Like clockwork, Josephine came into my office at 4:45 with a steaming cup of half decaf, half caffeinated Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee. Today though, I was too busy to look up.
“Mr. Truitt?”
“Hmmm?” Using the 7mm gouge, I notched into the wood and shaved a long line off the side I’d been working on for more than a half hour.
“Would you…like a Band-Aid?”
I’d completely forgotten that I’d Scotch taped a strip of napkin to my thumb to stop the bleeding. The blood had soaked through and turned most of the white material a lovely shade of red. It looked worse than it actually was.
“No, it’s fine.”
“Might I ask what you’re doing?”
My shirtsleeves were rolled up to my elbows, tie was loosened, and I was leaning over my garbage pail shaving a four by six block of wood. I stopped and looked up. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Carving wood?”
“Very good, Josephine. I knew I kept you around for a reason.”
I thought it was the end of our conversation, so I went about my carving. But Josephine just kept standing there watching me. I sighed and looked up again. “Did you need something else?”
“But why? Why are you carving?”
I responded with the God’s honest truth. “I have no damn idea.”
By six o’clock, I had two more makeshift napkin and Scotch tape Band-Aids and a garbage full of wasted wood. Perhaps those split leather thumb guards I saw on YouTube weren’t just for pussies after all.
It was rare that I had a drink when I was alone. But I poured two fingers of Macallan twelve-year-old scotch when I got home, and found myself staring out the window at the park. The summer days were long, and the sun was just beginning to set even though it was after eight, but people were still out enjoying the weather. I watched a couple riding bicycles together and wondered when it was that I stopped appreciating things like the park. Looking down from my penthouse window, it felt a lot like I was watching from the ivory tower that Bianca had assumed I was perched in.
Bianca. The woman had taken over my thoughts for the last day and a half—consumed might have been the more appropriate term. With more than two hours until part two of our online interview, I decided to pass the excruciating wait by having Jay touch base with her. Even though I detested texting and preferred to pick up the phone or write an appropriately composed email, texting felt more like something Jay would do.
Jay: How was your stress level today? Did it require fondling your balls in the company of strange men in dark places?
I tossed back the rest of my scotch and slouched into my couch, stretching my long legs out in front of me—not entirely different than the two douche suits in the park yesterday. Only, I wasn’t about to trip an old lady. Bianca took more than a half hour to answer, and I’d started to wonder if she was going to blow off Jay. But then the dots started jumping around.
Bianca: Sorry. Was in the shower. And today was peaceful, actually. I worked on a story, then went to go visit my mother. No ball fondling necessary.
For you, maybe. But now that I was thinking of Bianca in the shower, there might be some ball fondling on my end. I probably should have eased into being a perv, but I couldn’t help myself.
Jay: Shower, huh?
Bianca: Get your mind out of the gutter. You’re a long way from washing my back. You haven’t even scored your first kiss yet.
Yet. Sometimes it was one word that exposed my competitor’s hand. I smiled to myself. That kiss was a foregone conclusion in her mind—maybe I could quit slicing my fingers to shit then.
Although, I spoke too soon. She texted back before I had a chance to respond again.
Bianca: Speaking of kisses, what are you whittling me?
Jay: What would you like?
Bianca: Hmm…what is your signature piece?
I’m pretty damn good at making wood blocks into uneven sticks.
Jay: How about an animal of some type?
I’d seen some animal patterns on line with step-by-step instructions. Once I’d mastered control of the gouges, how hard could it be? There was one video where a ten-year-old boy carved a fish in less than five minutes.
Bianca: An animal sounds great.
Jay: So when is this little exchange happening? My wood for a kiss.
Bianca: LOL. I know you smirked when you wrote that last line—My wood for a kiss.
I smirked. Again.
Jay: Are you suggesting I’m a pervert?
Bianca: I am.
Jay: And how do you feel about perverts?
The little dots jumped and then stopped a few times. I was extremely curious at what her response would be this time.
Bianca: I actually like a little deviant in my men, I’m finding.
Although the thought of her liking a little deviant made my cock twitch with delight, something didn’t sit right with me about her last two words. I’m finding. It made me wonder if she was referring to Dex’s actions last night—sending her half-naked selfies certainly fell into the realm of deviant behavior. I wondered if she would tell me about him—about me.
Jay: Any plans for this evening.
She took a moment to respond.
Bianca: Just going to do some work later.
Hmm…technically, she was telling the truth. Dex was work.
Jay: How about dinner Thursday night?
Bianca: Can’t. I have plans already. Friday?
Plans? Did she have a date? I had no right to grow annoyed, but that didn’t stop me from feeling that way. In fact, I had a date myself on Friday night—some mundane banquet that I was scheduled to take Caroline to.
Jay: Busy Friday. Saturday?
Bianca: I’m actually going out of town Saturday afternoon for an assignment. Maybe the next weekend will work out.
There was no damn way I was waiting a full week to see her again. I didn’t hesitate when I made my decision.
Jay: I’ll cancel my plans for Friday. Pick you up at seven?
Bianca: OK. Sure.
Jay had a date with Bianca for two nights from now, and Dex was gearing up for his 11PM chat. What had this woman done to me?
Promptly at eleven the online chat box popped up on my laptop.
Bianca: Good evening, Mr. Truitt.
Dex: Yes, it is, Ms. George. Are you ready for round two?
Bianca: I am. I gave a lot of thought to our discussion last night, and you were right.
Dex: I usually am. You’ll need to be more specific.
Bianca: I meant, that I think the article should focus more on you personally and less on the business angle of things.
I liked the sound of that. Focus more on me, Georgy Girl.
Dex: Are you telling me that your questions are going to be more intimate this evening? Because our deal still stands—question for a question, Ms. George.
Bianca: I can take whatever I dish out. You ready?
My dick twitched. Down boy. She was talking to Mr. Truitt.
Dex: I’m always ready, Ms. George.
Bianca: First question—Are you in a committed relationship?