I phoned her up yesterday from my desk. I pretended to dial an outside number but called her extension instead. I was going to invite her out to afternoon tea since she's had so much work on lately that she's been having it at her desk. I had planned it all out in my head, the whole conversation; I was going to do it kind of casual and funny. Then I heard her voice on the other end and lost my nerve. I put the phone down. I couldn't do it. I felt self-conscious and knew it would all just sound false and silly. Besides, she'd probably say no.
Anyway, why should she even look at me, a pretty girl like that? She probably doesn't even know I exist outside the office. She'll have boyfriends galore and they're bound to be interesting and exciting types with sports cars and boats and such, so what's the point? What chance would I have?
Then again I look at the likes of that oik Donny and his girlfriend and think, why not? But maybe that's the problem. I'm not handsome, dashing and debonair, but I'm not a miserable thug either, just somewhere in between. Just ordinary, common and a bit shy. I guess even an oik with a motorbike is a little bit exotic.
I keep telling myself not to be ridiculous. I keep saying to myself, 'How can you feel this way about someone you don't even know?' but you can't just rationalise these things away. Would I feel the same if she hadn't asked me about the book I was reading or had sat somewhere else in the cafeteria that day? She'd already been there two or three weeks before that whole business happened and I didn't feel that way then. I had noticed her, of course, I used to watch her secretly when she went past and did her filing and such, but that was different. And would I feel the same if everything that's happened had happened anyway except that she was plump, plain and had a hairy mole on her face?
I see couples on the street, couples in shops, couples at the movies, and I often wonder how it happened. How did these people come together? Where did they meet? Who said what? Are they in love? It's all a bit of mystery to me.
• • •
It was Fletcher's birthday yesterday — well it's actually today — and he insisted everyone join him in the pub at lunchtime to commiserate. I don't mind going occasionally, and Fletcher was insistent. It's not as if I had anywhere else to go. Even Tom Coutts joined us later. He likes to play at being one of the boys now and then and, with his blessing, we didn't get back to work till after 1:30.
Inevitably, I suppose, it didn't take long for the talk to turn to Marie.
'Lovely looker,' mused Tom, sipping his second pint to a chorus of nods.
'Bloody lesbian, mate,' snapped Fletcher.
'There's no such thing where I'm concerned. She'd be putty in my hands.' This raised a few eyebrows and provoked a sneer from Fletcher.
'I was quite a lad in my day,' Tom added.
'Weren't we all,' said Fletcher.
'Aren't we all,' said Philips. 'Present tense please, gentlemen.' Some of the younger ones nodded. Tom did too.
'Don't know what you're nodding for,' said Fletcher. 'Or are you going to give us a lesson in ancient history?'
'Not as ancient as you, you old codger. just 'cause you couldn't pull anything that doesn't wear a thermal vest.'
'Oh, listen to bloody Romeo!'
'I can still make it with the ladies if I put my mind to it.'
'You're a married man.'
'So? What she doesn't know doesn't bother her.' Then he added enigmatically, 'Never has in the past ...'
This drew an 'Ooooo!' from the rest.
'Talk's cheap,' said Fletcher.
'Envy's cheaper.'
'Okay then, prove it.'
'I don't have to prove anything ...'
'Well I think you do, doesn't he, lads? Coming here on a bloke's birthday, drinking his piss and rubbing it in about his age. Let's see what killer Coutts can do.'
'I don't have to ...'
'Oh, typical bloody manager. All mouth and no balls. If Reg Cotton asked you to do it it'd be "Yes sir, no sir, and should I enjoy myself while I'm doing it sir?"'
Up until then Tom had been treating it all as a bit of a joke at Fletcher's expense, but I suddenly noticed that neither protagonist was smiling now. Everyone else seemed infected by the sudden tension too.
'When's your birthday, Tom?' asked Fletcher, digging in his back pocket for his wallet. 'Beginning of June, isn't it?'
As Tom nodded Fletcher threw a green note onto the table.
'There's twenty that says you can't pull that bloody lesbian by your birthday.'
Tom looked at Fletcher and Fletcher looked back at him. Everyone else was silent.
'I don't want to take your money,' Tom said finishing his beer and straightening, 'but in this case I think I've got a point to prove.' He dug into his pocket, flicked down a matching bill, nodded at Fletcher and walked out.
That, of course, was the sign for us all to leave. As everyone scurried to finish their drinks Fletcher pushed the money across to me, indicating that he wanted me to hold the bet. I've done it before when they've had their silly games but I didn't want anything to do with this one. I tried to decline but that wasn't an option. People were getting up to go and I was faced with either taking the money or leaving it on the table. I had no choice.
When we got back, Tom was at the reception desk talking to Marie. She laughed at something he said and barely glanced at us. He was probably just telling her a joke. When I came back from afternoon tea she was sitting in his office with the door closed and there was lots of elbowing and whispering going on among the others. As she left Tom stood in his doorway with a smug look on his face before going across to Fletcher's desk and dropping a piece of paper in front of him.
'Stage one, son,' he said in a voice loud enough for us all to hear while tapping a finger on the page. 'Home address and phone number. I'll leave that with you in case you want to verify it, Fletch. I've already got it in my little black book.'