He rubbed his hand up and down my bare leg, gently. Seriously good call on shaving my legs this morning. Wait, what the hell was happening? Did Clark like me? Did I like him? Did I still like Rocky? Did any of this mean anything at all? My mind was spinning. I was really confused, and suddenly really, drunkenly emotional. I felt my eyes brimming up with tears as we pulled up to a stoplight. I sniffled.
“Are you OK?” Clark asked, cautiously removing his hand from my leg.
Oh fuck, the flood gates had opened. I started sobbing.
“I’m fine,” I wailed, feeling my face get rashy from the crying. “It’s just that you are being so sweet to me, and I’ve had such a horrible week. I’m sorry for this,” I said, burying my face in my hands. Mortifying.
Clark opened his glove box and handed me a tissue. “Here, don’t cry,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve had a really rough week Louisa, but it will be OK. I promise.”
“Thanks,” I sniffed, trying to pull it together. I was furious with myself for blowing my one shot with Clark by crying like a moron. I wiped my eyes and nose, took a couple of deep breaths and looked up at him. I became distracted from my emotional breakdown with the realization that we’d gone almost all the way around the lake and were quickly coming up on my apartment. “We’re almost there, take a right up here at the light then pull over when you get close to 80th,” I said. “Thanks for the ride.”
“To be honest, I’m really glad that I ran into you tonight. I’ve been thinking about asking you to grab a drink with me, and then there you were. Is here OK?”
“Yeah, this is fine,” I said, turning to look at Clark and unbuckling my seatbelt.
I was trying to think of a cute way to say goodbye when suddenly Clark’s hands were on my face. He held my cheeks gently, leaned in without hesitation, and pressed his luscious lips against mine. My body responded and I opened my mouth to his, letting his tongue gently touch mine. He kissed me harder and more urgently. His hands left my face and went straight for my legs, sliding up my shorts. Then they were suddenly on my breasts, and mine were climbing up his muscular arms, grasping and clawing at his shoulders and back while he kissed me deeply.
We made out urgently in the car for several moments, groping and grabbing each other. It was great. Really great. I was thoroughly enjoying myself when suddenly I started to get really dizzy, and everything began to spin. I knew from years of practice that this meant only one thing: I was going to hurl. I started to panic: I needed some space, I needed to get the hell out of this car and I needed to breathe. I pushed Clark away and grabbed my purse.
“I’m sorry but I gotta go,” I said, throwing the seat belt off of my lap and swinging the car door open.
“No, wait! Louisa, stay!” he protested as I climbed out. I wanted his request to be all I needed to feel better, but the truth was that the world was whipping around me in circles. I felt flushed and nauseous, and it was all I could do to fight the tidal wave of puke that was building up in my throat.
“Sorry,” I managed to spit out, slamming the door and taking off at a drunken sprint for my house.
I jogged up the street until I reached the fence outside of my little patio and unhitched the gate. I had barely made it inside the patio when I turned to my right and started puking my guts out into the bushes. My body violently expelled the beer and tequila while tears streamed out of my eyes. I could feel the prickling of bursting blood vessels around my eyes as I puked harder and harder. Even through the heaves my ears registered the growl of Clark’s BMW speeding away as I cowered in the corner in my shame. At least I wouldn’t have to face him until Monday.
Eventually the streams of vomit tapered off into drips. I dry heaved a couple of times, slowly pulling myself up out of the universal, legs straight, bent-over-at-the-waist puking pose. “Whoa Louisa, did I miss the party?”
The voice behind me was deep and familiar. Too familiar.
Standing in the entrance to the patio was Rocky, immaculate in a black T-shirt and jeans, staring at me incredulously. I looked from him to the pile of orange-y puke that pooled up around the azalea bush, then back to him.
“I saw you on the street. Looks like you had a bit too much to drink. Didn’t exactly make it to the toilet, did you?” Where did he come from? His attitude was really pissing me off—seriously, was he lecturing me? Not only was he a liar and a cheater, but I was an adult and could drink and puke what and where I liked.
“What are you doing here?” I asked finally, wiping my face with the back of my arm with as much dignity as one could in the situation.
“You didn’t answer any of my calls or texts. I just wanted to talk to you.”
For a minute I thought about going straight gangster and throwing him off my patio, but after vomiting up all of my internal organs I didn’t have any energy left for fighting or otherwise. “Fuck, fine,” I finally said, waving my hand drunkenly in acquiescence, giving in and plopping down onto my front step. “Talk away.”
“Thanks.” Well, he sounded humbled. That was a good start. “I am so sorry that I hurt you,” he began. Even though an apology was what I was craving, at these words my eyes filled up with tears. I was immediately pissed off: not only at myself for allowing Rocky to talk to me, but for getting emotional and showing weakness. “I never meant to hurt you Louisa. I should’ve told you about my marriage to Rachel.”
“No fucking shit,” I muttered under my breath. My eyes burned with hot tears. I felt if I let another one fall, the flood of emotions I was holding back would spill out and refuse to stop. I couldn’t stand the embarrassment, so I stared down at the ground, studying Rocky’s shoes. “That’s fair. I messed up. I guess I just thought that meeting you was meant to be. I felt so close to you, and I thought you felt the same. My past relationship doesn’t mean anything to me, and I just thought somehow that you would understand. I realize now that there’s no way that you could have.” He took another step towards me, until he was standing only a foot away. When I still refused to look up, he knelt down and lifted my chin with his large, rough hand. “I’m sorry,” he said, staring into my eyes. “You don’t know how sorry I am.”
I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry, I mentally repeated to myself. I looked down at the ground again, fiercely and stubbornly blinking back the tears. I really was winning the battle up until the exact moment Rocky leaned in for the hug.
He was suddenly so close to me, so warm, and his familiar scent hit my nostrils like that first drop of heroin to a junkie’s pulmonary. Fuck. His arms circled around my waist, holding me in a way that made it easy for my head to lean on his strong shoulder. His hands gently rubbed up and down my back as he cradled me.
My complete and utter breakdown was eminent. My chin was unsteady, and my clenched jaw was an anchor keeping my lips from wobbling into a mouthy pout. My limbs shook, and I was beginning to find it hard to take a breath. I felt the sobs building up inside of me, piercing my lungs with their sharpness, pushing and straining to get out of my body. Part of me wanted to give in, to release the hurt and anger I’d held onto, even though the rest of me knew that the anger was the only thing I had that was keeping me together. The sadness and anger in my body were holding hands, linked together and spinning in circles faster and faster inside of me. It was inevitable that one was going to win out, breaking the link and sending the other emotion flailing off into somewhere deep in my subconscious.
I made a snap decision. I was not going to give in and let some asshole back into my life just because he stalked me and gave me an “I’m sorry” and a hug. I took as deep a breath as I could, sucked up every ounce of self-righteousness I could muster and in one move leaned away from Rocky, pushing him, his warm arms, and his intoxicating smell as far away from me as I could.
“So what!” I screamed at him, standing up and backing up a step towards my front door. “So what if you’re sorry, Rocky?! I don’t know what to tell you. Do you want me to say that everything’s OK now, just becaus
e you’re sorry?”
“I don’t know, I honestly don’t know,” Rocky answered, taking a step towards me and reaching his hand out. “I just needed to tell you. You wouldn’t pick up the phone, and I had to see you.”
“You know what, I’m sorry.” I swatted his hand away. “I’m sorry that I don’t want to talk to you, I’m sorry that I’m confused and hurt and fucking DRUNK right now. Oh My GOD, Rocky, I just fucking barfed my guts out all over my landscaping. Don’t you think this is possibly a bad time?”
“You know what, maybe this was not the right way to go.” I could tell that Rocky too was starting to get pissed off. This was probably not how he pictured the conversation.
“No shit.”
And with that I opened my front door, stepped inside and slammed the door with all of my might. I leaned back against the closed door and sank to the ground.
I don’t think I breathed while I sat, holding myself together, for the thirty seconds I assumed it would take for Rocky to the clue and evacuate my patio. My ears strained to hear any hint that he was still lurking outside of the door. When I didn’t hear anything, I took a deep breath in, grasped the hair on either side of my face with my fists, pulled for dramatic effect, and screamed as loud as I could.
“What IS going ON? Am I going CRAZY? AHHHHHHHHH!”
When no one answered I rolled over, leaning on the door for support, onto my hands and knees. I stood up and kicked my shoes away, slamming them against the wall, chucked my purse onto the floor and started climbing the stairs. I got about halfway up when I realized that I needed to talk to a girlfriend or sister about what had happened as quickly as possible. I turned around to collect my phone from my purse, but I must’ve spun around a bit too quickly, because the next thing I knew, my heel was slipping upwards off of the carpeted step and up, up and away from my body. My ass went the exact opposite direction, down fast and hard onto the stairs where I landed with a loud thump. Unfortunately, the slippery silk material that made up my shorts expedited my trip down the steps, and I careened down wildly—driving drunk down a hill on some old fashioned toboggan, hitting each step with one or both butt cheeks while desperately dragging my useless fingertips on the walls to stop the momentum of my fall. I failed. I landed at the bottom in a shocked, sore and desperate heap.
After a second in the fetal position, I opened my eyes and blinked, mentally completing a checklist of functioning body parts. Fortunately everything seemed to be in working order. I heard a loud grunt coming from the top of the stairs. I looked up, and saw Winston perched on the top step staring down at me like some kind of wrinkly deity.
Because there was really no other option at the moment, and I had already run the gamut of emotions that evening, I started to laugh. I laughed so hard that my body convulsed into hilarity, giggles escaping my mouth instead of breath. I laughed at the absurdity of my life, at the seriousness and the sheer amount of pain and sadness I’d let in to my being, at the righteous indignation I harbored that kept me going. But mostly I just laughed at myself.
Chapter 15: Group Think
The rest of my weekend was extremely uneventful after Friday night’s drama. I spent Saturday hungover and drained, and Sunday I did my grocery shopping, puttered around the house and went for a bike ride along the Burke-Gilman trail with Alex, starting down at Shilshole Marina and ending up in Fremont, where we had a few beers on a sunny bar patio. I didn’t hear from Either Rocky or Clark, not that I blamed either one of them for not rushing to pick up the phone and call me. I would’ve been mortified about the events of the previous evening, but I was too low on emotional energy to muster up the feelings, which was a blessing.
When Monday morning finally arrived, I dialed in to the office closure line apathetically, and heard the message that the office had re-opened. Oh, what the fuck ever, I thought to myself as I climbed out of bed and got into the shower. By this time I was so emotionally drained that I couldn’t muster a moment of enthusiasm, anxiety or annoyance at the prospect of returning to the office. I slowly dried my hair, barely opening my eyes wide enough to see myself in the bathroom mirror, and equally enthusiastically selected an outfit that consisted of my laziest office attire. I didn’t bother with make-up. This was not a day to impress.
It was after 9:30 by the time I sat down at my desk, and although most of the group’s employees were present, the silence in the office was palpable. Even though I was hours late, I received no reproachful looks as I booted up my computer. Elaine was in Portland at a meeting with Norcom, and no one else in the group seemed to be acknowledging each other’s existence. I guess there just wasn’t much to be said. Honestly I felt a bit relieved. I didn’t want to talk about the horrific things that had happened in this room any more than anyone else did. I especially wanted to avoid talking about my experience with jail, Rocky, Clark and the Seattle Police Department.
I’d been working at my desk for thirty minutes in silence and then got up to go to the ladies room when I passed by Priti sitting at her desk. We made brief eye contact as she glanced in my direction, and I paused for just long enough to notice that she looked like shit. Her face, with its normally perfectly tan skin tone, was drawn and grey. Her large brown eyes were bloodshot and surrounded in dark purple bags, and her normally tiny frame looked even more emaciated. I realized that I didn’t need to pee that badly, so I altered my course and headed over to her desk, where I pulled up a chair and sat down.
“Oh Priti, I’m so, so sorry,” I said, patting her tiny tan hand gently. It didn’t take a genius to know that she was sad about losing Maya, her best friend at the office. “How are you holding up?”
She looked up at me, her eyes welling with tears. “Honestly, not too well.” Her voice cracked with a sob.
Her pain was palpable. I felt so sad for her, and the sadness overwhelmed my body and became a black, choking pit in my stomach. I put my arms around her, and she started crying in earnest. Even though it felt like shit to acknowledge the torrent of emotions—fear, pain, stress, sadness—I was happy that I’d done it. Connecting with poor Priti reminded me of all of the people that had been affected by the horrible things that were happening in our office. Not only the employees, but Sarah and Maya’s families, friends and acquaintances. The people who cleaned the office, watered the plants, served us coffee downstairs in the deli. While I was at home wallowing in self pity, I had forgotten about all of the other people sharing this horrible experience. Opening my eyes long enough to see Priti’s pain made me feel that much more human.
“I am so scared, Louisa,” she said, damply. “What are we supposed to do? Just go on like nothing ever happened?”
“I don’t know, Hon,” I said gently, my own eyes welling up with tears. I wished that I knew how to answer her, but I didn’t. As I quickly wiped my face I felt a hand on my shoulder. Michelle was standing behind me, also teary. Behind her were Nathan and Laura, who had their arms loosely wrapped around each other. There in the back of the group was Mark, who was quietly sobbing into his fist. And several steps behind Mark was Ari, looking concerned, and standing up behind him was Clark, staring at the ground blankly. Finally there was Jenny, standing awkwardly apart from the group, pale and silent.
Michelle spoke first. “I don’t know what to do either,” she said. “I’m really scared. I’m scared to come to work. I’m scared that something is going to happen to me, or to someone else I know. It’s horrible.”
“Me too,” said Laura. “This has been the worst couple weeks of my life. I could never have imagined going through something like this. And no one has been talking about it. We have no one to talk to.”
“You can talk to me,” said a male voice. Ari stepped up to the front of the group next to where Priti and I were sitting. “I know that I’m not an expert, but any of you are welcome to come to my office or call me at anytime to talk. I know it’s not much. I wish I could do more,” he said. “But I hope it helps a little bit.”
God, Ari was a d
ecent person.
“Thanks Ari,” I said. “I think that would be great. In fact, why don’t I find some time on our calendars for anyone who wants to meet with Ari and discuss, well, anything that’s been going on here. You can send me an email if you’re interested. Would that be OK with you guys?” Everyone, even Clark, looked at me and nodded.
“That sounds good Louisa, thanks,” said Priti, turning away from us back to her monitor and wiping her eyes with a tissue.
The group slowly started to break up, but at least now the employees were talking amongst themselves. I saw small groups form and walk together slowly. A couple of people were giving each other hugs. I got up and pushed past Clark, who was still standing there, caught up in a conversation with Jenny who was proselytizing about the benefits of Merit leadership’s decision to call in Dr. Michael Castro to help with employee grief. I wondered if she’d also been to talk to him, and surprised myself by making a mental note to ask her later if she had.
When I got back to my desk I began sifting through my emails, motivated to actually get some work done. I found several tasks associated with the merger that seemed important and I was busy copying a bunch of files onto zip drives when Clark approached me.
“Hi Louisa,” he said, tentatively. It was odd to see Clark acting shy
“Hi Clark, what’s up?” I asked, still typing.
“About the other night,” he said, giving me a small smile. “I just wanted to say that it was nice to see you. I don’t know about you, but I had a good time,” he looked down at his shoes as my face turned a deep shade of crimson. This was not what I’d expected from him, especially in the office. I guess I’d just assumed that Clark would keep up his nearly professional habit of pretending like I didn’t exist. When confronted by the reality that we did, in fact, make out in his car previous to me vomiting all over my porch, I was really at a loss for words. I’d had a crush on Clark from the day we’d met, and thought all along that it was what I wanted, for him to finally pay attention to me, but all of the other occurrences surrounding our potentially romantic situation had sullied it. Now that I’d finally got my wish, it didn’t feel nearly as good as I’d thought it would. There was no way to express the complexity of these emotions to Clark while he was hovering over my cube, so I just looked up and smiled at him and said the only thing that I could think of.
Dead End Job Page 16