struggle for this 'not an interview' and my expression suggests it would be rude not to at least look at my toils... "To show you what I’m up to currently," and I begin unzipping the perimeter of my portfolio case.
"I’ve seen all I need to," I look back up at him, his expression a smouldering sexual darkness, dilated pupils, looking directly into me, not at me. He must be used to being gawped at I think, at least he has the decency to break the hold he has on me, ignore it and try to carry on.
Working canter at C, immediate left 20 metre circle, medium canter.
He takes a swallow of cold tea, I’d do that too, no point wasting tea. "Come, let’s get some dinner, I’m starved." He stands and begins putting on his jacket, then I hear music: She Sells Sanctuary - The Cult, my all-time favourite song. Taking it from my jeans pocket, I look at my phone the screen remains dark, it's not mine.
It's the ringtone of my personal iPhone...but it's his phone that's ringing, that's spooky, I was about to get all contemptuous, then mine rings too, Bring Me Sunshine - Morecambe and Wise, my work phone. We fail to answer, paused with our phones close to our ears we just stare at each other as if in quiet understanding. Sizing each other up.
I am falling for this man already, blimey, how desperate am I? I try not to answer my own rhetorical question. Glance sideways at my phone it's work…"I have to get this, it's work..," he just nods, and swipes the answer bar on his own phone, I notice his is black too like mine.
I turn and answer...."...yes? ...hello...I Face him, he has finished his call, that was quick, and he's just looking at me,... suddenly aware I have my boss on the line, I reconnect with the conversation..."…yep, not a problem, I present a board to them tomorrow, yep. OK, see you then, bye Cherry."
HV medium canter.
Cherry my boss, is sharp featured with perfect shiny dark hair in a twenties bob, and wears her style smarter casual. Chambray shirts, ironed, and stiff raw denim clean jeans in a homage to the Margaret Howell image of the 90's, with a turned up selvedge hem and burgundy polished Gucci loafers, you know, the ones with the little tassels on the top... She doesn’t understand me, and I don’t get her. We tiptoe around each other and pretty much stay out of each other’s way. She hardly ever speaks to me, so to call me and ask for my help was very rare. A hint of guilt starts to creep over me bearing in mind where I am and what I am doing...I Look back at Daniel. Or want to be doing.
VKA collected canter.
I shake it off, and kick it under the desk with the point of my beautifully sculpted, this seasons, just delivered, had to be on the waiting list to get them, boots as if my thought were a tangible object. Such beautiful boots. Concentrate you nerk!
I look at my gold watch, yes, that'll stall him.
"Sorry Daniel, I have some work to do for tomorrow, but I’ll have time for a quick drink?" Aware how forward this sounds as soon as I’d said it, I begin rewinding my thoughts to add a caveat to the deal, only Daniel grabs his keys, a Landrover logo fob and a strange looking key sit alongside his car key, lifts my luggage easily in his strong arms and says "come on then, a drink would be great, we'll leave your bags in my car and the driver will take you home afterwards."
I don't think so.
A command not a question, I resist immediately, it's just my nature, shake my head, and he'll know exactly where I live, not ready for that yet, a control freak, that’s all I need. One's enough, have you met my Mum?
"That won’t be necessary Daniel, but thank you.” I try to sound grateful, but fail miserably, “I live in deepest darkest Essex, it's not just a few stops on the central line." Plus, no one tells me what to do. (Except of course Mum).
He pauses as if not used to being turned down, thinks better of a different response and says, “I want you to be safe.” He tells me protectively, looking at me hoping I’d cave, but of course I’m stubborn. ”OK, he'll drop you wherever you want." That's better, good boy.
"Thank