I am HER... (2 page)

Part 1

Sickness

Monday, May 23

 
Arriving at work, I’m greeted by all the women in the lunchroom.  Kayla is shocking
and
enlightening everyone with her "hot new screw" details, as she calls her latest sexual conquest from the week-end before. 

 
Kayla doesn't care what anyone thinks about her.  She doesn't care if the rest of the women trash her behind her back.  She doesn't care that she’s never invited to meet husbands, or that she’s never invited to private dinners.  She doesn't care if she sounds trampy.  Kayla is the happiest person I know.  
God,
I wish I was Kayla.
 

 
Walking toward me, Kayla asks, "Hey Sweetie, how was your week-end?"
  "Not as good as yours sadly," I grumble.
  "Yeah, well, after all the fabulous sex was over, I was alone last night, and you were with your wonderful husband.  Who has it better?" 
Who indeed?
  Looking at me closely, she asks, "What's up?  You seem kinda off this morning."
  "Oh, nothing.  I had to fuck my husband this morning, but at least I'm free from doing it again for a few weeks..."

 
Wow!  Kayla is stunned by my statement. 
I’m
stunned by my statement!  
  "Ah...
Sweetie?
  You don't say the f-word," she says as she bursts out laughing. 

 
Stunned at my words and my behavior, I suddenly laugh too.  I laugh so hard my stomach starts knotting and my eyes fill with laughter tears.  I might not swear
out loud
, but I definitely say bad words in my head. 
So there!
  I’m still laughing on the edge of hysteria, but watching as Kayla changes from amused to concern within seconds.
  Pulling me down the hall to my office, Kayla closes the door, releases my arm and asks, "
Seriously.
  What's wrong?  You're acting really weird Sweetie, and I don't like it.  Are you okay?"
   Kayla’s looking at me so sincerely that I feel twisted, because I want to talk. I actually
want
to tell someone what I feel.  I want to tell her...
but I can't
.  I don't do that.  I don't confide.  I don't vent.  I don't share.  I don't trust anyone, ever
.
  "Nothing’s wrong.  I was just being silly.  You say the f-word all the time... I was just trying to keep up," I say with a grin. 

 
Looking at my face, I can tell she doesn't believe me.  "Are you okay?  Is something wrong with Marcus?  Did you have a fight?”
   "No.  We're fine.”  I exhale.  “Everything’s fine.  Nothing's wrong, I promise.  I was just being silly."  I am so uncomfortable with the way she’s looking at me right now. "Honestly, Kayla... I'm good.  But I really need to start calling the Accounts Managers.  I'll see you at lunch, okay?"

 
She looks at me closely and smiles, but I see it doesn't touch her eyes at all.   God,
I
hate
that look.
  I like having Kayla in my corner at work.  She’s always there to protect me from an aggressive jerk on the phone, or from an unreasonable Accounts Manager who resents me asking about his expenses.  Kayla can talk to anyone.  She
always
talks to everyone.  I don't talk to anyone.  I don't talk to my husband.  I don't talk to Kayla.  I don't have a single close friend.  But it’s okay, I like alone.
  Suddenly, I’m so scared of losing Kayla; I grab her wrist and beg, "Are you mad at me?"
  "Fuck no!  Why would you ask that?  I'm just worried about your near-psychotic break five minutes ago... But seeing as you never have them, and I do all the time, I'm willing to let this one slide…" And smiling once more Kayla leaves my office. 

 
"See you at lunch Sweetie," she yells from down the hall.
 

                                
==========

 
Dropping my purse behind my desk, I plop down into my chair. 
Ow.
  My body is sore. It must be from all that lovin' this morning.  Yes, the passionate loving I received from my passionate, loving husband. 
  I wonder if I placed a blow-up doll in the bed while he slept, if he’d notice the difference while 'love-making’.  Grinning, I can’t help thinking maybe I should buy the blow-up doll just to freak him out.  Then again, I'm sure they don’t make blow-up dolls that are fully clothed, in black
,
to hide their
big thighs and butt
. 
  Just forget it.  Marcus is nice, if not clueless.  He loves me.  He just doesn't really see me.   But at least I have him, though I'm still kind of alone...
with
him.
  Exhaling, I turn on my computer and wait.  Wishing I had grabbed a coffee, before Kayla
escorted
me to my office, I start pulling out the expense reports I have to look over this week.  It’s the twenty-third with only six more workdays left for me before the thirty-first, to close out the month and to issue the check run.  Now, the phone calls begin. 
  Asking Accounts Managers to hand in their expenses by the twentieth of every month should be easy. 
Jeez...
It's not like I change the date every month.  It's the twentieth.  It's always the twentieth.  It has always
been
the twentieth; whether there are 30, 31 or even 28 days in the month.  Why do they make every month so difficult?  I don't understand. 
  The women are pretty good.  With a few exceptions from the more creative women, I usually have all
their
expenses by the TWENTIETH.  The men? 
Forget it.
  I can't understand them.  The men want to be paid for their expenses.  They freak out and scream at me, if there’s an expense missed, or denied.  Usually, the men know what they’re getting back within one dollar, give or take, but somehow, they can’t remember to actually hand in, fax, mail, or email their receipts and expense reports to me
BY THE TWENTIETH
of each month.
   I don't understand men.  I've never understood men.  Men like me.  They have always liked me.  I am cute and pretty... to men. Apparently, I have a ‘Hey, can you be my big brother?
'
sign on my forehead.  Men have always kind of wanted me, but they only ever
talked
about wanting me, they didn't actually ever 
do
anything about wanting me. 

 
Marcus did though.  Marcus talked
and
acted.  Marcus wanted me
because
I was cute and pretty and smart.  Marcus told me after our engagement that he could have had a sexy, beautiful, out-going wife, but he preferred to have someone like me, because he likes stability, and therefore, he wouldn't worry about cheating from a wife
like me.
  I remember wanting to tell him I had been cheating on him since the day we met, but I was too afraid he’d simply laugh and not believe me, rather than being outraged by my alleged infidelity. 
That
would have been humiliating.
I could cheat…
but no one would believe it of me, so what’s the point?
 
  Once my computer is ready I search incoming emails.  Yes!  Two more expense reports.  Come on.  Come on. 
Damn.
  I still have to call four Accounts Managers.  This is going to be a worse Monday than I thought.

 
After entering and logging the newest receipts and the two latest expense reports, it's almost 12:30.  I've been stalling.  I don't want to make these calls.   I hate making these calls every month.  I hate it.  I start getting anxiety by the eighteenth of every month, because I know there will be phone calls to make after the TWENTIETH.

 
Kayla suddenly knocks on my partially opened door and peaks her head in. "Hey crazy-lady, are you ready for lunch?"
  Smiling, I yell, "Hell, yeah!"

 
Stunned again, Kayla bursts out laughing, as I grin. 
  "That sooo doesn't work for you.  If
I
said that, it would work.  I've got the whole trashy, sexy, dirty-girl thing going for me.  You, however, have the whole
virgin-sacrifice
thing going for you.  It just doesn't work.  I do appreciate a good swear word every once in a while from you though."
  Rising from my chair, I grab my purse and wish I
could
have the whole ‘dirty-girl’ thing going for me.  I wish I could be like Kayla.  I wish my husband could make love to me the way Kayla's men make love to her.  I wish I knew
how
to have hot steamy sex.  I wish I even knew what hot steamy sex
was
... but it's never going to happen for me.  Forget it. 
 

                                
==========

 
Lunch is okay.  Kayla tries to ask again what’s bothering me, and again, I tell her I was just being silly.  I can tell she doesn't believe me, so I ask about her 'hot new screw'.  And after a thirty minute
graphic
rundown of events, I'm blushing and she’s laughing.  Kayla is
awesome.
  How the hell can she do those things?  Why would she even
want
to do those things?   I would die of embarrassment, and I would hope to die quickly. 
 

                                 ==========

 
Back at work after lunch, I pull up my contact lists.  Most of the Accounts Managers have their own Receptionists, and I usually get along okay with them because they understand I'm just doing my job.  It's only after they can’t get answers from their
bosses, that the mean, often rude, Accounts Managers call me...
and the hell begins
. 
  I can't understand why the Accounts Managers do this.  The expense report is generic.  It's always the same.  Just like the TWENTIETH of each month.  Nothing changes.  Fill out your mileage.  Fill out the clients you 'wined and dined'.  Fill out the products you picked up for your potential and/or existing clients.  Fill out any incidentals.  Give me the receipts.  It's always the same.  It is
exactly
the same every month.  I never change the report.  I never change the due date. 

 
I never change.
  Okay.  Pulling up one particularly obscene jerk, I make the call.  When his Receptionist answers, I ask in my best, most non-confrontational voice if she has all the expenses and receipts ready to send over to me, ‘at her earliest convenience’...
of course
. 
  "No," she replies.
  "Ah, will you have them ready soon?  I know Mr. Craig is busy, but there are only six days left to process his expenses." 
Jerk.
  Giggling, Tamara says, "Um, Mr. Craig was fired on Friday, so I'm not really sure how to get the expenses from him.  He was fired right after I left for the day."  Why is she giggling?
  "Oh.  Okay.  That creates a whole lot of issues.  Did his Supervisor state to you how and when his severance was going to begin?"  Damn.
 
This is going to get messy for me, I know it.
  "No.  I just met his replacement an hour ago over lunch, so I don't really know anything yet. Z says he’ll contact all personnel with any updated information he figures out.  He says he’ll be going through all Mr. Craig's reports, and he’ll be asking me to help catch him up.  Z wants to take this slowly... so he can fill Mr. Craig's shoes
properly
and
efficiently
.  I can ask him to call you if you want." Tamara sounds almost giddy. 
Why?
  "Um, does Z
have a last name?  I would like to establish contact with him without calling him ‘
Z’
.”   Who calls himself
Z
in Corporate America? Is he for real
? 
What an
idiot!

 
"His last name is Zinfandel.  Like the wine.  So he goes by Z.  Isn't that cool?"   Uh huh.
 
What the
hell? 
Zinfandel
, like the wine?
  "Don't you mean Zinfandel, like the, ah,
Zinfandel
?" I ask.
  "What?  Oh, yeah... Mr. Zinfandel like the Zinfandel.  I get it.  Anyway, I'll give him the message that you called.  Thanks, Babe." And she hangs up.

 
Zinfandel? 
Zinfandel?  
Mr.
Z?
  That's it.  I lose it, and laughter pours out of me.  I can't help it.  Tamara sounded so excited about her ‘
Zinfandel, like the wine.
’ 
  What does someone named Zinfandel even look like?  I can't stop laughing.  Why is this so funny? 
Shit.
  I've got to stop this.  Maybe I
am
going crazy.  Oh!  Maybe I’m
already
crazy.  That would be better. 
Being
crazy is infinitely better, and
cooler
, like a good Zinfandel, than merely
going
crazy.