LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You may find that it’s harder than usual for you to get your friends to focus — but that’s not your job, is it? Expect disruptions and little problems to interfere with plans all day long.
Laura’s Log:
“They know you can sue them for harassment, don’t they?”
“I don’t know. I suppose.”
“They need to know you know that’s a possibility.”
“Marella, I just started there. I don’t want to create a stir.”
“Too late for that. You’ve sent one of their up-and-comers on stress leave. Some of the partners might resent you. They need to know you know you were harassed. It’s job security. How ’bout I make a call?”
Sometimes having a sister who was a cutthroat lawyer was a liability. She took a perfectly nice kung po chicken at Wild Rice and made it tasteless.
* * *
Gabriel cancelled our late-night hookup, saying he was tired. Hmm. Only a month in and the promise of hot sex wasn’t enough. I’d only seen him once this week. True, I’d had that assignment from hell at work, but there’s something more going on. If sex is the best part and I’m not getting any, well,…it may be time to have The Talk.
* * *
Tamara met me for brunch this morning at Trattoria Italian Kitchen. Ostensibly she wanted to grill me on the Derrick debacle. A half cup of coffee in and the conversation had moved on.
“So how young do you think is too young?” she asked. Her hands shook as she held her coffee mug. No one gets a caffeine buzz off a half dozen sips. Something told me her question was coming a little late. Like when Mom asked vegetarian Lucy if chicken stock was okay after everyone had finished the homemade pumpkin soup. Oh, Tamara, what have you done?
“Well,…he’s legal, right?”
“Oh, yeah.” She was beaming.
“Does he know Johnny Depp was a TV star?”
“Probably not. And I think that’s something Johnny Depp would like us all to forget.”
“Well, is he done with college?”
“Uh,…not quite.”
And cue coughing fit. The coffee went down the wrong way. So did Tamara’s answer. She seemed delighted to trigger such a reaction. (Yes, dear Tamara. If the Heimlich were necessary I’d have to count on a bus boy to step up. That is, if she wasn’t trying to distract him with her cleavage.)
Once I’d recovered, she leaned forward and whispered, “I know I shouldn’t but…he’s from work.”
“What do you mean ‘from work’?” I asked. “Everyone there is past…” Oh. My. God. Not the intern. Not obnoxious Todd! Unfortunately, there were no other options.
And suddenly I was following up a tasteless dinner with a toughest plate of eggs I’d ever chewed—no fault to the chef.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
ENTERTAINING A TEEN IS EXHAUSTING. I MUST’VE FALLEN ASLEEP ON THE SOFA LAST NITE W/IN 5 MIN OF JERRY PICKING UP TRAVIS. WOKE UP AT 2:30 A.M., THE TV BLARING AS AN OLD LADY DID SPINS IN A WHEELCHAIR ON A CARPET. THE STUNTS GET LO-TECH ON LATE NITE.
MARTY & I HAD FOUR UNITS TO SEE THIS MORNING. NEVER GOT THE SENSE MARTY WAS INTO IT. HIS CELL KEPT RINGING EVERY COUPLE MINUTES. NOT CLIENTS. AT LEAST, I HOPE NOT CLIENTS. IF HE MADE A HABIT OF SAYING “I CAN’T WAIT TO DO YOU DOGGY AGAIN” TO CLIENTS, OUR NEW VENTURE WAS DOOMED. OR…MAYBE IT WOULD BE JUST THE THING TO GIVE US A NICHE.
STELLA WAS HER NAME. HE PICKED HER UP AT AuBAR LAST NITE. MUST’VE BEEN SOME NITE. MARTY WASN’T KNOWN FOR GIVING OUT HIS NUMBER. NOT THE CORRECT ONE ANYWAY.
“STELLA?! OLD SOUNDING NAME,” I SAID, TRYING TO COVER UP AN IRRITATING STRAIN OF JEALOUSY.
“NOTHIN’ OLD FASHIONED ABOUT HER!” HE GRINNED. “SHE’S A FREAK! WE DID STUFF THAT WON’T BE LEGAL FOR ANOTHER CENTURY. IF EVER.”
AND THEN HE GOT BACK TO BUSINESS. THANK GOD MARTY WAS A PROFESSIONAL. “SO DO YOU LIKE THIS DUMP OR CAN WE CALL IT A DAY? STELLA WANTS TO GO AGAIN & GOTTA SAY I GOTTA GO.”
YEAH, THE CONDO WE WERE LOOKING AT WAS A DUMP. BUT THAT WASN’T THE POINT. NOT THAT MY OPINION MATTERED. STELLA HAD STOLEN MARTY’S HEART.
WELL, NOT HIS HEART.
Showing posts with label office sex. Show all posts
Showing posts with label office sex. Show all posts
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
A CHILL IN THE AIR
January 22, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your face is a photograph of your feelings. Vulnerability is your strength.
Laura’s Log:
Cute barista’s name is Dodger. He asked my name for my latté order and I said—get ready to cringe—“I’ll tell you mine, if you tell me yours.” I smiled bravely through the whole exchange as the guy behind me impatiently went through an episode of odd throat clearing noises. (He should really give up smoking or knock it down to just three packs a day.) Dodger. Even the name is adorable. Adopting a cockney accent, he explained, “Me mum got a thing for Dickens.” All I know is I want me some more. Please, sir.
And that’s where the fun stopped. I was welcomed with hideous glares from Ann-Marie and her entire entourage, which seems to be everyone but Ernesto and me. I’m guessing they got together for drinks (arsenic?) after work last night and took a vote. It’s unanimous, then. Laura is sleeping with the boss. She’s going down on him. Bad choice ‘cuz he’s just going down.
“Good morning, Donna.” Grunt.
“Hello, Laverne.” Sneeze?
“How was your daughter’s birthday, Amy?” Dunno. Suddenly urgent need for Amy to turn, grab the phone and reorder toilet paper for the office. I suppose that could be a dire concern.
Poor Hester Prynne. I feel your pain.
9:35 Ernesto summoned me to his office. Closed the door. Thank god it’s a windowless cave. (Looked up to scan for tiny spy camera. Not sure what to look for.) “What’s going on out there?”
Time for me to be the dodger. “Oh, it’s just last minute preparations for the Olympics, I guess. Don’t you like the Royal Bank’s new look?”
“Not outside. In the office. I’m getting a sense something’s about to boil over.”
“Yes. I think you’re right.” I paused. Ernesto wasn’t a good boss. He was crass, lewd, insensitive. But what I couldn’t handle was he was a yeller. If something went out five minutes late or a power outage (like on Monday) meant he couldn’t proceed with online Scrabble, he’d swing into a tirade berating every worker in sight as well as the Harper government, Oprah and everything blue in “Avatar”. (I agreed with respect to “Avatar”, but there were better ways to make one’s point. No?) Katherine once asked, “What’s the matter with your boss? Always seems to be in recovery from laryngitis.” If only.
Ernesto continued to stare at me, waiting for more. Never had a poker face. Clearly, I knew more. I had no feeling of loyalty to anyone. Not to Ernesto. Even at his best, he’d basically poisoned poor Tupper. Not to the girls—gosh, why “the girls” anyway? I was the youngest at 32. When would we be the women? How could I side with them when they’d decided without a shred of evidence that I was a slut? A slut with remarkably bad taste.
And for a second time in the day I heard throat clearing. Spill it, Nebergall. “They’re working to get you fired. Sexual harassment, sir. And they think we’re sleeping together.”
It was the last statement that seemed to horrify him most.
KEN’S JOURNAL (sent via iPhone):
HALF A MILLION?! THAT’S HOW MUCH GIL WANTED ME TO INVEST IN UNTITLED FILM PROJECT THAT MIGHT HAVE MEG RYAN ON BOARD. HALF A FUCKING MILLION! OR MORE. NEARLY CHOKED ON MY STEAK. (THANKFULLY DIDN’T. DAMN THAT PIECE OF MEAT WAS TOO GOOD TO WASTE!) SURE, VANCOUVER REAL ESTATE HADN’T TAKEN THE HIT LIKE IN OTHER AREAS, BUT I DIDN’T HAVE THAT KIND OF CASH EVEN DURING THE BOOM. BALLSY OF GIL TO ASK. BALLSY AND FUCKING STUPID.
CAUGHT END OF CANUCKS GAME. WELLWOOD SCORES! DON’T KNOW WHY, BUT I LIKE YA, MAN. STILL DON’T THINK IT’S ENUF TO KEEP HIM AROUND. HOW YOU LIKE MOOSE, KYLE? AWFUL CHILLY IN MANITOBA.
CLARA’S SISTER WANTS TO COME BY TONITE TO CLEAR OUT THE REST OF CLARA’S THINGS. SEEING BESS ALMOST AS BAD AS SEEING CLARA. BESS WAS POISON TO OUR RELATIONSHIP. “YOU CAN DO BETTER, CLARA.” “WHAT DO YOU SEE IN HIM?” AND, LINE FROM JANET JACKSON, “I KNOW HE USED TO DO NICE STUFF FOR YOU, BUT WHAT HAS HE DONE FOR YOU LATELY?” YEAH, PACK IT UP, YOU VENOMOUS BITCH. AND DON’T GIVE ME NO SHIT ABOUT THE PORCELAIN DOLLS. IT’S JUST CRUEL TO DUMP A GUY AND LEAVE HIM TO STARE @ A FREAKIN DOLL COLLECTION FOR THREE MONTHS. SCALPED, YEAH. CLD’VE BEEN MUCH WORSE. BELIEVE ME.
WON’T GIVE BESS THE SATISFACTION OF SEEING ME EVEN GLARE @ HER. I’LL BE COMPLETELY STOIC. YEAH, TELL CA CLARA I’VE TURNED TO STONE.
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your face is a photograph of your feelings. Vulnerability is your strength.
Laura’s Log:
Cute barista’s name is Dodger. He asked my name for my latté order and I said—get ready to cringe—“I’ll tell you mine, if you tell me yours.” I smiled bravely through the whole exchange as the guy behind me impatiently went through an episode of odd throat clearing noises. (He should really give up smoking or knock it down to just three packs a day.) Dodger. Even the name is adorable. Adopting a cockney accent, he explained, “Me mum got a thing for Dickens.” All I know is I want me some more. Please, sir.
And that’s where the fun stopped. I was welcomed with hideous glares from Ann-Marie and her entire entourage, which seems to be everyone but Ernesto and me. I’m guessing they got together for drinks (arsenic?) after work last night and took a vote. It’s unanimous, then. Laura is sleeping with the boss. She’s going down on him. Bad choice ‘cuz he’s just going down.
“Good morning, Donna.” Grunt.
“Hello, Laverne.” Sneeze?
“How was your daughter’s birthday, Amy?” Dunno. Suddenly urgent need for Amy to turn, grab the phone and reorder toilet paper for the office. I suppose that could be a dire concern.
Poor Hester Prynne. I feel your pain.
9:35 Ernesto summoned me to his office. Closed the door. Thank god it’s a windowless cave. (Looked up to scan for tiny spy camera. Not sure what to look for.) “What’s going on out there?”
Time for me to be the dodger. “Oh, it’s just last minute preparations for the Olympics, I guess. Don’t you like the Royal Bank’s new look?”
“Not outside. In the office. I’m getting a sense something’s about to boil over.”
“Yes. I think you’re right.” I paused. Ernesto wasn’t a good boss. He was crass, lewd, insensitive. But what I couldn’t handle was he was a yeller. If something went out five minutes late or a power outage (like on Monday) meant he couldn’t proceed with online Scrabble, he’d swing into a tirade berating every worker in sight as well as the Harper government, Oprah and everything blue in “Avatar”. (I agreed with respect to “Avatar”, but there were better ways to make one’s point. No?) Katherine once asked, “What’s the matter with your boss? Always seems to be in recovery from laryngitis.” If only.
Ernesto continued to stare at me, waiting for more. Never had a poker face. Clearly, I knew more. I had no feeling of loyalty to anyone. Not to Ernesto. Even at his best, he’d basically poisoned poor Tupper. Not to the girls—gosh, why “the girls” anyway? I was the youngest at 32. When would we be the women? How could I side with them when they’d decided without a shred of evidence that I was a slut? A slut with remarkably bad taste.
And for a second time in the day I heard throat clearing. Spill it, Nebergall. “They’re working to get you fired. Sexual harassment, sir. And they think we’re sleeping together.”
It was the last statement that seemed to horrify him most.
KEN’S JOURNAL (sent via iPhone):
HALF A MILLION?! THAT’S HOW MUCH GIL WANTED ME TO INVEST IN UNTITLED FILM PROJECT THAT MIGHT HAVE MEG RYAN ON BOARD. HALF A FUCKING MILLION! OR MORE. NEARLY CHOKED ON MY STEAK. (THANKFULLY DIDN’T. DAMN THAT PIECE OF MEAT WAS TOO GOOD TO WASTE!) SURE, VANCOUVER REAL ESTATE HADN’T TAKEN THE HIT LIKE IN OTHER AREAS, BUT I DIDN’T HAVE THAT KIND OF CASH EVEN DURING THE BOOM. BALLSY OF GIL TO ASK. BALLSY AND FUCKING STUPID.
CAUGHT END OF CANUCKS GAME. WELLWOOD SCORES! DON’T KNOW WHY, BUT I LIKE YA, MAN. STILL DON’T THINK IT’S ENUF TO KEEP HIM AROUND. HOW YOU LIKE MOOSE, KYLE? AWFUL CHILLY IN MANITOBA.
CLARA’S SISTER WANTS TO COME BY TONITE TO CLEAR OUT THE REST OF CLARA’S THINGS. SEEING BESS ALMOST AS BAD AS SEEING CLARA. BESS WAS POISON TO OUR RELATIONSHIP. “YOU CAN DO BETTER, CLARA.” “WHAT DO YOU SEE IN HIM?” AND, LINE FROM JANET JACKSON, “I KNOW HE USED TO DO NICE STUFF FOR YOU, BUT WHAT HAS HE DONE FOR YOU LATELY?” YEAH, PACK IT UP, YOU VENOMOUS BITCH. AND DON’T GIVE ME NO SHIT ABOUT THE PORCELAIN DOLLS. IT’S JUST CRUEL TO DUMP A GUY AND LEAVE HIM TO STARE @ A FREAKIN DOLL COLLECTION FOR THREE MONTHS. SCALPED, YEAH. CLD’VE BEEN MUCH WORSE. BELIEVE ME.
WON’T GIVE BESS THE SATISFACTION OF SEEING ME EVEN GLARE @ HER. I’LL BE COMPLETELY STOIC. YEAH, TELL CA CLARA I’VE TURNED TO STONE.
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