No Sex in the City

by Randa Abdel-Fattah

  But Metin can’t take no for an answer. He tries to plead with me until Aydin tells him to back off and get out of here.

  ‘She’s asked you to leave her alone. It’s not a hint.’

  Metin’s taller and bigger, but that doesn’t seem to perturb Aydin. This is so humiliating, I think to myself.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ Metin demands, puffing up his chest.

  I forget to breathe, waiting for Aydin’s reply. For all he knows, Metin and I could have been seeing each other last year. I might get away with it. As the thought runs through my mind, I realise I’ve reached the heights of hypocrisy.

  ‘That’s none of your business,’ Aydin says, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  Metin stares at me one last time. There’s anguish and disappointment in his eyes. As controlling and jealous as he is, I know he doesn’t deserve this. I do not have the moral high ground here. I feel so small.

  He takes one last desperate look at me, mutters something and storms off. I stare after him stupidly and then heave an exhausted sigh.

  ‘Wow. What on earth was that about?’ Aydin asks me. And what hurts so badly is that there isn’t the slightest suspicion in his eyes. I can’t let things start on a foundation of betrayal. If I’ve learnt anything these past weeks, it’s that lying is never the better path.

  ‘Can we talk?’

  He searches my eyes. ‘Sure. Come back to my car. It’s cold outside.’

  When we’re sitting in his car he says lightly, ‘The past rears its ugly head, hey?’

  I tuck my hair behind my ear and take a deep breath. ‘Aydin, Metin wasn’t in my past ... He came to my house with his parents a couple of weeks before you did. I didn’t want to say no to meeting you because I didn’t know if I might be turning away the right person ...’ I don’t look at him as I talk. My eyes stay fixed on the dashboard. ‘I never, ever thought it would drag on for as long as it did ... I was confused ...

  ‘I ended it with Metin last week,’ I continue. ‘Not only because he seemed pretty controlling, but because ...’ my voice cracks and I try to clear my throat, ‘I fell for you ...’

  I look up at him and feel a contraction of fear around my heart. The muscles in his jawline are tense as he stares stonily ahead. Tears sting my eyes, but I don’t want to cry. I want to retain some semblance of dignity at the end of all this.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Aydin. I’m not saying that because I got caught. I honestly am ashamed of how things turned out. If only you knew me ... really knew me ...’

  ‘It just doesn’t make any sense,’ he says after a long silence. ‘We sat in my car. We spoke about honesty, we confessed our secrets. And you didn’t bother to mention Metin.’ He shakes his head in disbelief. ‘I get that you needed time to decide between us. I just wish you’d told me.’

  My heart ruptures. I’ve lost him.

  ‘I can’t offer you anything except sorry,’ I say. I know I’m about to cry, so I quickly open the door, get out and walk to my car. It feels like the longest walk of my life.

  Then I hear a car door open behind me.

  ‘Esma.’ Aydin’s voice is low but firm. I turn around and before I know what’s happening he’s in front of me, kissing me long and hard on the lips. He pulls back, gently holding my face in his hands. There’s tenderness and forgiveness in his eyes. ‘I understand you didn’t do this deliberately to hurt me or lead me on. And I can’t imagine the situation has been easy for you. You have too much integrity not to have taken this seriously. I’d be a hypocrite and an idiot to let you go.’

  I look at him and smile and he wraps me in his arms.

  Oh, I think. So this is what kismet feels like.

  Fifty-Four

  On Monday morning I send an email to reception: Sick again. I’ll be in tomorrow.

  Within half an hour I’ve got three missed calls from Danny. I ignore them. Then a text message from him: What’s going on? Are you okay?

  I reply: I’ll see you tomorrow. Bright and early.

  He shoots back: Excellent! The office is so dull without you. Let’s meet to talk about the promotion again. We’ll go through the proposal plan. Maybe over lunch?

  I don’t reply. Instead I get dressed in my best power suit for my job interview today. Then I send Ruby a text, arranging a meeting at her office at one.

  I turn on the charm and wit for the interview. The job doesn’t pay as well but I’m beyond caring about money. The position itself is almost identical to what I’m doing, with the added incentive of working in a bigger office with more opportunities and, importantly for me, more accountability and structure. I walk out feeling confident I’ve made a good impression. I’ll be disappointed if I don’t get the job. But if that happens, I’m feeling philosophical enough to accept the experience as a good practice run.

  After the interview I walk the few blocks up to Ruby’s building. She ushers me into her office and takes a seat at her enormous desk, piled high with folders and files. I walk over to the massive window with a view of the Harbour Bridge and Opera House. I cross my arms and stare out, captivated by the view.

  ‘How do you get any work done?’ I say breathlessly.

  ‘I don’t have time to appreciate the view,’ she says matter-of-factly. ‘That’s why my back faces the window.’

  I don’t respond, just stare out in silence. Ruby doesn’t press me. She just sits quietly, waiting for me to speak.

  I turn around and face her. ‘Okay,’ I say grimly, ‘let’s write that letter of demand.’

  She grins at me. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

  The next morning I arrive at work groomed to within an inch of my life. My make-up is dramatic, my hair voluminous and ready to be tossed and flicked at whim. I walk through reception confidently. I do trip over a slight hitch in the carpet, but that’s entirely beside the point.

  ‘Good morning, Shae,’ I say with exaggerated cheerfulness.

  ‘Esma! Welcome back! How are you feeling?’

  ‘Great. Is Danny in?’

  ‘Yes, he’s in his office. He’s been a bloody tyrant while you’ve been off sick. Thank God you’re back. You’re the only one who knows how to deal with him.’ She starts to fill me in on the office gossip, but I cut her off.

  ‘How about we chat later this morning? I’ve got work to catch up on.’

  I storm straight towards Danny’s office, knock once and barge in. ‘Good morning, Danny!’ I cry buoyantly.

  His face positively lights up when he sees me. He jumps up. ‘Esma! You’re back! How are you feeling?’

  ‘Fine thanks, Danny,’ I say, falling into a chair, crossing my legs and fixing him with a dazzling smile. ‘I’ve finished the proposal you wanted me to do.’

  The idiot seems to have forgotten. ‘Proposal? What proposal?’

  ‘The proposal you asked me to prepare after you withdrew your offer of promotion.’ I flash him an insincere smile.

  ‘Oh, come on, Esma,’ he says jovially, ‘don’t be like that. It wasn’t an official offer. And it wasn’t an official withdrawal, either.’

  A look from me silences him. He sits back down in his chair, loosens his tie.

  ‘Well, here it is,’ I say grimly, throwing a manilla folder down in front of him. ‘Please read through it now.’

  ‘Okay,’ he says warily. He opens up the folder and starts to read aloud, looking queasier and paler with every second.

  Dear Mr Blagojevic,

  You recently informed me in writing that I would be promoted and receive a pay increase prior to the end of this financial year. But then, for no apparent reason, the offer of promotion was withdrawn. Despite having previously praised my performance, you have now asked me to effectively make a case as to why I deserve a promotion, and how I can go beyond my KPIs.

  Accordingly, here are my thoughts.

  1. It’s very difficult to concentrate on work when I am experiencing a constant feeling of slight anxiety. Will you, my boss, pay me an inappropriate complimen
t today? Will you discuss your private life? Confide in me about your wife’s ovulation cycle? Ask my opinion about what kind of lingerie to buy for her? Or concoct fake weekend work meetings to get me into the office to spend some time alone with you?

  2. Although this office has state-of-the-art IT systems, I assume Facebook was never meant to be part of our online work communications. I would appreciate you explaining to me why you feel you have the right to pose inappropriate and suggestive messages on my Facebook wall.

  3. Furthermore, while I have provided my mobile telephone number for work purposes, I am equally confused as to why you feel the need to send me text messages.

  Given your fondness for communicating via Facebook, I am posting these thoughts onto your wall, hoping you will be able to respond.

  Kind regards, Esma

  ‘What the fuck?’

  ‘What’s wrong, Danny?’ I ask innocently.

  He launches at his keyboard and starts typing frantically. ‘The fuck you put this on Facebook!’

  I fold my arms across my chest and stare at him with a smug expression on my face.

  ‘My wife will see. Everybody will see! What the fuck do you think—It’s not there? When did you post it? Where the fuck is it?’ He furiously jabs at the keyboard. Beads of sweat have formed on his forehead and his eyes are bulging.

  ‘Relax,’ I say coolly. ‘It’s not there ... yet.’

  He snaps his head up.

  ‘I haven’t posted it yet.’

  He sinks back into his chair and lets out a long, slow breath. ‘Thank fucking hell.’

  ‘I’ve got something else for you, Danny,’ I say, standing up. I take out an envelope.

  ‘What the hell is this?’ he demands, ripping it open. He unfolds the letter inside, printed on Ruby’s law firm’s letterhead.

  ‘That’s a letter of demand. I’ve been putting up with your sexual harassment for too long. I’ve got two words for you, Danny: constructive dismissal. Because I’m hereby giving you notice. I refuse to spend one more day as a victim of sexual harassment.’

  ‘You have got to be kidding me,’ he says with a bitter laugh. ‘What kind of perverted twist on things is this?’

  ‘I’ve got emails, text messages, Facebook wall posts, diary entries – I’ve got a mass of evidence that will sink you if I take you to court. And take you to court I will if you don’t comply with my lawyer’s demands. I want a payout to compensate me for the crap you’ve put me through.’

  ‘Like hell I’ll pay you this!’

  ‘You’re getting off lightly, believe me. Call your lawyer and see how much you’ll be paying me if I take you to court. I’ll fight you, Danny. All the way.’

  ‘And you expect me to believe you’d go to court with this? Don’t you think I’ve got stuff on you?’

  I laugh out loud. ‘Stuff on me? What on earth could you have on me, Danny? All you’ve ever done is lament how innocent and naive and pure I am. The only reason you’ve taunted me is because you never had anything on me.’

  He gives me a look of such pure rage that for a second I’m worried he’s going to hit me.

  ‘Who knows about this?’ he eventually asks in a tight voice.

  ‘My lawyer. And me.’

  ‘If I pay you this, I’ll be ruined.’

  ‘Do you think I’m an idiot? This company is raking it in. I’m letting you walk away from all this unscathed. Don’t you get it? You’ve broken the law. Sexual harassment is illegal. I don’t come to work to hear jokes about my sexuality, or to be asked advice about underwear, or to discuss your sex life. I come to do my work and I expect to be treated with respect and dignity.’

  I throw my resignation letter onto his desk. ‘Here, read this too. I’m officially resigning. So pick up the phone and speak to my lawyer, because I never want to have to speak to you again.’

  I turn on my heel, wrench open the door and storm out of his office. Breathing out, I instantly feel ten kilos lighter. I’m too pumped to wait for the lift so I rush down the fire-exit stairs.

  When I’m finally outside the building my legs are wobbly and I’m shaking. I call Ruby.

  ‘I did it!’ I shout.

  She screams.

  ‘It was exhilarating!’ I start to laugh hysterically, and put my hand up against the wall of the building to balance myself.

  ‘Are you still in the office?’ she asks.

  ‘No! I got out of there fast. I bet my life he’ll be on the phone to you soon.’ I have another giggling fit. ‘As of this moment I don’t have a job,’ I gasp. ‘And I’ve essentially just blackmailed my boss!’

  ‘You’ve done him a favour. He would be a stinking carcass at the end of a court case, believe me. I’m so proud of you.’

  ‘You should have seen his face when he started reading!’ I calm down a little and say, ‘Ruby, thank you.’

  ‘Esma, if you ever get into trouble again and don’t tell us, I’ll whip your arse. I’m a boot-camp graduate, remember? Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  It’s the sum total of all the little things that have kept us together as friends. The thing about the four of us is that we’ve got history. We did our first European adventure together. I remember when Lisa and I were trapped in Madame Tussauds after closing time and had to scream to be let out. I remember the time we were all in Amsterdam. It was snowing. A junkie walked into Ruby, accused her of bumping him and making him drop his cocaine into the snow, and then demanded money. Nirvana, Lisa and I were freaking out, but Ruby barked back at him that cocaine on snow was a convenient story and that she’d fight him rather than give him money. Scared, he ran away. I remember Nirvana and I had a crush on a guy who went to university with us. We used to swap information about his movements on campus; find out the spare periods in his timetable so we could stalk him together. Pretty pathetic when you come to think of it, but we had lots of fun doing it.

  That we’re all opinionated and passionate has meant we’ve argued and fought. There were times during our trip overseas when we’ d have to split for a couple of hours just to get some time apart before we killed each other (Nirvana and Ruby would always clash over the sightseeing itinerary). But we’ve never argued for long, which is why I take it upon myself to declare another No Sex in the City get-together tonight at a fabulous restaurant in Paddington that Ruby recommends, having been there the night before with Alex.

  Ruby and I arrive together first, then Nirvana, followed moments later by Lisa. At first Nirvana and Lisa are teeth-jarringly nice to one another and it’s so nauseating to watch that I bang my fork on the table and bellow, ‘For crying out loud, would you both stop being so immature!’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Lisa says.

  ‘All this – this politeness!’ I wave my hand as though I’m swatting a fly.

  Nirvana half-laughs. ‘Since when is being polite immature?’

  ‘That’s more like it!’ I declare.

  ‘Esma, what on earth are you going on about?’ Nirvana says.

  ‘There’s obviously tension between you both. So just sort it out and move on.’

  Lisa lets out a sigh. ‘You know something? You’re insufferable when you’re being a do-gooder.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, grinning madly at her.

  Ruby stretches her arms in the air. ‘Esma’s right. Just get it over and done with, will you? I’ll start you off. Nirvana, you overreacted and completely misinterpreted Lisa’s intentions. After years of friendship, you should know better.’ Ruby smacks her hands together and turns to Lisa. ‘As for you, Lisa, we get that you acted ethically, but you have to appreciate that Nirvana felt hurt by your silence. Now, it’s time to kiss and make up because I swear to God I’m not going to allow two of the most intelligent and amazing women I know to fight over a guy.’ Ruby shudders at the prospect.

  ‘It was never about a guy,’ Nirvana says curtly. She twists her body to face Lisa. ‘The fact is, you knew something pretty significant about my future sister-in-l
aw but didn’t tell me. I get that you have a code of ethics.’ She struggles not to roll her eyes. ‘But what hurts is that Neela wasn’t some random person in the street, she was part of the family I was marrying into, and you still treated the whole situation so objectively.’

  ‘I agonised over telling you,’ Lisa says. ‘It’s not as though it was an easy decision—’

  ‘I would have thought our friendship made it easy.’

  ‘Would you have told Anil about Neela? Or kept it to yourself?’

  Nirvana can’t answer that question.

  ‘The thing is,’ Lisa says softly, ‘I couldn’t be sure that Neela wasn’t wrong about how Anil would react. I also didn’t want to risk bad-mouthing him to you in case it was an overreaction on her part. You were in love. How could I risk everything because of what Neela told me?’

  ‘Well, what did she tell you?’

  ‘She said she thought that if he knew about the baby he’ d try to persuade her to stay in a bad marriage for the sake of the baby and so as not to lose face by being a single mum.’

  Nirvana sucks in her breath and sits in silence, mulling over Lisa’s words.

  ‘From my point of view,’ Lisa says, ‘that was troubling on many levels, if it was true. But I didn’t know if it was true.’

  ‘It probably was true,’ Nirvana says quietly. ‘The last I heard, Neela went back to Sunil. Anil was so glad. I can’t be certain but I got the impression he was more pleased that she’ d avoided scandal than concerned about whether it was the right decision.’

  ‘I’m sorry again,’ Lisa says gently, placing her hand tentatively on Nirvana’s arm. ‘Hurting you was the last thing on my mind.’

  ‘I know.’ Nirvana sighs. ‘Anyway, it’s all over between me and Anil. It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘He didn’t speak to his mum?’ I ask.

  ‘He did. But it was a half-hearted effort. I’m just not prepared to take the risk.’ She draws in a deep breath and smiles bravely. ‘I’m devastated, but I know I’ve made the right decision. Anil isn’t worth fighting for. Plus, with everything that’s happened with Neela, I don’t know if I want to be a part of a family that’s so obsessed with how other people see them. There’s no breathing space in that kind of life. I don’t think it has anything to do with Indian culture. I think it’s Anil’s family, particularly his mum, who sees life as a competition.’