Twitterpated (10 page)

Chapter 16

A
FTER THE FOURTH RING, RELIEF
crept in. I would get the best of both worlds if Ben’s voicemail picked up and I could leave a message. No risk of distraction that way. I was mentally composing the witty and flirtatious voicemail I would leave when Ben’s “Hello?” interrupted the fifth ring.

Uh . . . “Hi,” I said. “It’s Jessie.”

“I know. The caller ID already sold you out. That’s why I picked up,” he said.

“Oh, well, good.”

A bunch of yells and piercing whistles filtered through the phone.

“I’m at FHE,” Ben said, followed by something I couldn’t quite catch through all the ruckus.

“What did you say?” I asked.

“Sheesh, it’s loud. Can you hold on a sec?”

“Sure,” I answered. It sounded muffled for a moment, like maybe he was covering the receiver with his hand. For some reason, I like it better when people do that instead of hitting the mute button. The mute button always makes it seem like someone’s got something to hide, like they’re going to press it and trash you to whoever they’re with. A hand over the phone says, “I’m an open book.” Not that I’ve overthought this or anything.

Ben yelled over the noise to someone about stepping out to take a call. A minute later, he came back on, crystal clear.

“Sorry about that,” he said. I heard nothing in the background now. “The air hockey tournament is in the finals, and it somehow became a battle of the sexes, so there’s extra loud trash talking.”

“No problem,” I told him. “So you’re at the institute?”

I attended a family ward because I couldn’t deal with the later afternoon start time the singles ward had, but I dropped by activities at the institute building every now and then when I wasn’t drowning in work. For a moment, I wondered how I had managed to miss Ben there and then realized how many Monday nights I’d spent working over the past several months. Using my superfast CPA mental computation skills, I came up with the precise figure of how many: pretty much every single Monday.

“I
was
at the institute,” he said. “Now I’m in my car driving away from it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean for you to leave.”

“Don’t apologize. I lost big time to a pre-mish freshman in the semifinals. I think he’s a prodigy. You gave me an excuse to leave and save face.”

“An air hockey prodigy?”

“Why not? There’re already enough violin and piano prodigies running around. Dare to be different, I say.”

“Kind of like you and your trivia?” I teased him.

“Exactly like that. What about you? Do you have any savant tendencies? So far, everything I’ve seen you do seems more like true talent than stupid human tricks, Chef Jessie.”

“Thanks,” I said, flattered. “It’s kind of embarrassing to admit, but almost nothing comes to me naturally. I have to work hard at everything to be even kind of good.”

“Wow. So while I know useless trivia because of some freakish wiring in my brain, you have thousands of trivia tidbits filed away in yours that you acquired through actual intelligence and learning?”

“That’s not what I meant!” I went from flattered to flustered.

“Too late. You’re busted,” he said. “You’ve been found out as smart and hard working.” Humor laced his tone.

“Fine. I admit it. I’m amazing,” I responded.

This time his laughter spilled out of the phone. “Remember, I said it first,” he said. I liked his laugh. A lot.

“I can invent a useless talent if it means you’ll quit teasing me,” I said.

“This I gotta hear.”

I scrambled to think of something absurd. “Uh . . . I can name the patron saint for every country.”

“But we don’t believe in patron saints.”

“I said it was a useless talent.”

“Okay, name one.”

“All right, Peru. They have St. Judas of the sacred liver.”

“Is that true?”

“Kind of,” I hedged. “He’s the saint of a school near where my dad served his mission.”

“Name another one. What’s Canada’s?”

“St. Francis, patron saint of processed meat products.”

He laughed. “And Poland?”

“That’s St. Gertrude, defender of itchy long johns.”

That really got him going. A pleased grin took custody of the corners of my mouth. I dug that he had a goofy bone. Most people have a funny bone, but very few have a goofy one.

“Whew. I think I bruised my spleen,” he said.

“It’s okay. That’s one of those vestigial organs you don’t need.” As soon as I said it, I winced. Vestigial? Who says
vestigial
? My true useless talent was probably my massive vocabulary that I’d kept toned down since childhood. When I was a kid, Lane Dorsey accused me of trying to show off how smart I was in Primary when I used the word
pastoral
to describe a picture of Jesus and the lost sheep. Granted, it might have been precocious for a seven-year-old.

“Mmmm,
vestigial
.” He paused for a minute. “That’s a good word. I like it. Vestigial, vestigial, vestigial.”

I laughed. “If only I could use it in Scrabble. I would die happy.”

“It doesn’t take much to please you.”

“No, I guess not. A good book or movie, a cheeseburger, curly fries, and big words. It’s kind of sad. I should probably upgrade to filet mignon and rolling around in money for kicks or something.”

“Nah. Not unless it’s freshly minted cash. Do you have any idea how many hands the average dollar bill passes through?”

“No, but I bet you do. Go ahead, trivia man. Tell me.”

“Maybe I will, and maybe I won’t. It depends.”

“On what?”

“Your answer to my next question,” he said.

“Lay it on me,” I prompted him.

“Oh, wait. I hate to do this to you, but can I call you back in a second? I saw the time and realized I’ve got a tiny bit of business to do. I promise it won’t take long,” he said, his tone apologetic.

Who was the workaholic now? But I had about an hour left of my own work anyway. “No problem,” I said. “But you owe me the dollar trivia when you call back.”

“I promise, I’ll tell you everything you never wanted to know about the lowly single bill. I’ll take care of this as fast as I can.”

After he hung up, I stared at the phone for a minute, disappointed we didn’t talk longer but relieved he had enough self-discipline to take care of business. Goodness knew, I didn’t. After all my big talk to Sandy, I had almost abandoned my work just because Ben had made me laugh.

I shook my head at my moment of weakness, found my backbone, and dug out a new audit report. When Ben called fifteen minutes later, I was immersed in a payroll discrepancy from the marketing department. I surfaced long enough to murmur a distracted, “Hello?”

“Hi, Jess. Sorry that took longer than I thought. But I’m armed with dollar trivia.”

“Oh. Uh . . .” Even as I stared at the stupid payroll report, temptation urged me back toward a conversation with Ben and away from work. Again. Dang. I needed to focus on my project, but I didn’t want to blow him off.

Ben rescued me as I stumbled around, trying to find a polite way to extricate myself. “Uh-oh. Sounds like my window of opportunity closed.”

“I’m sorry. I kind of hit my groove on the work stuff I have to do.”

“No problem. Don’t work too hard though. You might get a hunched back and a squint,” he teased.

“That only happens to people in Dickens novels. I’m more in danger of carpal tunnel or a Craig allergy,” I answered.

“Yeah, well. Remember to take breaks sometimes. I usually solve my toughest problems after I step away for a while because I can look at them with fresh eyes.”

“I know. I just have to get this done.”

“I can respect that.” He was quiet for a moment, and I didn’t know what to say. “I guess I better let you go,” he said.

“Thanks for the invitation tonight,” I offered lamely. “I’m sorry I couldn’t go.”

“There will be other air hockey tournaments, I’m sure. Good night, Jessie.”

“Good night,” I parroted back.

“Oh, one more thing,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“You should take a look on your doorstep when we hang up.”

I was already heading for the front door when he ended the call. When I opened it, I found a bag with a cheeseburger and fries and a rental copy of
Saturday Night Live
, best of Will Ferrell. Ben had tucked a napkin under the corner of the DVD box and scrawled, “A dollar goes through hundreds of hands in its life span. Gross. I’d rather spend it than roll in it!”

I ran for my living room window and strained to see down into the parking lot. A car pulled into the main road, and as it passed beneath a street light, I could see the deep blue shape of Ben’s Acura slipping away.

I grabbed my phone and called him, but it went straight to voicemail. Instead of leaving a message, I hung up and typed out a text.
I refuse to watch Will without you
. I sent it and retrieved my burger. I was wiping up the last of my ketchup with an exceptionally tasty curly fry when I got a text back.

Ben had replied simply,
I rented him for a few days. Call me if work lets up.

The ball landed back in my court. Again.

Chapter 17

I
N THREE YEARS AT
M
ACROSYSTEMS
, I’ve never had a week drag so much. Each day crawled by, sloth-like and agonizing.

Working late didn’t help speed things up any, and I was sick of eating three meals a day at my desk. Craig worked just as late every night, which did nothing to validate Sandy’s opinion that I only imagined the competition between us.

Now staring blankly out the office window, half my brain tried to puzzle through an audit problem, and the other half brooded over how much I didn’t want to work the long hours stretching before me. This time last week I had been counting down the minutes until lunch with Ben, and everything looked brighter and shinier. Quite a contrast to my current mood, which mirrored the gray Seattle sky.

When I’m stuck idling, sometimes the best thing to do is switch gears. I picked up the phone and called Sandy.

“I’m bored,” I snapped when she answered. “Quick, tell me a joke.”

“Knock, knock,” she said without missing a beat.

“Who’s there?”

“Pathetic.”

“Pathetic who?”

“Pathetic girl who calls me as a poor substitute for the hot guy she should be calling because she has her priorities all screwed up.”

I snorted. “That’s stupid.”

“I should have made it rhyme. You would have liked it better.”

“I don’t think it was the rhyming. I think it’s the part where you called me pathetic. That wasn’t my favorite part.”

“Give me five minutes, and I’ll make it up to you.”

“It’d better involve your emergency sugar stash,” I grumbled.

“This will be way better than candy.”

“Cheesecake? Don’t tease me.”

“No. I forgot to shove a cheesecake in my purse this morning. Check your e-mail in five minutes.” And she hung up.

I spent the next five minutes in the ladies’ room, fixing a strand of my hair engaged in angry rebellion, then made a brisk return to my desk for my coworkers’ benefit. Inwardly, I slouched and cringed in resistance. I wasn’t only sick of eating at my desk. I was sick of my desk, period.

I clicked open the e-mail from Sandy.

To: Jessie Taylor

From: Sandy Burke, Assistant HR Director

There once was a girl in Seattle

Who fought Craig the Snitch in a battle

She worked hard and won

But never had fun

So go call Ben or you’re lame

I snatched up the phone again. “Worst limerick ever,” I said when she answered the phone.

“Limerick writing wasn’t in my liberal arts program. If you give me a week, I could render the spirit of the limerick in an abstract sculpture.”

“Please don’t. Your poetry makes me scared of your art.”

“It’s abstract. You won’t be able to tell if it’s good or bad. For all you know, I might reshape a couple of wire hangers and call it an interpretation of a girl who works too much.”

“Cool. Will you sell it?”

“For hundreds and hundreds of dollars, none of which I’ll share because you mocked my creative process.”

“I have to go now,” I said.

“Are you mad I’m not sharing my hanger art money with you?”

“No. I’m calling Ben.”

“Yes! The limerick changed your mind, right?”

“More like the fear of more coming if I don’t call him.”

“Interesting.” I heard papers rustling. “I’m entering ‘pathological fear of limericks’ in your permanent employee file as we speak.”

“If it helps me to avoid them from now on, go right ahead.”

“Oh,” she breathed. “Uh-oh, I feel another one coming on. There once was a plaid covered lumberjack—”

I hung up.

I tapped my forehead, right between my eyes, like it could focus my thoughts or something. I hadn’t heard from Ben either way in the last three days, not since Monday, but that was kind of my fault. I debated between a phone call and an e-mail. Ultimately, I chose neither and went with option C, as in
cop out
, and sent Ben a text again.
Knock, knock
.

It’s not like every comedian out there hasn’t helped himself or herself to someone else’s jokes at least once. It was a tribute to Sandy.

A minute later, Ben’s reply came back.
Who’s there?

Hooray! He used the proper form of
who’s
! Be still, my word-nerd loving heart.
Will
, I typed.

Will who
? he responded.

Will Ferrell. Some girl’s had me trapped for three days, and I can’t get out. Save me!

After a long pause, he texted back.
Okay, but only b/c the video store expects you by tmrw. Tell the crazy lady to call me
.

I punched his number in.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi. I don’t know if you remember me or not, but my name is Jessie. We’ve hung out a few times?”

“Jessie . . . Jessie. Sounds familiar. Are you tall-ish, with brown-ish hair and green-ish eyes?”

“Sounds me-ish. Keep going,” I encouraged him.

“Let’s see. If I have the right person, you have a cool condo, you’re pretty, and you’re funny.”

“Almost. I’m just pretty funny.”

Ben laughed. “No, I definitely had it right the first time. You’re pretty, and there’s no ish about it.”

“Well, thanks.” I had developed the ability to accept compliments through years of my mom’s coaching. She insisted to all of her girls that accepting compliments with good grace was a way to let other people practice kindness, whether we were comfortable with praise or not. But I didn’t mind one bit being complimented by Ben.

“So, Jessie, long time, no talk.”

“Yeah. Sorry. Work again.”

“Man, that place sounds brutal. How did you ever get away for lunch with me last week? Did you have to sneak past the guards?”

“Oh, them,” I said. “We get an hour every day in the yard, like real prison. I used it to grab lunch.”

“And when do prison hours end today?”

I eyed the pile of work sitting in my in-box and turned my back on it. “The guards leave at 5:30, and I’ll be right behind them.”

“Good. That means you can eat dinner with me. I think it’s my turn to cook. I open up a mean box of takeout,” he offered.

“But you already bought me a burger,” I protested.

“That was a cheap bribe in a bag. Let me bring you something from an actual carton to prove I know how to treat a lady right.”

“How can I refuse?”

“You can’t. Say yes.”

“Fine. But I expect phenomenal cartons.”

“I’ll meet you at your place at seven?”

I agreed and disconnected the call.

I switched back to the desk phone and dialed Sandy again. When she picked up, I announced, “I called him.”

“And?”

“And he’s coming over and bringing dinner. Are you going to be around?” I knew she would want us to hang out without her even if she didn’t have plans already, but I also knew she would play chaperone if I wanted her to.

“Jessie, it’s not BYU anymore. There’s no ‘chastity line’ in the condo,” she pointed out.

When I had explained about the BYU rule of no boys ever leaving the common areas of a girl’s house or apartment, she had fallen off the sofa laughing. She loved my tales of BYU housing rules and honor code guidelines, especially the beard card for guys. She still didn’t believe it existed.

“Sandy . . .”

“No, I don’t have anything major going on, and I can sit and measure the distance between you all evening. Can I borrow your Book of Mormon?”

“Are you getting religion again?”

“Nope. It’s one of the few details I remember from logging time at the stake dances. Book of Mormon width is the standard distance to help protect your morality, right?

“Uh, are we talking the width of the cover or width of the spine?”

“This ain’t BYU any more. I’m only counting the spine.”

“You’re definitely the right girl for the job.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled. “Do you really think he’s the type to bust a move on you on your sofa?”

I stayed silent for a long moment. “Is it bad to say I hope so?”

I could still hear her laughing when I hung up.