“No no, that was something” I insisted.
“You just startled me”
“You startled me” I accused in return.
“Only when you saw me.” She was sharp.
“That dress is just…” I was grasping at straws, my mouth and brain losing touch with one another.
“Excuse me?” Indignation from her now; she had the upper hand on me firmly. “What’s wrong with my dress?”
“Nothing! It’s just bright.” Bertha grunted out the last of my coffee behind me. She squinted at me, seeing through my bullshit a mile away. It was an effort not to focus on how cute her scrunched little nose was. It was very cute. I tried a grin, surely failing to make it look less stupid than I’d hoped, but she did soften slightly.
“We don’t have to do this” she offered knowingly.
“I don’t know what you mean.” More of the ‘you’re full of shit’ expression. It was a good one, as far as those went. She looked around.
“Is there somewhere we can go? A room or something?”
“My cubicle?”
“Something with a *door*?”
I clued in. Stepping around her to look in both directions, I hatched my plan with her. She obviously knew me from my face, and behaved as though I ought to recognize her too. Maybe she’d dreamed the same thing I’d done. Maybe. It didn’t add up though, not enough to satisfy. I told her how things would be, offering a solution that I thought acceptable; we’d get through the day as best as we could, and meet later to air out the obvious elephant in the room.
“I’m not going to your house, I don’t even know you!” She insisted, taking issue with the plan I’d sketched out.
I laughed then. I wasn’t the only one full of shit today.
“Oh no? Is that what we’re going with?” I refused to speak the obvious out loud. Her cheeks flushed, and she made busy inspecting the tiled floor for a moment. Plucking herself back up, she set her water bottle down on the counter behind me, too hard.
“Fine. Fine! You know what,” she produced a pen from the bundle she carried, obviously wrestling with the inevitable, “have you got a card?” I handed her a post-it note from the fridge that warned against stealing other people’s lunches. She scribbled something on the back and shoved it into my hands.
“7:00 o’clock then. Don’t make me wait.”
With that, she turned on her heel and stomped away.
___
Thankfully, the team that had come with her was large enough that I was able to focus on some of her colleagues while I reviewed my data with them. She spoke only once, and only when prompted by her boss to ask about something specific. Aside from that, she barely looked at me during my presentation. Afforded some courage by the obvious guilt she was demonstrating, I thought I’d be a little cheeky and slapped my report directly in front of her as I wrapped up and left the room. I’d gone too far though; her mumbled ‘thanks’ was dejected enough to make me feel like a bit of an asshole.
The rest of the day was a mixture of going through the motions of my work, blowing off Jeeter’s invitations to go out that evening, and trying to make things right with the woman who’s name had been given as Allie during the meeting.
Having her name did nothing to jog my memory; it was still a mystery as to when or how I had made such an impression on this woman. My confidence that the dream I’d had was in any way real began to wane again. The only thing still giving me any confidence in the odd little man and his profane maze of mysteries was the fact that she definitely, undoubtedly knew me somehow, or knew *of* me. Whether she’d made a habitual routine of thinking about me while masturbating was yet to be seen, but I clung to some small hope.
The clock read 3:57pm. I’d be another hour at my desk, but Allie’s team was done for the day, and the dozen members of her group began to file out of the boardroom to depart for whatever hotels or motels they were staying at. Allie came last and, to my very great surprise, came right up to me.
“Hi” was all she managed. She was nervous. My earlier play had been too much after all.
“Listen, I feel bad. It’s okay if you want to skip this; you were right, we don’t have to do it at all” I offered in earnest contrition.
“You don’t want to?” she asked. I’d have expected relief, but read notes of disappointment instead. That was something.
“No! No, I do. I’d like to, yeah,” I was stammering. “I didn’t know if you did.” She pursed her lips and nodded vigorously.
“I think we should?” she said, some resolve in her voice despite the quizzical inflection.
“Yeah. Yeah I think so. For sure.” I was melting under her look again. Knowing how hard she must have worked to summon the courage to come over here and power through this conversation with me was wholesomely moving, and her expectant expression gave way to a relieved smile that just…got me.
“Okay,” she said, “I will…see you at seven.” She didn’t turn quite fast enough to hide the way her smile bloomed into a full on grin.
I hated to see her leave, but I loved to watch her go.
“Jesus CHRIST dude!” Jeeter said sleezily as he appeared from nowhere to lean over the wall of my cubicle, “Did you get her number or something?” We both watching as she glanced back before slipping through the doors. I swear she bit her lip.
“What? No man, fuck off. I forgot to give her something, that’s all.”
“I’ll tell you what I’d like to give her dude, good god.”
“Yeah, well,” I said, turning to get my things into my bag, “I’m sure she’d be thrilled with both your inches there, big guy.”
“Whatever, you jerkoff. And it’s four and half, thank you very much. Your sister loves it.” That wasn’t a joke; he had been casually seeing my older sister for a while. “What’s going on here anyway, you packing up early?”
“Yes, yes I am,” I replied smugly, “my shit is done, my report is in with the bean counters, and I spend enough of my weekends here to justify an early Monday.”
“So you can come to DeeJay’s tonight then? Come on man.”
“Nah, sorry dude,” I said in mock disappointment, “No can do.”
“Why not, huh?” he begged as I flopped my jacket over my shoulder and turned to leave, “we both know you’re just gonna go home and beat it all night again.”
“Nah man,” I said, already walking away, “I got a date.”
The names and curses he shouted at my back as I walked out were all the satisfaction I needed.
___
Believing our interaction to be a sign of better things to come between Allie and I, and wanting to make up for the modest pressure I’d put on her boundaries during the day, I resolved myself to making some effort for her. I stopped at the barber across the street from my building for a trim and cleanup, letting the indeterminate ramblings of old Giuseppe and the rhythmic clicking of his scissors clear my head a little.
“You’re distracted, my boy,” he observed accurately, “girl problems?”
“Not problems, I hope. Not today.”
“Well then,” the old goat chuckled, “I’ll do the hairs on your head, but the rest of them are up to you, got it?” We shared a laugh, and I felt a swelling in my chest; I had no clear plan going into tonight, but the day felt like a good one to make the most of opportunities on.
I did shave too, down there, just so you know. I wrestled for an age with whether to look like a try-hard and put a different jacket and tie on, or appear casual and show up in what I’d worn to work that day. Did I want her to think it was a date? Wait, was it a date? Was I inventing things here? Did I wear a jacket at all, or accept that this was likely to be enormously uncomfortable and slum it in a hoodie and jeans. What would she do? She’d wear the same dress, right?
Right?
The dress? The one that I’d stared at her in all day? The one with the pleated skirt and cinched waist that had tried, and failed, to live up to the gorgeous body it draped itself over? The bright yellow number that commanded the eye of every red-blooded man in the building for eight straight hours. The dress I wanted more than anything to help her out of…
I realized I was standing there with my toothbrush held motionless in my mouth as I drooled onto my chin. I spit out the remaining toothpaste, changed the shirt I had slobbered on, decided against the tie, and checked the time.
It was a half past now or never.
___
The cab dropped me off under that awning of the covered carport. I hadn’t bothered to actually check what the place was, but asked the driver if he was sure this was right; most of the external review teams we ever dealt with were from out of town, but few of them stayed at the Hilton, of all places.
Satisfied that he’d brought me to the correct address, I went inside. Too late, I realized that the sticky note only read “321 York Blvd, 7:00pm”, with nothing to indicate a room number or further instructions. I didn’t even know her whole name; I’d look like a bum if I walked up to the concierge and asked for Allie without any further information. Cursing my shortsightedness, I opted for the only other reasonable solution: the bar.
I’m not given making a habit of drinking alone on Monday nights, but two fingers of good bourbon were sure to temper the rising flock of butterflies in the pit of my stomach. God, I wanted this to go well. Minutes dragged painfully on while I considered my options. I couldn’t sit here all night, but surely she’d realize what my absence meant and come looking for me. I moved down a couple seats to afford a better view of the elevator. The barman brought me another drink.
7:16. Surely, if she was going to come down, she would have by now. Maybe I was a fool for thinking she’d come down at all. The entire thing began to feel outright silly again, as it had done intermittently over the course of the day; a perverted apparition had shown me the faces of all the people who had touched themselves while thinking about me in a dream, and now I was waiting for some woman I didn’t know to come explain why she’d done so well over a thousand times. I drained the rest of my whiskey. I was going home. Fuck this.
As if on queue, summoned by the finality of me slamming my glass on the cocktail napkin, the leftmost doors of the elevator bank parted. Allie stepped out.
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