I key in the last code and wait for it to finish loading. I drum my fingers on the edge of her desk, when the phone rings loudly, jarring me. Damn, she must have the volume at the highest setting. I breathe a sigh of relief when the phone stops screaming, but her voice message comes through, and I smile, figuring she jacked up her phone settings by hitting it. That’s what she does when a piece of technology disobeys her. She hits it. Like, actually smacks it, as though that’s remotely appropriate or productive. It makes a guy wonder how she’d react if I smacked her ass every time she fries a keyboard...
I’m jolted from my naughty fantasy by the shrill voice that emanates from the phone. It’s Elaine’s mom. I know this because she leads with, “Elaine, this is your mother.” That is clearly my clue to leave. I’ve done what I came to do and listening to Elaine’s private voice messages crosses about a dozen lines. I’m halfway out of the chair when I hear, “Really, dear, you’re nearly thirty-five. It’s long past time you came to your senses. I made an appointment with Dr. Mitchell for you. Surely, you see the need for a little touch-up, maybe a little tuck? I’m well aware that you inherited the DiGento thighs from your father’s mother, but there’s no reason to keep them for heaven’s sake. Phone soon, darling. You know how I hate it when you ignore my calls.” Her parting words are punctuated with a loud beep that comes about thirty seconds too late, if you ask me. That Gorgon is Elaine’s mom? Christ.
A fierce wave of protectiveness overwhelms me, and before I can think better of it, I reach across the desk and hit the delete button on her standard-issue, steel gray office phone.
I have no business listening to her message, much less deleting it, but the thought of Elaine returning from lunch just to be verbally assaulted by her mom’s voicemail has my blood boiling.
I’m so pissed, my hands are shaking. What the actual fuck? Who says that? Who even thinks that? Do normal mothers routinely suggest that their daughters go under the knife? And though I’ve never seen them up-close-and personal, Elaine’s thighs are a thing of beauty. Just saying.
I finish up, but as I walk out the door and turn the lock, I can’t help but hope the rest of Elaine’s family is decent. Her mother, by my account, is a nightmare. My family’s not perfect—far from it—but they’re good people, and I’ve never once doubted their love for me. Or their basic human decency.
MOLLY DRAGS ME DOWNthe hallway, and I swear she’s pulling my arm out of its socket as she races down the hallway. We make it to the lone elevator in time, only to find that the line is six people deep. This is why I always take the stairs. The elevator is small and cramped, and I learned way back in my college days that not everyone is as dedicated to hygiene as they should be.
But, as usual, Molly is undaunted. “Hey, guys,” she croons, as she sashays us to the front of the line. “You don’t mind if we squeeze in ahead of you?”
Molly’s smile and charm always cast a spell on those around her. Unaware of why, people just comply to her every whim. It’s what makes her a genius at her job, and why a majority of the men at Chesapeake Shores are halfway in love with her. But, today, that charm is only working on five of the six men stationed outside the elevator. As the ancient car slowly makes its climb to the third floor, Harold Speiser, VP of Quality Control, begins to grumble. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on your point of view, his crumb-laden mustache muffles his words as the elevator dings and the doors open.
“Sorry, Harold! But,” and she leans in conspiratorially, “it’s that time of the month for Elaine and surely you understand why I just had to rush her out of the office and down to the drug store posthaste.”
“Molly Grace Randall!” My cries of outrage are lost as the doors close on Harold’s horrified expression. “You are a lying liar who lies.” I level my gaze on her, and she has the decency to hold in her laughter.
“Oh my God, but it was so worth it. Did you see his face!”
“You nearly gave old Harold a heart attack,” I scold as the elevator rocks its way down to the main floor.
“Serves him right. Menstruating is a perfectly natural part of life and shame on him for being affronted.”
“Yea, but I’m not menstruating.”
“Harold doesn’t know that.”
“Right. Because Haroldshouldn’tknow that about me. Ever.”
“Still, he’s a prude.”
“You’ve got a point, but…”
We land with a less-than-gentle thud on the main floor, and the doors groan as they open.
“God, they need to update this place.”
“On Monday at the staff meeting, Daryl mentioned renovations, but they’ve only just started. Let’s hope this elevator is high on their list of priorities.”
“Here’s hoping...”
We round the corner and continue the half-block to The Tavern. We settle into our booth at the back and don’t even bother with menus. As is our routine, we split pulled-pork nachos and each order a salad and dessert. It works for us.
We’re diving into our nachos when I ask, “Why the rush to get out of the office? My arm still hurts. And I’ll never be able to look Harold in the face again.”
“Sorry, but Brian was making noises about joining us for lunch and...just, no.”
“What? Why? This is our girls’ lunch. Everyone knows that. And you guys are just...I mean, you’re not…”
“We’re just fuck buddies. I know this, and you know this, but I’m beginning to think Brian has forgotten this. But enough about Brian. I’m not ruining nachos with talk of a first-rate clinger.”
“Fair enough.”
“We could talk about Simon Walker in your office for the third time this week.”
