Trying to Throw my Arms Around the World

Off limits

Off limits

“Has she said anything?” I asked Alex while we munched lettuce and sun-dried tomatoes. “Anything at all?”

“Not a word, Leesbian. You know she has that whole mysterious thing going on. It usually works well for her.”

“You need to help me.”

“Did you ever think, Lee, all these years ago, when we met at uni and you were this prissy little lesbian, that the day would come that I would live vicariously through you?”

“You’re doing no such thing. This is heartache, Alex, not just some random dramatic episode.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I think I’m in love.”

“That is dramatic.”

“It’s more tragic than anything else.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Get us in a room together, preferably a room with a well-stocked bar.”

“You want to get her drunk and take advantage of her?”

“Of course not, but we may need some conversation lubricants.”

“Relax, Lee. She likes you. It’ll be fine.”

“Can you make it happen tonight? Go for a drink with her and I’ll accidentally swing by.”

“Ooh, someone’s antsy. Anything for some drama, Leesbian. You know me.”

“And the word drama is off limits from now on.”

All afternoon, instead of focusing on the Hairy Bikers review I was tasked to write, I tried to picture the most favourable blazer-jeans-t-shirt combination to wear later that night for my planned coincidental encounter with Lou. Just as I was considering knocking off early to go on a last-minute shopping spree, Lucy walked in. She’d been gone most of the day. I hoped it wasn’t only Joan that had kept her out of the office. I waited for Annabelle to leave her desk and knocked on Lucy’s open door.

“How did it go, boss?” Lucy looked a bit flustered, a silly daze in her eyes and her hair visibly tampered with.

“The outcome was favourable but I think it’s in your best interests if I don’t discuss the details with you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we’re both off the hook, Lee. I’ll get Millie to take your place for the remaining two weeks and we’ll see how that goes. All options are open and our advertising plans can go through as planned.”

“But how−”

“Joan Harris is no longer your concern. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?”

“OK. Fair enough. Thanks again.” It was clear she was hiding something. I’d get it out of her in other, less formal circumstances − I knew which Ben & Jerry’s flavour was her favourite. I felt like somewhat of a coward for letting Lucy clean up my mess, but, all things considered, the result was good for everyone. It had even gotten Lucy and me closer together again and I was no longer her special pariah project at work. Poor Millie though, she was in for a brutal surprise. I e-mailed Lucy an inspired first draft of my Hairy Bikers review and clocked off at six-thirty, anxiously awaiting news from Alex. I went home, showered, poured the remainder of an open bottle of red wine in a glass, finished it while trying on a navy, grey and then beige checkered blazer over a white tank top, noticed more pronounced muscle definition around my collar bone − at least Joan was good for something − and sat in the armchair in the corner of my room, all dressed up and ready to go, waiting for a text from Alex. At five past eight my phone finally bleeped. Meet us at The Macbeth in half an hour. I’ll start the lubrication process. Gratitude only accepted in the form of numerous bottles of expensive champagne.

It was go time.

To be continued…