One Look At You (13 page)

“No, Honey, it doesn’t work that way. You’ve known her only a few weeks. It doesn’t sound like she’s fishing for a ring. I may be wrong, but I don’t see it that way.”

The silence stretches on for a long time and then he says, “I thought she was the one. We had such a connection.”

My heart goes out to him. “You don’t know that this is the end. Things can change.”

“Please don’t give me that destiny crap,” he says.

“See who’s the jaded one here?” I say.

“Ah, Livie, you’re right. I’m a realist, you know that. If it happens, it happens. But I’m not going to wait forever,” he says with finality.

“I’m sorry, Mark.”

“Me too.”

After our conversation, I reflect on how different our emotional needs are. Mark’s hoping for the best, but expecting the worst. Melanie never allows herself to fall too deeply in love. Jen has been hurt many times, but still persists in seeing life through rose-colored lenses. As for me, I don’t know what I want…
No,
I lie
… I know what I want, but what I want I can never have. The supreme irony is that he was mine for one night. And it would have been the most extraordinary night of my life for a reason other than the obvious one. But my memory is playing tricks on me, and what may have been unforgettable will never be an image I can look back to.

“Yes, Tony?” I ask without preamble as he buzzes me.

“If you’re done talking to your boyfriend, can you please come in? I need you to create a new spreadsheet for me.”

I don’t bother to respond. I put down the phone and go in to see what he wants.

“I’m preparing a report for the Board of Directors. This time, I want to do a trending analysis on the food items we’ve recently introduced in Europe. I want to convince them to roll out the same items here, starting with the West Coast. We’re going to compare like for like. For example, in Europe, our raspberry tarts are selling out. The equivalent here would be our strawberry pie. A comparison will show them what sales increases we should be expecting, if ever.”

“Okay, do you want me to do look at the item sales in all the European stores, or only in certain areas?” I ask.

“All of them,” he responds quickly.

“Is this going to be a to-date report?”

“Yes.”

I give an inward sigh, knowing the amount of work this report entails.

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“No. It’s just that not all the reports are in, so I have to literally send memos to every shop that hasn’t uploaded their data.”

“Then do that,” he says imperiously.
Then do that
, I mimic him mentally.

“When do you want the report?” I brace myself for the answer since I already know he’s going to give one of those photo-finish dates.

“Yesterday,” he says with the lift of an eyebrow.

I just look steadily at him, as in, ‘stop clowning around, I want an answer’.

“I need it by the end of next week. The board meeting will be on the twenty-second,” he says.

That’s just great! Another Saturday spent at the office.
I unconsciously sigh.

“If you don’t think you can handle it, just let me know,” he says challengingly.

Oh, I can handle it alright. You think you can intimidate me, think again!
Outwardly, I give him the sweetest smile and say, “No problem. Piece of cake.”

“Really? So why am I getting this feeling that it’s an imposition?” His expression is contemptuous, but his tone is light.

“Not at all, Boss. I will have it ready before the twenty-second,” I promise him. I realize I’ve committed to more than I can handle, but my pride just won’t let me back down.

“Very well,” he says, though he may as well say “you’re dismissed,” like the autocrat that he is.

I’m at the door when he suddenly says, “Your boyfriend, was he the gentleman who paid you a visit last time?”

I slowly turn on my feet and gawk at him like a child lost for words.
Where did that come from?

“Excuse me?” is all I can say,

“Just curious,” he says without explanation.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” I croak.

“No, you’re absolutely right, it’s not… But, is he?” he asks again.

“Why do you ask?” I say weakly.

“Just wondering what kind of a knobhead would leave his girlfriend on the dance floor and not even care that she’s having it on with another man?”

I feel my face getting red and my temper rising to volcanic level.

“You don’t have the right to talk that way. Mark’s a friend, nothing more. And even if he were my boyfriend, so what? You know nothing about him or me, so just back off!”

He stands up and quickly moves towards me. He touches my arm and whispers, “I’m sorry, Livie. I just thought that you and he…” He looks away hastily.

“He and I what?” I toss my head and look at him unflinchingly.

His shakes his head slowly and goes back to his desk. He looks unsure, shocked at my strong reaction. “I apologize for my rudeness. I don’t know what came over me.”

I don’t know what he’s trying to say or do, but I’m done with him. Without another word, I hurriedly walk to my desk, take my purse, and run to the elevator. It’s three in the afternoon, but I get into my car and drive away. I am seething. That’s what he thinks of me? Someone who ‘has it on’ with strangers while my boyfriend’s elsewhere?
You know nothing, Tony Avery
. Nothing at all.

I put down my window and let the breeze blow through my hair. I drive around, to nowhere in particular, my thoughts going every which way. I feel free and exhilarated. Human Resources has probably already received a notice of my termination. I don’t freaking care! Tomorrow I’ll worry again about my mom, the rent, and the bills. Right now, I just want to feel the wind on my face.

I just had a quick shower and I’m now hanging out in the kitchen on a Thursday morning at nine AM. I pour myself a cup of tea, put a teaspoon of honey in, and squeeze some fresh lemon into it. I bring my cup and a package of madeleines to the small dining table. I prop up my tablet and turn it on so I can read the news. So this is what it feels like to be home on a weekday. I smile to myself.
Not bad at all
. The voice at the back of my head is telling me stop acting like a child but I silence it.

I take a sip of my tea and see Jen running to the door. “Late again?” I ask, knowing the answer.

“Oh my God, you startled me!” she says. “Why are you here?” she says with a look of concern. “Are you sick?”

“What? Like I can’t take a day off?”

“No… but you never do. What’s going on?”

“You’re right. I’m not feeling good. It must have been something I ate.” I have no choice but to lie. I really don’t want to talk about what happened with anyone. Not yet.

“You’re not feverish, are you? I could run to the drug store.”

“No, no. I’m okay. I just need to rest. Go! You’re already so late.”

She runs to give me a quick hug and says, “Want me to bring chicken soup at lunchtime?”

“No, thanks. I’ll just have toast or something. Please go!” She blows me a kiss and leaves. Jen is a junior web developer at a start-up company up in Northridge. They’re very lenient with time, so she shows up at work at half past nine or ten and they don’t mind at all.

Ahh! Alone at last.
I’m so used to making lists and laying out my work for the day that I’m temporarily stumped, not knowing what to do next. Maybe check out the classified ads? I turn to the tablet and go on monster.com. I type assistant and Los Angeles, and page after page of available jobs come up. This is going to take some time.

I’m checking out the job summary for an opening in Reseda when I hear a knocking on the door. I look through the peep hole and then jump to the side of the door like a child.
What the hell is he doing here?

“Livie, open up. I just saw you peeping, so I know you’re there.”

I look down and note that I have on my flimsy flowered robe that’s seen better days. My hair is curly and still a little wet. I have two choices. I can just let him stand there and wait until he decides to go away. Or, I can just open the door and find out what he wants.

I tighten the sash around my robe and open the door. He strides in, stands very close to me, and fixes his gaze upon me. I say nothing, waiting for him to make the first move.

“Why aren’t you at work?”
Very aggressive opening move
.

“I no longer work there,” I say firmly.
Right back at ya
.

“Look, I’m sorry I got personal yesterday. As I said, I don’t know why I did that.” He looks contrite. He sounds sorry.
But I want more
.

“You were my boss. But you had absolutely no right to talk that way to me,” I say again. “Respect is a two-way street.”

“What do you want, Livie? My blood?” He is now clearly distraught.

I look at him with apathetic eyes. “We have nothing more to say to one another.” I move towards the door and open it. He forcefully shuts it closed.

“You can’t just leave!” he says loudly, like he’s talking to someone insane.

“I did. I don’t need your permission. I’m no longer afraid of losing my job. I’ll get another one, I’m sure.” I say all this with a touch of smugness. I’m so angry that I’ve lost my fear. “Oh, and yes, I don’t care if you don’t give me any references, so you can’t dangle that over my head,” I add.

“Livie, please hear me out. I was rude, unforgivably so. I don’t know why I said those things. I was upset with the way the meeting went yesterday morning. I come back to find you on the phone with another man. I just kind of…”
Why does he never finish his sentences?

“I don’t care what you say. I am a good worker. I am an excellent assistant. But my personal life is off-limits. You know what, it’s not even that. The things you said were just way out of line! You made me sound like a whore.” My voice is steadily rising and I’m gesturing with my hands to drive home the point, hitting him twice on his chest.

He steadies my arm and I move back, recoiling from his touch. “Don’t touch me,” I say softly this time.

This time, he grabs my hand and holds it tight. He looks at me with an unfathomable expression and I find myself drowning in the now dark gray pools of his eyes.

“Let me go,” I plead with him.

“I will, if you promise to listen to me,” he says. I nod vigorously and he lets go of my hand. “I didn’t mean to imply you’re a …”

“Whore?” I help him out because he can’t seem to say the word.

“What I wanted to say to you was that you don’t deserve to be with an insensitive jackass who doesn’t bloody care to be in a real relationship with you.” He searches my face for a response.

“Why are you so concerned about my love life?”

“In the short time you’ve been my assistant, I’ve seen how hard you work and how well-liked and respected you are by everyone at the office. I just don’t want to see you hurt by someone who doesn’t appreciate you.”

I actually don’t know how to respond to what he’s saying.

“Thank you for caring. I don’t know how to say this, but it makes me quite uncomfortable to hear you say things like that.”

“I understand. Please, please, please come back to work. I’ll do my best not to open my mouth,” he says with a small smile. “The last thing I want is to be responsible for your resignation.”

“It’s alright. I think it would be much better this way.”

“Why?” he asks, the lines of his forehead etched with concern.

I sigh deeply and tell him, “Because we can’t move forward from where we started.”

“I strongly disagree. We were doing well as a team until I put my foot in my mouth.”

“I don’t know. I was actually quite happy with my decision before you knocked on the door. You should have just let it be,” I gently reproach him.

“I couldn’t. I can’t. Will you please reconsider your decision?”

“Tony, I’m not trying to be difficult. But, please, give me some time to think.”

He slowly nods and then walks to the door. But something makes me say, “I was having tea when you came in. Would you like some?”

“Yes, I would like some.” He seems genuinely glad I’ve offered.

I gesture toward the dining table and motion for him to sit down. “What would a Southern Californian know about making tea?” he asks.

My left eyebrow rises and I say, “Don’t be arrogant. There are a lot of things we Americans do as well as or even better than the Brits.”

“But tea is not one of them,” he insists.

“You be the judge,” I say as I pour boiling water into a cup with a teabag. I hand it to him gingerly. I slide a small plate of lemon wedges and the bottle of honey his way.

“No cream or sugar?”

“Sorry, no. Try it our way. You just might like it.” He seems hesitant, so I squeeze the lemon and put a teaspoon of honey into his cup. “Now, stir, good sir,” I instruct him.

He stirs slowly and then brings the cup close to his lips. After one or two sips, he puts the cup down on the saucer.

“Well?” I ask.

“It’s quite good. Thank you,” he says gratefully. We both continue to sip our tea, busy with our own individual thoughts and not in a hurry to make conversation.

I see him examining his surroundings. He says, “You have a cute flat.”

“Cute as in small?” I tease.

“Cute as in charming.”

“I share it with a friend.”

“I know.”

“How?” I ask, surprised.

He stares at me for a few seconds, like he doesn’t want to respond. “Background check,” he says briefly.

“I see. I guess I should have realized that.” I’m a little unnerved about what else he might know about me. Not that I have anything to hide. It’s just disturbing for someone who’s not close to you to know the details of your life.

“What else do you know about me?” I ask, wanting to know and yet not know at the same time.

“You graduated with cum laude honors and a GPA of 3.65. You have no siblings. Your mother is a supervisor/manager at a sandwich shop. You’re allergic to walnuts. You’ve known your roommate, her name eludes me now, since college. Your roommate, Jen – that’s right, that’s her name – works as a web developer. Do you want more?”