Chapter 48: Working for a Living

Tuesday morning, I was up at 5, and ready to leave by 6. David was about 15 minutes from the train station, and I had a 45 minute ride in to look forward to. He wanted me to use a car service, but I rather like the train. I got to the office on West 38th Street a little after 7:30. I got checked in at the front desk, and got directions to my company’s offices: on the 45th floor.

I should mention here that I have a pathological fear of falling. I mean to the extent that in college, I couldn’t even think about taking the top bunk without breaking into a cold sweat. I’ve gotten used to flying, though I don’t much care for it – and landings freak me out every time. Elevators fall into that same gut-wrenching fear category.

This was an older building, so the elevator was slow, even though it was express for the first 20 floors. The ride to 45 took exactly two minutes, twenty-six seconds. That’s long enough to sing “Hark, The Herald Angels Sing” or “Oye Como Va” all the way through.

We stopped at thirteen different floors. I saw thirty-two different people; twenty of them men. Of those, sixteen had glasses, fourteen had facial hair (six goatees, four moustaches, three full beards, and one guy who fancied himself the second coming of Elvis), and three wore the same rep tie. I’d always joked I’d make the perfect witness, as long as the crime took place on an elevator. I find that by concentrating on the minutiae around me, I forget for a moment that I’m riding in a coffin on a string.

When I got to the floor, I let out a shaky breath, glad to have survived the trip, and went to find the admin. Mary was expecting me, and led me down a corridor to an office.

“An office?” I asked, surprised.

Mary laughed. “Visitors always get an office,” she explained.

“Well, I may just have to visit more often,” I quipped.

“What brings you to the City?” she asked.

I smiled and blushed. “My baby’s father,” I said, resting a hand on my not-quite-flat-but-not-from-the-baby abdomen. “He lives about an hour from here, and I’m visiting for a couple of weeks.”

“That’s wonderful!” she gushed. “When are you getting married?”

I was a little surprised at her question. “Um, we haven’t decided,” I hedged.

She nodded and continued chattering as she found the instructions for setting up voicemail, made sure I had a docking station for my laptop, and gave me a phone list. “Ready for the tour?” she asked.

Mary showed me where the restrooms, copier and supply rooms, and kitchen were. They have FOUNTAIN drinks here! I may just have to move here. Nothing beats Diet Coke from a soda fountain! When we got back to my borrowed office, there were a few people milling about outside it.

“Help you?” I asked.

We made introductions, and I learned that I was now occupying the “Bitching Office”. It’s where people went when they needed to close the door and bitch about something. I laughed and told them not to let me stop them. I’m no fool. You learn the most about an office by talking with the admins and listening to the bitching.

My cell chose that moment to ring. David had screwed with the ring tone again, and “Having My Baby” came out from the little speaker.

“Hey, babe, I thought I’d take you to lunch, if that’s alright with you,” he said, when I answered.

“That sounds good,” I said. “Where should I meet you?”

“I’ll come up to you, darlin.” He said quickly. He sounded entirely too desperate to come up to the office.

“Oka-a-a-ay,” I said. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” he said quickly. “See you later then?”

“Not if I see you first,” I quipped.

“Oh, you’ll see me,” he said. Before I could ask him what the hell he was talking about, he shot out a quick “Love you,” and was gone.

As I shook my head, Mary came back, with a kid in tow. Must be an intern; he looks about twelve. “Hath,” she said, “this is Martin. He’s been here a few years, and knows everyone and everything that happens on this floor. If you need anything, Martin’s your guy.”

“Nice to meetcha, Martin,” I said, coming out from behind my desk and extending my hand.

He shook it briefly, and said with a sardonic smile, “So, are you one of Brady’s Ladies?” I rolled my eyes. Heaven save me from Giants fans.

“No, actually, I prefer playing defense,” I said in my haughtiest Boston-snob accent. I sat on the edge of my desk, which made my skirt ride up a little, and I crossed one leg over the other. “I’m one of Teddy’s Readies,” I said. His eyes went wide, and I burst out laughing. He smiled a genuine smile, and just like that, I had my first friend in the office.

He gave me a rundown on the politics of some of the groups on the floor, and asked how long I was in town. I told him a couple weeks, but would be back periodically through the spring. He suggested drinks after work, and I demurred, telling him I was pregnant, but would love to do lunch one day. He and I chatted for a few more minutes, him rubbing in that the Giants won the Super Bowl, then he left.

I took care of some business, and checked on the board, and wound up making plans with Queenie and Sam for lunch and shopping tomorrow! This is going to be great. I love shopping, and shopping here in the Big Apple? Nothing beats it. I was clearing my calendar when David made his grand entrance. Holy shit. I swear to God, if Jon put him up to this, I'll kill him. David's dressed like he's got a show with the showiest, shiniest shirt I've ever seen tucked into pants that make Jon's tan lace-ups look baggy.

My pulse just kicked up a notch, and I can’t tear my eyes away from him. He’s sauntering toward me, the admin having pointed me out. She was staring after him, and damn, I couldn’t blame her. He strutted into my office, and sat on the edge of my desk. “What’s up, baby?” he said, smiling. “You ready for lunch?”

“What the hell is this all about?” I asked, as I stood to give him a chaste peck.

“Well, you outed my porn collection on the board,” he said, “and this is paybacks. Now people here have something to talk about and speculate over about YOU.”

I smiled. “Darlin’, in those pants, there’s no speculation. Hell,” I pulled him up and turned him this way and that. “There is just about nothing left to the imagination here.” I frowned at him. “Why would it bother me that I can make an international rock star dress like a slut for me?” David had the good grace to look shocked. “Hey, this just makes me WAY more interesting.”

“I guess you’re right,” he said, pouting because his little ploy didn’t work.

“I’m always right,” I said. “But this isn’t really work appropriate, darling. Now, really, would you appreciate it if I came to your work dressed like a slut?”

“Hell yeah," he said, smiling.

Men.