Love Fool

11 Sting like a bee

August

"Mary, would you like another coffee?"

"Sure, Eva. Hey, I like you a whole lot more since you started dating that Sven guy," Mary pointed out.

"Eh?"

"Yeah, I really like this new side of you. You're nicer."

"I still have my bite, which is worse than my bark." I swiveled my chair and got up to grab two cups of coffee-one for me and one for the lovely Mary, who wore a gorgeous Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress, delightfully adorned with an array of butterflies against the black print.

Her dress matched my floaty, tangerine Eloise silk print dress, by the same said designer. Mary became a loyal ally at work, and a friend. I tried to avoid getting personal with business, but it was becoming a challenge, as I frequently bore witness to Mary and my brother, Jack, cozying up at family barbecues.

Yep, you guessed right. They were officially dating, thanks to me, apparently. I had forgotten to pick Mary up for a work golf tournament, so I called Jack, who came to the rescue, as he was running late.

When Mary and Jack arrived at the golf course about half an hour late, I expected her to be fuming with fury.

Nope, she was a glossy eyed diminutive star twinkling around my brother, who was her bedazzling, luminous moon on a dark night. Together, they were Vincent van Gogh's The Starry Night and the world was their canvas.

Marissa, my favorite office gossip (can you tell the sarcasm?) who hit on Jack when he first started at Hudson Engineering, had no shame in declaring her disappointment that he was no longer single.

However, when I surprised her with a calendar featuring twelve hunky nearly nude male firefighters, I came close to wiping some drool off her soaking chin. That particular calendar, which raised funds for the children's burns units in hospitals, sold out like hot cakes on a chilly winter day.

That act of kindness alone bought me an ally in a political shitstorm that was about to hit the fan. Nothing I did in the office was gratis-this, my dears, was the world of office politics.

"Mary, I'll grab us some coffee while we're waiting for Larry and the other managers for the Emder project," I ascertained, as I exited the immaculately clean meeting room.

Larry was usually late for meetings. However, here's the thing-if I was late at least once, which rarely happened, he would throw a racket and aim at me with snide comments on my tardiness. In retaliation, I would curtly remind Larry of his hypocrisy. Larry was quick to throw his colleagues under a bus to deflect his weaknesses, so he did not deserve politeness.

Besides, this was the business of oil and gas engineering, where I worked with former roughnecks (Larry was not one). A roughneck is a common industry term that refers to men and women who have worked on an oil rig, either onshore or offshore. My roughneck colleagues now led their own teams with their wealth of knowledge and experience. You can't buy the type of education that these managers had with a fancy university degree.

They, by far, outshone Larry when it came to making the right decisions for customers' challenges. They also swore like seasoned sailors and spoke with a certain directness that was not for the faint hearted.

By the time I came back with the coffees, Larry was there with a select group of engineering heads who were responsible for ensuring that the project succeeded. These weren't my dear roughneck buddies, but an elite bunch of ex-private school boys who purposely excluded me from group lunches at the elite Tattersalls Club downtown. Why? I didn't have a dick between my legs.