Crazygirl Falls in Love (10 page)

Courage, Penny
.

“I think I’m going to head off, I’m about to faint from
hunger.”

“You no wait, and come home with me?” He leans in so the
others can’t hear.

“No, I don’t think so. You see, when I get
really hungry I get angry, and when I get really angry I get
hangry. And you do
not
want to see me hangry.”

The joke is lost on him and his smile disappears. He doesn’t
say anything for a long moment. Then he leans down to kiss me on
the cheek (not a lingering kiss, but a short peck) and says
something really odd that I ponder for the rest of the
night,

“I respect you, Penelope.”

***

Welp, it’s been a long, lazy Sunday. I went for a run when I
got up, came back and messaged Mags to see if she still wanted to
come over for Epic Fry Up Bad Movie time. I’m not much of a cook
but frying bacon, eggs, sausages, mushies, spinach and toast is
something even a culinary-challenged person like myself can pull
off.

Mags doesn’t cook at all, ever. When she was little she tried
making apple crumble but used a plastic dish instead of porcelain,
almost poisoning her entire family with the toxic fumes billowing
out of the oven. Her parents issued a permanent kitchen ban and
when she left home she never bothered to relearn. It’s probably
best for all involved, bless her but she is the most absent minded
person I know. London would probably have another one of those
monster historical fires if she ever turned her stove
on.

I always ask her round whenever I bother cooking anything. No
one should have to live on Chinese take-out and canned soup alone,
least of all sweet, freckly Mags. Plus, I love her company. There’s
no one I’d rather schlep about the apartment with.

We’ve spent the afternoon chatting and
watching DVDs. Don’t tell anyone, but Mags and I share a passion
for super cheesy movies. Last week we watched Labyrinth
(
You remind me of the babe. What babe? The
babe with the power. What power? Power of voodoo. Who do? You do.
Do what? Remind me of the babe
). I will
argue to the day I die that David Bowie jumping around in tights
was the most brilliant idea for a movie ever. Mags and I had
started bounding round the apartment to
Dance Magic
Dance
, scream-singing “What kinda magic spell to use?!” before the
General started ramming his walking stick against the ceiling below
us. If half deaf Mr Harold is bothered, then true we were probably
being too loud.

Today has been much less rowdy than last
Sunday, so far no complaints from the man and his dog below. We’re
watching my new TV show obsession,
Girls
. I’m a die-hard fan of
Sex and the City
, but I
gotta say it
is
a
little bit ‘fantasy unicorn fairy world does New York’.
Girls
is much more real,
much more applicable to our dark, depressing lives (okay
okay,
my
dark and
depressing life). You know how in
SATC
all four characters have it all
– great looks, great careers, an endless supply of incredible
outfits they’d never be able to afford in real life, and the only
thing missing from their lives is a good man? Well, the
Girls
crowd are a tad
more realistic, what with all the money and body and professional
issues. And Lena Dunham rules.

Mags has been telling me about her date with Stalker. As she
chirps away, I can’t help but fail to understand two things. First,
it’s already Sunday (where has the weekend gone?) and second, Mags
actually went on a date with that guy.

“... so I had to mark exams all day, but in the evening we
went to the Red Pearl for cocktails. He’s nice, but there were a
few tiny things about him I wasn’t sure about.”

I pause the episode on a particularly unflattering shot of
Marnie. I hear my phone ping but I ignore it.

“What’s the dealio, gangsta?” I try to mimic his
faking-the-funk accent but Mags doesn’t appear to have heard
me,

“It’s not that I don’t like him. I do. We got along and he
dresses well, plus he’s interesting and cute…”

Are we still speaking about the same guy?

“But… well… he’s not a great kisser.”

“What happened?”

There’s a bag of Malteasers on the coffee table, amongst the
greasy plates of bacon fat and toast crusts. I grab a handful and
start popping them in my mouth.

“It’s too embarrassing to say,” she cringes.

I raise an eyebrow and offer her the packet (after taking a
giant handful myself). She grabs the bag but doesn’t take any
chocolate, instead starts ripping away at the plastic. Crunching
away, I try to put her at ease,

“I once kissed a guy who literally tried to suck out my left
eyeball. Was it as bad as that?”

“No,” she giggles.

“Is he overstepped the lip boundary?”

“It was more… there were a lot of teeth involved. Do you know
what I mean?” I nod and she continues, “And saliva, but he does
have a rather large mouth.”

“It’s not that big!” I laugh.

I quickly check my phone. Wellity wellity wellity, it’s the
Stranger. I read it quickly,

Why you leave last night? I would like to see you. My place
later today?

“Penny, it was like a fortress of teeth!”

She squeals while scrunching her nose, pulling a cushion up to
her face. I quickly type a message back,

Do you have a dinner invitation for me? And maybe some
flowers?

Then I turn back to my friends,

“Mags sweetie, as long as you weren’t thinking, ‘God Almighty
in Heaven when will this end,’ it’s okay. Practice makes perfect,
you’ll eventually teach him to withdraw the
tooth-troops.”

I smile and place my hand over hers. Giving it a little
squeeze I take the remote in my other hand, but just before
clicking Play my phone pings,

You know I don’t do that

I feel sad for a moment. Well mister, no date, no hanky panky,
cos that’s how I roll.

We finish the packet of Malteasers (okay
okay,
I
finish the
packet of Malteasers) which makes my mouth feel dry and unpleasant.
Mid-episode I turn back to Mags,

“I thirst. Should we make sangrias?”

I’m slouched at my desk, struggling to keep my fat head erect
so that my eyes can meet the monitor’s screen. Why did I insist on
sangrias last night? Why do I consistently forget my obligation to
be a fully functioning human being the day after I drink? And how
come all that greasy food we ate yesterday failed to soak up the
wine? Damn you Extra Lean Smoked Bacon Rashers, damn you to
hell.

I see Stalker approaching from the opposite end of the office.
Wanting to avoid having to pretend like I have any interest in what
he has to say, I look down at my phone, but my desk is not my
apartment – I can’t block out sudden, unwanted social interaction –
and within less than a minute he’s leaning on the edge of my work
bench.

“What up, dawg!?”

“
Hi Sam, what is it?” I greet wearily, shifting my strained
neck tendons to face him, brain creaking in protest.

“Meeting time!” he sings, walking past me towards the
conference room.

What? 11 a.m. already?
I had accepted Angrypants’ invite when I first got in this
morning but yikes, I haven’t read the scope yet. I don’t even know
who the client is! Bloody Schmermesco bustin’ my
balls...

“Come along Jonesy, we don’t have all day,” Sarah taps my desk
with her long sharp fingernails as she glides past.

She waves me into the room. Angrypants refuses to call anyone
by their first names. My surname is actually just Jones, but she
doesn’t like that. I saw the email about the job this morning but
only had time to accept the invite before rushing on with
Schmermesco. All I know about this new project are the team (me,
Stalker, Angrypants) and that it’s important, because Sarah never
wastes time on internal meetings unless it’s bringing a bucket load
of cash into the firm.

This is my first case with Stalker and I tell you what it
couldn’t have come at a worse time. He’s new to the firm so I’ll
have to teach him the ropes, he’ll likely blow the budget because
all new Associates do, Schmermesco is bustin’ my balls (as
previously mentioned) and just to add a bit of personal drama Mags
fancies him. God only knows why, he told the entire floor this
morning about how he accidentally slammed a kitchen cabinet door on
his head this morning because he forgot to take it out.

I mean, I don’t want to be all judgey and
condescending, but… c’mon. Who forgets to take out their
head
from a kitchen
cabinet before closing it?

I watch Angrypants follow Stalker into the conference room. I
stand unsteadily from my chair (swearing off alcohol for life as I
do), grab my pen and pad and walk gingerly in to meet them. I wish
I didn’t feel so completely shattered.

“Might I say chief,” Stalker is sitting right up close to
Sarah, “you’re looking very lovely today.”

I squint my eyes at him.
Careful buddy, you took out one of my best friends this
weekend.

“Give it a rest Grabowski, I’m on a tight schedule. And stop
calling me chief. Ah, Jonesy, so glad you could make
it.”

“Sorry,” I say meekly, taking a seat across from
them.

“Rough night?” She asks, one eyebrow raised, her thick
horn-rimmed glasses sitting precariously at the end of her long
nose.

“No it was a quiet one actually, watched a couple of movies,
ate some junk foo…”

“Whatever,” Sarah interrupts, waving her hand for me to shut
up, “I don’t need to know the ins and outs of Meg’s arse regarding
your personal life. Let’s get to it.”

I look down at my pad. This woman has an incredible knack for
making me and my teammates feel like dimwit thieves stealing her
precious time. I mean, where’s the love, man? I’ve been working
with her the longest and she still bullies me as if I were a clerk.
I wish I could say something to stand up for myself, but I never
do. None of us do. This is a law firm and there is a strict
hierarchy to adhere to. I am an Associate, she is a Partner. One
day my time will come, or so I keep telling myself.

“Have you both read the brief?”

Stalker is nodding his head eagerly. I look up from the
pad.

“For god’s sake Jonesy don’t look so worried. Did you read
it?”

“I’ve been really busy on Tesco this morning.”

“I bet.”

She holds my gaze and stares me down, like I
imagine a doctor would stare down an intern who accidentally left a
pair of scissors inside a patient. You see, she had many,
many
mark ups on my first
attempt at Schmermesco’s contract. Apparently she worked all
weekend trying to include the reams of information I had missed
out.

I go back to staring down at my pad.

“In a nutshell, the client is Lloyds and it’s a transaction.
They want to sell Central Grand, ergo, we will be acting for the
vendor. The kick off meeting is at 2:00 p.m. today at their head
office. The two grads are busy on other work so it’ll be just you
two on this one. To be frank, I’m happy about this. We cannot
afford to stuff this one up. Lloyds are threatening to go out to
tender on the next job if we don’t give them a smooth
transaction.”

“Just one question…” I say before I’m cut off.

“Later. Read the agenda and prep yourselves. I have a meeting
with Phoenix now that I’m already late for. See you both at quarter
to two, downstairs.”

“Righty-ho, chief,” Stalker says, saluting her.

“Grabowski! Last warning.”

“But at my old company…”

But she is already out the door. Sam and I rise to go back to
our respective desks, but like a piece of dark witchcraft Sarah
magically appears in the doorway again.

“Jonesy, don’t forget to send me the surname of your plus one
for this Saturday.”

Would it be rude of me to declare I’d rather babysit
Brangelina’s entire brood than go to her wedding this
weekend?

“Yes chief.”

I can’t help it. I force down the edges of a sly smile. She
gives me a strange look,

“Why not invite that Spaniard from Friday the entire office
seems to be talking about?”

Hmmm, interesting point
. I’ve asked Chloe to be my date this weekend but I’m sure she
won’t mind missing the hassle of spending the day cooped up in a
reception venue in Brighton. But I can’t in good conscience invite
him, he hasn’t asked me out and it looks like he never will. If I
ask him first I’ll be giving him Hand, and we all know Rule Numero
Uno: Never give a player Hand.