“I don’t think I’m the one who has the ability to make it a nightmare,” he says and he looks me up and down.
And I know what Charlie sees. He sees my black lipstick, the ring in my septum piercing and the flash of silver of the barbell through my tongue when I talk. He sees how the light brown skin of my arms and neck and chest are covered in black ink. He sees my sharp shoulder-length bob, my heavy fringe and my dark eyes framed with thick eyeliner hiding beneath it. He sees my perma-scowl and hard jaw. I look like many people’s idea of a nightmare, so yes, I suppose he’s not way off track in what he’s saying, especially when you compare us. Him with his fresh linen smell, clear pale skin, and the baby blue polo shirt that clings to the muscles on his forearms and his narrow waist as it’s tucked into his ridiculous teal-coloured jeans, both of which I bet he ironed last Sunday evening as he planned a week of outfits.
Ugh. I’ve had enough of this. I’ve had enough of him.
I stand up before giving my response. “Nightmare or not, I’ll do my job and I’ll do it well. It’s up to you to do the same, Charlie.”
I don’t wait to hear what he has to say with that. Instead, my aching head and I leave the room, my chin held high and my thick-soled Doc Marten boots clomping across the carpet.
Chapter Two
Are You Gonna Go My Way?
Charlie
As I lift my bottle of beer to my lips and ignore the chatter that bounces around the group I’m standing with in the office kitchen area, I sneak a look at the only member of staff still at her desk, still tapping away on her keyboard albeit with a non-alcoholic beer by her side.
I feel bad. I probably shouldn’t have said half the things I said to her in that meeting earlier. I effectively called her a nightmare. And it’s not even true. She’s frosty, she’s withdrawn, and she doesn’t suffer fools lightly, but she’s not a nightmare. Moana,shit, I mean, Mina is exceptionally good at her job and aside from being one of the most talented artists in the whole company, she has proven over the last year or so how capable she is at managing a team. Admittedly, her management style is completely different to mine – I’ve barely seen her crack a smile in her team meetings meanwhile I have been known to start our weekly briefings with a few minutes of laughing yoga to get everyone loosened up – but she gets the job done. She delivers.
No, Mina is not a nightmare. She just looks like one.
Not my nightmare you understand. I actually find her Morticia-meets-Wednesday Addams style endearing in how consistent she is about wearing black or dark shades of purple, green or grey every single day, and I doubt anybody can argue with how striking her dark eyes are with the elaborate cat-eye eyeliner she pulls off. Ever since I first met her, I’ve been wanting to ask Mina how she manages to get those thick flicks so symmetrically identical. I’m dying to know because my own attempts at a similar effect have left me looking like I let a five-year-old at my face with a blunt Sharpie pen.
Yes, I have been known to wear eyeliner, which would surprise absolutely nobody at HNO. I’m the company’s token over-the-top queer guy. The effeminate man who minces around the office making small talk with anyone and everyone. I’m safe for women to chat with, I’m camp enough to get away with flirting with straight men, and my fellow queer guys love to roll their eyes at me as we have innuendo-offs that I always win.
The one thing that would surprise all my colleagues is that I’m not actually gay. No, I’m bisexual.
Sometimes it bothers me that people don’t know this about me, but for so long now, I’ve been what is effectively HNO’s gay mascot that I wouldn’t know where to start to correct these assumptions and I also wouldn’t know how to navigate the questions I would inevitably get when I tell people I’m bi.
But you’re so camp.
But you only date men.
But you’re a bottom, aren’t you?
But you have a boyfriend.
Ah. They can’t say that last one now. Not anymore, because as of three weeks ago, I no longer have a boyfriend. Nope, Markus and I are no more.
I sigh as this realisation kicks me in the gut and I’m even more oblivious to what Faith, Ryan and Hassan are playfully arguing about. I suddenly have no energy for after-work drinks banter, but nor do I want to go home. Home to a flat I used to share with Markus. A flat that is now tauntingly empty, even with my much-loved dog Goldie eagerly ready to give me as many hugs as I need.
It doesn’t hurt knowing he no longer lives there – breaking up was my decision after all – rather it hurts knowing the flat is empty and will stay that way for the rest of the evening after I get home. And because it’s Friday, I’m also looking at two full days of an empty flat, interrupted only by my mother’s 70thbirthday party, an event I now have to go to alone.
I may have decided Markus wasn’t the man for me, and I don’t miss him specifically, at least not in the gut-wrenching way I should had I really been in love with him, but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss havingsomeone.Someone to share my flat with, someone to accompany me to family functions, someone to squeeze my hand when my mother says something indirectly but very successfully insulting.
That’s another reason people are surprised I’m bisexual. My love of having a monogamous relationship with one loving partner is apparently contradictory to having a sexuality that dictates you could potentially be attracted to anyone and everyone. I’m sure there are some biphobic roots to this assumption, but it gives me a headache to even think about pointing this out and trying to prove my loyalty.
Not in the mood for banter, and not in the mood to leave, I decide I am in the mood to do something that will help ease some of the discomfort I’ve been feeling since our earlier meeting.
Nodding and smiling my way out of the circle we’re standing in, I go to the fridge where I grab two more bottles of beer, one non-alcoholic, and I use the opener to flip their lids off. I cross the kitchen area quickly, leaving the chatter behind me, and make my way to Mina’s desk.
“A peace offering,” I say holding out the 0% beer to her.
She looks at me first before her eyes settle on the beer and I see in that quick glance that the irises of her eyes aren’t as dark as I assumed. They’re actually a warm, almost mahogany shade of brown, very distinct from the black pupils that study my outstretched hand without revealing anything.
“A free beer from the office fridge.” Her eyebrows lift slightly. “You shouldn’t have.”
I smile hard enough to bunch up my cheeks. I’m not a vain man despite what many people think, but I know I have what could be described as a dazzling smile so I deploy it hoping it helps melt some of Mina’s frostiness. “Now I’m no expert in Mina-risms, but I do believe that was sarcasm.”
