How much money he spent was nowhere near as embarrassing as how giddy he got. Oh and the way it snowballed. From a casual invitation to come over for drinks, to a $35 bouquet of lilies, a $40 bottle of vodka, $7 artichoke dip, ½ pound of smoked almonds at $8.45 a pound, a massive apartment cleaning, silver polishing, shaving his balls, 155 sit ups, 3 day abstinence from masturbation, and endless rounds of Swifter mopping. He stopped short of creating a play list – thankfully – had he done that he most certainly would have had to throw himself out a window.
Do you really need to know his name, what he looks like, how old he is? With simple reflection you’ll realize at one time or another it was you. Honestly, we’ve all been there. Still for the sake of your curiosity and plot we’ll call him Andre. A handsome enough white guy, mid 40’s, presentable shape, attractive face. Good job. Gay.
“Oh my God, it’s a date.” His secretary Yvette squealed from her cubicle. Even then it occurred to Andre that dating on the side was something people should keep to themselves. Not so much for discretion but for fear of failure. But the rush was something that had to be immediately perused; the superstar quality of chasing taboo gives a person such celebrity. Especially at the office.
“You go girl.” Yvette encouraged. “I need to take a page from your book. You know my Boo and all that.” A clear reference to her own domestic mess which she underscored with a classic sitcom eye roll. A woman of academic accomplishment, Yvette for some reason decided to settle for the role of office assistant. Far from subservient, she was a top, the Oprah of the office. And to prove it spent her days dispensing her brand of TV pseudo-psychology to the over indulged bosses who populated the halls around her cube. And come they did. For advice, wisdom and her straight up, tell it like it is, set the record straight, water cooler dish. Andre included. Yvette’s truth was similar to his a dead end relationship. The total dedication and devotion of an Italian momma’s boy who after one all too common down sizing, spent 1 and ½ years on the sofa wasting away his earning potential. On the line for her now, the same for anyone nearing their 40’s – is he the one, could I do better, should we, shouldn’t we, why are we still having the same stupid conversation?
In earlier confessions Andre had already spilled the beans to Yvette about his loveless relationship. Today’s session was about flirting with the idea of stepping out.
“No, I’m just testing my market value.” Andre giggled.
“My man? Beijing for the Olympics. It’s business. And even if I could go, I wouldn’t. It’s cleaner to watch China on TV. You can all but see the Avian Flu in the air.”
“Really?’ She wasn’t convinced.
“Really.” Andre affirmed.
Now, when you’re on with “Come Tell Yvette” you have to speak the truth. She looked over the frames of her Malcom X inspired tortoise shell glasses deep into his eyes. Andre held her stare. With that there was agreement and so they commiserated, greedy and eager to reconvene in the morning and share the justice of finding your worth, and giving your man double pay back.