I dropped Isabel off early that Saturday morning and headed up the coast, with the music turned up loud and a spring in my accelerator pedal. It was one of those glorious balmy days in early June that are laughably called winter. I’d discovered by this time the odious team building exercises were only going to constitute a small and early part of the proceedings. Once these were over and done with, the rest of the weekend looked like it was going to be okay, with a bit of free time, dinner in the award winning restaurant and, for me at least, the rare privilege of a single room. In an optimistic moment I’d even thrown my bikini in my bag, but was not yet sure I’d prove uninhibited enough to strip down in front of my work colleagues; I had by this time lost most of my baby weight, but was left with some determined bulges around my tummy, hips and thighs that I feared nothing short of a plastic surgeon’s skill would dislodge. Isabel had been home sick most of the week, so we’d had a bit too much time together and I was keen for some mature (well, mature-ish) adult company. I’d optimistically provided Pamela with some instructions on Isabel’s weekend routine, but with a clear expectation that most of my advice would be ignored.
It was a quick run up the coast and I arrived in good time for lunch. It was too early to get into my room so, after checking-in, I had to be content with a brief exploration of the resort. I surveyed the day spa wistfully - another time perhaps. The marketing team and sales reps started filtering in slowly and after the standard conference lunch of gourmet sandwiches, juice and coffee we headed to an outdoor terrace to bond.
First we were broken up into four small groups. Three team building exercises had been scheduled, each one successively more ludicrous than the last. The first involved us all being blind-folded and given a length of rope, which we had to form into various shapes as advised by Brad, the over-enthusiastic facilitator. I could see this being very useful when we got back to the office. My group was seriously hopeless at this too, which didn’t augur at all well for our team building prospects. (Did they suspect a cynic amongst their ranks?) In the second activity, which was obviously devised by some sexual pervert, we had to move closer and closer together in an increasingly shrinking roped-off space. This was apparently meant to encourage group communication and problem solving, but I suspect the guy from our training department just chose this one so he could get a chance to squash up next to the breasts of Rosanna, the voluptuous senior sales representative. Nonetheless, this was also the highpoint of proceedings for me as I got a chance to be up-close-and-personal with the gorgeous Alex, and was planning to brag about that to Melanie when I got back to work the next week. He had on the most divine aftershave. I briefly thought about asking him what brand it was, but decided it was too much of a personal question and might be misconstrued.
The third activity was the real clincher. We had to break up into our groups, take some butcher’s paper and black markers and devise our most inspirational team building quote. Then there was a competition to see which group’s quote was considered the best. This had a distinct air of unreality about it and I wanted to cry out, ‘Hey guys, we’re trying to sell a drug to help old guys get a hard on, not solving the world poverty crisis!’ Unfortunately, apart from Alex, my group was made up of a bunch of junior sales reps, still brimful with company enthusiasm (and probably not the most critical of thinkers at the best of times), so I kept my own counsel on the stupidity of this all.
Thus, I was mightily relieved when Alex whispered to me as we filed back inside, ‘I want it on the public record that I played no part in the selection of that last activity.’
Many of our sales representatives were new to this area, so the rest of the afternoon was taken up with an hour long presentation by a urology specialist (not Dr Howard), who explained all about erectile dysfunction and the pharmacology of Erecta and its competitors. After that it was time for drinks in the fireside function room, before we all retired to our suites to change for dinner. I was given the job of schmoozing the urologist, so after his presentation I chatted with him briefly outside before waving him off on the trip back to Sydney. Then I headed back to the function room for a much deserved glass of champagne. That’s when I detected an interesting change in atmosphere.
Perhaps it was because we’d just spent the last hour looking at PowerPoint slides of erect penises, labelled with evocative terms such as ‘rigidity’ and ‘tumescence’ (which to the uninitiated means engorgement); perhaps it was because we were all cocooned together in a luxury resort a long way from home and family; probably it was just the free alcohol; but, whatever the case, the mood in the room was definitely frisky that evening. It was then I began to suspect that there would indeed be some team bonding going on that weekend, just not of the type anticipated by our company’s executives. Not that I was planning to be party to any of that. I was looking forward to an enjoyable meal and a couple of sociable drinks before retiring to my room for a blissful night’s sleep on the smooth cotton sheets of my queen-sized bed, with no prospect of interruption from any pesky husbands or children.
However, as it happened, things panned out rather differently.
The first mistake I made was to call and check up on Isabel. I’d showered and changed and was just about to head downstairs for dinner when mummy guilt got the better of me. When Douglas first answered the phone, I thought for a second that there was perhaps an escaped convict loose in the house, but it quickly became apparent that Pamela and Isabel were having a fight. Pamela grabbed the phone and said, ‘Good, hopefully you can speak some sense to your daughter.’
She handed the phone to Isabel and between sobs and sniffles a story began to emerge.
Now Isabel is a girl of simple needs and one of them is her Saturday night ritual. If she is good and eats her vegetables during the week (well, peas, potatoes, corn and occasionally carrots if we’re very lucky) she is allowed to have, every Saturday night, the same meal of two-minute noodles and ice cream, followed by an hour of her favourite grown-up TV program, Australia’s Funniest Home Videos (yes, I know, but at the time she was not yet four and some of the ‘man hit in groin’ or ‘bride falling down’ videos are quite funny). I’d told all this to Pamela, but of course she’d ignored my advice and had instead served up a plate of meat and vegetables, including - horror of horrors! - broccoli (or ‘green trees’ in Issy’s vernacular). In a fit of temper Isabel had thrown the broccoli across the kitchen, somehow managing to land a piece with startling accuracy in Nana’s restorative evening glass of white wine. Now my daughter had to go to bed without watching her favourite TV show. Things couldn’t have been worse.
‘Mummy…huh, huh…I think Nana is bad and mean…huh…and I hate her,’ sobbed Isabel, in one of her more florid outbursts. I understood this sentiment completely but this was no time to pick a fight with my mother-in-law, so I started trying to smooth things over.
‘Now darling, hate is a very bad word and we should never, ever say it. If you tell Nana you’re sorry and go to bed now I promise you can have ice cream and two-minute noodles for dinner tomorrow night.’ The sniffling stopped as Issy started making her calculations.
‘And Funniest Home Videos?’
‘Well, no, that is only on TV on Saturday night, darling.’ The ‘huh-huhing’ started again in earnest.
‘But, I have a surprise for you in my bag, a new Wiggles video. You can watch that instead.’
‘Which one?’
‘Err, Racing the Rainbow, I think.’
‘Can I watch it two times?’
‘Okay, but only if you go to bed right now and promise to be a good girl for Nana tomorrow.’
‘Okay, I promise…yay The Wiggles…night Mummy.’
‘Nighty night.’
Pamela took the phone back and said, ‘You’re spoiling that child you know. My boys always ate their vegetables and certainly never had tantrums like that.’
This, in Pamela-speak, roughly translated to: �
��You are a slack and lazy mother. Your child is no doubt going to end up a heroin addict and prostitute by the age of fifteen and it will be all your fault.’ Who cares, I’d averted a crisis and that’s all I was really worried about at this stage.
Unfortunately, when I got downstairs I began to realise how long that particular diplomatic exercise had taken. The entrées had all been served and the plates had already been taken away. I was starving, too. What’s more, all the good seats next to the vaguely amusing people had been taken and the only vacant seat I could see in the whole room was next to Brad, the over-enthusiastic facilitator. That was the first time I swore that evening.
Just as I was contemplating this fate, Alex called me over: ‘Hey Ellie, what happened to you? I saved you a seat.’
Alex had indeed saved me a seat, but unfortunately no entrée.
‘Sorry about not keeping your entrée - they’d cleared everything away before I noticed,’ he explained.
‘Never mind,’ I said, ‘I just had a few domestic issues to settle with my daughter and mother-in-law, which took longer than expected.’
On the other side of Alex was Rosanna, the senior sales representative. She shot me a hostile look. It was obvious she was trying to get her hooks into Alex. Rosanna had been one of our most successful sales reps for Lo-prez, no doubt by virtue of her long black hair and vavavoom figure - think poor man’s Catherine Zeta Jones. I suspect all the male doctors felt that if they were going to have to be bored by the sales pitch they might as well enjoy the scenery on offer. I’d actually wondered why she’d requested a transfer to the Erecta team but the answer was now clear. It was not so much the product she was interested in, as the product manager. Apparently the fact he had a girlfriend didn’t really figure in her calculations.
I have mentioned before the immense respect I have for the never-say-die attitude of our reps. One of the reasons why the company takes them away to conferences in luxury resorts is to bolster their egos, which take a daily beating when they’re out on the road. However, that doesn’t mean I have to like all of them and in particular that doesn’t mean I have to like Rosanna. She’s a surly cow, who, when not in sales mode, whinges about everything to do with our marketing campaigns.
I sat down, scoffed the dinner roll and knocked back a glass of Semillon too quickly. I told them about the flying broccoli, as the story of my delinquent child was really rather amusing and seeing I’d missed out on my entrée thought I should at least be able to dine out on that. Alex thought it very funny, Rosanna less so. Why is she so antagonistic to me? I thought. I was the staid old married woman and not in competition for Alex’s charms, considerable though they might be.
I drank another glass of wine and finally my meal arrived. I’d only taken a bite or so when my mobile rang. It was Tony.
‘Where are you?’ I asked.
‘At the hotel - I’ve called in sick with the flu and I’m staying over.’
‘You’re what? You can’t be. Haven’t you remembered you are meant to be picking Isabel up tomorrow morning? I’m at my sales weekend up the coast.’
‘Oh, I forgot. Can’t you get out of it?’
‘No, I am presenting tomorrow morning.’
‘Oh yeah, you mentioned that. Well I can’t help being sick,’ he said.
‘You don’t sound very sick.’
‘Well I am.’
I realised that the other people at my table were looking at me with too much interest. I took myself outside to the balcony to continue our ‘discussion’ in private.
‘Your mother is expecting you to pick up Issy early tomorrow, so that she can go to her ladies’ lunch. She’s going to be livid. I can’t believe you didn’t remember any of this. I told you a million times.’
‘It was not a million times - don’t be stupid.’
‘You could at least be a bit humble about all of this.’ And then a little warning light flashed on in my mind. ‘Tell me - are you alone in that hotel room or do you have company?’
There was the slightest hesitation before he said, ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘You didn’t answer my question.’
‘Of course I’m alone.’
‘Well let’s face it - you have form.’
‘Huh…I’m just sick, okay.’ I wasn’t completely reassured. ‘Anyway, well, sorry [finally some sort of an apology]. You’ll need to ring my mum and arrange something else I guess.’
‘I’m not ringing your fucking mother! This is your fault.’
‘There is no need to swear.’
‘Oh yes there is.’
‘Look, this is pointless. I really have to go,’ he said coldly. ‘We can continue this argument when I get back on Monday, if that’s what you want. But you’ll just have to ring Mum. I’m sure she’ll be okay about it. I really need to go to bed if I’m going to get better.’ And then he hung up on me, the bastard.
Go to bed to do what? I thought and pressed the recall button on my phone. It went straight through to his voicemail; he’d switched his phone off on me. I rang the number of his Hong Kong hotel, but when I asked reception to put a call through to his room no-one picked up.
Was he deliberately not answering or was he not in his room?
Trouble was, I didn’t have time to think about that right now. I had to arrange something for Isabel the next day. Mum was still away so she was not an option. Dad was bloody hopeless. I tried Nicole, the mother of Isabel’s best friend, Molly. She was apologetic but unfortunately had to attend a christening the next day. Then I had a brain wave and rang Emma.
‘Hi Emma, I have a crisis,’ I quickly explained, omitting the details of the argument. In the official version Tony was legitimately sick. Emma said that was fine, she and Daniel would take Issy to the zoo; it would be fun. I told her not to let go of Issy’s hand and to not let her eat too much junk food, thanked her profusely and rang my mother-in-law for the second time that night.
‘Poor baby,’ she said. ‘He’s always getting sick these days. You need to look after him better. Just make sure your sister is on time as I don’t want to be late for my lunch.’
I briefly contemplated Pamela’s reaction to Daniel, Emma’s boyfriend. It would probably confirm all her opinions about my family, being just one level up from trailer trash in her eyes. At other times I would have thought this funny, but not this particular night.
By the time I got back inside everyone else had finished their main course and my plate was gone again. I had steam coming out of my nose until Alex explained that he’d had my meal taken away to the kitchen so they could keep it warm for me. He had it brought back and I tried to eat, but by this time I was too upset to feel hungry. I drank another glass of wine. Rosanna had gone off in a huff and was now on the dance floor, dirty dancing with the sleazy guy from the training department. At least someone was having a good night, I thought.
I drank yet another glass of wine.
Alex had been sitting there beside me the whole time, silently observing me. ‘Okay, what’s happened?’ he asked eventually.
That was all I needed. I told him all about what had happened - about Tony and how I was suspicious that he was sleeping around and, if so, it wouldn’t be the first time and how he’d turned into such a prick and his bitch of a mother - everything. He was so quiet and sympathetic and understanding about it too. A little voice inside me was saying: he’s your boss, Ellie. This is Alex we are talking about - Mr Discretion himself. He’s probably freaking out right now and thinking you’re mentally unstable and going to get you fired on Monday, but this voice wasn’t loud enough to stop me spilling it out.
Then I realised that I wasn’t feeling too well. The room was spinning a bit. Oh my God, Alex was now going to think me a drunk as well as mentally unstable. I said quietly, ‘I think I’d better go to my room. I’m not feeling too hot.’
‘I’d be
tter make sure you get there okay,’ he said and helped me to my room on the second floor. I was so overcome by his kindness and my own stupid drunken sentimentality that I gave him a little hug and said, ‘Thank you so much. You’re really very sweet, you know.’
That’s when something most unexpected happened. He kissed me. Not a chaste peck on the cheek either, it was a proper kiss on the mouth. And his lips were so warm and inviting that I kissed him back. Then he put his arms around me and pulled me really tight. It felt so good. It was only when his hands started exploring too far, roaming up and down my back, that another warning light flashed on in my head and I thought: What are you doing?
I pulled away from him savagely and said, ‘What are you doing? I’m a married woman!’
‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I thought…’
‘Well you thought wrong. You better go, right now.’
So he left. Oh, what a night this was turning out to be.
Instead of the blissful night’s slumber I’d had planned, I hardly slept a wink. My head was all woozy and the bed felt like I was on an ocean liner in a heavy swell. I couldn’t stop thinking about Tony and whether he was having another affair and about Alex and how I’d thought he was so nice and how all men were bastards, till finally I fell asleep at about 5am. I woke up to crusty, bloodshot eyes and a throbbing head.
Not wanting to run into Alex before it was absolutely necessary, I ordered breakfast in, swallowed some pain killers I’d had the good sense to pack and drank vast amounts of coffee in preparation for my talk at 9am. I looked truly awful but had rehearsed my presentation often enough that I could wing that okay. From the looks of a few of the people in the audience I was not the only one nursing a hangover that morning. Alex and I avoided eye contact and I begged off the rest of the day, claiming I had to pick up Isabel earlier than expected. Then I left as soon as I possibly could.
Happily Ever After? Page 15