A Forgotten Love (girlxgirl)

Heya! I have no claim to the art, I found it in the internet and thought it was brilliant. That is all. I hope you enjoy the story! Warning: Homophobes and conservative Christians may have mild cases of heart burn...the rest of you, enjoy!

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The beeping of the alarm clock woke me up again this morning.

Just like yesterday.

And the day before that.

I wish I had more time. Time to read, time to think, time to breath.

But here I am, at my office, surrounded by the same idiots that I am every day.

I glare at the man in front of me.

“All I’m asking from you is to get your author’s bloody manuscript! If you can’t have it edited by next month, the funding department is going to make cuts on it again.”

Carl nods and nods, but I can see I’m not really getting through to him.

Next is Pauline. She still doesn’t have all her chapters finished.

Then Tom. The only one with an extended deadline.

Of course, no one ever actually meets their deadlines. That would be like asking a cat to bark and an atheist to pray. Editors can’t meet deadlines. Nor can authors. It’s a rule.

I, Lina Simons, am the unfortunate chief of this department of editors responsible for romance novels. Yes. Romance novels. Not my forte, but when life gives you lemons, it tastes bitter.

I rush through most of my day, like always. I yell at people, praise others, write twenty different letters and appeals, finish three chapters of editing and eat a lunch of cold tuna salad sandwich.

“Lina, Lina, I forgot!”

I turn around, cursing my bad luck. I’m the only one left in the office. I work the longest, till around ten.

Just my luck to get stuck with someone else’s work. And to top it off, it’s Jim, the personnel guy, whom I asked a few days ago to hire someone new, waving a file at me.

“Lina,” says the breathless and cursed Jim. “Can you do me a huge favor? I have a family get together tonight; we do it every year, to remember my dad’s passing. But I totally forgot and scheduled the candidate with the best resume for today. Could you please, please meet her? You just have to have dinner with her and see whether she qualifies or not. The reservation is under my name for two at 10:30. Please, please, please.”

How could I say no? I can’t help but feel sorry.

Putting up my professional face, I turn and say: “Sure.”

Jim Jenkins, who will one day rot in hell, pushes the file into my hand and turns.

I close my eyes. Sigh.

Long, long night.

The restaurant is pretty crowded.

I ask the overly friendly hostess for the reservation for “Jenkins” and she leads me to an empty table.

I look around. There are couples, married, unmarried, a group of teenagers, and a group of elderly women. It’s funny how Italian restaurants attract every type of customer.

I order a bottle of red wine and check my watch. Ten forty one. She’s late.

I sigh and sip at my red wine. Ten forty six. What a long night.