Across the Pond Read online

  I had just turned on my desktop when a dozen pings signaled alerts. Gearing up to get started, the stupid hard drive needed to be rebooted to install updates. This called for multiple caffeine infusions—the Folgers instant at breakfast wasn’t cutting it. Why couldn’t Mondays start off restful and calm, to ease us back gently into the work week? No, there had to be meetings, memos, computer glitches, and unanticipated extra work piled on—all marked urgent. One such message provided a sign-up sheet asking for volunteers to test out a pilot program for motivating staff to move more while still maintaining optimal work performance in sedentary jobs; as if ‘voluntary’ was in Scott Spencer’s son Marcus’s vocabulary—which it wasn’t.

  Naturally, Debs and I were the first names on the list. She made sure of it. Debs worked so hard, but being competent was second nature for her. That’s why she volunteered to go the extra mile, so she wouldn’t be idle for even a second, and because she was too nosy not to have a finger in every pot, including after-work events. She was always reaching for the stars, an avid overachiever—goal-oriented, perfectionist, yet completely laid back about her achievements; but heaven help anyone she cared about if they didn’t tag along.

  My cellphone bleeped. It was a text from Faith. I immediately cheered up, reading what she wrote:

  How’s the sexiest woman alive this morning Xx?

  Pining for the object of her fondest desires. You? XXX

  Me too. Looking forward to unlimited repeats of the other night’s performance.

  My thumbs raced through the motions of creating what I hoped looked like us eating each other out.

  As usual, work got in the way of real life. The galleys of my handouts arrived ready for the final proofread before they went to print. Seconds later, a box of bound booklets I’d completed the week before landed on my desk with a thud. I had enough to keep me busy for a week, but only two days to do it.

  Oops. Gotta run. Have a great day, darling. Love you.

  XXX Love you too. Miss you. XXX

  I silenced my cell phone and forced myself to ignore kinky images so I could accomplish something constructive that also paid the bills. I finally got back into the groove, losing all track of time and space. After both handouts met my standards, I switched gears completely and dove into a tedious amount of statistical data to analyze—a task that was as much fun as a bout of stomach flu. I couldn’t remember how I became the go-to girl for restoring order to records that were a total mess, as if I were the only one who could organize it sensibly. It took hours arranging years of statistics that should have been collected and entered onto the database regularly. I experimented with several approaches to organizing the random facts and figures—chronological, subject, quantity, and success versus failure—all in an attempt to figure out which model would most usefully visualize the improvements I needed to present in my five-year projections. Focusing on the computer screen too long made my eyeballs burn, but I was completely absorbed.

  When the gentle tapping of Debs’s knuckle on my desk made me jump, I was glad it was her, but I still blurted out, “Geez, Debs, use a sledgehammer, why don’tcha.”

  “Someone is grouchy.”

  “They fire Todd and leave me with his shit to clean up. You’d be grouchy too.”

  “Poor baby. But we’re talking Christmas, which is sooner than you think, so priorities, my dear friend; this is important. We’re having the holiday party at the VFW Hall this year.”

  I pounded my keyboard. “This stupid program is getting on my nerves—it keeps freezing up at the worst possible moment.”

  “You’re not listening.”

  I glanced up at her, briefly. “FYI, Miss Party Pants, I was paying close attention.”

  “Close attention, hrmpff. Well, Miss Attentive, what did I say, and, more importantly, what do you think?”

  I closed the program with a huff and pushed my chair as far away from the cluttered desk as it would go, which was not very far at all. Even a tiny distance between me and my work for a much-needed break was better than fighting with a finicky computer that screamed, we need a newer model here, ASAP.

  The muscles around my mouth slackened, and a tiny hint of a smile started.

  “I think that following up last year’s five-star Christmas party at that fancy-schmancy Continental restaurant—which ended up being fun and festive beyond everyone’s expectations—with a Christmas party at the VFW is, well, cheesy,” I said.

  “Well, Janalyn Jacobs, why don’t you tell us how you really feel?”

  “I’m just being a realist.”

  “But you don’t have to be so negative, and you are allowed to breathe, even during tirades. What you need is more coffee to lift your spirits.”

  She held out her hand. I spun my chair around and passed her my mug as she breezed by. We took turns supporting each other’s caffeine habit.

  Without missing a beat, Debs walked the few steps across the office to the communal pantry that housed the various amenities of a studio apartment kitchen, including a small gas stove for members of staff who preferred to prepare their lunches at the office rather than go out to eat. I caught a whiff of freshly brewed coffee, could tell it was strong, and got an instant buzz before even taking the first sip.

  Debs handed me my mug and warmed both her hands on hers. “Oh God, don’t look now, but the administrative assistant’s secretary, what’s her name, is at it again.”

  I moved everything to one side so we could have our coffee break together. She then wheeled her chair to my side of the partition.

  “What’s she done now?”

  “Can’t you smell it? She’s obviously vying for a promotion,” Debs said.

  I sniffed the air, and sure enough, I could detect cookie dough baking, namely three scrumptious varieties. “Yum, if I had to guess, she’s making chocolate chip, white chocolate macadamia nut and peanut butter cookies. Do I win?”

  “Ding, ding, ding. Right you are. How do you correctly identify three varieties of cookies?”

  “It’s a talent.” I sat up taller. “And I have a bionic nose, inherited from my mother, who could tell who ate what from her kitchen just from sniffing our breaths.” I laughed. “There never was any getting away with swiping some goodies when she wasn’t looking. Besides all that, I saw a bag of macadamia nuts on her desk the other day, and I could identify chocolate chip and peanut butter in a snap.”

  Debs swatted my arm. “That’s cheating. I’d say…” She wiggled my mouse to get the time from the desktop, “…in about seven minutes, thirty one seconds, I will go over there and confiscate some for us.”

  “Swell idea. Only, it’s Monday, we ate like pigs last night, and I’m trying to be good.”

  “Oh pooh, forget diets. Faith has you so tightly strung when it comes to food, if you ask me. Besides, you’re already perfect. Look at you: there’s not an ounce of unwanted fat or flesh anywhere.”

  “Dark clothes can be deceiving.”

  “Nonsense. I’ve seen you naked, and I know exactly what I’m talking about. You have an amazing body, a flat stomach, tits that don’t sag, and perfectly sculpted legs most women would give up their most prized possessions for. You have no idea how many wet dreams have dried up when the guys I know find out you’re a lesbian. You have no freaking idea what a heartbreaker you are!”

  If Debs wasn’t as straight as an unwinding road, her compliment would make me blush from here to kingdom come, but alas, changing in the locker room at the YMCA after heavy aerobics followed by swimming laps for an hour hardly counted as seeing each other naked in a sexual way. It was a good thing I didn’t get to ponder her comment for too long, for although my face was growing hot, Debs was already on to other subjects.

  “I hear she prepares the dough at home. From scratch! I have no clue where she finds the time to
work, bake and put on enough makeup for a show on Broadway. She’s in before we are, and have you ever seen her leave on time? What gives?”

  Relieved to steer the conversation away from my so-called finer attributes, I played the gossip game instead, although it wasn’t my favorite pastime. My feelings for Debs, who by the way was a total babe, were deep-seated and totally platonic, since I had Faith. To a fault, I was faithful. The pun made me laugh.

  Back to contemplating the secretary with the obvious implants in both her breasts and butt. “I think Amber’s either a gold digger or she has the hots for Mr. Nerdly.” The image of Miss Playboy Centerfold and her boss as a couple got us both laughing. Syd was the biggest nerd in NYC, hands down. He brought new meaning to socially inept—emotionally befuddled yet mentally brilliant—an all-around geek who never ceased to find new ways to torment us all. If he wasn’t such a slave driver, we could really appreciate his smarts.

  It wasn’t long before the office smelled as mouthwatering as a bakery. I had no idea how Faith resisted when she worked around kitchens all day long, sometimes seven days a week. I tried to channel her fortitude, but it took heroic strength to suppress the delightful salivary response to such heavenly aroma.

  “For a company that promotes health and well-being, how the heck does anyone get away with tempting each other with tasty empty-calorie treats? That’s what I want to know,” I said.

  “Beats me. But we can afford it.”

  “Says who? Usually there are enough chocolates, cakes, cookies and pastries around here to pad the waistlines and hips of every already bulging body. Never mind that most of us are trying to watch our weight and promote positive lifestyle habits.” I patted my belly to check that it wasn’t going completely to pot. “It’s our company mission to make healthy choices; but that’s near impossible around here.”

  “Okay, Miss Preacher, you can step down from your soapbox now. You’re singing to the choir. I agree with you. We have to set a fine example, no matter how hard that may be. Move more, eat less—that’s our motto. Oh, and my all-time favorite, have tons and tons of calorie-burning sex,” Debs said.

  I laughed. “I really don’t think senior Spencer, or even junior, have sex in the recipe for weight loss success.”

  “Probably not. Come with me to the gym after work so we can eat these cookies and get away with it.”

  “I don’t have my stuff.”

  “We can buy something on the way or stop at my place. You can borrow mine.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said. Debs had a convincing argument for every scenario. Of course I would join her at the gym. How could I not?

  I heard the egg timer ring, and without spending another second thinking about waistlines, calories, or anything but sinking my teeth into gooey chewy, chocolate chip cookies right out of the oven, I told Debs with gusto, “Go get ‘em, cowgirl.”

  “That’s the spirit!” Debs hurried over, joining the stampede.

  “Oh my God, won’t she miss all those?” She had a plate heaping with cookies when she returned to my desk.

  “Are you kidding? There’s enough for every department plus leftovers. Dig in.”

  With our coworker Patrick, the senior member of the team and self-appointed know-it-all, off for the day, we continued to chat, taking a longer than usual but much-needed break, as Debs filled our mugs a second time, adding sugar and Cremora Lite to hers and leaving mine black. Give me the real thing or don’t give me anything. That was my motto, not that I didn’t appreciate Debs’s idea of having copious amounts of sex for exercise.

  “Anyway,” Debs said, “the VFW Hall was Patrick’s idea.” She clearly still hadn’t gotten over my remarks about her work party proposal. “He says the money we’ll save on a less fancy venue can be spent on live entertainment. We’ll even have extra cash for good food from a reputable caterer of my choosing.” Debs smiled broadly. She so loved being in charge. And it really was her forte.

  “No way is he going to let anyone else choose the menu and entertainment.”

  “It’s true. Patrick claims he’s a food and wine connoisseur, and it’s evident he has the girth to match, so I’ll allow him the final say on the food. But the entertainment—”

  “Whose idea was it to have us dress up as elves and reindeer last year, so that our secret Santa couldn’t tell us apart to hand out the right gift to the right person?”

  “You have to admit, we made a pretty mean pack of elves,” she said.

  I couldn’t help but join her snicker. “There’s no such thing as tall, mean elves that run in packs. The ones I imagine are all short and sweet.”

  “You’re much too technical. Anyways, Pat isn’t in charge of the entertainment—I am.” Debs buffed her nails on the lapel of her navy pinstriped suit.

  “Do tell how you managed that one.” My ears perked up. I suddenly had a good feeling about this.

  “I’ve booked the Azteks.”

  “No way!” They were probably the hottest local club band around, with Latin beats and plenty of salsa. “They must charge a fortune.”

  “They do, but I’m dating the lead singer’s brother, and, well, let’s just say I got us a really good deal.”

  “You never cease to amaze me. Wait until I tell Faith; she’ll flip. The Azteks are her latest craze. We can bring a date, right? Faith will love me for bringing her along.”

  “Of course you can, but it’ll cost you. We have to keep to a budget. I figure that for the price of a top-notch band and food ordered from Five Star Caterers, nobody will make too much noise about paying for a date when they’re getting their evening for free.”

  “You’re a genius, Debs.”

  As we did often, we reached to wiggle the mouse out of screen-saver mode, glanced at the desktop and gasped. The long coffee break ended up counting as our lunch hour.

  I went back to making sense of Excel and by the end of the day had a working copy of projections to be revised ad nauseam, and Debs decided that she was satisfied with her latest project.

  I was almost ready to call it a day when my cell phone made noise, and I picked it up on the first ring, after almost deciding to let it go to voicemail. My face lit up when I heard Faith’s voice.

  “Hi, beautiful. How’s my girl?”

  “Wonderful, now that I’m speaking to you.”

  “Good. I’m running a bit late and won’t be home before eleven at the earliest. I had to catch the later flight. Sorry to miss dinner, but you can have the leftovers if you want.”

  “No problem. I might hit the gym, then and have a salad when I get home.” I was still full from too many cookies and buzzed from downing copious amounts of coffee.

  “That’s a great idea. Wish I could join you. I could use a good workout, followed by further toning.”

  I knew what she meant by toning. We were both in longstanding agreement that sex was great for developing muscles other exercises missed.

  “I love you,” I whispered into the mouthpiece. The office staff had thinned considerably, but there were still plenty of peeps who would love nothing better than have something to wag their tongues about.

  “Love you too. Have a great workout.”

  I knocked on Debs’s cubicle. “Looks like I’m definitely gymming with you tonight. I need a new swimsuit. Can I borrow those extra goggles and towel?”

  “Of course; be ready in a sec.”

  On the way to the Y, I picked up a Speedo swimsuit, Lycra capris because they were greatly reduced, a package of cushioned sport socks (always handy), and a cheap non-descript T-shirt. When we entered the locker room at the gym, I had an unexpected case of nerves about changing in front of Debs after her earlier comment about seeing me naked. But thoughts of keeping in tip-top shape for Faith soon dispelled any anxiety. Besides, Debs opted for the tr
eadmill, StairMaster and weights, while I headed straight into the pool. The swim did wonders for not missing Faith too much until she got home. Afterward, I bid Debs goodnight.

  I was completely stoked that Faith was coming home. It didn’t matter how late—I’d wait up just to kiss her goodnight. The trip from Penn to the Ronkonkoma station and then our front door happened in a flash when my mind was preoccupied imagining lust-filled reunions. As much as I hated her being away all the time, all these business trips sure did keep the heart growing ever fonder. Faith and I never seemed to get a chance to get sick of each other.

  Faith came home late Monday night, as promised. Actually, she tiptoed in at three a.m., technically Tuesday morning. I barely remembered kissing her in my drowsy state, but I do remember being spooned back to sleep. The next morning, at breakfast, there was no mention of Faith rushing off again soon, and I was content that we could enjoy our evenings together and plan for the upcoming weekend.

  The week really flew once the routine was restored. At the office, Debs and I were totally engrossed in work: the test pilot program was in full swing, which meant taking the stairs instead of elevators, walking around the office every hour, standing and stretching at our desks, and engaging in light calisthenics. At first, everyone laughed their heads off when they weren’t too busy grumbling about wasting precious time, but soon, the bell would ring throughout the office, and like well-trained dogs, we did as told without a peep. It seemed that the volunteer sheet was just a ploy, because every single person on our floor was involved. In between light exercising, we attended short films and pep talks on proper nutrition and the benefits of even moderate physical activity—all the stuff Debs and I knew by heart, but had to listen to regardless. We were encouraged to leave work at a reasonable time, even if that time was often a few hours after our shifts ended, and to hit the pavement for a power walk or the gym of our choice at least five out of seven days a week.