Trying to Throw my Arms Around the World

What we know

What we know

I called Lucy twenty times on her cell phone but she didn’t pick up. I left her messages displaying various degrees of panic but she didn’t call back. I was on my own, with only a slamming headache as company, and it was decision time: ignore Mrs Henderson’s e-mail or become Annabelle’s bitch. Not that I had much of a choice, really. I could have used a pep talk though, or even some mild scolding. I drained cup after cup of strong coffee until I bounced out of my chair with nerves. I stalked out of the office, avoiding Annabelle’s smug face, and went on my way.

“May I call you Lee?” Mrs Henderson asked. She didn’t look as old as I remembered, but she was hardly a well-aged beauty. I would never, I thought. And in my case, with my many flaws and proclivity for sins of the flesh, that spoke volumes. I sat in an all-white sofa in a surprisingly modern-looking apartment of which I wondered if it was Mrs Henderson’s and Annabelle’s love nest. I slipped to the edge of my seat just in case.

“Of course, Mrs Henderson,” I said and I felt like a fifteen-year-old who got caught snogging her best friend in the locker room and was called into the head-mistress’ office. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

“Would you like a glass of wine, Lee? I have an excellent bottle of Shiraz open.”

I had no idea if I would be able to hold it down but I nodded politely. I stared at my faded converse sneakers and realised they didn’t fit the surroundings at all. If I had known I’d be eating with the rich I’d have at least worn an unripped pair of jeans.

“Don’t be nervous.” She handed me the glass and I made a point of admiring it foolishly. “I don’t care about your extra-curricular activities, nor Lucy’s for that matter.” She sat down next to me, her knees pressed together in that lady-like manner. “That would be fairly hypocritical of me.” Her grey-black hair, cut into a bob, didn’t move an inch when she shook her head.

I managed a small smile and met her eyes for a split second before bowing my head in near-reverence again. What did she want from me then? Why was I there? My mind, not helped by dehydration, was racing and the palms of my trembling hands started to feel dangerously clammy. I must not drop this glass, I thought. I must try to not make a fool of myself.

“I just want to make sure we understand each other.” She put her hand on my shoulder and gave a little squeeze.

I looked at her hand and feared the worst. “Of course,” I said. I turned my body towards her, forcing her hand to slip off.

Her gaze followed her hand for a moment, then she looked up again, right into my eyes. “Let’s eat.”

“I respect and admire Lucy,” Lynette — which I was now invited to call her — said. She tucked the last piece of steak into her mouth and chewed it slowly, making me wait for her point. I had barely touched my food, just shuffled it around on my plate a bit in an effort to be polite. “She’s doing an amazing job, don’t you think?”

“She’s a good boss.”

“She has big plans for Blogging The Globe and I’ve no doubt she can make it work.”

“Yes—”

“But,” she said and put her knife and fork down, “there may be certain things you don’t know about Lucy Rowe.”

“I bet there are loads of things I don’t know.”

“The question is—” She poured me some more wine. “—do you want to know what I know?”

To be continued…