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I went out for lunch, as sitting amongst my colleagues was painful as they talked incessantly about boys and dates. I found a side street with a café and ate a panini. The hot melted cheese burnt my mouth and the strong coffee gave me a headache. All around my solitary table were people going about their daily lives and they wove about me as if I was stuck in a time warp. I flicked a crumb across the table and picked up my handbag. There was nothing to do but return to my desk and eke out my wages.
The third day I went into analytical mode. Somewhere I had displeased him or misinterpreted his intentions. The wrong signals had been picked up and I had played along without thinking it all through. My ridiculous fantasies about being the mistress of a millionaire had clouded my perceptiveness. The realisation that my judgement was to blame upset me as it implied I was never going to find my self-confidence again. I had it so wrong. I thought he liked me. An exception to the rule he had said. That had to amount to something – did it not? Obviously not.
Jason fucking Lucas, screw you.
However, deep down, I was despondent and quite depressed by the lack of attention. I resorted at night-time to entertaining myself, keeping alive the memory of the Sunday evening in me as I found release. There was nobody to tell me not to do the indulgent act.
***
I fiddled with the buttons on my landline phone, psyching myself up for the dutiful weekly phone call to my mother. Thursday evening and I was curled up on the settee in my poky lounge. Conversations with my mother were often fraught. She worried, what mother didn’t?
“You never bring boyfriends home, Gemma!” A frequent comment and often accompanied by the furtive suggestion. “You’re not secretly one of those...”
I had to hide my embarrassment as I had reassured my mum, yet again, that I was not a lesbian. I did not think she would have cut me off but it would have at least explained the lack of boyfriends.
“No mother. Absolutely not. I just haven’t met the right guy for me,” I would soothe her on each occasion.
“Hi, mum,” I spoke softly to her as she greeted me.
“Oh, Gemma, it’s lovely to hear from you,” she paused. “I was wondering when you would ring. Are you visiting soon? Your dad has been very busy I know, extra shifts, but we really would like to see you.”
I sighed. Her wish to see me had its origins back when I had not visited them for two months.
Yes, I did disappear out of circulation for a while, but there was no way I could had ever told her why. What followed was a meandering chat on no particular topic as I guided her away from the idea of a visit. I was sure my face would reveal too much and I needed more time to apply my mask better - mothers were far too perceptive.
***
Friday had arrived and my desk phone rang - an unknown internal number.
“Gemma Marshall,” I said while typing with one hand, handset wedged under my chin.
“Miss Marshall. I hope you have had a productive week?”
Jason Lucas is speaking to me!
I stopped typing with fingers poised over my keyboard. All my doubts were obliterated in a flash. The go-between of the Personal Assistant was absent, which was a good omen.
“Uh yes, Mr Lucas, uh very good,” I stumbled over my words, flummoxed. My skin was flushed and warmed by the sound of his voice. I glance nervously around wondering if anyone can hear my conversation. I imagined a big neon sign above my head flashing his name up as if I had won at bingo.
“I should hope so. My employees should always work hard,” he growled at me.
“Can I help you, sir?” Where to put myself, was the relationship on or off?
“It's Friday night and you’re coming to visit.” A statement not an invitation.
“Sure,” I accepted the request without a moment’s thought and my insides were churning.
“Bring whatever overnight things you need.” Then he put the phone down. I was nearly ready to come there and then such was my pathetic state!
The practicalities of getting to his house suddenly dawned on me. He did not want anyone to know I was with him. I wondered if I should ring him back. An email pinged in my inbox and as if to answer my question, he had written instructions for me:
: 7pm your apartment, be ready.
I slumped in my seat with relief, problem solved.
***
The Jaguar was there waiting for me as I clambered in the back in my jeans and t-shirt, lightweight jacket over my shoulders. His driver, Martinson, put my messenger bag in the boot for me. Jason was on his way home from work and looked the part in his tailored dark business suit.
