by Lee Winter
And if there was a small, relieved sigh behind her, she chose not to notice it.
* * *
The next day, an eager gaze met hers. Elena ignored it, went into her office, and dropped her handbag on the desk. She didn’t want to start a long conversation about the magnificence of a smart, entrancing, nineteenth-century woman in gorgeous steampunk vests. She particularly didn’t want to hear an I-told-you-so. It was bad enough having to admit that Madeleine’s enraging fashion insult the day they’d met had actually been a compliment.
She reached into her bag, pulled out the disc, and headed over to Madeleine’s desk, where she slapped it down. “Acceptable,” she said, in a tone that brooked no further discussion. After pivoting swiftly on heel, Elena returned to her office, relieved at putting an end to the conversation before it even started. She really was much too busy. As she settled into her seat, she glanced back at Madeleine and paused in her tracks.
The young woman’s expression was pure delight.
Elena’s heart did an embarrassing, pleased little flip at having put that look on Madeleine’s face. She clenched her jaw. This was absurd. She shouldn’t care what Madeleine Grey thought of anything. She was just an occasionally interesting employee.
Her brain blew her a raspberry.
* * *
Several nights later, Madeleine slid a plate of crisp, golden pastries on her desk. “Try them,” she said, sounding cheerful. “They’re my homemade apple tarts. You’ll thank me.”
Did her persistence know no bounds?
“I don’t think I’d thank the extra three-hour workout required if I do,” Elena replied, although in truth they smelled delicious.
“Workout, huh? Go on, just one. I’ll give the rest to Sofía. She deserves some perks cleaning up after the slobs in this office.”
“That is true.” Elena contemplated the tempting little bundles.
Madeleine reached over and snagged a pastry herself and took a large bite. Her eyes rolled back in her head. “Mmm.” Her eyes held a wicked gleam.
“You know, it’s customary not to eat one’s gifts for someone.”
“Just proving they aren’t poisoned. Come on. Just a bite.”
In spite of all her internal protestations, Elena succumbed. Oh. Her taste buds did an ecstatic tap dance at the divine sensations. Apple, raisins, and cinnamon flavours burst across her mouth, and she forced herself not to make the obscene sounds of appreciation she was dying to. This clinched it. Madeleine’s cooking was better than sex—which wasn’t saying much given how overrated she’d found the bedroom activity to be. These bundles of bliss were like embracing heaven. Or, as she finally told Madeleine when she could talk again, “they have a certain appeal”. If by appeal she meant kissed by the gods.
That unfortunate admission had proved a mistake. The woman clearly felt the need to gloat.
“Knew it.” Madeleine beamed at her. “You’re a hardcore, secret carbs fan. I make spicy cheese sticks you’d love. Tomorrow night?”
Elena almost quivered at the thought. However she offered her firmest head shake. “Absolutely not.”
Madeleine’s joy dipped a little.
“I won’t be here,” Elena said, baffled at her sudden need to explain. “I have meetings. It’s time to pull the Style International teams into line. They’re not sharing their copy as much as they should. It’s blowing out the costs. What’s the point of having sister publications if you don’t content share? I mean really.”
“Ah, I see. These are the things that keep you up at night?” Madeleine munched on her pastry.
“No. These are things easily fixed. What keeps me up at night…” She paused and realised she’d been seconds away from revealing something personal to a woman she barely knew. “What keeps me up is how to get the obits writer to actually write her obits instead of playing chef.”
A flicker of disappointment flared across Madeleine’s face, but she still nodded. “I hear you. Let me find Sofía and then get back to work.” She picked up the plate of treats and turned to go.
“Actually…” Elena reached forward and snagged another. “I’m sure Richard would appreciate one as well.”
Madeleine eyed her for a moment and then smiled. “Right. For Richard.” She winked.
Elena gave her a withering glare, sighed, and waved her away. Great, now she would have to give it to her husband in order to prove Madeleine wrong. Damn she was maddening.
Nonetheless, a part of her, the part that was sometimes tired of feeling so isolated, was charmed at the young woman’s attentions and attempts at conversation. With a sinking feeling, she realised it was getting more difficult to keep her at arm’s length.
If she was being honest—and when wasn’t she?—Elena allowed these talks because there were no witnesses. Because it was novel having someone not dislocate their spine in a craven need for her professional approval. It was rare being occasionally teased. It was especially different being talked to like a real person by someone who seemed to have no agenda beyond boredom.
If Madeleine was doing this in some misguided attempt to keep her job, she had to know by now that all Elena cared about was hard work and clear-cut results, not cooking and chit-chat. In fact, she was fairly sure Madeleine was not only well aware of that, but she didn’t particularly care for her job in any event.
She also tolerated Madeleine’s friendly overtures because the woman was honest about herself. It was irresistible, like a breath of fresh air after decades of enduring every acquaintance she’d ever had lying to suit their agendas. What agenda did this curious Australian have? Or was she, as her blog often suggested, merely lonely and lost? Did Madeleine actually even know why she did half of what she did?
“Why do you waste your time trying to know me? I won’t be here in two weeks,” Elena asked. “Shouldn’t you be looking for a new roommate or some such thing?” She’d heard the entire Simon-returning-to-Sydney story by now.
“Sofía’s heard all my stories. And she’s stopped laughing at my jokes.”
“So I’m…fresh meat?”
“I wouldn’t put it quite like that.”
“Oh, how would you put it?”
“Like…you’re here and I’m here, and it’s nice to have company sometimes. Don’t you think?”
“I see.”
Elena should really stop encouraging Madeleine by engaging with her. It wasn’t fair. This rapport thing they shared was transient. She had to keep reminding herself it would be over soon. They’d each move on, and that would be that. No point forming attachments that would make the process messier.
Madeleine crossed the news room and offered her tray of treats to the fifty-something cleaner bustling past with a trolley full of dusters, cloths, and buckets. Even from her desk on the opposite side of floor, Elena could see how much the woman’s face lit up. She gave Madeleine an engulfing, happy hug, exclaiming with delight.
Elena certainly understood the woman’s reaction. Madeleine created food that could make the gods go weak at the knees. She sighed and slid her gaze back to her folders. Distractions were something she did not need this close to deadline on two critical deals.
* * *
Two nights later, a chai latte appeared, steaming, on Elena’s desk. She didn’t even bother to lift her head. “I am fairly sure I recall you telling me you weren’t my PA.”
“I’m not.” Madeleine dropped into the visitor’s chair opposite.
Elena frowned faintly at the presumption, which only made the other woman laugh.
“If I just do it randomly, not an order or obligation, wouldn’t that make it taste better?” Madeleine asked. “Well, it’s a working theory.”
Elena reached for the cup and sipped. It tasted the same. “I’d keep working on that theory, Madeleine. Now if you don’t mind…” She gestured at her work.
“Hey, call me Maddie. I won’t tell. I mean, while I like that French way you say Madeleine, it’s not really a name I answer to.” She gr
inned.
What is she grinning about now? She did that a lot, now that Elena thought about it. Was Elena’s company truly so amusing? Unlikely.
The woman remained in the seat, which was not the one at her desk, where she should be working. Elena contemplated ordering her back there. Instead she cleared her throat and dropped her pen. “Tell me, why are you even here?”
The reporter frowned a little and folded her arms. “How do you mean? I work the late shift. Or do you mean the paper? It was the first reporter job I could find here.”
“I meant New York. You told me the day we met that you were ‘making the most of things’ here. It was a somewhat underwhelming endorsement of your life, if I recall.”
“I…guess it was.” Madeleine twiddled her fingers against her knee. “I really miss home. The beach, all my friends, the endless summer, double-chocolate Tim Tams, backyard cricket. It’s opposite world here, lifestyle wise. But the truth is, I can’t leave.” She looked up and gave a tiny scowl.
“Why?”
“I feel too guilty not to be here.”
A cautiousness entered her features, which Elena had not seen in a month. She found she missed the open face of the woman she usually conversed with. “Guilty?”
“Yes. I was originally studying to be a catering manager. I almost finished the course, before I admitted to myself I hated everything about it.”
“Then why were you doing it?”
“My parents have their own catering business in South Penrith, Party to Go. I was supposed to take it over one day. And I tried. But I just… It was pointless. I can cook, sure, but I can’t manage. I hate managing. Writing’s my passion. My parents were devastated when I dropped out and switched to a journalism degree instead.”
“So, how did you get from there to New York?” Elena asked.
“A year into my journalism studies, my uni friends were having a party, and we all got the genius idea while half sloshed to apply online for a green card in the lottery. The odds are so low that I went along with it.” She gave a shrug. “I’d forgotten all about it until almost two years later. My mates were at my place and moaning about the fact they’d just found out that they missed out. I admitted I hadn’t even looked on the visa site where they post the names. They demanded I check right then and there, so…” She shook her head. “I mean it was crazy. Only fifty-thousand people are chosen from all over the world and yet… I logged in and there it was. My name. Marked as eligible.”
“Oh dear,” Elena drawled.
“Yeah.” Maddie gave her a wry look. “My friends were screaming with excitement. Even my girlfriend at the time was so jealous, despite the fact she hates to travel. And my parents were all, ‘Well, I suppose if you’re going to turn your back on the family business, we understand at least if you go to New York. That’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity’. So I felt…” She bit her lip.
“Obligated?” Elena asked. Her brain circled back to girlfriend. Did she mean…? Yes, she was fairly sure she did mean it that way. That might also explain those Latvian lesbian music nymphs. Or not.
“Yes.” Madeleine slid deeper into her chair. “How could I tell them I didn’t want that dream? Who comes to New York and isn’t thrilled? Every day I felt like a fraud.”
“Do you still?” Elena asked, already aware of the answer.
A cloud crossed Madeleine’s face. She didn’t answer; merely shrugged. The helpless look said it all.
“I see,” Elena said. “You’re doing a job in a city the whole world wishes to live in, and you’re miserable?”
Madeleine didn’t disagree. Her eyes met Elena’s. “Not entirely. At least not…recently.” The words were so soft, weighted with such meaning that every warning klaxon in Elena’s body went off. She fidgeted with the papers in front of her, then fiddled with her pen, as she wondered what to say to that.
A jangling phone broke the tension, and Madeleine’s brow puckered. “That’s mine. Gotta get it. Enjoy your tea.”
She bolted for her desk, her tight jeans and pale-green shirt a blur.
Elena sipped her tea, watching as Madeleine became all business, hunched over the phone at her desk, her pen busy. She was disconcerted by this woman she barely knew, who shared so much of herself. It was unthinkable. She couldn’t imagine ever lowering her guard so much with anyone, even her husband, to share her real self. Madeleine really was like no one she’d ever met. Mystifying and full of contradictions. And what did she mean by saying she’d been miserable except for recently? It sounded very much like she meant their time together. Time that would soon be up.
Tilting her head, Elena could see the side of Madeleine’s face and hear her conversation surprisingly well. The acoustics in her office were excellent, and it had allowed her to pick up a considerable amount of information about office politics.
Madeleine slammed down her phone, grabbed her jacket, and rammed her notebook into a shoulder bag. “I got a lead in Queens. Been chasing it for ages, and it’s finally paid off. Gotta go,” she called to her. “Catchya later.”
Queens? “At this hour?”
“The only time he says he can do it. His mother’s just left for her second job.”
Mother? How old was he?
Elena bit back the words she most wanted to say. Stay safe. She was a media mogul, and Madeleine was her crime reporter. This was all part of what the woman did for a living. She didn’t need coddling. Elena turned back to her work and resolved to think about it no more.
It was hardly her fault that her brain chose to ignore her.
BlogSpot: Aliens of New York
By Maddie as Hell
Bruno, the mechanic who runs a car repair shop next to my apartment building, once told me “when the world gets too overwhelming and things feel too big for us to fix, just change your little corner of it”.
I tried to do that. I held a tearful young man’s hand at one in the morning and made him a life-changing promise. I went home and wrote his story. In another day, it will belong to the world. What will the world make of it? Will it fix what’s wrong or make a liar of me?
Bruno also says we should change our engine oil more often. Make of that what you will.
To change a corner of the world, click here: Ramel Brooks Campaign
CHAPTER 7
Inner Sanctum
Maddie hung up from Simon, who was packing in readiness to go home and realising he didn’t have enough space for half the tourist junk he’d been buying for the past ten months. No, she didn’t want to keep his Statue of Liberty flashlight or the freaking huge, yellow cushion in the shape of a New York cab. After fifteen minutes of haggling, she managed to convince him to pack almost all of his crap and haul it back home.
At the thought of home, she gave her snow dome a fond jiggle. She was dying to hit the beach and shake out her cobwebs. Shame it was all raincoat and boot weather here, or she’d have tried Orchard Beach in the Bronx. She’d have to wait a few months. Her phone rang again, and she glanced at her computer clock. Just past six.
“Hell, Maddie, it’s hell!” Felicity said without a greeting. “I have to be in two places at once. And you’re the only one in that cursed office whom I’m speaking to, aside from the obvious.”
Maddie tried to pick that apart. “You need a favour.”
“Yes, I need a favour, and I can’t…” There was a pause, and Felicity called out to someone, “Can’t you drive any faster? I have to be at the airport five minutes ago. Do you understand that? Comprendes? Christ…” Her sputtering breath returned closer to Maddie’s ear.
Maddie rubbed her forehead. “Just tell me what you need.”
“Right, yes! My desk, in the third drawer, there is a green USB drive. Do not touch anything else. You’ll need to deliver it to her office.”
Maddie frowned. She flicked her gaze to the empty, glass cubicle behind her. “Her office? But—”
“Yes! God, are you mentally impaired? Not that flea pit at your building, I mean
Bartell Towers, obviously. Top floor. Do not give that USB drive to anyone else, not security, not someone who claims to be an assistant, no one but her. Do you understand? I will throttle you if you give it to anyone but Elena. This is vital.”
Maddie rolled her eyes. “Why me? I’m supposed to be writing the crime briefs right now. Can’t you get one of her staff to do it? Like her driver or…” Anyone but me.
The thought of facing Elena again after having shared half her life story the previous night was unnerving. She didn’t know why she’d revealed all that. Maddie had overshared like hell, then spent a sleepless night second guessing herself at how she must have sounded. How embarrassing. At least, this time, she’d been spared the painful “we’re done” dismissal to remind her of her single-cell organism status in Elena’s world. Regardless, it was probably best to give it a long as possible before seeing each other again.
“No!” Felicity said. “ No one else can do this! I need someone who knows where my desk is so they won’t spend half the night rummaging through everyone else’s drawers. And I need someone with half a brain cell. You qualify, just barely. Okay? God, why are we debating this? I’d do it myself, but I have Style Tokyo’s editor-in-chief flying in, and I’m supposed to be there already to meet the flight. Mihoko Morita does not tolerate lateness! And Elena will skin me alive if she doesn’t have that data in her hand in twenty minutes! She has half her empire on standby waiting for those figures to drop. Now—her driver will be downstairs waiting for you. So go! Hurry!”
Maddie’s phone went dead. “You’re welcome,” she told thin air as she stared at the phone. Well, okay. She glanced at her outfit—black jeans, scuffed boots, an old Doors T-shirt, and a black leather jacket. If she’d known she’d be entering the Bartell Corp’s inner sanctum today, she might have dressed up. Okay, maybe not, but she might have worn her nice boots at least.
She jumped to her feet and raced to Felicity’s desk, wondering why her heart was thundering so hard. Was it adrenaline? Or just nervousness at seeing Elena on her home turf?