by Ber Carroll
She feared she would be one of those nervous drivers who crawled along at ten kilometres an hour below the speed limit and stopped twenty metres before traffic lights. It turned out that she was quite the opposite. She loved the feeling of being behind the wheel. Shifting the gearstick, pressing on the accelerator, manoeuvring the instructor’s car into London’s impossibly tight parking spaces, all brought a rush of pleasure. She passed her driving test on first attempt. Then she asked Gretel for a company car.
‘We’ve only just given you a big pay increase,’ was Gretel’s reply. ‘Not to talk about the company shares. Can’t you buy your own car?’
‘No.’ Jodi was matter-of-fact. ‘You know as well as I do that image is everything in sales. I need to have a car that’s comparable to the vehicles of the board members I’m trying to sell to. I can’t very well arrive in a Mini or Starlet and expect them to take me seriously. Organise the car and I’ll promise you an extra three hundred million of new business. Deal?’
Gretel took the deal. Jodi got her car: a sporty Mercedes-Benz. She adored everything about it: the silver metallic paint, the plush leather seats, the sunroof that slid open at the touch of a button; but mostly she loved the fact that it enabled her to spend more time on the open road rather than being stuck in an overheated office talking to a client who was a hundred kilometres away, not only in terms of distance but also in terms of buying into the pension fund.
Invesco appointed a new CEO in the New Year: Brian Hughes. He was a balding, arrogant man who was small in stature but big in voice. He bellowed his commands and opinions across meeting tables. It was even worse when his booming voice was channelled down the phone, Jodi having to hold the receiver back from her ear, everyone around being made privy to what he was saying.
Within a few weeks Brian had embarked on a cost-cutting and redundancy frenzy. Unfortunately, Gretel was one of the first casualties.
‘I don’t mind,’ she confided to Jodi. ‘I got a good payout – means I can stay at home for a while, be a real mum.’
But Jodi couldn’t help thinking that Gretel was putting on a brave face. This was the woman who had worked her heart out as she’d fought to become the first female on the company’s executive management team. Thirteen years of slog, all for Brian Hughes to decide, a mere four weeks into his tenure, that her services were no longer required.
Jodi kept her head down, worked hard, and tried to stay on the right side of the new CEO. The last thing she needed was to lose her job. She needed another year in this role to cement her experience. She needed to prove that she could bring in the extra three hundred million pounds of business she’d promised, even though Gretel wasn’t around to hold her to it. And she needed to save another fifty thousand dollars to buy her mother that apartment by the sea.
Jodi made a concentrated effort to join the crowd in the local pub after work on Fridays. At first it was like something on her to-do list at work, a chore. But it got easier. Friendships developed with some of the girls. Shopping days and other social gatherings came about as a result and life was less empty.
She was at the pub one Friday evening when she saw a familiar face. He was laughing, head back, that’s what made her look his way in the first place. Quite good-looking with longish untidy curls that many men wouldn’t be able to carry off. She couldn’t place him, though.
Later on she felt a touch on her shoulder.
‘Jodi, isn’t it?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she replied, frantically trying to remember how she knew him.
‘We met last year. It’s Nathan.’
‘Oh.’ The guy who’d given her his business card at Ian’s farewell. The one she hadn’t called.
‘Still working around here?’ he enquired.
‘Yeah. You?’
‘Yeah. Different firm, though.’
An awkward silence followed.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ He glanced at her almost empty glass. ‘Or should I simply take the hint from the fact you didn’t call?’
Jodi wet her lips. ‘A drink would be nice.’
He left to go to the bar.
Rachel was over in a flash. ‘Who’s he?’
‘Someone I hardly know.’
‘I think you should get to know him, then.’ She eyed him as he stood at the bar. ‘Very sexy!’
Rachel was right. Nathan was very sexy. Jodi felt a silly blush rise on her face.
‘You’re going red,’ Rachel observed gleefully.
‘No, I’m not.’
‘Yes, you are. You like him, don’t you?’
Well, something was happening. Her stomach felt a bit mushy. And her face was flaming red.
‘Oh stop it,’ she hissed to Rachel. ‘He’ll be back soon and I’m going to look as red as a . . .’ She struggled to find an analogy. ‘Traffic light,’ was the best she could come up with.
Rachel laughed uproariously. So loud that Nathan turned around from where he was standing at the bar.
Jodi shot her a filthy look. ‘Keep it down, would you?’
‘Okay, okay.’ Rachel held up her hand in a truce. ‘I’m leaving now anyway. Meeting a friend over at the Arms. Call me tomorrow, though. Let me know what he’s like in bed.’
‘Rachel! I’ve absolutely no intention of . . . Oh, just go.’
Jodi saw Nathan making his way back, willed her face to return to normal and tried not to think what he’d be like in bed.
‘Thanks.’
She took a long sip of her drink. Dutch courage.
Conversation was stilted at first. They talked weather, work and world news. Nothing too heavy or personal. Lots of punctuating silences.
Jodi learned that Nathan was a marketing consultant. This surprised her. He didn’t look glossy enough. Later he mentioned that he played rugby at the weekends. That fitted better: his rough-and-tumble good looks had the markings of a man who liked to scrum.
She told him about her job, her beloved car and some bare details about her family back home. The night ticked away. Closing time was called.
‘Do you want to go on to a club?’ Nathan asked.
‘No.’ Jodi looked down at her feet. ‘Two left ones. No rhythm.’
Nathan laughed. ‘That makes two of us. How about a coffee at my place?’
‘Okay.’
She finished up her drink and put on her jacket. She wanted to go quickly. Before she chickened out.
Outside the night was drizzly and taxis were thin on the ground. They walked along the roadside, keeping their eyes peeled. After a few minutes they got lucky when a cab pulled in across the road to drop someone off. Nathan clasped her hand and they sprinted towards it before anyone else could get in ahead of them.
‘Hammersmith,’ he said to the driver.
Jodi nearly mentioned that she lived close by in Shepherds Bush but decided that the less he knew about her the better. They sat apart in the taxi. Her hands were crossed, his rested on his knees. No holding.
‘Do you live alone?’ she asked when he turned the key in the door of his apartment.
‘No.’ He flicked on the light. Jodi saw a spacious living room with neutral carpet and a corner lounge suite. An oversized TV was centred on a wall unit, books and CDs crammed in the shelves around. A guitar was propped on a stand in one of the corners. ‘I have a flatmate. Casey. She travels a lot . . .’
He switched on a lamp at the far end of the room. Its seductive glow combined with the light from the hall. Jodi walked over to the guitar and strummed her fingers across the strings.
‘Who plays?’
‘Me.’
‘I thought you said you’d no rhythm?’
‘That’s my feet.’ His face broke into a smile that made her heart do a little flip. ‘My fingers keep the beat okay.’
‘Would you play something for me?’ she heard herself ask.
He took the guitar from its stand and sat on the lounge, one knee jutting out. Gently, reverently, he strummed the strings with a few warm-up
chords, then stronger ones that heralded the start of something. He began to sing, his voice hoarse, its timbre sending a shiver up her spine. She didn’t recognise the song. The lyrics spoke of finding love. His eyes closed intermittently and she could stare, without being found out, at the emotion on his face.
She was in awe by the time the song whispered to a finish. ‘You wrote that, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah,’ he shrugged, looking self-conscious as he leaned over to put the guitar back in its stand.
‘It was really good.’
‘Thanks.’ He looked a bit sheepish, as if he didn’t quite believe her praise.
‘No, it really was,’ she insisted.
His hand reached out and drew her in to sit alongside him. Her heart hammered. The unexpected serenade had temporarily distracted her from the reason she was here in the first place.
‘Your hair’s wet,’ he said softly as he stroked his hand over it.
‘So is yours,’ she replied, her eyes taking in sparkles of water glistening on his mop of curls.
His lips touched hers. She felt a jolt of chemistry.
Yes, this is the right thing to do.
She opened her mouth and the kiss deepened. Easy. Her lips seemed to remember what to do of their own accord.
His hand, damp from her hair, followed the line of her neck and slid inside her top to rest on her bare shoulder, cold against her warm skin. More kissing. Two hands under her top now. A thumb brushing across her nipple. Another jolt of chemistry or lust or whatever this was.
Yes, I’m okay with this.
Bravely, she unbuttoned his shirt. His muscled torso looked exactly as the outline of his shirt had promised. The kind of torso that had to be strong and solid enough to take the driving shoulders of the rival rugby team. Her hands spanned the breath of his chest. His kisses became more urgent. She stopped thinking.
Jodi lay wide-eyed in the dark. The flashing red of the alarm clock noted the time as 5 am. She’d watched it tick over the last two hours. She hadn’t slept.
Next to her, in a deep slumber, Nathan’s body was relaxed and his breathing even. She, on the other hand, lay in a tight little ball, her knees hugged in, her breathing jagged. Sleep wasn’t going to come.
Cautiously, so as not to stir Nathan, she slipped out from under the blankets. She gathered her clothes from the floor and tiptoed out to the living area where she got dressed. Then she took small soft footsteps to the door, stealthily pushed the handle down, and left the apartment.
It was still drizzling outside. She deliberated for a moment on whether to hail a taxi. The rain was soft and home was only twenty or so minutes away. She decided to walk.
She imagined that Nathan would be quite relieved that he wouldn’t have to dispose of his one-night stand in the morning; a good-looking guy like him would probably sleep with a different girl every other weekend. Must make it a lot easier if they weren’t around the following morning, hoping for another date, or even a relationship.
Jodi was just grateful that it had been a positive experience. She’d really enjoyed Nathan’s company and the sex had been powerful enough to make her forget that it was meant to be just another milestone. Now she could tick the box SLEEP WITH ANOTHER MAN. She was further down the road of recovery. And so she should be. Andrew was dead two years last week.
On the following Monday morning Jodi was informed that she was to lose two people from her team. The notice came by way of email. It seemed that reducing headcount was Brian Hughes’s favourite pastime. Jodi went straight to his office to protest.
‘I can’t do without these people.’
‘Of course, you can.’ He dismissed her with a demeaning wave of his hand. ‘They’re only admin.’
He made the word admin sound like it was something dirty. Jodi tried to control the wave of anger rising inside her.
‘Rachel coordinates the implementation of new customers,’ she informed him in a stony voice. ‘She inputs the employee details on the system, irons out any problems and makes sure it’s all a smooth experience for the client.’
Brian’s fat little face was unmoved. It was very evident that he didn’t give a damn what Rachel did all day.
Nevertheless, Jodi continued on. ‘Eileen handles all my correspondence. She makes meetings, cancels meetings, reschedules meetings, makes reservations, unmakes reservations, and does whatever is necessary to get me and the clients together at the same place and time.’ She stopped for a quick breath. ‘Brian, you must believe me, losing Rachel and Eileen will negatively impact our clients – it’ll be bad for business.’
Brian regarded her from under his bushy eyebrows. He looked as if he had begun to contemplate her arguments.
‘Paula,’ he shouted to his secretary, who was sitting outside at her desk.
‘Yes?’
‘Can you book a table at Franco’s?’
‘How many?’
‘Two.’
Jodi stared at him incredulously. So that was the end of it? Rachel and Eileen were to lose their jobs without any further discussion?
Brian leaned forward in his seat. His puffy lips parted to bare yellowed teeth. Jodi hadn’t seen him smile before. If possible, it made him even less attractive.
‘Let’s talk about it over lunch,’ he said in a voice that was low for him.
‘Pardon?’
‘You and me. Lunch.’ The smile had transformed into a leer. ‘Franco’s is one of the best places in town,’ he declared as if she should be honoured. ‘Mondays are quiet there – we’ll have some privacy, time to get to know each other a little better, eh?’
His leer widened, taking over his whole face. His intentions were quite unmistakeable and nothing to with Rachel and Eileen’s jobs. Shock froze Jodi to the spot.
Brian heaved his fat little body up from his chair. He straightened his tie and squeezed his arms into his suit jacket. Coming around from the desk, he noticed an untied lace and stooped to fix it.
‘I’m busy,’ Jodi mumbled.
‘What?’ He straightened, his face red from the rush of blood, thinking perhaps he had misheard.
‘I’m too busy to take lunch today,’ she said, her words hurrying out.
Abruptly, she swung on her heel and practically ran from his office. Paula, the secretary, didn’t even look up as she passed. Maybe she was used to women hurrying out. How many cosy lunches for two had she booked at Franco’s before today?
Jodi flew down the corridor and, coming out at the foyer to see she had just missed a lift, decided to take the stairs. Down she went, flight after flight, her heels clicking on the bare grey concrete. She was trembling, her hands, her knees, her insides, everywhere. Why had she not seen it before? How like Bob he was? The fat face, the bullying ways, and now the misdirected desire?
What is wrong with me? Why do men like that think I’m an easy touch?
She had no answers. She walked around the surrounding streets and tried to calm down enough to look at the situation objectively. She went back over everything in her head. Was it possible she had mistaken Brian’s intentions?
No. He said Franco’s was private and we could ‘get to know each other’. He mentioned nothing more about Rachel and Eileen. And I know the look he had on his face.
The next most pertinent question was why hadn’t she stood up to him? Let him know in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t up for any hanky-panky or whatever else he had in mind?
Because I was petrified. So scared I couldn’t think straight. All I could see was Bob in front of me.
Jodi heard a horn beep furiously and realised she had unwittingly crossed a side street without looking for oncoming traffic. She raised an apologetic hand to the driver and hurried along to the safety of the footpath on the other side.
Her thoughts reverted back to the problem at hand. Could she go back to the office and act as though everything was okay? Could she fool herself that Brian didn’t look like Bob and history wasn’t about to repeat itself?
Jodi returned to the office and got on with her work.
The following day she received another invitation for lunch. The email read: Paula can get us into Franco’s at 1 pm. Please confirm.
She typed a response.
Sorry, Brian. I should have explained that I don’t go to lunches or dinners with the boss. I had a bad experience in the past. I know that you wouldn’t take advantage, but I’d prefer for all our dealings to be here in the office. Thanks for your understanding.
Her lips twitched as she pressed SEND. Brian might be frighteningly like Bob, but she wasn’t at all like the old Jodi. She’d come a long, long way.
Sarah: Old Love
Chapter 28
Dublin, 1997
Sarah strode into her office and put her briefcase on her desk. She’d inherited the office from Eric who had retired two years ago. Perched on the mezzanine level, it had glass walls on three sides. She could see everything that was going on down on the trading floor, and everyone could see what was going on in her fishbowl: her visitors, her moods, her every move. It was the one thing she didn’t like about being chief dealer.
She unwound a cashmere scarf from her neck, unbuttoned her heavy winter coat and hung both items in the closet behind her desk. Sitting down, she took a moment to savour the sweet silence. The phone hadn’t started to ring and there was nobody waiting at her door for a word of advice. Not yet, anyway. Give it ten minutes and there’d be the usual bedlam.
Closing her eyes, she inhaled over three seconds, held it for three and then slowly exhaled. She’d read about the breathing technique in a magazine last year and found it very effective, particularly at night when she needed to wind down from a manic day in the office.
After a few minutes of deep breathing, she turned on her computer. While it was loading up, she read the pink telephone-message slips that had been left on her desk. They were mostly trivial matters that could have been dealt with by any one of her staff. However, it was a frustrating fact of life that the richest clients wanted to deal only with the boss. If those clients were a little less self-important and a little more flexible, Sarah would not have to work twelve-hour days.