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“What’s your problem now, Malone?”
“You just don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself. I mean look at me, you don’t care that you’ve ruined a brand new blouse that cost me a hell of a l
ot of money, then you embarrass me in front of everyone in that presentation, and to top that off, you treat Trina like last night’s take-out box!”
Dee is shocked at my outburst and carefully pulls her skirt down to cover herself up. Haden is livid, and I swear if you look closely, you can see steam coming out of his ears. His eyes have narrowed behind his glasses, and in an effort to control himself, he runs his hands through his dirty-blond hair.
“Some mouth on you, Malone. You better watch your back. Human Resources would deem that as harassment.”
“Harassment? I’m the victim here, not you!”
I storm off, having spent enough time and energy on him that I forgot all about my best friend Vicky. She is sitting on my desk when I return, all smiles and giggles, having returned from Paris only yesterday.
“Ah Mademoiselle Malone,” she says in a thick, but fake, French accent.
Defeated, I slump in my chair. “Tell me about Paris, in your normal voice please?”
She sits on the corner of my desk, crossing her legs appropriately. Vicky and I met a couple years back through mutual friends. At the time, she was having an affair with the biggest loser to walk this earth, a married man with three kids. It ended badly so from that day on, Vicky vowed to never get into a serious relationship again, and was happy to play the field.
“The shopping was fantastic, totally maxed my credit card. The sightseeing was awesome and the men. . . . Pres, like seriously, the French men know how to make you scream so loud, I swear the people at the top of the Eiffel Tower could hear us.”
“A one-time type of thing?”
“You know me, Pres. I like my men foreign. Keeps the fantasy alive.”
“But aren’t you worried about what could happen after?”
“Like what? I’m always protected, you’ve got to make sure the both of you understand it’s a no-strings-attached kinda night. Anyway, I met this guy, Jean-Phillipe, and he’s been texting me all day.”
Distracted by her cell, she types something ridiculously fast into it, then places it on the table.
“So, are you going to finally tell me what happened with Jason?”
“We broke it off. I’m fine, really,” I lie, convincingly.
“We so need to get you drunk and in someone’s bed, pronto.”
“Wait, Vicky, that’s awful. I’m not like that, plus I would never do that to Jason.”
“How do you know he hasn’t done it already? Where did he stay last night?” she is quick to interrogate.
“At a friend’s house, and besides, Jason is not like that.”
The thought of Jason being with another woman pulls on the jealous strings that I thought laid dormant. I am not that type of girl and I strongly believe Jason wouldn’t so heartlessly jump into the next bed that came along. He is a better man than that.
“Pres, look, I’m not trying to be insensitive. Jason is a guy. Just don’t be surprised if he has moved on,” she says, this time in a softer tone.
I’m not a big crier, and the thought of crying at work is embarrassing in its own right. I can control my emotions, even if Vicky is staring at me like I’m an orphaned child with no shoes on my feet.
“We only broke up last week. His stuff is still in our apartment,” I croak.
“Yeah, well trust me, they only need a minute of being released from the ball and chain.”
“I’m not a ball and chain!”
“Well, you’re not exactly a spontaneous ‘let’s push everything off the table and fuck like wild animals’ kinda gal either.”
She has a point; I can’t think of anything worse. What a mess that would make. And my pens? No, don’t go there.
