by Kirsten Lee
“About your car.” All sexy thoughts disappear like chocolate at a kids party and I turn a sharp look on him which makes him smile and hold up both hands. “I come in peace, Alex.”
“Okay. What about my car?” I ask very slowly and suspiciously which widens his smile even more. I like him like this. Relaxed.
“I spoke to Al this morning and he’s towed your car to his workshop. He is quite excited about rebuilding your car.” I lift my eyebrows at the word ‘rebuild”. “Those were his words, not mine. He said that it will take a few weeks, but should have it ready long before the festival starts. In other words, before you return to the city.”
“And...?”
“And what?”
“And, how much is it going to cost?” I feel a bit put out by Mr Wall Street taking control like this and organising my car without my consent. But I only feel a bit put out – it saves me trying to organise something in this tiny town.
“Less than buying a new car which I really think you should do but am pretty sure that you won’t.” My expression changes with his sentence: thunderous while he’s talking about me buying a new car and smiling sweetly when he acknowledges that I won’t. “But, it will be on the cost of the company. I’ve cleared it with accounting and it will be a bonus for your work at such a short notice.”
I lift my one eyebrow in utter surprise. What is going on here? I’m a bit suspicious and narrow my eyes while I’m trying to think why he would do such a thing. As if this is not enough to make me suspicious, he whips out his smart phone and hands it to me. I freeze in my seated position with my foot on Blossom’s belly, staring at his outstretched hand offering the phone with a great deal of mistrust.
“Take it.”
“I don’t want your phone.”
“It’s not my phone.” He’s using that tone again – old people and small children. “It’s your phone. Although, it looks similar to mine.” He holds it closer to me and gives it a little shake. “Take it.”
I reach out to it as if it is a snake that will attack and take the smart phone from him. I turn it around in my hand a few times and must admit that at closer view it’s actually quite cool. I start tapping at the screen and am amazed at the complexity of this small device.
“It is a company phone, which mean you’ll have to return it at the end of the project, but can be replaced at any time if something is to happen to it.” Has he been speaking to my insurance company? “Here is the box with all the instructions and the number. I’ve already programmed my number and a few other numbers of use into it.”
Okay, now I am really suspicious. What’s going on here?
“And here are the keys to the sedan. I left it in the car, but saw that you haven’t been out yet, so I thought I’ll bring it to you. I’ll be driving the SUV for the time being. The sedan is a really easy car to drive. No tricks. There are spare keys in the house in case you lose these.” Has he been investigating my cell phone and car history? How does he know I damage cell phones and lose keys?
“Why are you doing this?” I can hear the scepticism in my voice and am sure he must hear it as well. He leans back in the chair I watch with appreciation how his jeans stretches over his muscular legs.
“You’re one of the most scatterbrained and annoying individuals I know, but you proved to me this week and especially last night that at work you are extremely competent and I can’t afford to lose you on this project. It’s like I said last night: if a successful festival is going to cost my car a few scratches and the company a cell phone or three, then it is a small price to pay.”
“You do realise that you’re insulting me as much as you’re complimenting me.”
He sincerely looks surprised at this which makes me utter a very unfeminine bark of laughter. “You don’t realise you are insulting me.”
“No. I thought I was giving you a compliment and doing you a favour.”
“By telling me that I’m an insurance risk.” The outrage is audible in my voice and I’m sure visible on my face. “And that I’m feather-brained and irritating.”
“I did not say that!”
“Not in those words.” I shake my fists in frustration. “Argh!!”
“What?”
“Why are we always at loggerheads?”
“Did you just say “loggerheads”?” One corner of his mouth is quivering in amusement which makes me exhale loudly and after a few moments I give him a half smile.
“Yes, I did.”
“I thought so.” He chuckles and I’m entranced. He’s blindingly gorgeous when he laughs which also serves to be infuriating since it’s the first time that I hear his spontaneous laughter and it’s unfortunately at my expense. I smile politely and wait for his amusement to wane. When it does, I have my arms folded and a carefully thought-out sardonic look on my face. My facial expressions get a good workout around this man. Again he raises his hands in peace and breathes deeply.
“We need to find a way of working together, Alex. You can’t take everything I say and turn it into an insult.”
“And you can’t come in here and tell me that I’m an insurance risk to your company without thinking that I might take it personally.” I close my eyes and bite on my teeth. Why can I not remember what Bart taught me when I’m with this man? What was step one in the negotiations list? Oh blast it! I take a deep breath in an attempt to control myself with limited success. “I agree with you, however. We’re going to work together and will need to find a way to not ... not...”
“Not what?” He’s baiting me.
“Not ... disagree.” Bart will be so proud. What I wanted to say was I need to find a way to not want to try out some karate moves I saw on a movie last night. Not want to inflict harm on him every time I see him. Not paint his toenails red while he’s sleeping. But strength prevailed and I resisted.
“And how do you propose we do this.”
“Well, I think that we should ... we... I honestly don’t know!” I throw my hands up in defeat and let them drop to the couch.
“Well, hopefully you’ll come up with an idea soon, because we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” He gets up from the chair and walks to the door. My treasonous eyes are drawn to his delectable behind – the man really fills out a pair of jeans well. He turns around, but not before I catch myself and in spirit smack myself on the back of the head. Once again he spoke down to me and all I can think about is his tush. I am a disgrace to my gender.
I stare at his back as he walks to the house and wonder how many more times I am going to look at his back as he walks away from me after a disagreement. My little voice tells me it will happen a few more times – maybe not the walking away, but the disagreements. I comfort myself with the thought that at least not all men are annoying. Some are dead.
Chapter 9
My life here in Villsburg has settled into an unsettling routine. The weekend turned out to be very relaxing after Mr Wall Street’s little visit in my cottage-villa on Saturday afternoon. It was relaxing mostly because I did not see him again for the remainder of the weekend, and had the garden and the swimming pool for myself. Blossom’s fear of water kept him far away from the pool, but I enjoyed the cool water after lying in the sun for a short while. Between the swimming pool, Mr Wall Street’s absence and a few glasses of wine, my weekend was perfect.
I didn’t spend much more time thinking about my make-over, but maybe I should’ve. Yesterday morning, on a blue Monday, I found out to my great dismay that Roger and Rose have been moonlighting. They’ve taken on second professions as bookies. Roger is handling the how-late-will-she-be bets and Rose the does-she-match bets.
As hard as I try, I always seem to be late, even if it’s only twenty minutes. What I haven’t realised is that apparently, even though I try very hard, I’m unable to go a day without a fashion faux pas. Either my earrings don’t match or it’s my shoes and bag, or pants and jacket or something else. I’ve only been here a week and my unravelling make-over is becoming
a money making business. When I agreed to this make-over thing I really didn’t know it was going to be such hard work to maintain.
Of course I blame Erin for all this. Studies have been done and statistics show that when a woman breaks up, gets divorced or have some sort of trauma, the first thing she does on the road to recovery is get a new hairstyle. I don’t know who did these studies, but that is how Erin justified the surprise appointment he made for me with Juan – my stylist and hairdresser. At first I felt a bit overwhelmed. Actually, it felt more like I was under attack from hair scissors, measuring tapes and colour charts.
After some contemplation and a lot of convincing from Erin and Juan, it looked like it could be fun and I surrendered. Apart from the go-get-them-tiger wardrobe, I also got a lot of useful tips for hair, make-up and accessories. But as I’m driving to work in Bomb this morning, I long for my linen pants, colourful Indian-style shirt and lime-green sandals. Or my flamenco skirt, gipsy blouse and little black sandals. Sigh.
I give myself a mental shake and think with glee of how many people are going to lose money today. I dressed with the utmost care this morning – even my underwear match and I got up an hour earlier to make double sure that I’ll be on time. Poor Blossom seemed more disoriented than me when my alarm clock screamed at me this morning. I sat up in bed swivelling my head from side to side wondering where the sound came from, and it took me a good five seconds and what sounded like three thousand beeps to locate it and shut it off. I then fell out of bed and stumbled over Blossom who was lying in the doorway. He jumped up with a loud burst of air and I must admit that it was at that exact moment that I became wide awake. I’m still not used to the dog’s intestinal problems. Bless his soul.
My morning proceeds rather uneventful. I slog my way through a mountain of contracts and, once again, unsuccessfully try to get hold of Zondra. We did have contact after which I thought of organising a fireworks display in celebration. We sorted out some logistics and she couriered a few contracts for some of the parties involved in the festival. I’m busy with a contract for portable toilets when my phone starts ringing. I stare at it for a moment, wishing Ray was here to take the call. After another annoying jingle, I pick up the handset only to hear heavy suggestive breathing coming through the receiver. I roll my eyes heavenward and shake my head.
“Erin, you will have to be more original than that!”
“How did you know it was me?” He sounds almost angry with disappointment.
“Because you’ve been doing this since I’ve known you and I’m psychic.” I sit back in my chair with a smile on my face. “How’s the leg?”
“Fine. It is such a great discomfort…” and he’s such a baby, “…but everybody’s been so kind.” That translates into everybody’s brought him gifts and alcohol. “But tell me about you. I spoke to Adam, but he didn’t want to talk about your co-operation. Alex, is everything ok?”
“Yes Erin, everything is fine. I have not done or said anything majorly inappropriate. Yet.” I cross my fingers and think guiltily of Friday evening and Saturday’s episodes with Mr Wall Street. Erin would have a fit.
“Nothing majorly inappropriate, huh? As opposed to what? Little inappropriate comments?” He sighs loudly. “That’s my Alex.”
“At least I am working and not sitting on my designer couch drinking champagne with friends who are painting obscure images on the cast on my leg!”
“That’s low, Al.”
“And true.” We both laugh. I miss Erin and this bantering. We spend the next ten minutes catching up on the progress of the festival and then I spend a few minutes fielding probing questions about my make-over before he thankfully changes the topic.
“Have you spoken to Pam lately?”
“We had one of our marathon phone calls on Saturday.”
“Did she tell you about her latest project?”
“Yes, she told me about her new exhibition.”
“No,” it is the drawn out way he says it that has me worried. “Not her exhibition, her project.”
“Oh no! What is she up to now?” Pam is known for starting, and usually finishing the strangest artworks. Last time it was an exhibition of stepladders, which in itself wasn’t a problem, but the fact that she stole a few people’s stepladders from their gardens caused a few outbursts during the opening night. It provided the exhibition with great publicity, but Pam had to face some legal difficulties after that. I was surprised at the mellowness of the exhibition she told me about last week.
“She decided to sell her gallery.”
“She what? She told me about her exhibition with all her most popular works. What is she doing? “
“I know, Al. I’ve tried talking to her, but she won’t listen and made me promise to not tell you, because she usually listens to you. God only knows why,” he says as if to himself. “Would you please phone her today and try to talk her out of it.”
“Of course, but first I want to know why she wants to sell it. And why she didn’t tell me.” This really worries me. “How is she? She sounded fine over the phone, but she always does.”
“She seems to be fine, a bit tired, but that is not unusual. It is this silly idea of hers that has me worried.” We continue to discuss Pam’s reasons for putting her art gallery up for sale and her health, and then return to the festival. “Oh yes, George seems to have come around. At first he was such an ars… unhelpful fellow. At our meeting on Friday, he went through a personality change and has offered to help with the accommodation arrangements and had some other helpful suggestions.”
“Yes, Adam told me about your meeting.”
“He did?” Oh no. Has Mr Wall Street also told Erin about the weekend’s disagreements we had?
“Yes, he told me that you blew the committee away with your presentation. He sounded very impressed with your work, Al. Well done.” Phew. That really earns Mr Wall Street a few brownie points with me.
“The only person still giving me a lot of grief is Zondra Brennet.”
“The bitch?”
“The one and only.”
“But I thought you said Adam spoke to her.”
“He must’ve, but she is still as slippery as an eel covered in axle grease. I’ve never had this much hassle trying to reach somebody during a project.”
“What about Earl Jones?”
“Oh, he’s an angel! George will now be taking over the accommodation arrangements, but he took the initiative to organise most things so far. He’s very much in the background, but is helping a lot. I am actually going around to his pub tonight to drop off some paperwork.”
“Oh yes, I remember he has a pub. Have you been there before?”
“No, this will be the first time.” I sigh, because I know where this is going.
“Have you made new friends Alex? Been out a bit?”
“No Erin. I’ve only been here a week and you know how I feel about this and I do not want to talk about it.” I say the part very slowly and not a bit annoyed, but smile innocently at Ray who walks into the office and stops halfway to his desk to look at me questioningly. “Enough chit chat. You can sit with your leg on an ottoman, but this superwoman has a festival to attend to.”
We say our goodbyes and he promises to record my favourite sitcom for me. I’m about to tackle the toilet contract again when I feel Ray’s eyes boring into the side of my head. I slowly look up and lift my eyebrow in a quiet what-the-blue-hills-do-you-want kind of way.
“What don’t you want to talk about?” He leans forward and gives me a coaxing look – a look that says ‘tell me all your dirty little secrets’. A look I never trust.
“My period pains. They’re really bad and I have this bloated feeling…” I put my hands on my lower abdomen and groan in exaggerated feigned agony.
“Fine! Don’t tell me anything. I just won’t tell you about the latest development in the photocopy room mystery.” He gives me a take-that look and turns to his computer.
“Oh come on! Y
ou have to tell me what’s happened now. This is too good for words.” The photocopy room mystery started three days before I arrived in Villsburg and has since consumed a lot of working hours in speculation. Apparently the accounting department worked overtime for a few days when this occurred. One morning somebody walked into the copy room to find it in disarray. Among the evidence of shenanigans was the high-heeled shoe print on the wall, the accidental photocopy of a very naked bottom, but the most incriminating was the red lace panties. Needless to say, no one’s come forward to claim the garment and the whole company is speculating who the parties involved were. There’s been talk of getting DNA samples, but we all know that would never fly. I plea and beg, but Ray remains immovable. My secret first.
In the heat of the moment I almost start talking when my phone rings and Zondra’s voice jerks me back to the present. My hand feels cold holding the telephone receiver through which her icy voice reaches me.
“You wanted to speak to me.”
“Yes Zondra. Thanks for getting back to me. There are a few adjustments I would like to make to the contracts for the sound engineer, the cleaning company and several artists. Can I email them to you or would you like me to courier it?” I infuse the warmth and sincerity of Oprah into my voice. To no avail.
“What changes?”
Oh well, I sigh and bravely wrestle my way through this ice jungle. I’m sure someone great once said that in every situation there will always be a dark cloud and in this situation the dark cloud has a name: Zondra . Erin has no idea how many favours he will have to do for me until I consider this favour I’m doing him paid in full.