by Celia Hayes
One month since he last touched a woman. And that means that there are still two to go. How can he manage for another two months if he’s already losing his mind? Because, come on, Sam Preston is… well, she’s just Sam. If he starts even thinking about her like a… well, like a woman, then he’s really up the creek without a paddle. Another day like this and he’ll be watching amateur porno videos on the internet like some dumb horny teenager.
He breathes in noisily and rubs his temples, closing his eyes for a moment and desperately trying to bring the reactions of his body, which this long inactivity has caused, back under control.
It’s terrible, unbearable.
He feels like a lion in a cage, as though there is an incredible amount of repressed energy waiting to explode.
“Okay, that’s enough,” says Dave to himself, as he starts doing pointless relaxation exercises while hiding his face with his hands, not realising that the door is opening. He doesn’t even hear the dull sound of high heels walking around his desk, nor the swish of a dress as two long, elegant legs approach him. Only when a familiar voice snaps him back to reality does he notice that he’s no longer alone in the room. Underneath the way she says his name is a sort of buzz full of unspoken promises of which he vaguely remembers the outcome.
“Are you having a tough day?”
He raises his head and finds himself in front of Tiffany, who’s sitting on the edge of the desk and wearing a dress that is so short that it doesn’t leave a great deal to the imagination. His eyes instinctively go from her legs to her bustier and when they reach her neckline his expression grows desolate.
Tiffany realises that she has obtained the desired effect. Tiffany smiles. She wasn’t expecting to find him on his own and she is planning to take full advantage of her good fortune.
“Err… yeah,” stammers Dave, compulsively tidying up folders on the desk to occupy his mind. He clears his voice. “The usual, you know. How about you? Have you already checked those court documents I gave you?”
“Actually I haven’t,” she admits with a sigh. “I haven’t had time yet, but tomorrow should be pretty quiet, so I ought to be able to get round to it then.”
“Good,” Dave nods. “Good,” he repeats to convince himself while indecorously trying to escape. “Okay, great, well in that case, we can talk when you’re done with them – I’m going to… er, shoot off back to my office to take care of all these folders instead,” he says, nodding at the pile of documents in his hands.
“Dave… Dave, wait,” Tiffany says, while squeezing herself between the armchair and the drawer, blocking his way. “You said you were going to call me.”
“I said what?”
“Yes, don’t you remember?” she insists, moving closer.
Dave instinctively takes a step back and finds himself against the wall with only his folders to shield him. “Tiffany, I’m busy right now.”
“But you said you liked me,” she moans, clearly having no intention of desisting. She raises a hand and slides her fingers across the front of his shirt, caressing his chest while she plays with the buttons. “I dreamt about you yesterday…” she whispers, biting her lip.
“Ti… Tiffany,” Dave tries to stop her with a stern voice, realising he just lost the ability to salivate. “Look, I’m really, truly sorry, but right now I just can’t…” He can’t come up with anything resembling a decent excuse, he can only take her wrist gently and push it away. The old Dave would have already dragged her into some broom closet, but the new Dave can’t behave like that. He has priorities now, and solid principles. He has to keep his position.
That’s at least what he keeps obsessively repeating to himself while he tries to get discreetly to the door without losing face completely.
“But… Dave…” she insists, dissatisfied, “what about our date?”
“I’m afraid we’ll have to reschedule,” he says apologetically and grabs the brass door knob. The corridor is just a couple of steps away – he only needs to get a foot outside and he’s safe! “Forgive me, but I am just overwhelmed with work right now!” he repeats, holding the folders up as though to indicate the reason why he’s in such a rush. “See you later, okay? Okay, cool,” he says, answering his own question without giving her a chance to say anything and taking advantage of her momentary surprise to open the door, go out and close it behind him in a panic. Only then does he realise that he has just shut himself in the photocopying room.
“Damn it!” he curses with gritted teeth and angry eyes. He knows that there’s no way he can get out of this by himself and that he needs some help, so he takes his phone from his trousers.
“Hi there, this is the suicide prevention help line,” answers Brian after a couple of rings. “My bank account number is…”
“Remind me,” Dave whispers. “Please remind me why I’m doing this, I really need to hear it,” he begs while dropping down wearily onto a stool and banging his head heavily against the door.
“What exactly are we talking about?” asks Brian, pretending not to understand what his friend means.
“I’m scared that I might do something stupid. That I might not be able to hold off until tonight.”
“Well, you’ve already lasted much longer than I’d imagined,” Brian consoles him. “Don’t blame yourself, nobody was really expecting you to be able to go through with it.”
“It’s horrible, I’m not joking. I’m surrounded,” he complains, pressing his forehead on the door. “They’re all ganging up on me. Even Sam.”
“Sam?”
“Yeah… You should see her. I’m sure she knows what I’m going through. You know what women are like…”
“No, to tell you the truth, I don’t actually. What are they like?”
“They’re sly. They understand when you’re afraid and that’s when they decide to attack you!”
“Okay, you’re actually starting to worry me now,” responds Brian in a serious tone.
“I need a way to get myself out of all this,” murmurs Dave with renewed determination. “I have to find a way to handle it. Maybe I could take a couple of weeks off… or work from home. I could do that if I had a good excuse. And I’m sure Tom would have my back.”
“You can try, but remember that you’ll have to take care of the opening of Fashion Week,” Brian reminds him sadistically.
“Oh shit!”
“It starts tomorrow, right?”
“Shit!”
“Aren’t you happy about it? It’s the ideal excuse to overwork. Maybe lock yourself in at home to do it. Call that girl… what was her name?”
“Who? Sam?”
“Yes, her!”
“No!” Dave replies categorically. “Sam has to stay out of this. I need to do everything by myself.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Abstinence must be hard on you, right?” Brian replies, imagining why his friend doesn’t want to see her.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’ve never seen her, but you said…”
“What did I say?” snaps Dave, starting to get pissed off.
“Didn’t you choose her because she’s ugly?”
“I never said that she was ugly.”
“Okay, but you said that she was some sort of monster.”
“Brian, I never said anything like that!” yells Dave, finally losing his temper.
“Let’s just say she’s not particularly sexy, then…”
“Come on, Brian…”
“… but she’s a beautiful person,” Brian continues stubbornly, amused by Dave’s sudden irritation.
“You’re an asshole, Bri!”
“Relax! I’m not going to tell anyone,” says Brian, teasing him pitilessly. “And anyway, they all look the same in the dark.”
“Sooner or later you’re going to explain to me why the hell I haven’t deleted your number yet.”
“Because you’re secretly in love with me.”
Dav
e bursts out laughing.
“So?” insists a delighted Brian. “Have you decided what to do?”
“I think so.”
“No assistant?”
“No, I’m going to enjoy some solitude.”
“I feel really sorry for you.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“Are you coming to poker night tomorrow?”
“Is it at Matt’s place?”
“Yes, at nine. Bring some beers.”
“Okay, see you tomorrow then,” says Dave, then hangs up. He’s feeling more relaxed now and he takes a deep breath.
It was just panic, just a bit of good old panic. Tiffany, Sam, the heat – especially the heat, since the air conditioning is always broken… Anyone could lose his mind in these conditions. What’s important is recovering control of the situation and getting himself back on the right track without letting himself get side tracked. And that is precisely what he’s planning to do: go straight home and lock himself in the house until things have changed. It’s a perfect plan. He feels totally confident when he opens the door and walks back into the room, but then he realises he’s not alone any more. On the other side of the desk, just by the filing cabinet, Albert and Nicholas are searching for some document.
“We should double check this,” one whispers to the other, while browsing the folders. They haven’t noticed him and go on with their research.
“No, there’s no need, I already asked: they can get it directly from the courthouse,” the other replies, indicating something on a piece of paper he’s holding in one hand and then scratching his eyebrow with the other.
He watches them discuss what to do – everything seems to be running as normal.
Dave heads towards the corridor, absolutely indifferent to what the two men are talking about. He’s determined to go back to his office and let them get on with their work.
“Hey, do you think Sam is seeing someone?”
When he hears that question though, he stops at the door and can’t help waiting to overhear the answer.
“I don’t think so,” replies Nicholas distractedly.
“Do you think it’d be okay to ask her out? I’ve got two tickets for a show this Saturday,” Albert admits, sounding embarrassed.
“Sure, why not? Ask her and see what she says,” suggests Nicholas, but before he can finish his sentence, The Chronicle’s deputy editor is already running down the hall in search of his assistant, determined to look everywhere, if necessary.
“Where the hell is Sam?” he yells at Jane, after having almost knocked the door of her office off its hinges.
“Sam? She left about thirty minutes ago. She asked for half the day off because she has a dentist’s appointment.”
“And who authorised that?” he says, glaring at her while he calls Sam’s number on the phone. “Hello? Sam? What do you mean ‘who is it’? It’s Dave, who were you expecting? What the hell were you thinking of asking for half a day off? I don’t care if you’re busy – you’ve got work to do tonight!”
Chapter 18
Love is Blind… and Pretty Stupid Too
“Wh… no, wait, stop!” shouts Lou as he tries to keep me in the chair, but I can’t keep still. My face is completely covered with make-up, most of my hair is in curlers and he’s right behind me, pulling that damned brush through the rest of it.
“Ow! Er… Hel… hello? Yes, who is it? Da… Dave? Did you… Did you ask me where I was?” I shout into the phone, then I cover the mouthpiece with one hand and angrily whisper at Lou’s reflection in the mirror, “Will you watch what the hell you’re doing!”
“How can you expect me to work under these conditions?” he mutters, in perfect Audrey Hepburn style.
“Ssh!” I hiss, on the verge of a hysterical crisis. If they find out I’m not at the dentist, I’ll be out on my ass. “What did you say? To… tonight? Is that really necessary? Couldn’t we see each other tomorrow like we agreed?” I don’t really know what to think. Until this morning, Dave was the most impetuous and unreachable man on the West coast, and now he suddenly seems to think that he can’t do anything at all without me. I was convinced that I still had some free days before the start of the competition, but for some reason, all my commitments evaporated during the coffee break and the priority now seems to be organising meetings with the Fashion Week sponsors. “No? Err… no, I’m not doing anything.” Sure, apart from trying to catch up on fifteen hours of missing sleep, ironing, eating and letting my mother know I’m still alive before she starts handing out flyers in the neighbourhood with my picture under the word ‘missing’. “Okay, whatever you say,” I reply, as soon as he starts shouting. “Okay, fine. I’ll be there around nine. The documents? No, but I have my laptop with me, and I’ve got pretty much everything on that. Okay. Okay, see you tonight,” I say, then hang up and take a very deep breath.
Lou gives me a severe look. “Why did you tell your boss that you were at the dentist?”
“Because he doesn’t know that I’m taking part in the contest,” I admit.
“So why didn’t you tell him?”
“Err…”
“Your silence speaks volumes, and I’m not totally sure that I want to know,” mutters Lou, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s a long story,” I say, hoping he’ll understand.
“If that’s your excuse, there’s no need to ask what the verdict will be.”
“Why don’t you be a bit more helpful?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know, Lou. I’ve got the rehearsals for the contest, work, Dave demanding I spend the evening of the opening night with him without realising that I’m one of the contestants. What the hell should I do?”
“Tell him! Done. End of problem,” he says without giving me a chance to answer, and then goes back to violently brushing out my hair.
“Thank you very much indeed,” I mutter sulkily and stare at his face in the mirror, hoping that at least he’ll give me some useful advice or, alternatively, tell me that I am the fairest in the land. Unfortunately for me, he doesn’t say anything at all, so I pick up a gossip magazine in the hope of distracting myself from it all.
“Am I wrong or have we got something to celebrate here? I can’t believe you did it!”
At that moment Al enters, waving a bottle of champagne, and when I see him in the doorway, I can’t stay in that damn chair a moment longer. I slip away from Lou’s claws and find myself in Al’s arms, hoping he’ll never stop hugging me. When I’m with him it’s as if everything else disappears for a while: I almost feel normal, almost happy, almost like everyone else.
“What did I tell you? What did I tell you?” he says, squeezing me as tight as he can, without caring about my hair or the inch of make-up on my face. “I knew you’d get through!” he laughs exultantly, unable to let me go.
“Al, I… can’t breathe.” I push him off and try and catch my breath.
“So? Aren’t you going to tell me how it went?” he asks me excitedly. “I couldn’t get here any earlier, but they told me that it had been a success.”
“Yeah, no thanks to her,” mutters Lou resentfully.
“Sam, did you make Lou angry?”
“I’m afraid that I did,” I admit.
“What the heck did you do?”
“It was a disaster!” cuts in Lou, pacing up and down the room. “I told her not to put on black shoes and guess what shoes she puts on?”
“I’m not sure that I’m ready to find out…”
“The black ones! Black shoes with the green dress, I mean, can you imagine?”
“Sam…” Al throws out his arms in desperation. “How will you survive the disgrace?”
“Yeah, laugh it off, but you wouldn’t have laughed like that if you’d seen what she did with the pashmina,” replies Lou, rummaging through his make-up bag.
“No, you’re right. If there is one thing that I cannot tolerate it’s the improper use of a pashmina,” he answers
, before whispering to me, “What the hell is a pashmina?”
Needless to say, Lou hears everything and immediately starts venting his spleen. “You deserve to be allowed to dress that badly! My talent is being wasted here!”
Poor thing. He’s been working very hard, we shouldn’t treat him like this.
“No, come on, Lou, don’t abandon me now. You know that without you, my wardrobe is a disaster,” Al cries out in a last desperate attempt to appease him, but it’s too late. Lou has had enough of us and our stupid sense of humour, and, ignoring our desperate appeals, storms out.
“He’s gone,” I say guiltily, looking at the empty room. “We’ve lost him.”
“Finally!” cries Al, who doesn’t seem to share my apprehension. “I missed you,” he whispers, closing his eyes for a moment. He rubs the tip of his nose against mine and holds me tight.
“Oh…” I say, blushing.
“What do you mean ‘oh’?” He backs away for a moment and looks at me with a frown. “Just ‘oh’?”
“Ah…”
“Oh, now we’re really making progress,” he jokes.
“Well if you’d just give me a second…”
“‘I missed you too, Al’,” he says, in a ridiculous attempt to mimic my voice.
“I do not talk like that!” I shriek defensively, still laughing.
“Yes, yes, please, tear off all my clothes and let’s roll around in the wigs!” he continues, getting a bit carried away and dragging me off towards the couch.