Play It By Ear

Luring You to Your Death

The following Thursday, I walked into work with three plastic grocery bags weighing down my arms. Mr. Leighton had texted me again at some insanely early hour and told me he wanted-no, craved- a baguette with black raspberry jam and lemon muffins. How he could eat like such a pig and work as much as he did while still retaining his drool worthy body was far beyond me. Must have been all the wild sex with of his bimbos, my mind glumly concluded.

He had gone out on a date every night after my first day, leaving me with a stack of work and coming in the next morning with a huge grin on his face. Twice now he had been so proud of his conquest that he had shown me pictures of the girls. Each and every time I had to double check his dinner reservations or sit through him talking about the girl he had gone out with the night before, something broke in me just a little bit more. It was stupid, I knew, but I couldn’t help it. I had a crush. That was evident, no matter how much I tried to fight it. Even the other assistants on the floor, Macy and Joan had seen it before I even fully admitted it to myself.

“George, glare any harder and he’ll be certain to notice,” Macy had whispered to me just the day before after watching my pained expression at Mr. Leighton’s back as he slandered back into his office. He had come out and told me I was staying until nine that night to catch up on more work while he went to a club opening. What kind of club even opened on a Wednesday night for Pete’s sake!

I bypassed my desk completely and went straight into Mr. Leighton’s office to set up his breakfast for him. As the week drug on, I couldn’t help but hate my job more and more. The experience definitely was not worth getting breakfasts everyday and doing his work while he went out and had more sexcapades to rub my face in the next day. I could totally tell why Ms. Wilburstein had thought I was just one of his one night stands. With the amount he went out, he was bound to have of done over a hundred women within the past four or five months. I shivered at the thought.

By the time I was done straightening up his desk and preparing his meal, Macy and Joan were already there. When I came out, both girls had spun around and flashed me smiles. During my week working for Mr. Leighton, both girls had assumed the positions of segregate mothers.    Macy was in her early thirties with a ticking biological clock and Joan already the soft-spoken single mother of triplets. I flashed them a smile in return and joined their mini-party around Macy’s desk.

“You’re just in time, babe! Joan was just about to make me sit through another three hundred odd pictures of her children. The day has barely started and she’s already trying to kill me!” Joan laughed but continued to pull up the files anyway from her jump drive.

“Mace, we all know you secretly adore cooing at my children,” she said under her breath. Both had been assistants on this floor for at least five years and were the best of friends, despite their near constant bickering.   

We sat for the next ten minutes looking at pictures, cracking jokes about the rambunctious seven year olds and sharing a bar of chocolate I had picked up that morning.

“George?” Macy said after a minute long laugh fest over the final picture of the boys pretending to be cheerleaders in their school play.

“Yeah?”

“I think you should call that Dean fellow that left you his phone number and ask him on a date for tonight.” My head snapped up and I sat frozen.

“Why?”

“Just do it.” And suddenly, my phone was shoved in my ear. I counted the rings on the other end. Three. Seven.

“Hello?”

“Hey Dean, it’s George from the other day? I was wondering if I could possibly take you up on your offer of letting me try that Danish tonight?” I glared over at Macy and watched as Joan stifled a laugh. Was I really that awkward?