by Carmen Quick
‘There’s no fucking way,’ Jen said, slurring the ‘s’ on there’s. She leaned over the table, her tits practically falling out of her top. I could see the older guy sitting opposite her getting a nice good view of her, licking his lips, the dirty old pervert.
‘Yeah. They’ll give it to The Post, again. Those fuckers win every year. I swear they steal all our fucking clients. They’ve got no respect for geographical fucking boundaries. It’s like I always say, why bother having…’ And Kieron was off, ranting about internal politics and the poor management of the team.
Then, suddenly, it was time. The chairman of the press society took his place at the rostrum. The words ‘Best Classified Advertising Team’ flashed up on the screen behind him, and he started to talk.
‘Classified advertising is the backbone of the Newspaper industry,’ he said. Honestly, I’m going to spare you the details of his speech, mainly because I was so nervous that I didn’t take any of it in. He was pretty damn boring to begin with, and my stressed-out mental state meant that I might as well have been somewhere else.
Finally, he drew in his breath and said, ‘Which brings us to the award. It goes out to a small team. A focused team. A team that brings tremendous results with limited resources. It goes to...’ A drum roll began to fill the room. I knew with every fibre of my being that we were going to win. I can’t explain why. But when he finally said, ‘The team at The Chronicle, Jen, Kieron and Lilly!’ I thought to myself, of course it’s us. Of course we won.
Jen and Kieron went ballistic, hugging each other, and then as an afterthought, me. I did my best to appear as happy as possible, but let me tell you, it was hard. We began to start the impossibly long walk up to the front of the room, past the people who actually deserved to be there; past the press barons and the journalists and the sports reporters and the editors and the subs and the features writers and everyone else. I could already feel my bladder start to prod at me. ‘Lilly,’ my bladder said, ‘go on, make a fool of yourself, just let go, go on, empty me.’
I climbed the stage with Jen and Kieron, with our arms linked, in a show of mock unity. Then, something weird happened. Jen looked at me with this kind of drunken intensity. She looked, well she looked evil, her eyes flashing murder at me. Then we were there, at the mic. Jen grabbed it from the hand of the chairman and tapped it twice.
‘Is this thing working?’ she said, forcing a weird laugh out of her mouth. ‘I guess so! Well I just want to say thank you to Kieron and to Lilly for all of their hard work this year. I’m sure they won’t mind me saying just how difficult it is to work with two people who are so incompetent. Just kidding!’ she said. There were titters of laughter around the room, but this strange intensity that she was leaking seemed to be making people feel very uneasy. I pushed my thighs together hard to try to keep the pee from coming out.
‘No, seriously, I would just like to say though,’ she said, ‘what a breath of fresh air it has been to have Lilly on the team. She’s so naive and inexperienced that it makes me and Kieron seem like geniuses.’
I was starting to feel really uncomfortable. Fuck fuck fuck, I couldn’t believe that Jen was talking about me like this. What was her problem?
‘And,’ she continued, ‘we’re really looking forward still to her first sale. We’re all sure it’s going to be a big one.’
What the fuck? That liar! I’d already made sales! I wanted to scream.
Then, she said: ‘Anyway, I heard that she’s not going to pass her probationary period, so we won’t have to put up with her for much longer.’
I didn’t know what to do. I looked around, my face starting to prickle with the hot terror of shame. I felt anger and shame bubbling up inside me. Then, feeling like a child, a pathetic child, I started to cry. And as the tears came, I realised that something else was leaking out of me, something warm and wet, something with an acrid, stinging smell. It trickled gently down my legs, I could feel the piss running all the way down my smooth skin, and then into my shoes. I didn’t let out much, but as soon as I realised what was happening, I tried desperately not to make any noise, and with tears stinging my cheeks, I walked off the stage, awkwardly, trying desperately to keep the rest of the liquid bottled up inside me. The room was quiet. Thank God I had been wearing a black dress.
As I walked back to my table, I saw him, looking right at me. Sheldon Forsythe. His eyes were hard slits, and he was scowling. He looked furious.
CHAPTER FOUR
Letting Off Steam
Why on earth would you hold an awards ceremony on a weeknight? A Wednesday night, at that!
I wasn’t in a fit state to move the next morning, let alone go to work. After I’d spent about an hour in the bathroom, drying myself after my accident, I had unfortunately let my shame get the better of me. I’d started to dink a little bit too much. I don’t know that many people, if anyone, noticed that I’d wet myself. Luckily I’d put a stop to it before It had become too obvious, and luckily I’d had the excuse of having had cried to explain why I’d been away from the table so much. When I got back, Paul, the fat man who ran Newsbiz, kept refilling our glasses and literally patting us on the back – so hard I almost spat out my drink. I swore there’d be a red handprint on my back this morning. But when I got up to pee, I checked myself in the bathroom mirror, and there was nothing there.
I surveyed myself in the mirror for any other damage last night had done. My pale green eyes had dark rings under them, exhausted from only four hours’ sleep. My skin looked a shade lighter, which made my freckles stand out even more than usual, and my brown hair, which I’d spent an hour curling last night, hung down in greasy ropes around my shoulders.
I only had twenty minutes to get ready for work, but I was going to need a shower. Fast. There was no way I could go in like this.
The sound of the shower tap turning on was a relief to my hungover ears. I stood shivering in my en-suite, waiting for the water to get hot. Thank goodness I had my own bathroom at my parents’ house. That was something. At least a little privacy on that front. I was totally embarrassed last night though, to have had my dad pick me up at the end of the night. My dad! Twenty-one years old, and my dad acts as my chauffeur. I couldn’t wait to save up enough money to get a place of my own. Unfortunately, I’d done the sums, and with the job I had now, it’d be a year and a half before I could pay off my overdraft and save up enough for a deposit. And that was just to rent somewhere. Ah well, for now, it was the small mercies. And right now, I was glad of my own shower.
The bathroom mirror began to steam up, a thick mist forming over my tired reflection, and I climbed into the shower, wincing at first at the heat, a little hotter than I was expecting. It stung my chest where it pelted down on me, and for a moment I almost enjoyed the sensation, but soon, I began to feel like it might take off a layer of my overly sensitive skin, so I switched down the temperature and set about cleaning off the remnants of last night.
It felt good to get rid of the debris of the awards ceremony. As I scrubbed off each layer of grime, memories from last night flooded back to me. The image of my dad, waving me over in the parking lot at two a.m. Sitting in the back seat of the car, in the position I’d always sat in since I was a child, on the left-hand side, behind the driver’s seat. As I looked out of the window, watching the last of the ceremony’s revellers, standing out on the sidewalk, warm and drunk and laughing, I remember catching the eyes of the man who’d dominated my thoughts that night: Sheldon Forsythe. He stepped away from the group he was with, watching my dad’s car drive away, and, feeling his eyes on me, I instinctively put my hand up to my mouth, swallowing away my embarrassment, frustrated with myself for crying onstage and making him look so furious.
And I remembered Jan too. How drunk she’d been when we all got off stage. That she’d told me my predecessor, Ryan, had been much more fun – that they’d been drinking buddies, that Ryan had understood her, that he’d been good at his job, too good, and that’s why he’d lef
t. He’d gone on to better things, leaving Jen in this old place, with an Irish idiot (Kieron had gritted his teeth) and a young, Bambi-eyed pea-brain (I’d gritted my teeth). Shortly after that, Jan threw up on her dress and got a cab home, and Kieron and I had spent the rest of the night with Paul, having the obligatory pat on the back Paul seemed so keen on giving my back in particular.
As the hot water danced over my skin, I felt a little color return to my cheeks again. The scent of jasmine in my shower gel cheered me up, and I began to feel a bit perkier. Maybe Christina, our boss, would go easy on us after our success last night. And no doubt whatever state I was in, Kieron would be just as bad, and Jen would be off the scale. At least going in today would be a chance to clear the air with Jen. I was sure she’d just said what she said because she was drunk. I hoped so, anyway. I was terrified of another confrontation. If I cried again, I’d…
Even thinking about crying made me feel like I was about to set off again. Ridiculous! It had to be the hangover. I’d eat a couple of slices of toast. That’d sort me out. I had to stop being so weak. It’s like my dad always told me: be strong to get along.
I rubbed the shower gel over myself a little harder, massaging my breasts, going under my armpits, running the soap between my legs. Be strong to get along, I thought, as I vowed to stop worrying about having upset Jen and Mr. Forsythe. Be strong to get along. I slid my fingers right up close against my pubis, stroking the soft skin and hairs on my delicate cleft, thinking about that tall, furious man, wondering how much he hated me after last night’s scene. I bet he thinks I’m pathetic. I let my soft fingertips circle my clitoris. A total embarrassment. A gasp escaped my lips.
I bet Sheldon Forsythe thinks I’m completely worthless.
I gasped again. My breathing got deeper and deeper as the first few gouts of piss coated my soft fingers. I massaged the sweet, shameful liquid into my sex, groaning as I explored deeper, faster, wetter.
CHAPTER FIVE
Miss Goody Two-Shoes
I’d tried to be quick, but I still ended up arriving at the office ten minutes late. Luckily I wasn’t the only one. I saw Kieron in the parking lot, only just heading in as well. Oh man, he looked rough. My shower had really perked me up. I think I must have looked quite spritely, in comparison. My main worry that morning was that someone had noticed what had happened to me up on that stage last night. And the most likely person in the office right now (until Jen arrived at least) was Patrick.
‘Lilly,’ he said to me, as we walked in through the double-doors together, ‘I feel like feckin’ death.’
I shot him a sympathetic smile. ‘Me too,’ I said. My heart thumped in my chest. Did he know?
‘Let’s stop here for a coffee,’ he said, motioning at the coffee stand at reception.
‘But we’re already late…’ I said, looking anxiously at my watch.
Kieron stopped walking. ‘You’re worried about breaking the rules or something?’ He was grinning ear to ear. ‘Scared of Christina? She’s a pussy cat. I promise. She might not look it, but…’
‘I just don’t want to get in trouble,’ I said coyly. ‘I’m still on my probationary period, and I don’t want to mess up.’
Kieron smiled and shrugged. ‘Okay, Miss Goody Two-Shoes. We’ll go up to the office then. But I’m taking a break in half an hour to get coffee. I’ll get you one then. Americano, with three sugars to shake off the hangover. Deal?’
I nodded and we headed to the elevator. Surely if he knew he’d have said something by now. I must have gotten away with it. Everyone had been drunk, maybe no-one at all had noticed, maybe I’d hidden it well enough.
Kieron pressed the button to go up, and then ran his fingers through his thick, blond hair. ‘Jesus, I didn’t even have time to take a shower,’ he said, yawning.
I thought about my own shower, and blushed.
The elevator doors pinged and Kieron walked in, me following him. I caught sight of myself in the mirror, under the harsh lights of the elevator, thinking how much more forgiving my own bathroom mirror had been. I didn’t look my best, that’s for sure. And I looked like I’d lost weight recently. I was only slight to begin with. Now I was losing the meat off my bones. It wasn’t good. I’d have a big lunch later. Maybe half a pizza, like Kieron sometimes had at his desk. That’d fatten me up.
The elevator doors closed, and we began our ascent.
‘Look, about last night…’ said Kieron. My heart almost stopped. ‘I’m sorry about Jen. She gets jealous easily.’
I screwed up my face, not understanding what he was getting about, why Jen would be jealous of me.
‘You know,’ Kieron said, running his eyes over me. ‘You’re young, intelligent, pretty…’
Oh god. Kieron wasn’t flirting with me, was he? There’s no way he’d be flirting if he’d noticed what had happened last night.
‘But Jen is gorgeous!’ I blurted. ‘And she’s good at her job.’
Kieron pursed his lips, amused. ‘You’re not so bad yourself, you know,’ he said. ‘At the job, that is.’
At that moment, the elevator doors pinged, and we got out.
Christina stepped out of her office the moment she saw us. ‘Hey, youse two!’ she shouted, her gruff Scots accent sounding stronger than ever. ‘Get your arses over here. Right noo.’
I braced myself, took a deep breath, and we walked over.
‘I’m so sorry, Christina,’ I began. ‘I completely lost track of time and I–’
‘Well fucking done,’ Christina said, grabbing one of us under each of her arms. ‘I’m proud of youse.’
My heart fluttered in my chest. So we weren’t getting a telling off. It was a congratulations!
‘Cheers, Christina,’ said Kieron. ‘It’s a shame you couldn’t make it.’
‘Aye, I know,’ she said, still grabbing on to us, hard. ‘But family comes first, you know, and my son’s birthday tea was also a great success. Ice cream. Burgers. Cleaning up puke ’til eleven p.m. The full works. Oh, the glamor.’ She finally let go of us, and then gave us a push towards our office. ‘No slacking today though, eh kids?’ she called, as we began walking down the corridor, past the room of journalists, some of whom had already been up for hours. ‘There’s money to be made.’
Kieron slumped immediately at his desk, which was closest to the door, and I walked over to mine, which was partially hidden behind a pot plant. It was only when I sat down that I realized. Jen wasn’t in the office.
‘Kieron,’ I said, ‘do you think Jen’s sick?’
Kieron looked at Jen’s empty desk and thought about this for a few moments. ‘Ach, she can take her drink,’ he said. ‘She’ll be in soon, like a bear with a sore head.’
I started up my computer, feeling a little relieved if I’m honest, that I didn’t have to face Jen just yet. And that’s when Christina appeared at the door, with a ghostly complexion and wide eyes. ‘Lilly,’ she said. ‘Come to my office, please.’ I’d never seen her look more serious.
CHAPTER SIX
White Bear Problem
‘Take a seat, Lilly,’ Christina said, pointing to the small wooden chair in front of her desk.
I hadn’t been into Christina’s office before. She had a reputation for holding all her meetings in the pub, over cocktails, which particularly pleased Jen, it had to be said.
The office was small, about half the size of the room that I worked in, and Christina had obviously occupied the space for a long time. It was crammed full of the things she’d accomplished over the last ten years as the boss. The walls were full of certificates, each one in a plastic, faux-gold frame, most of them hanging slightly lopsided, the ink fading on them a little and the paper bleached, from facing the sun. There was a display cabinet of small, dusty-looking trophies at the back of the room, and Christina’s desk was cluttered with family portraits, novelty paperweights, piles of dog-eared paper, and coffee stains. It smelt like she’d been smoking in here all morning. I thought smoking was banned i
n the building…?
She walked over to the window, looking out at the city. The sunlight showed up the dust in the room – I could see it floating around her body, like she was standing in mist. I surmized that I must be surrounded by the same cloud of dust. I tried not to think about the tiny particles of dead skin, paper fibers, animal hairs and plant pollen that we were breathing in together. Obviously, trying not to think about it made me think about it. It’s known as the White Bear Problem, or ironic process theory. Deliberate attempts to suppress certain thoughts make you much more likely to think about them. It’s what made dieting so tricky for some people, I guessed, and it explained why I always got so anxious and nervous in social situations. Don’t worry, I always told myself. And then I worried like crazy.
Right now, I was pretty damn worried. Christina was uncharacteristically quiet, particularly after that hugging display that had taken place in the corridor just ten minutes ago. What had happened between then and now for her to turn so pale, to look so angry? Had she heard about my tears last night? What about Jen? Shouldn’t she be angry at Jen instead? I felt my legs begin to tremble, a reflex action that always occurred in me when I sensed a confrontation coming.