The Dr Pepper Prophecies (12 page)

I stop typing and turn to look at her, raising an eyebrow. 'You’ve only just figured that out?  I ask. 'In…how long have you been working here anyway?'

'Since I left school,' Cynthia says wryly.

My life flashes before my eyes.  Spending your life in this place!  It’s like purgatory, only run by a bus company.

'I never really let myself think about that,' Cynthia sighs.  Her gaze sweeps over the office.  'And suddenly I can’t help it.  There must be something better than this.'

'There is,' I say, playing with my computer mouse, 'we just can’t afford it.  I’ve been looking for a new job since my second week here.  No luck.'

Actually I did once get an interview.  For quite a good job too.  You don't want to know what happened.

No trust me, you really don't.

Cynthia looks horrified. 'It can’t be that hard?'

'My career track record’s no better than my love one,' I say sadly. 'I’m trying again though.  With some help from Will.  I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have him.'

Cynthia clears her throat and surreptitiously points behind me.  I swivel my chair round and look up.  Matt’s standing there and he’s not smiling.

'I was just going to say thanks for inviting me to the picnic,' he says. 'And, if I didn’t send them before, pass on my compliments to the chef.'

I’m sorry it didn’t go so well,' I say, looking apologetically at him. 'Natalie wasn’t supposed to be there and we don’t get on too well.'

'I noticed,' Matt says.  He’s got a weird expression on his face. 'You’re pretty different.  And…I get the impression you don’t like that your friend Will is dating her.'

'I’ve never liked any of Will’s girlfriends,' I answer.  And, now I say it, I realise that it’s true.  I shrug. 'I usually hide it better though.  Natalie’s the jealous type, she keeps trying to get me out of Will’s life.  That’s not really conducive to friendship.'

Matt nods slowly. 'Odd that she should be jealous of you,' he says.

'I know,' I say. 'I can’t understand it.'

'What’s Will like?' Cynthia says, looking interested.

I pick up the photo of us on my desk and show it to her. 'Like that,' I say. 'Only a bit older and minus the goatee.'

Cynthia studies the photo carefully. 'Doesn’t suit him,' she declares.

'I know,' I say, rolling my eyes. 'It took forever to convince him to get rid of it.  Made him look only half as gorgeous as he is.'

I put it back on my desk and look at Matt again.  His eyes are still on the photo.

'Yes,' he says, not moving his eyes. 'Silly that she should be jealous.'

'Melanie, Matthew, this is a work place, not a town social.  Kindly return to work.'

Martin glares at us as he bustles over. 'And do I have to remind you
again
of the dating policy here?'

'Frankly, Mr Murchison,' comes Cynthia’s voice, just as I’m opening my mouth to reply. 'It sounds like you’re jealous.'

Martin turns in the direction of the voice and blinks at the glare from her head.

'Who are you?' he asks, in confusion, his nose wrinkling up.

'I would have thought you'd recognise a member of your own staff,' Cynthia says archly. 'It almost sounds, Mr Murchison, as if you’re drunk on the job.'

'I most certainly am not,' Martin exclaims, as if this is quite the worst slander he can imagine. 'I would never dream of doing such a thing.  I am a professional.'

His expression changes as Cynthia’s first comment finally registers in his brain.

'And I am by no means jealous,' he protests, all flustered.  He keeps looking over his shoulder, as if Big Brother really is watching his every move. 'I would never dream of letting my personal feelings colour my professional judgement.  Never.  Never.'

I’m having flashbacks to
The Rocky Horror Picture Show
.

'Get back to work,' he says finally, then scuttles away like a crab who’s just spied a dangerous-looking fishing net.

I stare after him in amazement.

'That was great!' I exclaim. 'He didn’t even tell you off.  I’m in your debt forever.'

'Naah,' Cynthia says, grinning at me. 'I think we’re about even.'

**

I fall into the flat that evening, already sleepy from the sugar come-down, to find Beth staring at the telephone as if it’s just come to life and introduced itself.

'What’s the matter?' I ask, dumping my stuff on the floor as usual.

Beth says nothing, but holds up her hand.  She’s holding the paper, open to the lonely hearts section.

'It’s in already
?!' I exclaim.

Beth silently picks up the telephone, dials a number and passes it to me.

'You have…ten new messages,' a robotic voice drones.

'Ten!' I exclaim. 'Wow, I never thought it would do that well!'

Beth still doesn’t answer, but points to her advert.  I frown at her, what’s the problem?  I look again.

‘Sex-starved, 25, seeks same for fun and experimentation.  Must have vivid imagination and like chocolate body paint and latex.’

Oh shit.  I sent in the wrong one.

'It was just a joke,' I say desperately. 'I wrote you a really nice one and I did one for me and then I just made up some silly ones for a laugh.  You know how bored I get at work.  I swear, I thought I’d sent the proper ones.'

Beth nods slowly.  It’s like she’s a dam with a crack.  If I don’t repair it quick smart, my home will be washed away.

'Really,' I insist. 'I wouldn’t send that in for me, let alone you.  God, now all the fetishists in the borough have our number.'

I turn my attention back to the telephone.  Our personals answer machine is playing the messages.

‘…Hi, this is Dave, from the newspaper office.  I saw your advert and I just thought we could discuss it over dinner sometime.  Or maybe some fish paste…’

'Fish paste?' I repeat in disbelief.  That’s certainly a new one on me.

‘…Hi, this is Sandy from the South East Bondage Club.  We’re always looking for new members, so if you’re interested…’

She’s going to kill me for this.

‘…I’m sitting here wearing only a latex cat suit.  If you’d like to peel it off me…’

I swear to God that was my GP.

‘…This is Carol from the Leisure Supplies Warehouse.  We’ve patented a brand of fat-free chocolate body paint.  We have mint, orange and alcoholic varieties.  If you’d like a copy of our catalogue…’

I casually pick up the phone pen and scribble her number in the newspaper margin.

I love the chocolate mint stuff.  In fact, I love all chocolate body paint.

I just love all chocolate.

‘…Hello, this is uh…Carl.  I don’t normally do this, but I’m a real book-lover too and I was wondering…’

Now I’m confused.  He sounded like he was answering a totally different advert. 

Like the first one I wrote.

'They’re a rather mixed bunch,' Beth says calmly, hitting pause. 'Mainly, it seems, because of this.'

She points to another advert halfway up the next column, sitting innocently between ‘Single White Female’ and ‘Rebecca, 32’.

I look obediently.

‘Shy book-lover, 24, chil
dren’s librarian, seeks similar for friendship and possibly more.’

Hang
on a second, I wrote that one too.

'I did send the right one for you,' I say, realisation dawning. 'I just sent the wrong one for me.  They must have given them both the same number.'

Beth actually looks amused now.  Thank God, I thought I’d just destroyed all that finishing school training and unleashed the terror within.

Beth starts to laugh. 'Actually,' she says, 'this is all rather good.'

And laughs harder.  She starts to gasp for breath.

Oh my God, she’s going hysterical.  I’ll have to slap her.  Get her to breathe into a paper bag.  Do we have any paper bags?  Will a plastic one work?

'Some of them even sound quite nice,' Beth says, as the laughter dies down. 'I might actually like to meet one or two.'

Does this mean I didn’t screw up as bad as I thought?

'Am I forgiven?' I ask, cautiously.

'You’re forgiven,' Beth agrees. 'Just don’t do this again.'

'I won’t,' I say.

Crossing my fingers behind my back.

Will looks up from the paper. 'I’m amazed,' he says.

'That they printed it?' I ask, putting my feet up on the stylish-but-ugly coffee table that Natalie picked out and blowing on my hot chocolate.

Will's apartment is a weird mix of his stuff (old, practical, comfortable) and Natalie's additions (new, fashionable, sharp edges).  They clash horribly.  How can he live here and not notice that?

'No,' Will says, setting the paper down by my feet, 'that Beth hasn’t gone psycho on you and stabbed you in the shower.  What were you thinking?'

'I told you, it was an accident,' I protest. 'And it's really mine I messed up, not hers.'

'How did you even
come up with that?' Will asks, dropping miniature marshmallows into his coffee.

I shrug. 'I don’t know.  Spending all day dealing with insurance tends to make you a bit twisted.  Besides, I need some outlet for my creativity.'

I take the bag of marshmallows from Will and start chain-eating them.

'Matt still not asked you out?' Will asks.

'No,' I say gloomily.

'Why don’t you ask him?' Will says, sipping his coffee and grimacing as it burns his tongue.  He never waits for it to cool down properly.

I pause briefly between marshmallows. 'I asked him to the picnic, he can’t not realise that I like him.  I’ve done my bit, now it’s his turn.'

'The picnic didn’t go so well,' Will points out. 'Maybe he thinks that was because of him.'

Maybe it was, that little voice says again.

I’m beginning to question my sanity.  Just the tiniest bit. 

'Of course it wasn’t,' I say, partly to myself.

Will shrugs. 'Maybe he doesn’t know that.  It’s not only women who second-guess other people’s feelings.'

'The first guess is hard enough.'

'Indeed.'

We lapse into comfortable silence.

'Beth liked the sound of a couple of the guys who left messages,' I say, taking another sip of hot chocolate. 'But she wants to double date for security.  Will you come with me?'

Will takes another marshmallow. 'Why aren’t you asking Matt?'

Yes, why aren’t I asking Matt?

That little voice again.  I need psychiatric help.

'Well, Beth knows you,' I justify myself. 'She’ll feel more secure if she’s surrounded by friends.  Besides, double dates aren’t always the greatest start to a romance.' I frown. 'Other than in this case, obviously,' I amend.

One time when I was at university, I agreed to go on a blind double date.  It was with my housemate's boyfriend's cousin's friend's brother, who had – and I quote – "a really nice personality".  You'd assume that meant he was ugly.  You'd be right.  He also collected tarantulas and belonged to Bug Lovers Anonymous.

Never again.

'True,' Will says. 

Good, he’s not going to say anything else.

Will’s computer beeps at him.  I turn to look on reflex.  New message.  From Matt March.

I turn back to Will. 'Why is Matt sending you e-mails?' I ask.

'Web designing, remember?' Will replies. 'We’re working together on my site.  He came up with some good ideas when I gave him a lift home on Sunday.'

I follow him to the computer and stand behind his chair.  He opens a new window
and types in an address.  A website flashes up.

'I’ve been working on this one for a while now,' Will says, relinquishing control of the mouse to me. 'It’s an emoticon database – those little faces who grin and wink at you – although I’m trying to go further than that.  I've thought of creating ones specific to TV shows.  There are massive fan communities on the web who would love them and it’s non-profit so I can do it without getting sued.  I’m aiming to have the biggest collection there is, standard and original, and get outside contributions.  With Matt’s help, I can work a lot faster, especially since he knows a couple of really talented creators.'

I pull up a chair, then take the mouse and click on the link that says ‘flowers’.  Eight pages of cartoon flowers come up, blinking, dancing and changing colour.  One’s telling me to go drink weed killer.

'Will, this is amazing,' I say, as I flick through pages of alien ones of varying degrees of weirdness.  I spot a link that says ‘adult’ and click on it.  Then I stare.

'Are these yours?' I say, tilting my head sideways in an attempt to decide if what those cartoon pigs are doing is actually possible.