“Exactly? Operations . . . ” Lorna hesitated. “ . . . manager.”
“I didn’t know we had managers.”
“Neither did I,” Ian said cheerfully. Lorna tried to catch Ian’s eye, but his gaze was soft and over her shoulder, impossible to hook.
“So wait. You really have screws in your head?” Lizbeth said suddenly. Lorna realized that her arrival must have interrupted Ian’s story.
Ian tapped his temple. “Yep. Real ones,” he said. “You can feel them.”
“Wow,” Lizbeth said. “Crazyass.”
Ian picked up Lizbeth’s hand, dragging it in front of Lorna, and pressed her fingertips to his hairline. Lorna had felt the screws before. Tender pellets under Ian’s warm, slightly oily skin. He’d been in a bar fight once in the early seventies. Loved to tell the story.
“Can you feel them?” Ian asked.
Lizbeth closed her eyes and bit her lip in concentration as Ian slid her fingers around on his skull. “Umm — ”
“Jesus. They’re right there!” Lorna said. “It’s not hard.”
“OK,” Lizbeth said, crinkling her nose. “Maybe I can feel them.”
Ian brought Lizbeth’s hand back down to the table but paused to look at her electric blue nail polish. “Too cold in here for you?”
Lizbeth, of course, had an orgasm.
“Must be nice,” Lorna said. “I wish I had the time to go for a manicure.”
“I did this myself,” Lizbeth said.
“Marvellous!” Ian said. “Then you could do Lorna’s nails.”
Lorna looked at her short, prim, and Protestant-looking nails. Neither woman had a reply for Ian. Lorna realized, then, that perhaps Lizbeth didn’t like her, either.
“My grandparents own a nail salon,” Lizbeth said. “Over on Yonge Street.”
“Is that right?” Ian said. “I’ll tell everyone about it.”
“When I was a little girl I wanted to do nails so bad,” she said.
“Well, you did say you were a ‘people person,’” Lorna said. She felt bored and left out. Her cigarette was still unlit. “Hey, tough guy.” She turned to Ian and placed her cigarette between her teeth. “Could ya offer a gal a light?” It came out more Mae West than Lorna wanted, completely embarrassing. In the silence that followed, she felt as though she’d farted.
Ian slid the lighter toward her. Lorna turned her head and lit the smoke she hardly wanted herself: she’d almost made it a year.
Lizbeth plucked the fruit out of the bottom of her sangria glass and sucked it in her mouth. “This stuff’s good,” she said, grinning. Her teeth were stained grey. Cory and Ian both reached for the pitcher to fill her glass.
For the next hour, Ian continued to tell stories, mostly things Lorna had heard before: the summer he spent working on a lobster trawler in Scotland (I bet you had an amazing suntan!), his colour blindness again (How could you tell my nails were blue?), the time he chased a purse snatcher with a picnic fork (Crazyass!).
When Lizbeth got up to use the restroom, knocking her chair over in the process, it occurred to Lorna that an advantage of her new role was that she had the corporate Visa. She could make this whole terrible party die. Quietly, importantly, Lorna turned to Ian. “I think it’s time to wrap up.”
Ian rattled his upper body in exaggerated surprise. “It’s not even dark?”
“It’s getting on.” She glanced back at the restrooms. “I think some of our more impressionable colleagues may have overindulged.”
“Come on,” Ian said. “I’ve seen a lot of drunks. Everyone’s just having a good time.”
“We should be a little responsible.” Lorna’s voice had the prudish edge again.
Ian sighed. “Oh, Lorna.”
“What?”
“Just relax, will you?”
Lizbeth returned, newly lip glossed. She stood by the table and all three men turned toward her. She lifted one of her beige platform heels and fixed a strap on her shoe. Her feet were pink and squashed looking through the straps, like pig hooves. “I thought there was going to be dancing.”
Lorna glanced at Ian. “Not generally.”
“Unless,” Ian said, turning to Lizbeth. “We’re letting you down.”
“I’ll dance,” Pat volunteered.
“There you go!” Ian said.
Pat, Cory, and Lizbeth made for the tiny patio dance floor. This left Lorna and Ian alone, at last. Ian faced the dance floor, a flickering string of coloured lights ticking across his forehead. Lorna took a large sip of sangria. “Sooo. You were going to ask me something?” she said.
“What was that?”
“That’s just it, I don’t know. But the other day in your office, you said you’d been meaning to ask me something?”
He turned slightly and frowned. “Why, then, didn’t I just ask?”
Lorna opened her eyes wide — appealingly, she thought — and shook her head gently.
After a pause, Ian said, “Well, one thing I’ve been thinking about is getting you enrolled in a database management course. Maybe it was that. Lizbeth thinks we should be making our historical data easier to access, and it’s actually a good idea.”
Lorna followed his gaze back to the dance floor. Lizbeth was waving her arms over her head, a little belly poking out in that tight dress. Pat and Cory had their sleeves rolled up, faces shiny with sweat. They were both doing a sort of dance that involved glancing over their shoulders every ten seconds as though searching for their asses. They really were idiots. Asian women were brilliant not to speak to them in focus groups.
Lorna cleared her throat. “So,” she said again. “Has our embargo been lifted?”
“Beg your pardon?”
She dropped her voice. “I don’t think anyone’s gossiping about us anymore.”
Ian rubbed his chin. “I’m not sure this conversation makes sense.”
Didn’t make sense full stop, or didn’t make sense now? After putting out her smoke, Lorna attempted a new conversation. “What a relief to have the kids away for the week,” she said using her normal voice. “They’re up at their father’s lake house.”
Ian didn’t turn. The music was loud, though it was still possible to hear a person, Lorna thought, if you only just took a look at them.
Lorna tried again. “This must be what it feels like for you all the time, having a kid away at school. Like you’re a whole new person, right? Free to do anything at all.” What made her say these things? It sounded like a come on.
“Edie’s home for the summer. We’re all off on vacation next week,” Ian said.
“Where?”
“North.” Ian gestured vaguely over his shoulder and then looked back at the dance floor.
Lorna blinked back the sting of rejection.
“Funny how these guys don’t know how to dance,” he said after a moment.
“Should we show them a thing or two?” It seemed like the right response, though Lorna was not a very good dancer herself and did not want to get up.
He batted the air. “You never want to be the old guy out there,” he said.
On the dance floor, Pat was buying drinks in test tubes from a mini-skirted bartender. Lorna felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Renata. “I’m going to get a taxi.” Renata dug through her purse. “Do you want to come with?”
“Well.” Lorna glanced over at Ian. “I was wondering if it might be time. The children are going to drink up our entire events budget.” She gestured toward the scene with the test tubes.
“Fine, Lorna, fine. It’s a wrap.” Ian picked up his jacket and called out to the dance floor. “Party’s over, lads. Stay if you want to.” Lorna felt a shot of victory. Ian was following her lead. If he’d just drive her home now, they could have a conversation — a conversation that made sense — in the car. Her apartment building was only ten blocks away from where he lived. She wouldn’t say anything ridiculous about embargoes.
“We’re going?” Lizbeth called back.
Lizbeth handed her test tube back to Pat and started toward them. Lorna actually felt her shoulders slump forward with disappointment.
“Lorna and I are grabbing a taxi, Lizbeth,” Renata said. “You’re welcome to join us.” Lorna clenched her jaw. She hadn’t actually agreed to taking the taxi with Renata. She wanted to drive home with Ian.
Lizbeth gathered her large white leather purse and looked at Ian. “Are you still good to give me a lift?”
Ian pushed his hands into his jacket pockets. “Of course.”
A knot pulled tight in Lorna’s gut. She stood numbly as Lizbeth waved to the abandoned-looking boys on the dance floor.
After quickly signing the bill, Lorna rushed to follow the group onto the sidewalk, the urgent clack of her heels startling against the pavement. Renata was hanging over the curb, trying to flag a cab. Ian and Lizbeth stood together under a spray of lamplight.
“Where do you live, Lizbeth?” Lorna asked, desperately.
Lizbeth looked from Ian back to Lorna. “East end?”
Lorna couldn’t believe her good fortune. “Huh. Same as Renata. See, I’m just wondering if there’s a better way to arrange ourselves. Ian has a wife waiting at home and I don’t want to—”
Lizbeth shook her head. “Ian said he didn’t mind.”
Ian closed his eyes. Lorna could see his lids wrinkle, flutter. “You know what? Why don’t I drive you all home.”
Lorna laughed. “That’s very generous, but really there’s no—”
“Renata, want a lift?” He shouted.
But a taxi was pulling right up. “We’re fine, Ian,” Renata called back.
Ian didn’t say, “Let the car go.” He said, “Good stuff, then.”
Lorna swallowed hard. She followed Renata dumbly into the cab. She felt dumped, the same way she had at her tenth-grade Valentine’s dance when she emerged from the restroom to find her date slow dancing with Barb “School Tramp” Van Kamp. What could Ian and Lizbeth possibly have in common? Maybe it was flattering to be looked up to by someone so young, but could he not see that she was fattish with terrible style?
Lorna tried to smile at whatever Renata was saying in the taxi, but her mouth wouldn’t quite stretch that way. Instead she said, “You don’t think that was a bad idea, do you? To leave those two alone together?”
Renata looked at her. “No. Why?”
Lorna shook her head quickly. “It’s just . . . Well, being in charge of operations now, how things run, I want to be conscientious. And you brought it up, sexual politics at work. I’m trying to stay one step ahead.”
“She’s cute,” Renata said.
“She’s hardly twenty.”
“But she seems to have her head screwed on right,” Renata said. “Plus, we know Ian. I doubt he would make that mistake.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Lorna faked a yawn.
“Just Ian’s shiny new ball.”
“What?” Lorna snapped.
“He’s just looking out for her,” Renata said. “He’s paternal. Plus it’s hard to be the new kid.”
Was that all this was? At thirty-five, and three years into the job, did Lorna no longer need looking out for?
“Maybe she’ll turn out to have a knack for research,” Renata said.
“Really? No, I don’t see it.”
Lorna looked out the window. The summer night was thick with people buying ice cream cones, pushing bikes, lining up in front of brightly lit bars and restaurants. It was still early.
Lorna awoke the next morning, grateful to have the apartment to herself. She had the beginning of a plan that would make her feel better. She didn’t want to take a computer course in database management. She didn’t want to be left out anymore. As soon as she got into the office, she’d speak to Ian about rejoining the research team. She’d tell him how much she appreciated the opportunity to try something new, but research was where she belonged. They needed more women in research, as Renata had pointed out, and Lizbeth shouldn’t beat her to it. Perhaps she’d never made it clear enough to Ian how much she admired what he did. Practising her speech, Lorna gestured at the mirror. “I want to be” — she managed only to find Lizbeth’s words — “in the guts of it.”
Lorna smiled broadly at Lizbeth as she breezed into the office. “Good morning!” Lorna said. “Feeling OK?
“Pretty good. I’m a little tired.”
Lorna lowered her voice. “Don’t feel like you have to keep up with the boys,” she said. “It’s a rookie error.”
Lizbeth shook her head like she didn’t catch Lorna’s meaning.
“Drink for drink. It doesn’t generally work out in a woman’s favour.” Lorna busied herself, picking the brown leaves off the plant in front of Lizbeth’s desk.
“I know that.” The slapping tone of Lizbeth’s voice made Lorna look up from the plant. Lizbeth was sitting up straight now.
Lorna swiped the air in front of her, moving on. “Ian in?”
“Didn’t he tell you? They’ve headed up north. Wanted to get a head start on traffic.” Lizbeth brushed the bangs off her forehead. “I can give him a message.”
“No need. I’ll be in touch with him myself,” Lorna said breezily. “I have all his numbers.” But Lorna felt irritated. She’d have to wait for him to come home to activate her plan.
Lorna’s message light was on in her office, but she was disappointed to find that it was a call from Alex. He said he was taking the kids to the bus station that morning and to expect them back at three that afternoon, a day earlier than they discussed.
Late in the morning of Ian’s return, he asked Lorna for a minute before she found a second to speak to him herself. She headed cheerfully into his office, wondering if perhaps the embargo was, finally, gone. She took her regular seat across from him, began by asking about his vacation. The week had given Lorna more time to prepare her speech and she felt ready.
“Could you get the door?” Ian said.
“Sure.” Lorna closed it, a spike in her pulse. It felt like old times: a confidential moment between Ian and his Girl Friday.
Ian tapped a paper on his desk. “Did Lizbeth mention to you she was resigning?”
“No!” Lorna wondered if Ian detected the private glee in her exclamation.
He rubbed his neck. “I’m not going to announce it broadly. I’m wondering if you could chat to her first.”
“Me?” Lorna had barely spoken with Lizbeth in a week. “What do you want me to say?”
Ian sighed. “Ask her what we can do. Is it a question of pay? Is she feeling overwhelmed?”
“I doubt that.”
“Just have a little chat. Find the bee in her bonnet. I think we’d all like to keep her.”
“Actually,” Lorna said. “I wanted to talk to you about staffing. I’m thinking that we could really use some more—”
“Could we just do one thing at a time?” Ian said, holding up his hand.
When Lizbeth turned up in Lorna’s transparent office after lunch, Lorna was nervous. She wasn’t accustomed to these sorts of delicate conversations nor did she have any genuine interest in changing Lizbeth’s mind. She motioned for Lizbeth to shut the door and indicated the chair across from her, but Lizbeth didn’t sit. She stood a few feet back, grasping her elbow.
Lorna managed to squeeze out what she considered to be a professional smile. “I’m sure you know what this is about.”
“I think, yeah.”
“Would you like to talk about it?”
Lizbeth took a breath. “Sorry if I’m putting anyone out.”
“Don’t worry, you’re not. Not at all.” Lorna wrinkled her nose in what she thought of as a companionable way. “Tell me, though. Is it to do with how you’re paid?”
“Well, no.” Lizbeth glanced at the hallway.
“Are you feeling overwhelmed?”
“No.” Lizbeth flipped her hair to one side. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want to think we’d run you into the ground.”
Lorna laughed but Lizbeth did not. Anyway, she was done now with Ian’s checklist.
“It’s kinda more like the opposite,” Lizbeth said.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Why was this so hard? Why wasn’t Ian having this conversation? He always knew what to say to people. Could draw blood from a stone. Suddenly, the truth lodged itself in Lorna’s throat. She’d been right to ask the question in the cab with Renata. Something had happened between Lizbeth and Ian.
Lorna sat forward. “Can you elaborate?”
Lizbeth shifted her stance a little. She looked at the chair but didn’t sit. “I just think that personally I need to do a job that has more kind of . . . ” Lizbeth’s face began to redden along the edges. Appropriate to be ashamed, Lorna thought, if you’d screwed your boss. “I don’t know.”
“Well, we can’t help if you don’t know, Lizbeth.”
“It’s just like . . . ” Lizbeth rubbed her wrists together as though she were about to sample perfume. “Maybe because I’m the only woman, or the only young woman, I mean . . . I don’t know, I just don’t feel like this is a place where I can really move up.”
“Move up?”
“Like, get promoted.”
“Lizbeth, you’ve been here for five minutes.”
“Well a couple of months, anyway. But sometimes — well, most of the time actually — I don’t think I’m doing anything important.”
Lorna looked at the girl. “I’m just curious, Lizbeth. Did something happen?”
“What do you mean?”
Lorna felt a spurt of adrenaline. “You know what I mean,” she said quickly. “Something inappropriate. An unprofessional involvement?”
“Like what? Like sexual?”
Now Lorna was blushing. “Well, however you want to put it. But yes.”
Lizbeth shook her head. Lorna wondered if, perhaps, a bit too vigorously. “No.”
“You’re sure?”
Lizbeth looked down at the edge of Lorna’s desk. “That wasn’t what I was trying to say.”
Catch My Drift Page 12