeteria. Most of my team grumbles about the early hour. 10:00 a.m. in California is 1:00 p.m. for employees in New York, but 6:00 p.m. on a Friday night for our employees in London.
By ten minutes to 10:00 a.m., only a few of my team members have shown up for work. Hita, Mark, and I head down to the cafeteria. All the tables in the cafeteria have been replaced by chairs.
Flint, along with a couple other guys, are up at the front of our room. Most of them look to be in their early to mid-thirties, and are wearing jeans and well-pressed button-down. The VP, Sid, is the only other person up front that I recognize. Sid shaves his head and dresses more like a hipster then an engineer. His company profile says he has an engineering degree from University of Illinois at Urbana–Champaign.
Flint and another person get a microphone. Someone calls the second guy, Tyler, so I know he’s our President and CEO. Tyler is
about 5”8”, and has a thin, wiry runner’s build. Corporate lore has it that Flint and Tyler were friends during their undergraduate years of engineering at Stanford. Whereas Flint went on to get a PhD in engineering, Tyler got an MBA. They say that Flint was working for another company when he got the idea for our main product. Flint and Tyler started our company four years ago. Now we have almost 400 employees. We’ve got a few rounds of financial funding but are now profitable. There’s talk that our company is being set up to go public. But I‘ve also been told that Tyler, Flint, and the board want to wait a few more years.
As Tyler starts reviewing revenue, goals, and big deals, my boss Roger shows up. Flint is up next—discussing technology and vision. Mark tells me that Flint and Sid had worked together previously. Tyler gives out some awards, and promotions, to people I’ve never met.
I ask Mark, “How often do they have one of these companywide meetings?”
He responds, “I think the goal is to have them once a month, but Flint and Tyler travel so much we usually have them every other month. If we’re doing well financially, they’ll throw a big party at the end of the year. Those parties are fun.”
Which makes me think that a party with the guys I work with would never be half as fun as partying with Kelly’s Santa Cruz friends.
As we walk out of the cafeteria, we pass a table setup with free swag—merchandise with our company’s logo on it. The table has many sizes of long and short sleeve T-shirts, hoodies, water bottles, baseball caps, and iPhone covers. I never wear guy style T-shirts, so I pass those by, as well as the hoodies, since I already have three. The water bottles have a straw built into the flip top lid, this is a design I like. I ask the women manning the table, “Can I have two?”
She looks to be about my age. She smiles brightly. “Sure, take as many water bottles as you need. Are you sure you don’t want a T-shirt or a hoodie?”