My affair with Jennifer had been downgraded to a mistake, as had my little dalliance with Lucy. I had completely misinterpreted Claire’s kiss as some kind of passionate rekindling of our romantic past. I wasn’t exactly Eleanor’s favourite person, and at work I was a ghost to Lucy. In short, it was a pretty crappy week and it was safe to say I had seen better days. I cursed Claire for showing up like that, out of nowhere, and ruining everything, but really, she hadn’t done anything.

It was Thursday evening, and, alone in my room, I tried to come up with an exciting weekend plan to drag me out of my funk. All I could think of was a drunken visit to the lesbo club. I know, my creativity has never been stimulated by general down-in-the-dumpness. Also, my mind kept slipping back to earlier that day, when I had worked up the nerve to confront Lucy in her office. Sure, she treated me like I wasn’t there, but in a very ironic way, because all through the week she had engaged in silly flirtations with Jim. I knew she did it just to spite me, because, firstly, I was certain that never in a million years would she be sexually or romantically interested in him, and, secondly, I had confided in her, in one of our many less professional moments together, that Jim rubbed me up all kinds of wrong ways. Nevertheless, if her plan was to irk me until I couldn’t stand it anymore, and I ran to her in despair, it worked.

She played it well, and Jim was an easy victim and an excellent pawn in Lucy’s mental chess game with me. His cubicle was next to mine and he could never keep his mouth shut. All week he treated me to deep sighs and remarks on how amazing Lucy was, and how good-looking as well − although she could use more of a feminine touch. Jim, that silly dimwit, lapped it all up, and didn’t have a clue of what was really going on. It was almost five when Lucy flung her long frame over the panel that separated my compartment from Jim’s, and asked him in her most husky voice if he could stay late tonight, to go over that profile piece he had written on Helen Mirren. It was one of the articles I was supposed to write, but she had reassigned to him, again, only to spite me. She knew full well how much I wanted to write it. But, if needed, the boss always finds a way to punish. Jim was humming in the most annoying, smug way, it made my blood boil. So, enraged, I followed Lucy to her office and closed the door − so she knew I meant business. I suspected I was playing right into her hands but I was beyond giving a damn.

“What are you playing at, Lucy?”
“I don’t know. What are you accusing me of?”
“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, I really am, but all I asked for was a bit of time to come to my senses.”
“Time to run off with your ex, you mean.”
“What do you want from me? Please, tell me, what can I do to make it better?” She leaned back in her chair and lifted her feet up to rest them on her desk. She was going for the macho pose.
“Have dinner with me tonight.”
“Lucy, come on, you know that’s not what I want right now.”
“This isn’t about what you want.”
“I gathered that.”
“I’m not asking you to stay the night, Lee, all I’m asking for is some company while I eat.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I know how it will end and that’s not where I want to be tonight.”
“Suit yourself.”

To be continued…