Getting Even (19 page)

Yet in spite of the additional income coming into the agency, there seemed an awful lot being paid out. Math had never been Orianna's strong point; perhaps she'd gotten something wrong. She sighed. Office politics, sorting figures, whipping people into shape who'd previously been her peers—none of these did she enjoy.

No, what Orianna liked about advertising was it gave her the chance to produce exquisite creative work and benefit from having decent budgets to play with. She genuinely believed in the goodness of her fellow human beings and was convinced that advertising was about communicating choice. When she and Ivy had been together as a team, they'd chatted about their different perspectives, even argued, but the result was they'd often taken the middle ground. Certainly Orianna had tempered Ivy's misanthropy, while Ivy had helped Orianna sharpen her act. Yet now that they were separated the gulf between them was widening, and Orianna the optimist was flying high.

 

21. Can anything be made of this?

That lunchtime Dan had an appointment with Rob. He got changed, and, as was customary, met Rob on the stretch mats.

“Can we start with some sit-ups?” he asked, convinced a succession of boozy nights that had started with his birthday meant his paunch was returning. Moreover, he was hoping to lure Orianna on vacation—he was concerned she was working too hard—and he might soon have to display his torso in public.

“Of course,” nodded Rob. They lay down alongside one another. Rob hoisted his legs in the air and folded his arms above his head. Dan followed suit. “And one … and up … and back … and down…” This was one of the toughest abdominal exercises, and after a hundred crunches, even Rob appeared short of breath. “Enough?”

“No. Let's do the same again.”

“OK.”

Next they lifted weights (Dan upped the level), rowed (Dan increased the resistance), and ran (well, sprinted) four miles. By the end of his session, Dan felt absolved by the most rigorous workout he'd done in weeks. He'd made the effort to get into work early today so he could spend extra time at the gym over lunch.

Now's a good moment to see if I am out of shape, he thought, so asked, “Will you do me a favor and take my measurements quickly? I'll have to get back to the office shortly, but it's been a few months since we last did them.”

“Sure. Come into the staff room.”

Dan's weight was his Achilles' heel, and though he knew it was OTT, he was so concerned he'd piled on the pounds that he took off his sweatshirt, trainers, and watch, hoping the scales would be kinder.

“Hop on,” said Rob. Dan obeyed. “One hundred ninety pounds. Not bad—you've only put on a bit.”

“How much?”

“Two pounds.”

Dan was relieved—he'd anticipated worse.

“So how are things between Orianna and Ivy these days?” asked Rob. “Ivy's appeared in pretty good spirits when I've seen her.”

“They seem much better, actually,” said Dan. Rob's remark only verified what Orianna had told him: that lately Ivy had been extraordinarily genial.

“Right, now your flexibility. Sit down here.” While Dan was sitting on the floor trying hard to reach his toes, Rob continued, his voice casual, “And how about between the two of you?”

Dan exhaled. “Me and Ivy?”

Rob noted how far Dan could stretch. “No, no. You and
Orianna.
Is it going well?”

Dan paused for a second. From what I gather, Rob hasn't had a partner in a while, he thought. It would be tactless to bang on about how happy we are.

Something in Rob's tone suggested this question wasn't as disinterested as it appeared. Dan wasn't presumptuous—far from it—but he noticed that Rob still seemed nervous around him. So he said, “Um, it's going fine, thanks,” hoping Rob would gather this was all he was willing to impart. There was a silence while Rob measured around his upper arm, his chest, his waist and wrote down all the figures. It was all going swimmingly—Rob said Dan hadn't altered shape that much—until Rob bent down to measure his inner thigh.

“Hee hee.” Dan jumped. “Stop! I'm ticklish!”

“Sorry.” Rob sprang back and whisked away the tape. There was no mistaking it; he was blushing. “Er … do you want to do this bit yourself?”

“Please,” said Dan. That seemed a wise idea. Yet as he reached to take the tape measure, something couldn't help but catch his eye. Good grief, he thought. Rob's got an erection!

To:
Chloë Appleton

From:
Rob Rowland

Date:
Monday, September 2, 8:52 p.m.

Subj:
How embarrassing is this?!

OMG! Remember I told you that Dan may be bisexual? Well, you know me, and of course it's only got my imagination working overtime. I will confess I had the
hottest
dream about him last night so when he came for his appointment today I found it a bit hard to concentrate, particularly as now I know he might actually be “up” for something (as the actress … 'n all that).

So then, this lunchtime, in the gym, Dan is just looking soo gorgeous—in a white T-shirt and these satiny shorts, he's got a body to die for—and as we were doing sit-ups, I happened to notice that he has the most enormous package. I swear, Chloë, it had to be seen to be believed.

Anyway, I carry on, like the true professional I am—we lift weights, do some rowing, go running—and then, at the end of the session, when he would normally have to
rush
back to the office in a frightful hurry (we'd already been working out for a good hour) he says, “Will you take my measurements?” Can you imagine? It was all I could do to stop myself from saying, “Looks like eight inches to me!” And so we go into the staff room for me to weigh him—which is private as you know—and my God, he takes off first his trainers—I appreciate lots of people do that, though mainly women I must say, so it's strange for a guy to do it—then his socks and finally his T-shirt!!!! And he's standing there in front of me, virtually stark naked, with that incredible chest, and that gorgeous face, and, I mean, what is a boy to do? It was all I could do to keep from fainting.

And I'm thinking, this is most unusual, a guy stripping off, perhaps it means he truly is gay, maybe he wants me as much as I do him. He
insists
I take all his measurements, his upper arms (ooh), his chest (aah), his waist (yum), and finally … his inner thigh.

As I'm doing this I think to myself, hey Rob, maybe the best way to get him to open up to you is to ask him a few leading questions, so I inquire about Orianna, and he's sooo evasive, he just says it's fine, which I think is odd, considering, and changes the subject.

At his point I get the tape measure and wrap it around his thigh—it's all taut and a little sweaty from exercise—and I tell you, my face is almost pressed against his shorts and I swear his package is just
unbelievable
that close up, and I can't stop myself feeling turned on, and all of a sudden, it's as if he feels this huge sexual vibe too, and he jumps about fifty feet in the air and he says he can't cope because he's ticklish!

Meanwhile I've got a big hard-on by now, and I'm positive he sees, and clearly he doesn't know what to do, so he just grabs his T-shirt and trainers and says he'll see me next week and runs out of the staff room.

I AM MORTIFIED!

But I do reckon he
could
be a closet job, really. Consider all this evidence. Feedback please—pronto!!

Rob

xxx

 

22. Is't lost? Is't gone?

Orianna and Dan were snuggled up under a blanket on the sofa. Orianna had her legs slung over Dan's; Dan was enjoying a sci-fi film full of laser missiles and planetary battles. It was one of the things he liked about his girlfriend—she didn't pester him to watch profound movies. Meanwhile Orianna was reading a romantic novel; from the corseted bosom on the cover, Dan guessed she was deep in the nineteenth century. She had her book in one hand, in the other she held Dan's and was stroking his fingers absentmindedly when a particularly loud intergalactic explosion forced her to lift her eyes from the page.

“Where's your watch?” she asked suddenly.

Dan removed his hand, and checked his wrist. He pushed up his shirtsleeve just to be sure. Oh Lord, she was right. Had the buckle come undone? When? Where?

He cast his mind back. Taking a long lunch meant he'd been more frantic than usual that afternoon. He'd been so busy typing up purchase orders he'd barely looked up from his PC. When at his computer he used the onscreen clock—this was the first time he'd noticed the watch was gone. It could have been missing for hours.

“Shit.”

“You've lost it!”

“No, no, I haven't,” said Dan hurriedly.

“Where is it then?” Her voice rose. She put down her book, pulled her feet from his lap, and sat up.

Dan racked his brain. It could be at work, on the train, anywhere. Surely he'd have noticed if it had slipped from his wrist? Heard it fall? The buckle seemed secure. Though compared to his old Swatch, it was slim enough to slide under his shirt cuff.

“Er…” He glanced at her.

“Oh,
Dan
!” Her eyes filled with tears.

You idiot, he said to himself. You stupid, clumsy oaf. She'll never forgive you.

“I've only just bought it for you!”

He bit his nails, distress mounting.

“Think,” she ordered. “What have you done today?”

Desperately he retraced his movements again. Perhaps he hadn't even put it on? Maybe he'd left it on the bedside table.

He got up, hurried into Orianna's bedroom—but the table was bare. He sat on the edge of the bed, thoughts hurtling. He'd had it that morning, surely. An illustrator had come in with her portfolio—hadn't he checked his watch when she'd gone? He'd been worried he'd be late for Rob … Ah! That was it. He returned to the living room.

“I must have left it at the gym.”

“The gym?!
Where
in the gym?”

“I'm not certain … In the changing room, probably.”

“But someone could have nicked it! Oh,
Dan
!” Tears began to fall.

“I'm sure they wouldn't,” said Dan, though he wasn't sure at all. The gym had hundreds of members. No doubt most were honest, but it only took one …

“Call them.”

Dan consulted his wrist. Doh! He checked the LCD on the DVD player. It was 10:05 p.m.

“They'll be closed.” He winced.

“Oh no!”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's OK.” Orianna sniffed. “Are you
sure
you left it in the changing room? Would you have put it down on one of the benches? Wouldn't you have put it in your locker?” Her voice was hopeful, her eyes wide, expectant.

Dan thought long and hard. “Mm … I tend to keep it on when I'm exercising, because it's waterproof.” He scratched his head ferociously, maybe it would help clarify. Then all at once he remembered. “Maybe…”

“Yes?” Orianna sat forward.

In an instant, Dan envisaged Rob's erection, his own hurried exit. He could feel himself flush at the memory, but was too embarrassed to tell Orianna. How on earth could he confess he was so conscious of his weight he'd taken his
watch
off? How ridiculously vain was that? If he explained about Rob and the erection, she might just think he'd provoked Rob in some way. She'd muttered stuff about him fancying men before. Though he found this a bit odd, Dan didn't wish to stir trouble—he got along with Rob very well; he was almost a friend. So …

“Oh nothing,” he muttered, cheeks burning.

“What do you mean,
nothing
?”

“I think I remember where I left it.”

“Where?”

“Um, er … In the staff room.”

“In the
staff
room?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I took it off. I'll call in the morning, first thing.”

“Well, at least that means no one will nick it.” She sat back, relieved, then peered at him more closely. “Why have you gone all red?”

*   *   *

The next morning Rob was heading to the changing room when Jane, the receptionist, waylaid him.

“Hey, Rob! Hang on a minute.”

He stopped in his tracks.

“This was found in the staff room last night. Is it yours?” She held out what appeared to be an item of jewelry.

He went over. In her palm was a rather elegant man's watch, with a white face and a purple leather strap.

He frowned. He was sure he recognized it. He took the watch from her, examining the logo.
Paul Smith.
He'd seen someone wearing it but couldn't recall who.

“Apparently it was by the weighing scales.”

That was it.
Dan.
He'd been in the staff room and had removed some of his clothes to be weighed. Rob remembered noticing he'd taken off his watch, thought it odd at the time. And—Rob's toes curled at the memory—Dan had left in an awful hurry.

“Yeah, it belongs to a client of mine,” he said. “He's not due in till next week so I'll give him a call.” Then he had a better idea—his next client could pass it on. He plucked the watch from Jane's palm. “Not to worry, I'll take it to give to him.”

*   *   *

At 7:58 a.m., Ivy arrived. No time for niceties with the receptionist—she flew into the changing room, slung the bag containing her work clothes and toiletries into a locker, and turned the key. She attached the safety pin to her sports top, pulled her hair up into a high ponytail, checked herself in the mirror—yes, she looked better than most of the other girls scrambling into or out of their clothes around her—and bounded out of the room.