CHAPTER 8

Wendy was at work and not working. Not at the moment, at any rate. Her phone was on her desk and she kept looking at it like it was the prop in a magic trick. She had pictures of Janet naked on it. It was crazy. It was insane. Playboy didn’t even do nudity anymore. She had more nudity than Playboy, on her phone, and it was of her boss. She could look at it anytime. Right this second. Or this second. Or this second.

“Got a second, Ms. Cedar?” Janet asked her, head in the door.

Wendy resisted the urge to snap up her phone and hide it. It wasn’t even powered on. “Sure. Come on in.”

Janet closed the door to the partition behind her and Wendy felt her pulse race. Just being in the room with Janet—and with Janet’s nipple, which she’d seen—was suddenly something intoxicating.

“There’s a war games event coming up at the proving grounds in Yuma. DARPA will be showing off all their latest toys, basically a sales demo where they’ll decide what to order and how much.” She came around Wendy’s desk and laid out a brochure over her keyboard. Several, in fact. There was one for a modest hotel, another for the event itself. “Frederickson’s going, he’s asked me to put my best people on a sales pitch he can deliver. I’d like you to familiarize yourself with the exhibition and prepare the necessary stats. How our bird compares to this and that. It’s not a very glamorous piece of work, but it could help our contract.”

Janet was leaning on Wendy’s desk, over her, and her blouse was not as tight as it usually was. Wendy could see not just her cleavage, but how it curved inward. God, how had she ever not stared at that? Well, she had, but surreptitiously. The way she was trying to now. “I’ll get right on it,” Wendy promised.

“Just so you know, Ms. Cedar, this assignment has nothing to do with last night. Your performance has been exemplary, regardless of any interpersonal interactions.”

“And I do love performing for you,” Wendy replied, while her brain inwardly went WHAT?

Janet smiled fitfully. “Not to discuss events outside the office which hold no bearing on our work—”

“Perish the thought.”

“—but do you have any…notes?”

“Notes?”

Janet flicked her fingers against one of the brochures. “Whoever designed this pamphlet received notes,” she reasoned.

“Last night wasn’t a pamphlet.”

“Then no…issues? Not even ones you in particular might have, but more what a reasonable adult might have?”

“No issues,” Wendy said, smiling reassuringly. “Very much no issues.”

“Good.” Janet made a face that expressed an attempt to laugh it off without coming anywhere near laughing. “I’m sure sometimes the brochure designer gets it right on the first try too.”

“One thing?”

“Yes?” Janet asked, a flicker of doubt crossing her face.

“Being called Ms. Cedar is nice and all, but my name is Wendy. And yours is Janet, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“You’re quite right. It is Janet. Janet Pauline.”

Wendy grunted a little. “Huh. Really.”

“Please don’t take a page from Ms. Smile’s book and start calling me Jan.”

A heavy footfall outside the door jerked Janet’s face up, and they both watched as a blurry business suit passed alongside the pebbled Lexan.

Janet straightened, her voice chilling from the husky register it’d fallen into. “On another note, please delete the files I sent you last night, for security reasons. Any further reference to them that you need, I can provide personally.”

“I will do that,” said Wendy, who would not do that. “Anything else?”

“One small question.” Janet straightened, ready to head for the door. “Did you wash your hands after you fingered yourself? Because I didn’t.”

Wendy blinked. As a self-defense mechanism, her brain struggled for something other than the mental picture she had just gotten. “So you masturbated this morning, right? It’s not like you haven’t bathed or washed your hands since last night? Because…because you had to have eaten breakfast…”

Janet put a finger to her lips. “Sh.”

“What’s the best moment in your life?”

Wendy puffed air into her cheeks and blew it out slowly. She was at Wednesday dinner with her sister, and with her brother-in-law and nephew at the table, she was in no mood to complicate the digestion of a perfectly good pork roast with figuring out the answer to that.

“What’re yours?” she replied.

“Birth of my child,” Regan ventured.

“Marrying the love of my life,” Keith said.

“Can you have the same one?” Wendy asked, handing Mac what was left of her roast. He proved to have a great future career as a human garbage disposal.

“Well, if we can’t have the same one,” Regan said, “I should get the marriage, because I wore a pretty dress, and Keith, you should get childbirth, because,” she lowered her voice drastically past the range of Mac’s hearing, “your vagina wasn’t in two pieces.”

“Oof,” Keith said.

“What’s your problem?” Wendy asked. “You don’t even have a vagina. You’re never going to be in that position.”

“You’re a lesbian,” he pointed out.

“I can still adopt…oh. Right. I see what you’re getting at.” Wendy leaned back in her chair. “There is such a thing as in vitro fertilization. I find George Clooney, borrow some spooge—”

“You’re giving it back?” Regan asked.

“Point is, I could do it.”

“But are you?” Keith insisted.

Wendy looked over at Mac. His face was covered with food. “Point taken.” Then, because that didn’t count as the last word, “But if my son was going to be John Connor, leader of the human resistance, I could. And you’re missing my point, which is that I don’t think it’s fair to count marriages and small human beings. Because then whatever I say, I look like an…” She glanced at Mac. “Like an anus.”

“What’s an anus?” Mac asked, inevitably.

“Go do your homework,” Keith said. “I’ll be up in a bit to help you.”

“Okay,” Mac said dutifully, taking his glass of water with him.

Wendy frowned seeing it. She’d drunk wine out of that same commemorative glass.

Keith cracked his neck. “So, best moment of my life, besides getting married or becoming a father? You remember my cousin Bob and that party at the beachfront?”

Regan nodded. “You weren’t here for this,” she told Wendy.

“Well, he did this sorta eloping thing where he and his fiancé invited all their friends and family, and instead of spending a ton booking a chapel and everything, they just got married in the middle of the party. I was best man, Lauren Kelly was the maid of honor, they had a priest there. I don’t know what everyone thought, having this priest there at the party before they announced it—”

“Wait,” Wendy interrupted. “The best moment of your life was your cousin’s wedding?”

“Oh, no, I was wearing a tuxedo, but since the wedding was a surprise, I couldn’t be at this party in a tux. So when he said they were getting married, I just ripped out of my clothes to show that I had my tuxedo and bowtie and everything under it. Just like James Bond in Goldfinger. It was pretty dope. So what’s yours?”

Wendy blew air through her lips again. “Still thinking.”

“Okay. You done with your plate? My turn to do dishes.”

“Oh, yeah.” Wendy handed it to him. “Have at it.”

He piled it atop his, and then Regan’s. “One day Mac’s gonna be old enough to do this, and then all the diaper changes will be worth it. Thanks for the meal, hon.” He gave Regan a quick kiss and Wendy went ‘aww’ as he left the dining room.

Regan stared at her. “You thought that was cute? You never think that’s cute. The last time you saw us kiss you said I had cooties now.”

“I might’ve been wrong about that one.” Wendy cracked up a little. “But admit it, Keith did go to Jupiter to get more stupider,” she giggled.

“What’s up with you? You’re acting all weird and happy and optimistic, like you just got back from Narnia or something.”

“Like I time-traveled to a dystopian future where you’re dead and Mac is an evil cyborg, and then I came back and prevented it and everything’s better and I’ve learned to appreciate my situation?”

“Yes, that’s the most specific explanation of your present vibe that I could imagine.”

Wendy shrugged, picking up her water and downing it. “I just had a really good flick.”

“You watched a movie?”

“No, I, ah…flicked. Down… I flicked down. Okay, you’re married, you’re not dead, you know what I’m talking about.”

“Oh! Were you flicking someone else or…”

“No, just me.”

“Who’d Wendy flick off?” Keith asked, as he came back drying his hands on his jeans.

“No one. That’s the problem,” Regan said as he sat back down. “We’re trying to figure out why she’s so happy all of a sudden.”

Keith snapped his fingers. “Easy. One of her TV show people turned out to be a lesbian.”

“You really think I’m so shallow that a character from a TV show being gay could have a measurable impact on my personal happiness?”

“She’s right,” Regan said. “Movie character.”

“We’re gonna see the next Marvel movie and Black Widow’s going to be living with some woman and Wendy’s just gonna be beaming.”

Regan groaned in dismay. “She’s not gonna end up with Bruce?”

Wendy gaped at her. “Okay, not that Black Widow is gay, unfortunately, but I thought I could count on your support.” She jerked a thumb at Keith. “I knew I had him in my corner.”

Keith shifted in his seat. “I just like when ScarJo does stuff.”

“Natasha and Bruce are cute,” Regan said. “What, it’s okay for Wendy to want her to be with a woman because she thinks women are sexy, but I can’t want her to be with an older man because I know older men are sexy?”

“Honey? I’m younger than you.”

Regan reached across the table to take Keith’s hand. “You’ll get older.”

“So you’re just waiting for me to get gray hair?”

“And a beard.”

“And good at sex,” Wendy chimed in.

“Well, that’s never gonna happen,” Keith said. “But I’ll keep an eye out on TV for any lesbian activity, see what Wendy’s Prozac is.”

“You’re a straight man, you do that anyway,” Wendy retorted. “And I hope you realize how immaturely you’re characterizing me.”

Regan was looking up the stairs. “Mac should be done with his homework by now.” She called. “All right, who wants dessert?”

“Me!” Wendy said. “I do! I do!”

“Keith, if you’ll do the honors?”

Keith stood up again. “Four bowls of cookies and cream, coming up.”

“Don’t give me a bowl without any cookie bits,” Wendy called after him. “I was in this family before you, I have seniority.”

Regan laughed at her. “Okay, I don’t know what has you in such a good mood—or throwing your sister out on her ass and keeping her wine all for yourself—but I’m liking it. I really am.”

Wendy snorted. “Feed ‘em a little ice cream and they get all emotional.”

She moved to stand, but Regan took hold of her wrist. “I know you won’t believe me, but if I have to pick a best moment that isn’t Keith or the munchkin: it’s you. Smiling that way. So, try to make it last? For me?”

“It’ll last,” Wendy told her. “I don’t think I have a best moment, but I’m pretty sure it’s coming up.”

Score one for career women. Janet was known to take her lunch in her office, and commonly invited co-workers to quickly touch base on business. So it didn’t raise any suspicion for her and Wendy to dine together, given they were both working on a project.

“Grilled teriyaki chicken with romaine salad,” Janet announced, opening up the Tupperware. Wendy hadn’t noticed earlier, but Janet had a chessboard set-up along one side of her office, with a little table and two chairs and a view out the window. It was made to seduce impressionable young employees. Wendy couldn’t believe Janet hadn’t seduced one before. Was there a dearth of impressionable young employees at the company?

She held up her plate and Janet served her, before serving herself and sitting down at her end of the table, where the report Wendy had filed was cued up on a tablet. Wendy opened her mouth to say something, but Janet was already focused on the tablet, idly chewing—very politely—as she flitted through it. Wendy took a bite of her own meal. It tasted very…nutritious. In a good way, mind you, but that’s how it always started.

“You know, I could bring lunch sometime.”

Janet didn’t look up. “Would you make something or would you get burgers from Five Guys?”

“Burgers. But I would carefully sleuth out what you would like on yours, it wouldn’t have onions or anything.”

“I don’t like onions,” Janet confirmed.

“See? I know my stuff.”

Janet carefully cultivated a forkful of chicken and salad as she glanced up. “Are these specs accurate?”

“Absolutely.”

“We’re slower than the Helios.”

“We’re slower than the Helios’s specs,” Wendy countered. She spun the tablet sideways and leaned in to point out a column. “Manufacturers, they all like to tell fairy tales. No way that a bird with that load and that carriage makes that speed. Any engineer can tell you that.”

“So our bird is faster?”

“Absolutely. It’s the lightest, fastest thing out there. And if they ask you why it can’t level a building, just remind them that’s not its job.”

Janet’s lips teased a smile. “Very good. I don’t suppose you have the Helios’s actual specs?”

“I made some educated guesses in the attachment. It’s got a fat ass. The Army will order it, but not to do what our Hawkowl will do.”

“Fantastic,” Janet said, and bit into her meal with a moan like it just grew five times tastier.

Usually Wendy wore trainers with her slacks, but she wasn’t so butch that she couldn’t pull off pumps, stockings, even garters. And she hadn’t worn pumps with her pantsuit because Janet was a tall woman.

She slipped her stockinged foot out of her shoe. “You know, this is our lunch break.”

“Yes? So?”

“We’re not being paid to work. It wouldn’t be out of sorts for us to talk about something non-work-related.”

Janet had the poker face of Doc Holliday. “Such as?”

Wendy stretched her foot out and ran it along Janet’s calf, their stockings sliding together like Wendy imagined a livewire would sound. Instantly, Janet sat bolt-upright—as if her posture hadn’t been great before—with her eyes growing nearly as wide as the frames of her glasses. Her mouth flew open, though she didn’t actually squeak. It was a very squeaky kind of expression, though.

“You’re adorable!” Wendy laughed.

Janet picked up a napkin to dab at her lips. “I have not been referred to as such often.”

“You’re beautiful,” Wendy corrected herself. “You’re sensual. You’re effervescent.”

“Good word choice.”

“My sister’s married. Less drinking games, more Scrabble.” Wendy stirred her salad. “Look, I’m not saying we have to necessarily…”

Janet leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and steepling her hands below her chin. “Yes?”

Wendy flushed. She licked her lips. She recovered. “Well, there being a lady present, I won’t say. But it involves a moderately smaller version of that bathysphere you got me.”

“All right, bathysphere? Now you’re going too far.”

“Withdrawn. My point is, we can just talk about stuff. Our—insert scare-quotes if you want—relationship.”

“Mm.” Janet put her thumb at the corner of her lip. “I have been wanting to talk some things over with you.”

“All right.” Wendy clapped her hands. “Hit me.”

“You’re very good at inviting emotional intimacy,” Janet said dryly.

“It’s what I do.”

“Well, it’s not some gothic family secret or anything.” Janet tapped the tines of her fork delicately against her plate. “It does have to do with intimacy, sexual intimacy, but I’m sure we can be open and honest and mature about that.”

“Absolutely,” Wendy agreed, crossing her fingers.

“It’s just that, I noticed in your fantasizing about me, and in the phone call that you responded to so dramatically—”

“Are we having a conversation or are you issuing a press release?”

Janet canted her head. “Ms. Cedar, I’m sure you’re aware that if I went into indelicate detail, I’d have to worry about you lunging across this table.”

Wendy gulped, feeling suddenly too gay for this conversation. She needed a translator or something. Someone who’d gotten laid recently, and not with a glove. “Point taken.”

“Now then,” Janet continued, sounding much more centered. “I’ve noticed that what you respond to tends to be…kinky.”

Wendy laughed. “Is that a problem? I mean, c’mon—” She waved her hand around. “Office. Fucked me. We’ve been over this.”

“Yes. Indelibly. But…with Roberta…many of these sorts of things have the participants talking about what they fantasize about, planning scenarios…”

“Yeah, I get that, I read Fifty Shades of Grey too, well, I read people making fun of Fifty Shades of Grey, but it’s not like we’re pouring candle wax on each other or anything. We’re just having fun.”

“I’d still like to know what your preferences entail.”

Wendy grinned at her. “This is you trying to get me to send you another smutty e-mail, isn’t it?”

“The last e-mail was really more of a movie recommendation.”

“True, but Ella Enchanted was pretty good, right?”

“It seemed to try a little hard for my tastes.”

“Wow,” Wendy enunciated. “I know, not the time or place, but you’d better like The Princess Bride.”

“No, you caught me, I’m a robot.” Janet adjusted her glasses. “All right. You’re uncomfortable with planning out activities.”

“Well, don’t handcuff me out of nowhere or anything, but if you’re just gonna tell me your fingers are all—jilly, I don’t need a trigger warning.”

“All right. A list, then, of what you’d be comfortable with.”

Wendy hiccupped a laugh. “Would you like our kinky sex to have a mission statement too?”

“Wendy, this is serious. I don’t want to do something that’s going to make you uncomfortable.”

“And I trust you not to. Look, I’m not saying I’m down for anything, I can come up with a few things that I’d prefer to die not having on my hard disk. And if you’re worried something crosses a line, of course ask me if it’s cool. I’m not gonna think you’re weird if you want to pee on me.” Wendy added quickly, “I mean, I’m not gonna let you do it either!”

“Wendy, please, I worry about hygiene enough without adding that to the mix.” Janet speared another chunk of chicken, and Wendy noticed she let out another unconscious little moan when she bit into it. Wendy smiled. Happy Ms. Lace.

“I’d just like it if you were a little spontaneous, in the moment. Give me a one-minute warning. But even if we make a list, I’m not going to freak out if you order off the menu.”

“Very well. That does leave the matter of a safe word,” Janet continued, holding the tines of her fork aloft, rotating them idly.

“Yeah, we should probably have one of those. I didn’t ask for one before because, y’know, I could’ve hung up.”

“Obviously, it shouldn’t be something we might say in casual conversation, so I was thinking it could be ‘trichotomy’.”

“Okay,” Wendy said, “I can’t remember that now, much less when you’ll have me bent over your knee.”

Janet gestured flippantly. “I’ll defer to your expertise.”

“Well, it’s supposed to be the watchword for ‘not all good’, so how about ‘watchword’?”

Janet nodded. “Acceptable.” Then she stopped nodding. “You know, this doesn’t have to be that sort of relationship.”

“The sex kind? Because the phone calls are great, don’t get me wrong, but I like to get more out of a relationship than a free phone sex hotline.”

“The kink,” Janet said. “Sometimes I’m not sure I understand why you’re interested in that. Being degraded. Punished. Hurt. If you think that’s a requirement to be in a relationship with me, it certainly is not.”

Wendy grew serious. “And I’m not the sort of girl who goes along with some shit she’s not comfortable with just because you’re really hot and generally amazing.”

“Why then?”

Wendy kneaded her fingers together. “I don’t know…just something about it all, I guess. Feeling something, feeling it so intensely that you almost can’t stand it, that you have to endure it. It just seems like that’s what you want out of a relationship, right? Not just ‘pleasant,’ not just ‘okay,’ but…” She circled her hands in the air. “Greatness. Even just feeling something that’s sublime.”

“You put great expectations on me, Ms. Cedar.”

Wendy mirrored her aristocratic manner. “You invite them, Ms. Lace.” She checked her watch. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go look at some funny cat videos. Work! I meant work.”

Janet glared at her, but in a fond way. And Wendy had a feeling that whatever expectations she might have of Janet, Janet was plainly determined to meet them.

Janet held her hands under running water in the executive washroom, thinking of Lady Macbeth, out damned spot; thinking of how you could have the exact opposite problem for the exact opposite reason. She didn’t want to wash away Wendy’s touch, her feel, her kiss. But she was a little too particular not to.

What a wonderful thing to be able to go and get Wendy back on her skin, whenever she chose.

“Nothing like a long lunch break when you don’t eat, is there?” Mary Borchard asked, coming up to the sink beside Janet’s and washing her hands.

Janet removed her glasses from where they hung at her neckline, putting them back on. “Depends on the company, I suppose.”

“Too true. Hear about Frederickson?”

“Yes. Leukemia, right?”

“Right.”

“Shame.”

“Shame,” Mary agreed. She dried her hands. “Won’t even be able to make it to Yuma.”

“I suppose they’ll just have to send someone else.”

“Wonder who?”

They walked out of the washroom together. About to go their separate ways when Mary called “Lauren, there you are, how’ve you been?”

Janet turned, watching a bit bemusedly as Mary cornered one of her employees.

“It’s Leslie, actually,” she said, sounding apologetic at the correction.

Mary pointed at her wedding ring. “Well, you’re married, I remembered that much right. How is your husband?”

“He’s great.”

“And the children?”

“Good,” Leslie said, brightening, before wincing. “Well, Timmy’s a bit of a struggle, but they always are at that age.”

“Good, good,” Mary said, nodding. “Give them my best, won’t you?”

“I will, Ms. Borchard.”

As she bustled off, Janet joined Mary at the elevator bank. They both reached for the call button, but Mary pressed it first, stabbing the light into it.

“She’s being let go at the end of the week,” Mary said, apropos of nothing, and watched Janet’s reaction. “You flinched. That’s why they won’t send you. You let your emotions be a part of the equation. But don’t worry. The world needs plenty of middle managers.”

The elevator arrived. Janet let Mary take it. She was in no mood to share a ride with her.

“Besides,” Mary said, “not much point in climbing the ladder. Once Old Man Savin dies, either his shithead kids or shithead grandkids or shithead nephews will take over. They’ll strip this place and sell it for parts. You’re never going to get the brass ring.”

“And you?” Janet asked.

“When the hammer comes down, someone’s gonna have to help swing it. Too bad you don’t have the balls.”

The elevator doors closed between him. Another set of doors dinged, and Janet stepped over to them as they opened up.

Grinning.

“Too bad you’re not going to Yuma.”