by Heidi Lowe
When I snaked my hand into her panties, her head rocked back against the wooden stall door. My hand was met with a lake of her desire, and I wondered how long she’d been like that. Did it even matter to her who gave her her release?
Her eyes fluttered shut as my fingers found her nub. I used my other hand to press her arm up against the door. I felt powerful, as if I were taking back control.
The intensity of my strokes matched the depths of her moans. At that point I didn’t care how many people heard us. Her murmurs were addictive.
“Ah, fuck, fuck,” she breathed through kisses.
The door squeaked as her body slammed against it, again and again. I heard giggling beyond the cubicle, but I wasn’t deterred. I had a job to do.
Her orgasm must have been intense, because the moan she released as she expired sounded like she’d been mortally wounded.
When she opened her eyes and saw me, she gave me a satisfied smile. “See, there are lots of ways to have fun.”
We kissed some more. Until I felt her hand snaking up my skirt.
I pulled away. “No.” I extracted my hand from her panties, put some distance between us.
She looked confused. “Don’t you want me to—”
“No,” I said again. I reeled off a couple of sheets of tissue, wiped her juices off my hand, threw the sullied tissue away.
“Oh, okay.”
And now came the awkward part. The goodbye.
“I, uh, need to... My friends are waiting...”
“Oh... yeah, sure.” She was taken aback, but unlocked the door. I edged past her. “Did you want to know my name?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, and left, to the outraged gasps of the women waiting in line for a stall.
The sun spilled in from the window whose curtains I’d neglected to close. When I sat up and looked down at my attire, I noticed I’d also neglected to change.
What did any of it matter?
I stumbled out of bed, knocked on Brit’s door, waited for a groan of reply. But there was none. I let myself in and found that her bed was empty. My heart sank all over again. She’d spent the whole night with Naomi!
I felt the warm trickle of tears down my cheeks. Through them, all I could see was red.
I peered around Brit’s room. Discarded clothes strewn everywhere, drawers and closet doors open, bags piled on top of boxes on top of more bags, six calendars on the walls, from the past six years, a life-sized cardboard cutout of Chris Hemsworth by the window. This was the room of the woman Naomi Pierre had chosen to take home with her. A messy room to go with her messy life.
I screamed, I swore, I cried some more. My eyes landed on her assortment of perfume bottles. She had a sizable collection, and liked to switch up her scent every few days when she got bored. Nothing would have given me more pleasure than to play bowling with them, knocking every last one onto the floor, listening to them crash and break, just like my heart. But I didn’t; I couldn’t. Everything hurt just as much as it had the night before, but there was one difference: I knew now how unwarranted and irrational my hatred of my best friend was. Yes, I loathed the situation, and planned to tell her exactly how much when she returned, but I couldn’t hold it against her.
I made myself a lethally strong coffee, returned to my room, and put on my headphones. I played death metal, loud, as it was the only kind of music that suited my mood and the direction my soul was going in.
I didn’t hear Brit come home. She startled me by letting herself into my room.
I tried not to glare at her as she mouthed something inaudible to me. Then, because I wouldn’t remove my headphones in order to hear her, she yanked them off.
She laughed as the violent sounds of death metal flooded through the ear muffs. “What the hell are you listening to!”
I was about to answer when I smelled a familiar scent. Naomi’s perfume, clinging to Brit’s clothes. I knew then that God was torturing me.
“You just got back?” I said, my voice weak. I couldn’t look her in the eye, my best friend who’d betrayed me. Every time that fragrance wafted in my face the knife in my back plunged deeper.
Her shit-eating grin made me want to vomit. “Yeah.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun.”
She was going to tell me all the sordid details! There was no way I could hear them, not in my fragile state. But I could do nothing to prevent the inevitable, because once she got started there was no stopping her.
She perched herself on my bed, let out a contented sigh. “Your boss is... out of this world. Four times! Four fucking times, Daiquiri. That’s how many times she made me... you know.”
“Oh my God, I don’t wanna hear this!” I screamed, shoving my headphones back on. Why did she need to torment me with it?
She snickered, yanked the headphones off again. “I needed an energy drink to keep going.” She smiled, a distant look in her eyes, and she missed the venomous look I shot her. She was remembering their night together, remembering every fucking thing Naomi had done to induce those orgasms. I resented the fact that she had that, and I only had a kiss. A lousy kiss. I’d endured Naomi for three months, allowed her to put me through absolute hell for months. Brit had known her five minutes and already she’d enjoyed an intimacy with her I would never have. Who needed enemies, huh?
“She’s such a generous lover,” she went on. “And a good cook.”
Here my eyes widened. “She cooked for you?”
“Just breakfast, but it was on fire!”
She cooked for her. Well this whole weekend was just getting better and better...
“If she hadn’t said she had to be somewhere, I would have probably stayed there for the rest of my life.” She laughed to herself. “Her condo is, like, this super sleek, super fancy place in Queen Anne. Stylish yet comfortable. Seriously, I wanted to move in.”
I couldn’t keep the bitterness out of my voice when I spoke. “Why are you doing this, you don’t even like women?”
“I like this woman... the French-Canadian thing notwithstanding.” She laughed, but when she noticed I wasn’t, her face changed. “Hey, look, I’m sorry for abandoning you like that.”
“She’s my boss, Brit. This is way out of line.”
She looked surprised. “How? It’s not like you’re sleeping with her.”
Ouch!
“That’s not the point. Couldn’t you have screwed someone who, uh, I dunno, isn’t my freakin’ boss?”
She just stared at me in shock, disbelief.
“It’s weird, that’s all I’m saying,” I added, throwing up my hands. “How would you like it if I started sleeping with your boss?”
She considered this, then laughed. “Well he’s, like, seventy-five years old and doesn’t have his own teeth... but I’d be totally happy for you.”
I didn’t find any of this amusing.
“Well look,” I said, ready to compromise. “It was a one time thing. I can handle that—”
“Actually... she kinda invited me out to dinner this Wednesday...” She winced a little.
“What? Well you—you can’t go!” It was a demand, not a request.
“Jesus, Daiquiri, give me a break.” She got up, went to leave. “I promise it won’t interfere with your job, all right. We’re all adults, this doesn’t have to get messy. Oh, and Naomi said to say hi.”
There was nothing left of me but rage. I put on the headphones, turned the music up to the highest volume, and sank deep into my misery.
There would be no Sunday service for me. Pastor Hugh and his maker could go fuck themselves!
TEN
Nausea consumed me the moment my alarm went off that Monday morning. It stayed with me while I showered, all through breakfast, every mile of the ride to work, and reached boiling point as I stepped off the elevator.
I silently pep-talked my way along the corridor. Forget about her, just like she forgot about you. Yeah, easy to say, not so easy to
do, considering I would have to see her five days a week.
She was there, I’d spotted her car in the parking lot. I’d tried not to look out for it but saw it anyway. Whether she was in her office or elsewhere in the building was anyone’s guess, but certainly not mine. I didn’t care where she was, and when I passed her office, I strutted by without taking even the teensiest peep through the cracks in the blinds. Those days were over.
I put down my things, said a couple of hellos to my coworkers, then headed straight to the break room to get a coffee. Gaynor and Saeed were in there, whispering. They jumped when I came in the room, like kids who’d been caught doing something naughty.
“I thought my heart was about to stop then,” Saeed said, dramatizing as usual, pressing a hand to his chest. I noticed he’d shaved his beard. “We thought you were... someone else.”
There was only one person who could prompt a reaction like that, who could put the fear of God in them.
“You thought I was Naomi,” I said. It took all my strength not to spit her name, to keep my expression level.
“He was just telling me that she’s in a good mood this morning,” Gaynor said, her voice lowered. “It’s so rare I’d forgotten what it looked like.”
I said nothing, just poured my coffee, my face remaining stoic. Or at least that’s what I was going for. Who knew if I was actually pulling it off.
“I wonder what it’s about,” Saeed went on.
“Maybe she’s met someone,” came Gaynor’s contribution.
The nausea continued to bubble and boil. I genuinely thought I would have to make a dash for the nearest toilet to empty my guts into. The thought that Brit, my best friend, had made the woman I... had made Naomi happy enough that it altered her persona at work was just unbearable. When we’d kissed, I’d thought it was magical. But all that followed was dismissal, nastiness. My kiss had made her miserable; Brit’s had made her jubilant.
“Well she was interested in that lawyer from the other building, remember? We saw them having lunch together last week.” Here he turned to me, “Right, Dakota? And they were talking at the party.”
“Mm-hmm.” My nonchalant response should have communicated to them my disinterest in gossiping about the boss, particularly on this topic. Especially as I knew they were dead wrong. If it had been Josie who’d caused this, I would have jumped for joy. I would have taken anyone over my best friend.
“I never thought she’d start dating again, after everything that happened...” Gaynor’s voice trailed off. She sipped her coffee, her face registering her regret for speaking, realizing she’d said too much when she saw both me and Saeed break our necks to turn and look at her.
Gaynor, I’d learned only a couple of weeks ago, had been a junior in the now defunct Household and Appliances Department eight years prior, and had left to raise her children. When she got sick of them, she returned to work, but in a new department. Run by none other than her old coworker, Naomi Pierre, who’d been promoted to senior executive. Gaynor and Naomi had been juniors at the same time.
If anyone had dirt on Naomi, it was Gaynor. But it was as if she’d been sworn to secrecy, because she’d never once talked about that earlier time, or what Naomi was like back then. Until now.
“Oh, now you gotta tell us,” Saeed said. He looked like he was about to fall off his seat with excitement.
“I really don’t feel comfortable talking about her like this.”
“Whatever you say stays between us,” I promised. So much for trying to get Naomi off my mind. It shouldn’t have mattered about her past, because she wasn’t going to be my future. But I listened with bated breath anyway.
“Look, all I know is that she was engaged. She kept her private life really private, but the whole office knew about the engagement. And I know she took maternity leave...”
My mouth dropped open. Maternity leave? Naomi was pregnant? Was she engaged to a man before? There was so much I didn’t understand and needed to know.
“But then she came back real early from her maternity leave, and something had changed. It was like she’d become a different person. She’d always sort of kept to herself anyway, but now she was moody, short-tempered, even more focused on her work. And when the senior exec asked her if she’d set a date for the wedding, she flat out told him she wasn’t getting married anymore, and that she no longer needed the maternity leave. That’s all I know.”
I just blinked at her, mouth agape. An engagement, a possible miscarriage, and the calling off of a wedding. Holy crap! Everyone had a history, but I’d never expected Naomi’s to be so... full!
“Whoa, that’s some heavy stuff,” Saeed said, shaking his head.
“The person she was engaged to, was it a man?” I questioned, an eagerness to my tone.
Gaynor shrugged. “Maybe. We never met them, and she never talked about them. So maybe.”
It was impossible to think of Naomi with a guy, not the Naomi she was today, at least. Back then perhaps her personality was more accommodating to a more submissive role. Had their bad breakup been the impetus for her exploration of her sexuality, or could her love for women have been the reason for the breakup? So many questions I didn’t have the answers to, and likely never would, not from Gaynor anyway. The teams were three times the size of ours back then, hence the need for a split, so she had never really gotten to know Naomi on a personal level.
The story stayed with me throughout the day, distracted me from my work. I could think of little else. To think there had been a man she’d loved enough to want to marry, to start a family with. He must have been special, and he must have hurt her deeply. So deeply that he’d transformed her into a callous witch whose sole purpose in life was to cause misery to others.
Now, apparently, my best friend had found the reset button.
Argh!
We’d managed to avoid each other for two days straight at work, which I was thankful for. She didn’t attend our briefings, and spent two afternoons out of the office. I wondered if that was for my benefit.
And then Wednesday came. I woke up in a terrible mood, and knew it would be a long day.
“I wonder where she’s taking me.” Brit passed the brush over her golden locks, while I brushed my teeth. We did this often, sharing the bathroom in the interests of saving time.
Mouth foamed up, I said nothing. Inside, I cursed.
“She’s used to the finer things in life, so I’m sure it’ll be lush.” She beamed; I’d never seen her this happy. This only depressed me more.
I spat out the toothpaste, wiped my mouth. “Why’d we get this brand again? It’s rank.”
I left the room but she followed me. “Has she... has she mentioned me to you at work?”
Are you kidding me? I rolled my eyes. “No.” But you’ve mentioned her every chance you get. I was sick of hearing about their steamy texts to each other, or how funny Naomi was without trying. I was sick of them both. I was so close to shouting at Brit, telling her she should just move in with her and do everyone a favor. This jealousy thing wasn’t working out for me.
I was glad to leave, even if I was heading straight into the lion’s den. My fingers and toes were crossed for another day free from Naomi.
But at eleven on the dot, my office door sprung open. When I looked up, she was standing there. So I did what any reasonable person would have done in that situation — what she herself had done to me so many times before: I carried on working. Ignoring her glorious scent and the flowery white blouse that made her boobs look a cup size bigger than usual. If I didn’t look away, I was afraid of what my body would do.
“Steve Proctor from Rainbow Wares wants us to come in this afternoon to meet with some of their investors. Cancel your calls.”
“Okay.” Straight to the point, no lingering looks or words, just business. Only once she left did I start to freak out. The last thing I needed was to spend the afternoon with her.
She was already waiting in the car when I exited the b
uilding. We said nothing to each other for the first couple of minutes of the journey. She was too busy typing on her phone.
Curiosity made me turn and look at her, and I noticed she kept smiling as she typed and read.
I couldn’t help myself. “Let me guess, Brit?”
She didn’t reply, kept typing.
“You know she’s straight, right? Loves men. Can’t live without them, in fact.”
“You mean like you?” Burn!
“Yeah, like me. She’s just having fun until the next guy with big abs and a big...” I had to stop myself. Jesus, what was it about this woman that made me so recklessly free with my words?
She shot me a surprised look, one eyebrow raised. If she knew how hot that one little gesture alone made me, no doubt she would have done it a dozen times and watched me expire all over the seat.
“You’re just a conquest to her, another notch on a bedpost that’s been so worn out it’s had to be replaced several times already.”
This caused a wicked smile. “You’re not a very nice friend.”
While the bedpost comment did sound harsh, I’d taken the exact quote from the woman herself. Brit was proud of her promiscuity. On her bucket list of fifty things to do before she died, one through thirty were men!
“Well if you like that sort of thing...” I shrugged, turned away, refused to let her get to me.
I was determined to spend the duration of the journey in silence, whilst having an imaginary argument of all the things I wanted to say to her but couldn’t. The problem with that was that every iteration of the fight ended with us tearing each other’s clothes off in the backseat. Those were not healthy thoughts; and that warm, throbbing sensation between my legs was not at all helpful.
I decided it was better to have the real thing — let her know exactly what I thought of her.
“I think it’s lousy what you’re doing.”
She had her head back, her eyes closed. She opened them, twisted to look at me. “What am I doing, Miss Adams?”