Chapter Seven: Don't Get Mad, Get Even

I smiled and shrugged.

“I get the feeling I’m not anything like the guys you typically date. I figure it will take maybe a half a dozen ‘first meetings’ before I make any kind of good impression.”

“I don’t ‘typically’ date anyone, so you needn’t be concerned with that. You’re not like the other physics majors I know, but I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

I listened to Calla talk. I heard what she was saying. But, God forgive me, I heard Matt translating in my head. Years of association, and he had filled my head with his ideas about what women were really saying. Calla’s protestations about a lack of dating would mean one thing to Matt the Pimp.

“I’m single and available, and bored with the guys I know.”

“So you wouldn’t be opposed to getting to know a lawyer?” I smiled, “We’re culturally acceptable on a level with rats.”

“Like I said, I don’t date. But some of my best friends in the lab are rats, so I don’t have a problem with getting to know you.” Calla smiled again.

Matt’s translation: “I may be saying I’m not dating, but I’m not really saying ‘no’ either. Try harder, dummy!”

“How are you friends with rats?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Have residences at universities deteriorated since I was a student?”

“Not at all, I just spend time in a biology lab as a research assistant.”

“I thought you were in physics?”

“For my doctorate, sure. But I had a double major as an undergraduate, and one of my old professors got me the job with a colleague of his. Besides, we use rats in some of the physics labs too. Research is research, and I’m good at it.”

I smiled. “You should be a lawyer. I’m up to my eyeballs in paperwork sometimes.”

“Well, I don’t know if my rat friends would have much to do with me if I became a lawyer. They have high standards.”

A joke. In Matt’s world that would translate as Now we’re getting somewhere, keep trying.

Her grin and tone forced me to laugh. I couldn’t help adoring this girl.

“So you like the photo?” She asked.

“I think it’s lovely.”

“My friend Bianca took it. She’s quite talented.”

“Do you know the girl in the picture? I can’t see her face, but she seems so melancholy.”

“Melancholy? My, your expensive law school professors must be proud.”

“It just seems like the right word.” I shrugged.

“I’m teasing. That’s me.”

“In the picture? Are you kidding?”

“Not at all. I was visiting Bianca early this summer at her parents’ cottage, and she took that while I was sitting on the swing, thinking.”

“What were you thinking about?”

She shrugged herself. “I don’t know. That was months ago.”

Calla stepped to the next picture, and I had no choice but to accompany her.

“Are you much into art?”

“Well, I’m trying to support my friend. She’s very talented, in my opinion.” Calla looked around at the rest of the student work. “I can’t say that anything else really catches my eye. But then, I’m no expert.”

Matt the Pimp caught my eye from behind Calla, where he was chatting with a few students. He gestured like he was about to come over. I gave a brief shake of my head, “no,” and tried to telepathically scream for him not to approach.

Matt excused himself from the young ladies and came right over. Goddamn telepathy. Why do you only work in movies and comic books?

Calla turned to the new presence at her elbow. While she looked away, I waved my hands at Matt, my eyes wide. “Nooo” I mouthed.

He said it anyway. “So, are you going to introduce me to this crazy chick?”

I ran my hand over my face. Calla put one hand on her hip and the other held out her glass, forcing Matt back a step.

“Excuse me?”

Matt caught my eye. “I mean, the chick that’s making my friend so crazy.”

I waved my hands more fervently. That wasn’t helping either, I didn’t want him advertising how much I liked Calla.

“Chick? Does anyone talk like that?” Calla looked at me. I immediately dropped my hands to my sides.

“You’ll have to forgive my friend, Matthew. He was raised by wolves and has no manners.” Matt raised an eyebrow at me and mouthed the word “hot” behind Calla’s back. I glared at him.

“Is he the one who teaches you the bad pick-up lines?” Calla glanced at Matt.

“Shut up,” I mouthed to him. That worked as well as telepathy.

“I teach him the good ones. Digger just screws them up. He’s known for tripping over his own tongue.” Matt smiled, “I’ve gotten us off to a bad start. Please forgive me. I’m Matthew Pinard, my friends call me ‘Matt.’ I hope, if you’re going to be friends with Digger, that we can get along.”

Damn the bastard and his silver tongue. Calla softened a little.

“Just don’t let it happen again,” she said. She smiled at me. “So you’re a gentleman despite bad company?”

“I think I’m only a gentleman by comparison. Find a real one, and I probably look like a dumb schmuck,” I joked, recovering my wits.

“The way pretty girls highlight themselves by having fat friends.” Matt nodded sagely. My eyes widened, promising revenge. He blinked. “I think I’m going to go now.”

Matt the Pimp with the Big Mouth wandered back through the crowd. Calla laughed as he went and then turned back to me.

“He’s your friend?”

“Since we were small. I kind of can’t get rid of him.”

“He’s charming.”

“Really?”

“In the way that the racism in Huckleberry Finn is charming.”

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Chapter Three: Can't Help Falling in Love

Matt the Pimp was still laughing. He slapped his hands on the table, coughing. I waited for him to finish, staring at my plate. Eventually he caught his breath and sipped some water from his glass.

“Wooo, that was funny. Dude, man, you are nuts.” He wiped his eyes.

“It’s not that funny.”

“Yes, it is. You can’t be in love with a total stranger. You don’t know anything about her. Plus, it makes no sense. She kisses you, then forgets who you are… Whatever her issues are, you don’t need her making you crazy. You should come out with us tonight, do some drinking, some dancing. Forget this Wiley chick. She’s not going to call you anyway, from the sounds of it.”

I shrugged, playing with the remains of my pasta. “She might.”

“Dude, you sound as delusional as she is. No one is worth that much crazy. Come on, I’ll pay for lunch. Let’s get out of here, and I’ll meet you at Madison’s after work.”


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I sat at my desk, staring at the computer screen. I had no idea what I was looking at. Lorraine was standing in front of my desk, going over the calls I had missed.

“…appointment tomorrow with your father, your mother called, Chris Geertz left a message about Wednesday’s meeting…” Her voice was a droning buzz that I barely registered.

“Lorraine, how long have you been married?” I asked, turning towards her.

It threw her off her pace. She glanced at me over her bifocals. “Excuse me, sir?”

“To Mr. Bowden. How long have you been married?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Thirty years, why do you ask?”

“I just wondered… How did you know? I mean, that he was the guy for you?”

Lorraine took a step back, holding up her notepad and glaring at me.

“Are you feeling all right, Mr. Franklin? You don’t usually ask personal questions.”

“Yeah, well, you’re usually so intimidating, I don’t like to bother you,” I admitted. She laughed.

“Well, that’s true. I try to maintain a professional demeanour.”

“The other secretaries are terrified of you, so I guess it’s working.” I grinned.

“Now, to answer your question… Well, Mr. Bowden and I knew each other a long time, since high school. We were comfortable together, he was the sweetest man I ever met. I think I always just knew.”

I nodded.

“No one else ever made me feel like I was their whole world.” She glared at me over her glasses again and said sternly: “But that’s between us.”

“Of course!” I held up my hands, trying not to laugh.

“What’s with the questions?”

I shrugged. “Well, I met someone today, and she was pretty amazing…”

“That’s more than enough, sir. Is there anything else?”

I blushed. “No, thank you, Lorraine. That should be all for the day, if you feel like leaving early.”

This was unexpected. She blinked. “Thank you, Mr. Franklin.”

I barely heard her go. I went back to staring at my computer, getting nothing done. I wore out the time until it was about seven, and then got up to leave. I put on my suit coat and went to the elevator, the last to leave as usual.

The elevator took forever to get to the lobby. I crossed the ornate marble floor, my feet clicking rapidly across the slick surface with a staccato beat. I was moving a little too fast, so when someone bumped into me near the doors, we both fell over.

“Hey!” I snapped. I guessed that they had come through the doors too fast, and bumped into me without even seeing that I was there.

“I’m so sorry!” Calla Wiley said, looking around dizzily. I helped her to stand, too surprised to speak.

She looked into my face once we were back on our feet. My arms were around her for balance, and she was pushed up against my chest, holding my arms. My world was filled with the scent of her, the warmth of her body. Suddenly, I was a little dizzy myself.

“Frank!” She said. “I found you! Have we met yet? Am I too late?”

“We met this morning… My name’s Diggory, remember? I gave you my card.”

“Oh, shit!” Calla swore loudly, gripping my suit jacket tighter. “I haven’t called you, have I?”

“No,” I raised my eyebrow. “I mean, you should know that better than I do… We haven’t spoken since this morning. Don’t you remember?”

“There’s always disorientation after transition. I don’t even know what day it is. I found you with this.”

She pulled a card out of her jeans. I recognized it as mine, but it had seen better days. It was wrinkled and one corner was torn, and it had a coffee stain. It had my business address and number, so I guess she used it to find the building instead of calling.

“You could have just called, you didn’t need to come down here.” I smiled, trying to be charming, “I’m very glad to see you, though.”

“Shut up and listen to me, Frank! You need to stay as far from me as possible. Forget I exist. Don’t answer if I call, and don’t call back if I leave messages. Promise me!”

She started pulling away. I tried a grab for her wrists, not willing to let her go just yet.

“No!” Calla screamed, her voice echoing across the lobby. I was glad that we were the only people here. “Let me go! It’s too dangerous for you, Frank!”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” I said. She struggled in my hands like a writhing snake. I could barely hold her, and wondered why I was even being so forceful. I let go immediately.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so rough…” I started.

“I can’t… Just stay away! Please. If you see me, run in the opposite direction.” Calla turned and ran for the doors, back the way she had come. I chased after her once again, going through the spinning door and following her as she sprinted for the subway.


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Chapter Two: Cupid's Chokehold

There was a meeting that morning for the law department, and, instead of listening, I was staring out the window. My chin rested on my hand, my elbow on the table. The tips of my fingers idly stroked my mouth softly, as I thought about Calla Wiley and that kiss earlier in the day.

No matter that she didn’t remember it, I certainly did. I wondered what that was about? Was she crazy? Or was I? After all, her hair had grown a few inches in mere minutes, and she’d changed her clothes. Did she have a twin sister? Was it some weird Presque Vu? A hallucination?

“…A nice daydream? Hello, Diggory!” The presenter, Christopher Geertz, was waving at me.

“What’s that? Sorry, Chris, my mind must have drifted.” I folded my hands on the table and gave my best “yes, I’m listening” face.

What was it about her? The scent? Her intensity? Her eyes? I mean, she was a total stranger…

“Excuse me, Chris, but I, uh, have a call to make. Very important client, would you excuse me?” I held up a hand and left the room before anyone could protest, leaving my leather chair spinning in my wake.

I hurried to my office, not talking to anyone I passed in the ornate halls. I passed beautiful paintings without seeing them, failed to greet friends and coworkers.

“Meeting end early, Mr. Franklin?” called out Lorraine, my steely secretary, as I passed her desk.

“Hold my calls, Lorraine,” I said, ducking into my office and closing the door.

I sat down at my desk, running my fingers through my hair. What was wrong with me? Losing my focus, skipping out on the meeting, all for some stranger?

I picked up the phone and hit a speed-dial number, and waited while it rang.

“Dude, ‘sup?” A familiar voice answered.

“Matt, I’ve got girl troubles, want to grab lunch?”

“Sure thing, bro, I know just the place.” He hung up, no doubt returning to slacking off.

I sat down, feeling better. No one knew how to interfere with deep thinking like my best friend, Matt the Pimp.

**********************************************************************************

I had known Matt since grade school. Our parents played bridge together, and went to the same country club. He was the quarterback of our high school team, and I was the vice-president of the student government, and one of his receivers.

He was one of those guys who instinctively knew how to attract women. He was cocky, and knew he was King Shit of our high school, Turd Mountain. That was what I called him and our school, in my head. I wasn’t jealous of Matt, we were both pretty much equally popular. But he loved the attention, and I knew high school was full of melodrama, and didn’t really matter. At least, I told myself I was above that stuff.

Even so, all through university, I relied on Matt in social situations. He always knew the best parties, the hottest girls. He came to work for my dad in the PR division, and so we worked in the same building. I might have thought him shallow, but that didn’t stop me from benefiting from our friendship. He had set me and our other friends up on so many dates, I had started thinking of him solely by his nickname.

“What’s up, Digger?” He asked, as we met in the lobby and headed out to lunch.

“Just a weird morning, I need to clear my head, get out of the building.” I shrugged. Matt the Pimp raised an eyebrow.

We hustled down the street to a restaurant, ordering cocktails with our meals. He tilted his head to check out a waitress in her skirt while she served an adjacent table. He grinned at me, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“So, girl trouble?” He said, sitting up as she gave us menus. Matt flashed a grin her way, and she smiled back.

“Yeah. I met this girl…”

“Dude, if she’s not working out, come hang with us tonight. We’re heading over to Madison’s for drinks. Me and the boys are meeting the girls there.”

I shook my head. “The boys” meant our usual buddies, but “the girls” meant random women that Matt the Pimp tried to set us up with. He met them in bars, at dinners, the country club, through friends and family. I think his Blackberry had more women on it than I had numbers in my business Rolodex in the office.

“I don’t mean that kind of trouble. I’m not dating her.”

“But you want to be,” Matt chuckled. He glanced through his menu briefly, so I took the opportunity to scan for something to eat.

The waitress returned momentarily, and I ordered light chicken pasta with a salad. Matt the Pimp ordered a prime rib dinner for his lunch, and thanked the waitress. He watched her go with a grin.

“Could we focus here?” I asked.

“I am,” he said with a smile, and then turned back to me. “So who’s this girl?”

“Calla Wiley.”

Matt the Pimp’s eyes glazed over for a moment. I imagined he was scanning his mind like a computer checking its memory. Why he remembered girls’ names and not something useful, like how to do his taxes, I will never understand. He clicked back into focus.

“Nope, don’t know her. She new in town?”

“Maybe. She’s a grad student.”

“Ohhh, Digger’s picking up the brainy chicks now. I see.” Matt nodded appreciatively. I got the sense he would be doing the same if I said she was a model, a lawyer or a baker. He would just change “brainy” to some other adjective. “Well, bring her out. A night with all of us, she’s bound to have a good time and end up going home with you.”

“I doubt she’s that kind of girl.”

Matt the Pimp looked at me for a long time. “Dude, I’m totally confused. You’re not seeing her, you’re not trying to get in her pants… What is this chick to you?”

“I don’t know. That’s the trouble.”

“Maybe you better tell me what happened."

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