I am HER... (12 page)

 
"Z. These comments are very inappropriate, and I'm very uncomfortable with this conversation."  That sounded somewhat truthful.

 
"Yes.  I am rather inappropriate.  And yes, I can see how my words would make you uncomfortable.  However, I don't believe I’m going to stop.  Therefore, I suggest once again, that you
get
comfortable..."   How do I do that?

 
"I find myself thinking about you frequently.  From the moment I heard your low, reserved, slightly raspy voice, to your laughter... including your slightly
hysterical
laughter...  I have wanted to hear your voice, while you succumb to pleasure." 
 
OH MY GOD!
 
THAT
is the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me!

 
"Please stop.  I really DON’T want to discuss this with you.  I'm not
that girl
, okay?  Go find someone else to try to seduce.  I've never been a whore and I'm not going to start being a whore now."

 
Did I just say that?  That sounded so judgmental and prudish. 
Christ
, maybe Marcus is right- I AM a prude.
  "A whore?  I would never classify you as a whore." Good. 
Why not?
  I can be
whorish
if I want to. 
  "Well, before you start panicking, I'm going to hang up now.  But, Sweetheart, I would like you to think about
sexual
pleasure, and how it applies to you.  Think of it as a homework assignment.  I'm going to call you back at 3pm sharp, and I WILL be asking you questions."
Questions? 
Like what?  What the hell do I know about '
sexual
' pleasure?
  "Um... That's not really appropriate... "
  "I’m well aware of this inappropriate conversation, but I stand by it.  Finish your reports for Shields quickly, and prepare yourself, love.   I look forward to asking you questions, and I 
really
look forward to hearing your responses.  Until later..." 
  He hung up?  He hung up like
that?
  My
pleasure
?  My responses?  What do I say?  What is he going to ask me?  God, will he want to know about Marcus and me?  Will he ask about Marcus...
pleasing
me?  What do I say?

 
Homework?!
  Thank god my college Professors didn't require this kind of homework assignment, I would have dropped out.  Dammit!  He's going to know that
I
know absolutely NOTHING about pleasure
. 

                                
==========

 
By 1:45, my mind can’t focus on my reports.  I have just two left, but I'm drawing a blank.  The numbers won’t balance.  I can’t find my error.  I try to concentrate, but I'm always distracted with thoughts of
pleasure
.  Nothing is balanced.  Jesus,
I'm
not balanced anymore.
  By 2:30, I have finished one more report summary.  It finally balanced and the Detroit office is secured.  Mr. Shields has only to approve it.  The last one however, is proving to be quite difficult.  I have gone over it, again and again.  I have all the names and each expense memorized, and  everything is right there in front of me.  It's all there, but it won’t balance.  I'm actually more frustrated than upset. 
  I could email over to Shields every other summary, and explain that the 9th is on its way, but I don't want to look incompetent.  Shields asked me to be thorough each month of this next quarter, so Shields would think I'm a total flake if I send over every summary, but one. 
Shit.
  I have got to do this.  Start again.
  By 2:56, I'm really nervous.  I haven't thought about my 'homework assignment’ in a long time.  Actually, I am so far from thinking of pleasure that I'm cold and detached.  What
IS
pleasure?  Pleasure, at the moment, would be balancing this summary.  That’s about all the
pleasure
I can contemplate right now.
 

 
By 3:01 my phone rings. 
Dammit.
  I'm not in the mood for this.
 "Hi, Z.  This really isn't the best time right now.  I'm desperate to finish my last expense report summary, and I still need a little more time... Okay?"
  "Absolutely.  Call me when you are finished.  Until then..."  
  He hung up?  Just like that?  Nothing more?  No demands?  No hostility?  No, nothing?  Is he mad at me?  He must be. Z doesn't like bein
g‘
disappointed’
.  Z doesn't like me to tell him
no
.  Z probably doesn't like
me
, anymore.
 

                                 ==========
 

 
Finish the report.  Okay.  Focus.  Where is the balance?  What is out of line?  List the groups and subgroups.  Make two lists.  Compare and contrast.  Look at them.  Focus.  Where is the problem? 
What
is the problem?  It has to be the incidentals.  It has to be! 
  Okay.  Focus.  Two lists.  Look closely.  Match.  Match.  Match. 
OH MY GOD!
  The Marriott!  The bloody Marriott!  No wonder I forgot... I haven't been to receive the receipts.  I just lied and
said
I was there on Wednesday.  I had to pre-pay the conference room last week, but I didn't have to expense the luncheon, yet.  I am SUCH an idiot.  Maybe Marcus was right and I
am
an idiot.

 
It's 3:52 and I'm done!  The summaries are emailed to Shields, with a thank you reply from him in return.  I can breathe!  I've done it.  Even with the strangest week of my life, I still managed to do my job well, A DAY
EARLY
.  I didn't fail.  I didn't disappoint my boss.  I didn't disappoint anyone today.                                              

  I notice another email in my Inbox after Shields reply.  It’s Kayla.  Where the hell has she been all day? _______________________________

From:  K. Mueller

Subject:  Happy Friday!

Friday, May 27

3:56pm
Hi Sweetie,
I hope you had a good day.  I'm getting ready to duck out early.  Shields has been upstairs all afternoon.
Anyway, I just thought I would say hi, since you haven't responded to any of my messages. I figure you wanted to lay low a little. Plus, Z told me last night, that you had suffered another setback and he thought it best if I let you come to me when you're ready, so I agreed not to call you again.

I can't wait to see you on Monda
y. 
Have a great week-end!
Kayla
P.S. Wish me luck with this week-end's "Hot New Screw"!

________________________________

  She talked to Z last night?  Were they on the phone?  Did he call her?  Did she meet him at his hotel?  Did he meet her at her apartment? 
Oh. My. God
.  He DID actually hook-up with Kayla.  I am such an ass!  I told him to.  I told him she was essentially a ‘sure thing’.  I told him...
And he did.
 
  Well, at least I don't have to call him back now.  Why would I?  He can go screw Kayla and ask HER about
her
pleasure!  Though I'm pretty confident Kayla has any man, AND her own pleasure all figured out.  She is such a whore!  I knew I couldn't trust her.  I knew it! 
Dammit.
  I sound like an insanely jealous
Psycho!
  Jumping in the shower, I'm still mad. 
Why?
  Mr. Zinfandel is a creep, nothing more.  So he talked to me?  So he seemed interested in me?  So?  It's not like I was ever going to actually see him.  I will NEVER actually see him.  When does he return to New York?  Probably this evening.  Why stay in Chicago?  Oh... maybe for Kayla.  Maybe Mr. Zinfandel is her 'Hot New Screw' this week-end?  Yeah, probably.  Kayla is hot, and
not soft
, and intelligent, and attractive, and most likely EXCELLENT in bed.  Any man would
do
her.  Why not Mr. Zinfandel?  Well, have her.  I'm terrible in bed, anyway.

                                
==========

  By 5:00, I've calmed down.  What is there really to be angry about anyway?  I’m nothing to him, but an interesting...
What?
  Loser?  Incompetent, immature, panic-attack having, emotionally detached...
Psycho?
  Yes, that about sums it up.  Five days ago, I was calm, reserved and incapable of seeking attention... Now it looks like that's ALL I do.  I am so embarrassed with myself for being such an embarrassment...
poor Marcus
.  No wonder he can't stand to even talk to me.

 
Munching on a cucumber chicken salad, I decide to call Marcus. Where is he?  It's almost 7:00.  He always comes home by 6:00 on Fridays.   Oh, yes, he’s still mad at me.  How very
passive-aggressive
of him.
  Dialing, I wait and wait.  Wow, I was kicked into voicemail?  That’s strange.  Marcus always,
always
answers, especially if it’s me.  Wow- NOT this time… I guess because it
IS
me.
 

                                 ==========

  When my phone rings minutes later I answer.
  "Marcus?"
  "Luckily, no.  How are you this evening, Sweetheart?" 
Jerk
.  Hang up.  HANG UP!
  "I won’t talk to you anymore, and you can't make me.  You have no right to force me to.  Go tell Mr. Shields if you want.  I don't care.  But I will sue you for sexual harassment, and with my
prudish
reputation and with copies of all your emails and voicemails; you surely won’t be able to turn it around against me.  Leave. Me. Alone.  I'm done Mr. Zinfandel!  Go play with Kayla!" 
  Wow!  That felt good!  Slamming the phone down makes me feel powerful.  Who knew yelling loudly at someone was really quite soothing?  I feel a giant weight off my chest.  That was awesome! 
I'm
awesome!
  When my phone rings immediately, I decide I'm not doing this back and forth crap anymore.  After shutting my phone off to ignore the incessant ringing, I'm proud of myself.  I hear nothing but silence.  There is nothing torturing me.  There is no sound to make me jump or panic.  There is nothing but complete silence, well,
except in my head
, but whatever.
 

                                 ==========

 
Changing into yoga pants, sneakers and a jacket, I decide to go for a walk.  It's cool enough to be refreshing, without being cold.  I need air.  I don't think I’ve ever spent 2 solid days in my home before.  I work all week, and go out on week-ends, and I’ve only had 4 sick days ever, but they were spent in the hospital, so they don't count. 
  Am I ever truly comfortable anywhere?  Huh.  I don't think so.  I'm not even remotely comfortable in my parents’ home where I grew up.  Isn't that strange?  Why can't I get comfortable? 
  I love my home.  I tell everyone I love my home, but I hate being in it.  I do love the sunroom however.  If there was one room that was truly mine, it would be the sunroom.  Marcus rarely enters
MY
sunroom.  He hates the love seat and chair I chose and bought.  He complained for two solid weeks about them, and he ignored me for another two weeks after they arrived.  He hates the sunroom furniture, refuses to even entertain or talk to me if I'm in it, therefore, it's
my
room.  I love the sunroom.  In the sunroom... I am totally alone.
 

                                      ==========

  40 minutes later, I’m rounding back to my house, but I feel very unsettled.  I can
feel
something is wrong.  I can feel
something
.  Picking up my pace, I practically run past the last few homes until I'm in my driveway.  Exhaling, I walk up the driveway with my keys tight in my hand as a defensive weapon.  Now that I'm steps from the front door, I can look over my shoulder safely.  I still feel it.  Searching, there’s nothing and I see no one.  I see nothing, but I definitely
feel
something.
  Slamming the door closed, I lock it and set the alarm and just wait.  What am I waiting for?  I have no idea, but I feel like I have to wait for this
thing
to pass.
  Removing my socks and sneakers, I let my toes suck up the cold marble of the foyer.  I love this feeling.  I love the cold marble, working the knots out of my toes and feet.  I love the contrast of cold feet and warm body.
  Once upstairs, I grab my phone and check for messages from Marcus, but there’s no message.  There are 3 from Mr. Zinfandel however.  Deleting his messages feels good.  I need to go back to my proper, staid existence.  I need to stop thinking about him because he is nothing to me, and never will be.  I have Marcus.  Where
IS
Marcus anyway?
  After a quick rinse-off shower, I’m dressed in my 2-piece pajamas and back in the sunroom, and everything is exactly as I left it.  It looks a little messy actually.  So straightening all my spare papers, spreadsheets and files, everything goes back in my briefcase where it belongs.