Crazygirl Falls in Love (31 page)

Sarah continues, now staring at Young Guy.

“Good. In that case back to the agenda. I would like an update
on the prospective buyer list.”

Michael Cera #2 begins describing the three bidders for the
title deed, their financial positions and a risk analysis he’s put
together. He’s sharp, for a young guy. The meeting goes well for
the next half hour while Michael Cera and Angrypants exchange
information, blitzing through agenda items one to seven.

I’m not looking forward to item eight.

“Right, item eight, the report.” Angrypants
segue-ways.

He Who Shall Not Be Named turns to me,

“Yes. Miss Jones, can you explain why the abstract hasn’t been
updated to reflect my review comments? I specifically emailed you
and Sam about including the corporate process diagram.”

He takes a slow sip of his coffee, smiling that slimey
grin.

I flounder.

“I’m sorry but I’m not sure. I’ll have to check with Sam and
get back to you.”

“Fine. Also, Sam mentioned he wasn’t receiving Lloyd’s
internal notifications. Do you know if you two have been added to
the distribution list yet?”

“I’ll have to double check that one too.”

I scribble a couple of notes under my ever increasing to-do
list.

“And the performance data for the contractors?”

“Contractors?” I ask weakly.

“Yes. The contractors we’re going to hire to refurbish the
building?” he says with a tone of dramatic exasperation. Prick.
.

“I...” this is getting embarrassing, “I’m sorry, Sam has been
doing all the...”

“
So what you’re saying is you don’t really know much about this
job at all?”

I speak before Angyrpants can pipe in to save me, as I know
she will. She won’t do it to defend me personally, but to defend
the Gribbles brand. Later, back in the office, she’ll rip into me
just as badly if not worse than my dickhead ex is doing.

“Again, I’m sorry, Sam has been doing most of the work, I’m
taking note of all your queries and I promise I will have them
addressed by close of business today.”

“And you’re good at keeping promises?” he asks.

“Better than you ever were.” I snap.

His eyes narrow but that smile doesn’t leave
his face. I glare at him.
Bastard
. At least my conscience is
clear. He drew first blood.

He’s about to reply but Sarah is on it faster than a fly on
poo.

“I think the conversation has steered outside professional
matters, if we could...”

He Who Shall Not Be Named interrupts,

“I’m sensing that Mr Grobowski has done the lion’s share of
the work, is that correct Miss Jones?”

It’s Ms, not Miss.

“Yes, but that’s normal in private practice. We share the
work.”

Old Man Gin speaks next,

“That’s all well and good my dear, but you see, your timesheet
says something quite different. We want to double check the
accuracy of your contribution.”

I don’t answer for a moment,

“I’m sorry? I don’t understand?”

I feel like I’ve said ‘sorry’ fifty times in the last two
minutes. The Development Manager passes me a summary of the time
charged to the Lloyds project code. My eyes bulge.

“There’s been a mistake. I didn’t spend thirty
hours...”

“Obviously not,” He Who Shall Not Be Named sneers.

“We were expecting more from you today, seeing as you spent
nearly all of last week charging time to our budget,” the
Development Manager adds.

“I...” I’m so surprised I don’t know what to
say for a moment. I compose my thoughts, “I did
not
charge this time. I remember my
timesheet from last week. I charged fifty or so hours to Tesco and
a few hours to Phoenix. I didn’t charge a single hour to
Lloyds.”

I shoot a panicked look at Angrypants, begging her to back me
up. This is my professional reputation on the line, and this is the
very worst mistake a consultant can make. Sarah approves our
timesheets and checks them meticulously. She must know this is all
a big mistake.

I get blanked. Angrypants points her horn rimmed glasses down
and starts checking emails on her iPhone.

The Development Manager speaks instead,

“Miss Jones, the records are there. Are you sure you’re not
being... forgetful?” he asks.

What, because I’m on my period?

“With all due respect, I’m not forgetting anything,
sir.”

“It’s okay to make mistakes. You’re a good girl, I can see
that,” he prompts.

Girl?

“I have not made a mistake. Someone else has made a mistake.
Sir,” I say through gritted teeth.

Angrypants casually looks up from her phone.

“Gentleman, Miss Jones has been suffering work related stress
lately, it’s nothing to worry about she’s just a bit overloaded.
I’m sure it was an innocent error on her part and we’ll reverse the
time back in the office.”

Work related stress?

I turn to her, angrily,

“I didn’t make a mistake,” I enunciate each word through my
tightening jaw.

“Let’s move on,” she closes the discussion.

“I’m sorry Sarah but I can’t move on. I have always charged my
time honestly. I’m no thief.”

He Who Shall Not Be Named emits a low chuckle. The table looks
to him,

“I’m sorry, I was just thinking... If the cap
fits.”

“Excuse me?”

I stand from my chair as I say it (because I
think standing gives more weight to my words, somehow). The eyes in
the room stare up at me but I don’t utter another word. My lips are
pursed into a thin line. You know those life changing moments
people have, where they stand back and think, ‘
I’m gonna make a change for once in my life. It’s gonna feel
real good, gonna make a difference...”
Wait
a minute. That’s a Michael Jackson song. Well anyway, you know what
I mean! It’s time to alter my destiny. I’m sitting in a room being
mocked by an ex-fiancé hell bent on revenge, derided by a sadistic
manager who won’t even take a honeymoon, and insulted by a
misogynistic client. And through it all the innocent face of
Michael Cera #2 is gazing at me from across the table, with pity
and sadness. I’m being pitied. Pitied by a boy who could be my son
(well sort if, if I had him when I was 11). This is more than
depressing. It’s pathetic.

“I said, if the cap fits,” He Who Shall Not Be Named
repeats.

“And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I seem to remember my laptop, my bag, my wallet, everything,
going missing the last time we caught up, then magically turning up
behind the bar.”

The Terrible Thing
... I swallow before replying,

“You got them back in the end, didn’t you?”

“Just like we’ll get our hours back, and exactly what I said.
If that cap fits.”

As I stare down at him, I can feel I’m at the Tipping Point.
You know when something inside you just... goes? I am very, very,
very close to crossing over to Cage-Fighter-Blood-Rage-Terrorist
Insanity. Right in the middle of this meeting. Utterly insane,
will-grab-a-cop’s-gun-outta-his-holster-and-start-shooting-people
kinda insanity.

I know I’m not the most even-tempered of people. The Stranger
was right, I am a firecracker. I’ll go from blissful biscuit
induced ecstasy to attacking Spanish people in a nanosecond. Even
faster than a nanosecond, that is how unstable my moods are. And
y’all have seen what happens when Satan-voice takes over. But what
I’m experiencing now, as I stand looking at my ex’s smug, bloated
face wrapped in an ugly brown suit, next to the callous woman who
has made my work life hell, next to an old sexist pig emitting
booze-wafts, is something completely different.

I am a heartbeat away from a nuclear fission chain reaction.
Possibly involving fire breathing dragons and army
tanks.

All that will take me to lapse into a bottomless pit of
murderous rage is one tiny, little thing...

“For god’s sake Jonesy, sit down.” Angrypants
snaps.

Still able to control it... Hold... On... Penny...

Then He Who Shall Not Be Named speaks,

“You’re acting awful high and mighty for someone who faked her
own death to get out of a gym membership.”

SYSTEM FAILURE

“No! I will not sit down! And it wasn’t a gym you prick, it
was a pyramid scheme with kettle bells!”

I’m screaming. Everyone is too shocked (or confused) to speak.
Everyone but He Who Shall Not Be Named,

“Take a deep breath and sit back down Penelope. If you stand
too long you’ll get barnacles.”

It breaks the tension and the three men start chuckling under
their breath.

“
You’re a barnacle! Stop pushing on me!” I scream, my fists are
clenched so hard they’re turning white.

“Penny!” Angrypants chokes, regaining her command of
speech.

“No, this ends right here, right now. Look
at me, you piece of shit,” I point a shaky finger at He Who Shall
Not Be Named, “you treated me like one should never treat another
person, like I was a bit of gum you could chew and spit back out.
Then you tried to use me, but you’ve got no remorse. In fact, you
continue to ridicule and mock me. Why? Why would you do that to
another human being? You broke my heart and you broke me, then you
somehow twisted it around to make it seem like it was my fault, my
misunderstanding. Well, it was
your
fault,
your
misunderstanding. Your misunderstanding for
thinking you could be a good partner, when at the end of the day
you’re just a selfish fuck who’ll never be any good to
anyone!”

“Penelope Jones, sit down!” Sarah yells, “you are excused. Go
outside and calm down before returning with an apology for these
gentleman.”

I turn to her. I may as well have froth coming from my
mouth,

“Gentle? Are you fucking kidding me?! One is chauvinist swine,
and the other,” I gesture at Voldemort, “is a lying, deceptive,
dumb slut. Yeah, you heard me,” I look at He Who Shall Not Be Named
who for the first time looks a little unsettled. I turn back to
Angrypants, “You and your gentleman friends can go shove it. Except
you Michael Cera, you’re cool.”

The young Lloyds boy gives me a frightened look.

“
Penelope...” Angrypants is about to snarl another
command.

“No.” I interrupt, my voice shaking as it rises, “you take
every opportunity to be awful, don’t you? You’re a mean, spiteful
little woman, and you can take your crappy job, your
slightly-better-than-average pay and your dumber than dogshit
clients. Yeah, that’s right,” I point to Old Man Gin, “What, you
got all your life tips from the
Man-is-Better-Than-Woman-Guidebook-for-Complete-Assholes? It’s time
you got with the program, you old fossil. We’re women, and we’re
smarter and better and stronger than you ever were. The world
doesn’t even need you anymore. We have vibrators and artificial
insemination centres and single mothers get more social security
anyway, so your misogeny can go fuck itself!”

Uh oh...
A tiny
voice from the back of my head is telling me that this is getting
way out of hand. But I am officially out of control. I am a
helpless passenger in my mentally deranged war-machine of a
body.

“
Oh my,” I hear Sarah whisper.

I turn to her,

“I cannot
believe
you’d lower your integrity
and put up with his crap. You of all people. The meanest but still
the strongest, most assertive woman I know. So put this in your
hypocrisy pipe and smoke it. I quit! And...?”

I make them all wait for it.

“You’re fucking welcome.”

I pick up my bag and walk towards the door,
but I don’t feel like I’m done. In fact, I am
so not
done. I could holler for
months at these three vile spawns of Satan and I still wouldn’t
have enough. I take the handle of the glass door and open it to
step out into the foyer, but just before I do...

I turn to see the white face of Angrypants,
Michael Cera looking like a deer caught in headlights, and
one
very
scary
dinosaur. But I don’t look at any of them. I have eyes only for my
ex-fiancé. I give He Who Shall Not Be Named my most fierce
Aretha-Franklin-R-E-S-P-E-C-T stare down,

“Oh, and by the way, that time I stole your things? Thought
you should know, I had sex on them. Later.”

I catch his look of confusion as he glances
down at his keyboard and it fills me with so much satisfaction I’m
brimming.
That’s right bitches, I will
rain blood and volcano balls from the motherfucking
sky!