Kat Fight (4 page)

“Kat needs to go,” Julie announces and throws her arms up.

Pete looks disappointed. “Really?”

“I’m sho sorry,” I begin to slur. “I’ve hit my wall limit… I mean theresh a wall,” I continue to ramble. “I’ve hit a bunch number of walls,” I try to explain, waving my hands around.

He gives me a confused look, then cocks his head. A sober version of me would have been mortified, but I felt quite confident that I’d gotten my point across.

“She’s going to puke if you don’t get her home,” Julie translates.

“Gotcha, let’s get you a cab,” Pete says and jumps to his feet.

“Why don’t we all go?” Ryan asks and stands up.

I can sense Julie’s eyes burning a hole through my skull so I decide not to look at her.

I shake my head no and gesture for them to sit down, like one does after a standing ovation. “Please stay, you guys don’t have to leave on my account, I can get myself a cab,” I plead with them.

“Don’t be silly,” Pete says.

As I give Julie and Ryan a hug goodbye, Ryan gently squeezes my hand and tells me to be careful. I then grab my purse and Pete walks me to the door.

“I feel terrible about this,” I say, rubbing my forehead.

“It’s no big thing, happens to the best of us,” he says kindly.

Just as I’m about to make my escape, “You Give Love a Bad Name” starts to blare over the sound system, so I reach up and grab Pete by the neck to give him a kiss. We swap spit for about a minute, then say our goodbyes.

“Bye, Kat, I’ll call you,” he says with a smile.

I smile back and drop my filet at his feet.

It’s been two weeks since my disastrous blind date with Pete, after which Julie had been almost as embarrassed as me. And not surprisingly, he never called. The only good thing to come of it was that Julie vowed never to set me up with anyone again. She and Ryan have maintained a casual relationship, although she has yet to score a home-cooked meal out of him. And in true Julie fashion, she’s also set her sights on another new guy as well… nickname pending.

Meanwhile, I’ve chosen to focus on work as a way of getting my mind off of Marc. Work and Adam, that is. Adam Sparks is my co-worker and most favorite person in the whole world. Adam is gay, and like most gay friends he’s the perfect mate. He’s honest, funny, good-looking, has great clothes, and shares similar interests, such as men. Adam runs the Media Department at Lambert & Miller, and has been doing so for three years. He and I became close last year at the office Christmas party when Marc got completely wasted and bitched me out in the parking lot for talking to the bartender for too long. It made no difference to Marc that the bartender was my next-door neighbor when I was five years old. Marc stormed past me and out the front door, leaving me to excuse myself from the conversation with my old neighbor, and follow him outside where he was fuming. And drunk. Adam had been getting something from his car at the time and overheard our whole argument. I remember standing there alone as Marc stumbled into a cab and left me.

My relationship with Marc was never without public displays of drama, and this particular incident, only yards from a co-worker, was exceptionally embarrassing. Soon after Marc had all but spat on me and drove away in a cab that night, Adam sauntered over and asked why I let such a charming guy slip away. I laughed and cried, and Adam and I have been together ever since.

Adam is one of those people who, the more you get to know him, the more attractive he becomes. Not that he isn’t physically attractive, but his personality gives him added potential that his looks alone could never provide. He’s about five feet ten but swears to being six feet tall. He has short buzz-cut hair, a swimmer’s build, and a super pearly white smile due to his obsession with Crest White Strips. And although he is hysterically funny and crude, he’s a big teddy bear on the inside—a true romantic and a fiercely loyal friend. He and I share a desire to be happily married one day, and he has more than done his part in helping me get through my breakup with Marc. He’s articulate and supportive when I need to be talked off a wall. He’s strong when I turn to jelly. He agrees with me when I simply need to hear that I’m right. He never hesitates to tell me when I’m acting like an idiot. And he distracts me with snacks. Sometimes I think Adam understands—more than my girlfriends—how it feels to be thrust back to the first rung on the matrimonial ladder. Mostly because he has a greater appreciation for that which is essentially unattainable to him.

After working through my lunch hour I decide to leave work early, dust off my membership card, and head to the health club. My supervisor, Brooke, is out at client meetings and probably won’t think to call me until well after she’s gone home. I grab my bag, switch off my computer, and make a mad dash for the elevator before anyone dares approach me. Once outside, I quickly scan the parking lot to make sure Brooke isn’t lurking around for some reason, and as I’m doing this my gaze lands on a familiar male figure a few yards away. I find myself startled by his presence, and he walks toward me the minute we make eye contact.

“Hey, Kat.” Ryan Sullivan emerges from the shadows and greets me.

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t realize it was you. What are you doing here?” I ask and stop in front of him.

“I was just interviewing with Dave, your creative director.”

“Just now?” I ask. “I’m surprised Julie didn’t mention anything to me.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t really told anyone. Never want to count my eggs before they hatch. I guess it’s not much of a secret now anyway; today was our second meeting and he just signed me as senior copywriter.” He smiles. “Small world, huh?”

“Huh… yeah, I mean, wow, congratulations. That’s great.” I smile back at him. He’s wearing a fitted brown T-shirt, faded blue jeans, and carrying a leather backpack over one shoulder. I haven’t seen him since my date with Pete, and I don’t recall him being so tall and attractive.

“Where are you headed? Want to give me a lift home?” he asks and points at my keys.

I reactively look down at my hand and then back up at him. “Sure, yeah, of course,” I say at a snail’s pace.

As we head to my car I begin to feel inexplicably self-conscious. I keep playing with my hair and am having trouble concentrating on what he’s saying. The ride is relatively quiet, despite his gallant attempts at making small talk, and any trace of reciprocal witty banter is non-existent.

All I can think about is how gorgeous he is. I resort to nodding and smiling as I attempt to figure out why my palms are sweating like a nervous schoolgirl. He directs me to his address, which is thankfully nowhere near my health club, so I have a new excuse for avoiding it today.

“Thanks for the ride, Kat,” he says as I pull up in front of his building.

I give a small wave because I have lost the ability to form a sentence, and watch as he exits my car. Once the door slams shut behind him he turns around and leans into the open passenger window.

“I guess I’ll see you at work next week.” He smiles again, causing his eyes to make that cute, crinkly look I remember.

“I’ll be there,” I respond and scan the interior of the car, looking for nothing in particular.

He pats the door. “Well, thanks again. I appreciate the lift. Good to see you.”

In that moment we lock eyes and my jaw drops slightly as he smiles one last time before turning around and walking away. His being in my car has put me in some sort of a daze. I exhale little by little and drive off trying to determine what caused me to behave so stupidly just now. One moment I’m walking to my car debating what to eat—baked potato with bacon bits and sour cream or spaghetti with jarred sauce—and the next, I’m driving Ryan home without proper use of my vocal chords. My humiliation is growing as I retrace what just happened over and over in my mind. As I enter my apartment shaking my head I hear the phone ringing. Caller ID indicates that it’s Brooke. Get it, don’t get it, get it, don’t get it…

“Hello?” Apparently, I’ve regained proper use of my speech.

“Did you email the status reports to Dave before you left?” she asks frantically.

“Yeah… I did,” I respond slowly.

She senses my distraction. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” I pause. “Guess who I just drove home?”

“Please, Kat.” She doesn’t care.

“Do you remember me telling you about that horrid blind date last month with a friend of ‘The Chef’… that guy Julie goes out with? Well, he’s now our new senior copywriter,” I advise.

“The guy you puked on?” she asks, and I cringe.

“Well, actually the one I didn’t puke on. He just got the position; Dave hired him today.” I pause. “I bumped into him as I was walking out and he asked me for a ride home.”

“Which guy is our new copywriter, Kat?” she asks.

“The Che… His name is Ryan.”

“Dave’s pretty hard to please, so he must have a great portfolio.”

“I guess.”

“Why do you sound weird about it?” she wonders.

“I don’t know,” I respond and compose myself. “I mean, I’m fine. I’m not weird. Sorry, I was just reading an email. No worries about the status reports. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I hang up the phone and think about Ryan again. My heart is racing and I can’t quite articulate what has happened. I almost never read into things at this level and pace, but I can tell that this is a critical moment in my life. Something affected me in the parking lot today and I can still feel it. The aftershock is as jarring as the initial strike. People have told me a hundred times that when you fall for someone “you just know.” But I have never bought into that idiotic theory, mostly because I’m not that simple and I’m very picky. How could someone as picky as me be struck that way? Besides, I’ve met him before and nothing paralyzed me back then.

No, something has just happened to me, and unlike our previous encounter, Ryan Sullivan has just taken my breath away.

Two weeks have passed since I bumped into Ryan in the parking lot, drove him home, and began developing feelings for him. A realization that upon closer study carries two unfamiliar burdens: one, an office romance, and two, coveting the love interest of a friend. Needless to say, work has become increasingly harder to focus on.

Lambert & Miller is one of the top advertising agencies here in Chicago. I’ve had various jobs since graduating college but working in advertising has always been a dream of mine, so I’ve done my best to keep this job and make a good impression. My biggest struggle at work is that I’m supposed to be in the office by eight o’clock each morning, and punctuality has never been a strong point of mine. Since Brooke is never on time either, I feel justified arriving late as long as she’s not in yet.

Sometime around nine fifteen this morning I catch Brooke walking off the elevators and into her office. Since I finished my creative briefs at home last night, I decide to feed my craving for Words With Friends, and I figure I have at least twenty minutes from when she enters her office before she beckons me. However, this morning all meager attempts to outwit my online nemesis are taking longer than normal, and Brooke manages to surprise me from behind before I can click over to my email screen.

“It’s bad enough that you waste company time and make a mockery of my management skills, but you could at least act like you’re ashamed when I catch you,” she says as she approaches. “Proofread these for errors that Spell Check may have missed,” she says and then drops a stack of thin files on my desk. “Lord knows you’re not improving your skills with that Scrabble imposter,” she barks and gestures toward my screen.

“Okay, that is shameful,” I answer in my finest morning sarcasm.

Truth be told, Brooke and I have a civilized working friendship. Second truth be told, I’m the only account person who has been able to tolerate her for more than six months. For that reason alone I get away with more than I should. She hired me two years ago after we met in the bathroom of a nightclub. She had been crying over some guy when I walked in and sped past her to the nearest commode.

“Are you okay?” I had felt obligated to ask as I exited the stall, even though she clearly wasn’t. There isn’t much other protocol for that awkward encounter. Needless to say she opened the floodgates as women magically do.

“Do I look okay?” she asked and lifted her head slowly.

“Sorry, just thought I should ask.” Her tone instantly caused my compassion to fade.

She mustered a fake smile and rubbed her temples. “I’m fine, sorry,” she said half laughing.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I offered, once I finished washing my hands and drying them on my jeans. I only used soap because she was looking at me.

“Not unless you have a gun.”

I smiled, unthreatened. “Nope, sorry.”

“That’s okay. I’m fine.” She stood and went to fix her face in the mirror.

“Do you want me to get someone out there for you?” I asked, gesturing to the door.

She let out a complete laugh that time. “No! That won’t be necessary or possible. I’m sure he’s gone by now.” She paused. “My boyfriend just told me that he needs some time apart, and that he still cares about me but just needs some…
time
. For what or whom, he didn’t say.”

“That sucks,” I replied with honest empathy for her. She looked devastated and embarrassed. “Any idea why?”

She shook her head. “So, since I drank half a bottle of wine as he was telling me all this, I’m a little more emotional than usual. Welcome to the ladies’ room!” she said, trying to cover her rejection with pathetic humor.

We stood there and chatted for about fifteen minutes until I invited her to join my friends and me. She declined, but we parted as friends. One of the great things about women: “confront my weary ass in the ladies’ room and I will trust you with all that is near and dear to my heart.” The Insta-Friend!

As it turned out, Brooke was in advertising and had given me her card. I used the rookie therapy session to let her know I was looking for a job, and I’ve been doing my best to please her ever since. However, that encounter in the bathroom was the only time I’ve ever seen her let her guard down like that. She tends to be more reserved, and never seems to give me much insight into her private life. Although she does seem to get a lot of enjoyment out of mine.

She ended up marrying the guy who dumped her that night. His name is Drew and he’s still a complete asshole. People who meet Brooke on her own, without Drew, think she’s a powerhouse. Straightforward, hardworking, and focused. People who encounter the two of them together will experience a much different Brooke. One that kowtows to Drew, one who is quieter and timid, and one who tolerates being publicly humiliated. It’s obvious to everyone besides her that she deserves better. The dichotomy between who she is as a woman, boss or friend, and who she is as a wife is truly amazing.

She doesn’t have a lot of girlfriends either. I remember when it came time to throw her a wedding shower, some strange woman from Drew’s office named Hortencia called to see if I wanted to go in on a shower with her and two other girls Drew worked with. As Brooke’s only acquaintance I felt obligated, but none of the other girls ever called me or asked for my input on anything—including what Brooke might’ve liked. They simply asked me for my one hundred dollar check when I arrived at the bowling alley where they’d scheduled the event.

I would say that, besides Drew, Brooke’s biggest problem is that she’s insecure for no apparent reason. And that insecurity is the one thing that’s forever keeping her from being complete, and outwardly kind to others. In addition, Drew does little or nothing to heal those insecurities. I watched them at their wedding while they were taking pictures and Drew was berating her about how long it was taking. He clearly wanted to be at the bar with his friends, and all she wanted was to take a few photos commemorating the day with her new husband. I remember the clarity it gave me as I watched her nervously laughing and doing her best to appease him in that moment. It was sad. Her relationship with him is one of the great mysteries about her. There are the occasional times that her weaknesses show at work, too, albeit not often. But I’ve noticed that she rarely has a conversation with anyone without inserting a self-deprecating comment about herself somewhere. I think she feels it makes her more human. Mostly, it just makes me feel badly for her.

“Well, you’ll be happy to know there’s a creative meeting at ten o’clock in the conference room. Bring the client binders if you will. I’ll be lugging the bags under my eyes so I won’t be able to carry anything else,” Brooke says with a wink.

“Creative meeting?” My eyes light up like it’s Christmas morning.

“I thought that’d get your attention,” she says smiling.

I had foolishly confided in Brooke that I felt a surprising new attachment to Ryan, and it was then when my mild panic attacks started at work. Not really panic attacks, more like panicking when I see him exit the elevator, panicking when he walks by my cubicle on his way to the bathroom, and mostly panicking every time I leave the building for the day hoping for another chance encounter in the parking lot.

The biggest obstacle to date, besides my unrequited affection, is that the only reason I have any association with him in the first place is because Julie’s dating him. I’m not exactly sure where their relationship stands today, but it’s been weighing heavily on my mind. They’ve been casually seeing each other, yet I’ve only heard her mention him a couple times over the past month. She has a way of never dating any one person exclusively so it’s hard to keep up; therefore, it’s important that I get an updated status of their relationship A.S.A.P. All I really know is that she’s also been seeing some particularly needy guy from her improv class, whom she calls “The Momma’s Boy.”

Brooke interrupts my thoughts. “Well if I’d known telling you about the creative meeting would send you into some catatonic state I wouldn’t have mentioned it. Just don’t forget the binders please,” she says and walks away.

The day is looking up! I have about twenty minutes to pee, apply lipstick, and rehearse thoughtful facial expressions in the bathroom mirror. First I grab a stick of gum, chew it rapidly and then spit it into my garbage can as I do throughout the day. I really don’t like chewing gum because it’s unprofessional, but mints give me a stomachache.
Just as I’m testing my breath outside the ladies’ room I run into Adam, my most treasured Insta-Friend.

“Smell my breath,” I say as I see him approaching.

“Is that necessary? I’m two sips into my Diet Dr. Pepper, and quite frankly, I’m really enjoying it,” he says.

“Creative meeting at ten o’clock!” I announce and breeze past him en route back to my cube.

He turns and follows me. “Your ass looks big in those jeans,” he snickers.

Ignore.

Humoring himself further, he adds, “Your ass looks big and your breath smells.” Then promptly spills Diet Dr. Pepper on his shirt. “Dammit!”

Karma.

“I have a creative meeting to prepare for, and as usual you’re cramping my primping,” I say and gather the binders Brooke asked me to bring.

“Just kidding, my darling, you look adorable as always, yet I’m still going to take a pass on the breath test if that’s alright with you.” He lifts his hand to his mouth and blows me a kiss.

As only Brooke and Adam know, Ryan Sullivan has entirely contributed to my newfound interest in creative meetings. Now that he’s our senior copywriter I have guaranteed encounters with him twice a week. There’s always a predictable buzz surrounding every new hire, but with Ryan, the office females are on high alert. First of all, he’s quite tall; I’m guessing at least six feet two inches, with green eyes and thick brown hair. A little wavy but definitely not curly. And each day, no matter what the hour, his face is perfectly festooned with stubble. Not too little, yet not too much that it would scrape you during a make-out session. I’m guessing, of course. He’s almost always in wrinkled button-down shirts loosely hanging out of his jeans, and gym shoes worn like slippers with the backs all bent down because he never quite has them on all the way. Most importantly, he seems completely oblivious to his charm. It’s as if David Beckham and J. Crew had a baby. He’s probably the biggest catch I’ve met in a long time.

Brooke and I are already seated when people start filtering into the conference room. Just as I check my Blackberry I am interrupted by his presence in my peripheral vision. I slowly, and not so discreetly, lift my head, smiling and sniffing like an eager puppy whose owner has just entered the house with a Quarter Pounder. Ryan sits down across from us and gives a small nod to Brooke and me.

“Hey, Ry,” I say enthusiastically as I do almost every time I see him.

“What’s up, ladies,” he replies, acknowledging both of us. Always so polite. In my mind his eyes held on mine a tad longer than Brooke’s, but I have no video surveillance to prove this.

Brooke has noticed the pathetic turn my behavior has taken since his arrival, and after I confided in her, she became a little concerned for me. She knows Julie was interested in him and doesn’t want to see me get hurt or ruin my friendship. She’s also well aware of the past dramatics between Marc and me, and thinks it’s best that I work through that first. Not to mention the evils of an office romance. Again, she doesn’t have much luck holding onto employees, so any work-related angst with me is really a threat to her. Nonetheless, she likes the gossip.

I haven’t given much thought to what Julie will think, mostly because my relationship with Ryan is
entirely
in my head at this point. She has a healthy ego, but I can’t imagine her giving her blessing to any of her friends in this situation anyway. I deem it best not to say anything to her before I know where she stands with him.

In the meantime, he’s proven a wonderful distraction from Marc. After driving Ryan home that first time I’ve been picturing us vacationing together, French kissing each other in inappropriate settings, and even living together. Visions I have wisely kept to myself. Prior to this day, and for the past four years, I have imagined my life and my future with Marc. That is why it is completely out of character for me to be having imaginary elopements with Ryan.

Brooke interrupts my daydreaming again. “Ryan, we were just admiring your headlines on the Bellagio account.”

“Yeah,” I chime in and nod.

“You and Dave did a terrific job on this one,” she continues.

“Yeah,” I repeat.

Brooke shoots me a look of disgust then turns back to Ryan. “I’m presenting them on Friday and I know the client’s going to love them.”

Ryan smiles, bashful. “Thanks, Brooke, it’s a fun account to work on. What’d you think, Kat?” he asks me.

“Yeah…,” I start to complete my thought just as Dave, our creative director and head of the agency, walks in and silences the room, giving Brooke ample time to repeat her look of disgust and silently mock my third “yeah.”

“Good morning, everyone. Let’s be brief. I have another meeting at eleven and a plane to catch after that. Brooke?” he says, with his deep, throaty voice.

Dave is an intimidating kind of guy. His management skills are kind and fair, but firm. He expects no less than everyone’s best effort and people work hard to get his approval. I never see him yell at anyone because he never has to. Those who disappoint him usually feel so badly about it, all he has to do is let them know he is not happy. Dave is also gay, and spoken for. Adam officially slept his way to the top and stayed there about two years ago. Adam fell hard for Dave when they first started dating, and I’ve had the pleasure of watching their mutual admiration for each other grow over the years.