The Kissing Game (2 page)

I nod. “Sure,” I say. “No problem” before slipping out his door
and closing it behind me.

Robert soon leaves for court, and I spend an uneventful morning
working at my desk. At lunchtime, I head to the nearby food court with Todd and
my other two gay coworkers: Henry and Cory. They’re all in their twenties like
me. And they all have ambitions to do other things in life besides working as
assistants at a law firm.

Henry works for the Chairman of the firm, Collin Snow. Henry is a
short heavyset man who prefers sweater vests and khakis to all other forms of
attire. Today, he’s strangely sporting a white polo shirt because it’s 80
degrees, even in the food court. He hopes to someday own a pet grooming
operation where cute poodles come to be fluffed. Cory works in the technology
center of the law firm. He wants to be an actor. He’s short, skinny, and fond
of tie-dye clothing. Whoever said gay men know fashion has never met my gay
friends. To me, they are still preferable to women friends. They’re honest and
they keep all my secrets in a vault, locked up tight. Eating lunch with them is
daily therapy.

“You have enough liquids there to rehydrate a small African
village,” Henry says to me as I set down onto the table my colossal soda and
bowl of tortilla soup, otherwise known as the five-dollar special.

“I said medium, but I think it’s a large. I was so worried I’d
spill it,” I say sipping the soda. The food court is packed with other workers
and lawyers, the bright sunlight of dome overhead shining on unfortunate
patrons. We sit at a table under the shade of a fake palm tree.

“You heard we all got invited to the summer intern dinner party
tonight?”  Henry says while holding a fork containing pasta.

“The staff?” Todd mumbles with a mouth full of burrito. A bead of
sweat forms on his neck. The cackle of laughter erupts from a nearby table of
legal assistants we know.

“Yup,” Henry replies. “I think we should go. The interns are hot
this year. We should give them a fond farewell. What do you think Cory?”
 Henry suddenly looks like an untethered horse at the thought of being
around attractive interns.

Cory wiggles in his tie-dye shirt and forks his Caesar salad.
“Those affairs are so dull. Nothing worse than a room full of lawyers and
wannabe lawyers. I hate them all.” He shoves a bite into his mouth and chews. I
suddenly wish I’d ordered a Caesar salad. I blow at the hot soup and tell
myself hot soup is appetizing when it’s 80 degrees.

“So how did it go with hardass today, Caroline?” Todd asks me. He
wipes a dab of sour cream off his lip with a napkin. “Did he scold you good?”

I roll my eyes and snort, trying not to think about it. I gulp a
spoonful of hot soup. Tastes like I’m in Mexico, feels like I’m in Mexico. I’m
suddenly starving. Mexico is so underrated.

“You shouldn’t put up with his bullshit,” Henry says, chewing. He
points his plastic fork at me. “You need to stand up for yourself. I don’t know
about you all, but I am tired of him walking all over Caroline. That man needs
to be tied to a wagon and have some hungry rats thrown on him, like in that
book, what was it? 1985? 1984? Jesus it’s hot in here.” Henry looks around to
see if he’s the only one suffering. He pulls at the front of his polo shirt to
get some air inside.

“Yeah, Caroline. Henry’s right. You know he can’t treat you that
way. I’d go to human resources and complain,” Todd swivels his head at me as if
he’s a Bobblehead doll. “That human resources bitch can fix any squabble
between a lawyer and an assistant.”

“You guys,” I start, sounding whinier than I intend. “I can’t.
Human resources will have me sit down with Robert face to face. I’d rather be
shot in the foot. And I’ve tried to find a job elsewhere in the firm, but
there’s nothing right now. I’ve even looked outside the firm, but the job
market in San Francisco is tanked. I’m stuck. Unless I want to be homeless.” I
spoon some soup into my mouth and think about moving in with my mom in Ohio,
where she lives in a trailer park with my stepdad. So depressing.

Meanwhile, four well-dressed lawyers walk past our table. I listen
to the slap-slap of their expensive shoes and smell the expensive aftershave
lotion. We chew silently while they find a table out of earshot, right under
the bright dome.

“You should get even with him,” Cory says to me, poking his fork
at his salad, looking for a perfect piece of dressing-covered lettuce. Cory always
seems full of secrets. I think this comes from having the ability to hack into
anyone’s computer.

I perk up. “How?” I ask Cory.

My three friends smile at each other, sharing a gay telepathic
moment.

“Lots of ways, my dear, lots of ways,” Todd pats my hand.

“Like?” I ask floating on the brink between fear and excitement.

“Well, you could flood his email with gay porn,” Todd laughs at
his own comment. Henry covers his mouth to smile.

“No, no, no,” Cory interjects, waving his hand darkly. “So
amateur. That would never work. A lawyer could easily file documents forcing
the website owners to hand over your IP address. You’d be exposed faster than
you could say ‘fresh meat.’ He’d have you fired almost instantly.”

Henry swallows and says, “Couldn’t she just use a proxy to hide
her IP address?”

“Still amateur,” Cory explains, leaning back in his tie-die shirt,
acting as though he’s president and founder of the internet. “Besides, what
good would that do? It won’t do anything. He could just block the unwanted
emails. Problem over. Robert would be unharmed. We have to devise a plan that
could actually
 
hurt
 
him. The man deserves pain. Remember
the time he made her cry like a cow?”

Cory takes a toothpick out of a wrapper and plucks at his teeth
with it as we cringe at the memory of the time I escaped to the bathroom in
tears. Robert had yelled at me for spelling “definitely” wrong. The document
was filed at the courthouse and sent to clients before Robert caught the
mistake.

“That was a shit storm,” Todd declares at the memory. “Never seen
a man’s nostrils flare like that before. On such a pretty face, too.” Todd
crumples up his burrito wrapper and puts it on his tray. 

“What about creating a fake Facebook page? You know, where Robert
could be badmouthing the other partners? Then they’ll want to fire him,” Henry
suggests. He leans forward. We all lean forward and look at Cory, waiting for
his response. A gust of cool breeze sweeps through the food court.

       Cory chews on the toothpick,
like a cowboy on a piece of grass, like a cowboy wearing tie-dye. “Naw, that
wouldn’t work either. Same problem. He’d find out right away, all the partners
would discover it was a fake Facebook. Too easy. Not big enough.”

       We sit there quietly, but I
sense the way we are rummaging around in our brains, looking for ideas. Around
us workers are slaves to the clock, shoving sandwiches down, gulping last gulps
of soda, squeezing in a few more minutes of conversation in before they head
back to the drudgery of work. Chatter ensues.

Henry exhales. “I’ve got an idea but it’s drastic.”

“What?” Todd demands, his arms crossed in front of him, his little
boy muscles bulging under his short-sleeved shirt. He could be a model, really.
He’s got that whole Asian androgynous pretty going on. I should tell him
sometime.

Cory leans forward, elbows on the table.

“I shouldn’t be telling you all this,” Henry starts, “seeing that
I have inside knowledge as the Chairman’s assistant.” Henry looks around to
make sure no one can hear him. He’s lowered his voice. I want to jump across
the table and grab his shirt and yank it out of him, but I say nothing.
Patience.

Henry continues. “You know how the firm has always had a strict
policy on sexual harassment? Well, the partners signed an agreement in secret
two years ago. Remember that lawsuit? That pretty blonde assistant on the 30
^th
 
floor who sued her boss a few years
ago, partner Ralph Compton, for sexual harassment and won five hundred
thousand?”

We all nod. Everyone heard about it. It’s law firm legend.

“Well, the new partner agreement basically says that any partner
who engages in inappropriate behavior with staff will take on the financial
burden of a lawsuit himself and indemnify the firm. But that’s not all. He will
also be fired, no questions asked, no compensation.”

We all stare wide-eyed at Henry, who grows rosy-cheeked at all the
attention.

“The best part of this scenario,” Henry goes on, “is that some of
the partners hate Robert. I mean
 
really
 
hate him. After all, he made partner
only three years out of law school. That’s unheard of, especially among the
partners who worked ten years to get partnership. And Robert’s only
twenty-eight. There’s a lot of partners who’d like to see him out.”

The table is silent while that news settles on us like a spring
meadow full of flowers and bunny rabbits.

“So you’re saying that all Caroline has to do is build a case of
sexual harassment against her boss?” Todd states, as if that’s possible, as if
it’s as easy as blowing snot out of your nose into a tissue.

“What the hell, Henry?” I say, suddenly, my mouth twisting. “How
am I going to do that?” I gesture at myself, pointing out the obvious. “How the
hell is an average lackie like me ever going to put my beautiful, mean,
horrible, brilliant boss in a compromising situation? Ain’t gonna happen. Todd
has a better shot at getting Robert in a compromising situation than I do!”

Todd looks at me knowingly and scratches his nose. He grabs a lock
of my wavy red hair and examines it. They’re all suddenly looking at me as if
I’m one of those unidentifiable creatures at the zoo. Is it a raccoon? An
opossum? A large rodent?

“It’s the clothes,” Todd proclaims waving his hand over my outfit.
Todd’s the only one of my gay friends with any remote handle on fashion sense.
Cory and Henry have no idea about fashion.

“I can’t help it. I have to wear these. Robert makes me dress like
this,” I defend. I sip my soup and chew a piece of chicken from the broth. I
have to hurry and eat because our lunch hour is running out.

“What about the intern party tonight?” Cory suggests to everyone
but me. “She could go there wearing something else, a dress--that red number
she wore to my birthday party last year?” Cory points his chewed toothpick at
me.

Henry puts his finger on his chin and suddenly reminds me of a
film critic. “Oh, yes,” he says. “The red dress.”

“That won’t be enough, though. She’ll have to wear more makeup.”
Todd scowls.

“You guys make me feel like an old woman trying to be young. I’m
only twenty-three! And I’m not liking this whole plan.” I hunker over my bowl
of soup and feel like I’m rusting.  “It’s not gonna work anyway. Robert
thinks I’m an idiot. He utterly hates me, and besides, he’s not attracted to me
at all. And if he touched me, I’d pass out from fear. He scares the bejesus out
of me.”

Then Cory does the unthinkable.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bottle. There are five
or six oblong shaped pills inside the orange-translucent plastic.

 “Put these in his drink,” he says, putting them in my hand
and wrapping my fingers around the bottle. “Xanax. I’m getting the script
refilled anyway. You can have these. You’ll have to mash them first, put them
in a little alcohol. It’ll loosen him up. That, plus some makeup on your face,
the red dress, fix that hair a little. You have a shot. The most important
thing is you’ll have to get him to make a move on you wherever the security cameras
are. The elevator, the hallways near reception, the parking lot, somewhere
where there’s taped footage. Then you’ll have a case.”

I roll my eyes. “This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever
heard. No way. I’m not going to drug my boss and make a move on him. I could …
go to jail, or make a fool out of myself, or, or both.”

“Of course, you could do nothing and just work for that asshole
for the next twenty years until you’re miserable and suicidal and your nerves
are so frazzled you live on Prozac. Or, you can get out from under him, maybe
work for someone nice like Jim Barnes in litigation, get a promotion or two,
and be happy for a change. But whatever, you choose,” Henry states with a
frown.

I don’t answer. I feel like a criminal and I haven’t even done
anything yet. I think about the fact that I have already fantasized about
drugging him into unconsciousness. How different would this be? Would it make
me a bad person? Yes. Would it be worth it? Maybe. The life of the transgressor
is hard, I think. I picture my jail cell, where I’ll live like a hermit while
the phantoms of my misdeeds haunt me until I die. I’ll grow old and fat and
have to turn lesbian in jail, cut my red hair short, maybe. Such a risk. But am
I willing to poke my head into the dark side for the sake of happiness? Do or die?
Or be patient?

I shove the pill bottle into my pocket and sip my soda.

“Let’s head back, boys,” I say.

And just like that we’re suddenly a group of Marvel comic heroes
tossing our trash into the bin and putting our trays on top of each other,
moving single file through the throngs back toward the office.  The world
looks suddenly different.