The Apple of My Eye

Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me

In the interest of preserving a modicum of decency, I went back to work the next day determined to cut the crap once and for all. If I wanted to be respected as a reputable professional, as a talent to be reckoned with, and not as some no-hoper who just happened to get a lucky break now and again, then I was going to have to make some changes. And those changes would involve saying goodbye to the depravity that my lifestyle in the workplace had turned into.

No more monkey business was to be conducted in my office. No more. I had gotten many a stroke of luck—in more ways than one—and had never been caught by anyone, but the truth is that I was being cornered by these deviant monsters that I had created myself. It was time to put the proverbial fence back up around me before all those fuckers ate me alive.

Of course I didn't set out to contact each and every one of the aforementioned womenfolk to notify them that the life of fun and games they had come to experience with me, as they knew it, was over, effective immediately. I would only go to the trouble of explaining anything to them should necessity present itself, that is, if they ever came back a-knocking. I would just as soon they left me the fuck alone and that was that.

At first, there wasn't any great commotion. It's not like I put up the new rules of the day on the bulletin board or anything. Plus, you know how it works: no one wants to give away too much, so, in a situation like this, people tend to act like they don't care, like they don't really want to have anything to do with whoever's dumping them—or not looking them up anymore. I was hoping they'd reckon that, if I was refusing their advances and advantages, tough luck: I'd be the one on the losing end of that deal, not them. I was totally fine with that underlying principle.

If only it had been that simple. After a couple of days, the plump girl from the reception was the first to want to talk about it. Then this other girl, to whom I'd referred as hot tamale a few chapters back, demanded to know why I had all of a sudden stopped making time for our sexcapades. Then one by one, until every one of them was giving me a piece of their mind. It would have been a lot more convenient if I could have called a meeting of sorts and explained my reasons to them all at once. But no. There had to be a long talk with each of them girls. Admittedly, some were easier: I got to escape their grip through Skype. I even managed to get a couple of them—those of a more elegant persuasion—to wish me well in the process. Can you believe that? Others, however, required a little more effort: tête-à-têtes in my car that lasted hours and didn't end on peaceful terms. Fuck-you bullets were fired, aimed straight at my head, proclamations along the lines of "you're so gonna regret this," and other threats of the most unusual variety.

At the end of it all, I was exhausted, but I was also relieved that I'd be getting that weight off my shoulders. It had been good while it lasted, but for a while now I'd been getting no satisfaction out of it. I could now finally go to work and expect just that: work. No more fooling around. No distractions. Michelle was going to be gone in a couple of weeks, too, so 2008 was reaching its conclusion in the best possible way, that is, just as it had begun: lots of work, lots of responsibilities, some recognition, too, that's always great, lots of promise, and no more, and I mean no more secret services of any sort.

Plus there was Star. Maybe she was the real reason for my moral makeover. Maybe she had triggered the whole crusade. I had this big crush on her, no doubt about that, but I had no idea what I was going to do with it. In all honesty, I didn't think there was much to do anyway. I'd told her how I felt, I'd poured my heart out, and now all I could do was sit still and wait. Wait for her to come looking for me, which didn't seem probable, or simply wait for the dust to settle so I could forget about her altogether. The way I saw it, it wasn't going to be the hardest thing I'd ever had to do. We hadn't really gotten involved in any way other than intellectually—and emotionally, yes, but what I mean is, we hadn't even kissed. If I had managed to get Natalie out of my system, I figured Star would be a cinch.