I watch the watch.

16:34:46

16:34:47

16:34:48

The sooner it gets there the sooner I can leave. The sooner I can leave the sooner I can forget all about my work and all my obligations to other people.

I already have a list in mind of what to do with my time this evening. Nothing exciting, go to the gym (maybe), do the supermarket shopping (definitely), have dinner, play some computer games, watch some TV. The life of a middle-aged bachelor.

16:35:11

Time to start closing up the office. I make my way around the office, closing the blinds and turning of the equipment. At the front counter the only other staff still on duty are packing up their bags.

I wish them both a good night and lock the door behind them as they leave. With everyone else gone and the office locked up there was no real reason for my to actually stay until 5pm. Early mark for a change.

16:38:00

Something out of the corner of my eye doesn’t look right, I glance from the wristwatch to the ugly blue chair in the office vestibule.

The chair was always ugly, and always blue, neither detail had caught my attention, but only highlighted the thing that should not have been there. Sitting on the seat cushion of the ugly blue chair was a small grey rectangle that was just the right size and shape to be an iPhone.

Despite my own iPhone not looking like that I pat my trousers pocket to double check my phone is still there. It is.

I reach down and pick up the lost phone and turn it over in my hand slowly. Current model. In a grey leather Prada case. Expensive and showy.

It doesn’t belong to any of the staff, I know what their phones are, and this isn’t it. That could only mean that a customer must have left it behind. And now, because I found it, it was my problem.

I walk back to my desk and set the phone down next to my keyboard. A quick flick through the phones setting and address book suggests that the phone’s owner is someone called ‘Pam’. But she has no other listed contact number.

Not yet ready to start calling random people in the phones address book, the only course of action is to wait and hope the owner re-traces her steps, or calls.

Great. That means if it rings I’ll have to answer it. How does one answer a phone that isn’t there’s?

So much for leaving early today.

16:40:01

I recheck my emails and the local news websites, killing time in the hope that the owner of the phone will call.

The phone rings, playing a pop song I do not know.

I press the green ‘answer call’ button as I lift the phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Hi, can I talk to Pam?” asks a female voice.

“She’s not here, I found her phone, but don’t know how to get in touch with her and tell her.” I reply.

There is a pause.

“Okay, I’ll try calling one of her friends and letting her know.”

She asks me where I work and I realise I’m going to have to stay around until closing time now, just incase the mysterious Pam shows up to collect her phone.

16:44:47

That did not help. More waiting. More killing time.

16:51:11

The phone rings again. I answer it, again.

“Hello?”

“Who’s this? Can I talk to Pam?” asks a male voice.

“I’m Simon, I found this phone, I think Pam must have left it behind in my office.”

“Simon? Where do you work? What was Pam doing there?”

Useless questions. However this guy is, I don’t like him already. Why would he ask that sort of stuff? Knowing how and why the phone ended up in my office won’t help me get it back to its owner.

“Er, I don’t know. I just found it.”

He pauses again.

“I’m her boyfriend, Ted. Pam doesn’t have a landline.” He tells me. At least this is partially relevant information. “Can you hold onto the phone so I can get it off you? When do you close?”

“In 10 minutes, I’m in Newtown, where are you?”

“Canberra.” He replies. Not close, not even in the same city. “I’ll be in Sydney in about 45 minutes. Can I come get it off you then?”

Oh crap. Now what do I do. Stay at work an extra hour just to hand some blonde bimbo’s phone back to her boo?

He picks up on my hesitation. “It’s really important. Where will you be in 45 minutes?”

Shopping for dinner at the local supermarket? Images of trying to arrange a clandestine meeting with a strange guy in the middle of an underground supermarket flash through my mind.

“Home I guess, Kings Cross.”

“Can call you when I’m near by and come by and get it?” He made it sound like it wasn’t a question.

It occurs to me that I have no idea who this guy really is. Is he Pam’s boyfriend? Should I trust him and give him the phone? I don’t even know what he looks like. I don’t know what Pam looks like either. His name did come up on the screen with caller ID when the phone rang. He at least is someone she knows.

I must have taken too long to answer again. “Come on mate, its important, you just go about what ever you were going to do and I’ll come to you.”

“Sure I guess.” I find myself saying.

“Okay, see you soon.”

“Okay, um, bye.”

The line goes dead and I look at the phone wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into now.

With a foolhardy plan in place there is no more point in my hanging around the office. I grab my shoulder bag, put the fond phone in and leave, locking the office door behind me.

16:57:54

As I walk to the train station I reach into my bag and set Pam’s phone to silent. Plans have been made. I don’t need to answer any more calls and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let that ring tone go off again while I’m on the train.

17:09:19

The train ride home is a little behind schedule and I hear the phone buzz a few times in my bag, but ignore it, what could I say anyway? “Hi, I’m on a train with Pam’s phone, I found it and thought it would be good to take it home with me.” No, just let the go to her voice mail, she can sort all that shit out later.

17:36:50

As I walk down my street I look at the phone screen and see that there is a missed call from the boyfriend, Ted. I should call him back. I wait until I get inside my front door so I can at least have the conversation in privet.

I ring him.

“Hi Ted here.” Guess he doesn’t use caller ID.

“Hi Ted, its Simon, with Pam’s phone. I just got home.”

“Oh, right, I was just in your area, I’m at Edge Cliff now, can be back your way in a few minutes. Where abouts are you?”

I give him my address and try not to think about the scenario where Ted turns out to be a serial killer and this is all an elaborate trap.

“Okay, see you in 5 minutes.”

The line goes dead.

Again I look at the phone and then look around my small apartment. Whoever this guy is I don’t want to have to deal with him in my house, I don’t want to have to offer him a drink and make small talk for the minimum socially allowed 6.54 minutes.

But if I’m waiting outside? I don’t know what he looks like. Doesn’t matter, it’s a small building and he will be the one that doesn’t know where he is going.

I actually nod to myself, feeling like the plan is under my control since first picking up the phone and I go back down the stairs and into the street to wait for a guy I don’t know.

17:39:00

The little street I live on is quiet, the sun setting slowly as people arrive home from work. I stand around trying to look casual while trying to check on everyone that approaches my building.

17:41:01

I’m bored and he hasn’t show up yet.

17:41:11

A large expensive looking car pulls up and parks nearby. A large expensive looking man gets out and looks around. He seems to be looking at the addresses, which catches my attention. He is mid 30’s, hair shaved close, 5 o’clock shadow. He turns as walks away, from me. Maybe he’s not the guy. His suit and the body underneath seem a contrast, I’d bet he played football at college and is not a real-estate agent or some other profession that requires people to look better than they are.

He walks back up the street towards me, looking at house numbers and his phone.

I take Pam’s phone out of my pocket as he looks over towards me.

“Ted?” I ask.

He nods. “Yeah.”

I hold out the phone and he takes it. “This is yours then.”

“Thanks for this mate, you’re a life saver.”

I smile and shrug.

“I’m just glad to get this off my hands.”

He frowns and if I’d said the dumbest thing possible. Maybe I had.

“Anyway, see you around.” I say to him, hoping he takes the hint to leave.

“Yeah see you.” And with that he turns and goes back to his car.

As I’m walking up the stairs to my flat it occurs to me that I don’t even know if that was the same guy I was talking to on the phone.

17:55:34

Joe burst out of the building, into the small dark lane, the sun not yet high enough to pierce the deep gullies between the office buildings. His scuffed black leather boots, the closest thing he had to business shoes, slapped loudly on the cobbled lane way. One, two, three steps, his legs unsteady, he stopped. He needed to get away from here, but his legs would not work. He steadied himself, resting his left hand on the grimy red brick wall.

The lane was like any of hundreds of others in the heart of the city, interlinking the real roads like invisible cobwebs, ancient and unmaintained, only known to the delivery drivers, drunkards and detectives. People don’t walk down the back lanes of Sydney unless they already know where the lanes go. And they don’t know where the lanes go unless…

I didn’t even like the job.

He lent his back against the wall and tried to control his breathing. The door he had just exited slammed shut, the loud sound echoed in the lane and made him jump, his breathing out of control again. He tried to count to ten, but kept getting flustered and couldn’t remember what came after five.

He looked at the shops backdoor, it seemed blurry, he was glad he would never need to walk through it again, blurry doors were hard to walk through. He rubbed the palms of his hands to his eyes and sniffled.

Don’t cry, not for this, they don’t deserve it.

The job had been two months of stocktake hell, and four months of sales hell before that. He was glad to be clear of it.

Don’t stay here you idiot. If they see you they will want to ‘talk’.

He heaved himself off the soothing cold wall, the back of his cheap white business shirt damp from sweat and dark from dust, he turned and stumbled off down the lane. His boots catching on the old cobbles as he walked, scuffing the black polish more.

He grabbed at the bright yellow tie that was around his neck, part of his uniform, it had always felt like a leash, now it felt like is was choking him, he pulled it loose and tugged it free. Each step away from the shop felt better than the last, as if the physical distance was linked to the nausea, it started to fade. He wanted to throw the tie away, just toss it on the ground and leave it, forget about it and everything it represented, but some inner ‘no littering’ part of his brain wouldn’t let him. Instead he folded the 100% polyester yellow strip up without looking at it and stuffed it into his trousers pocket.

He stepped though a low sandstone archway and into a real street. The heat and noise of Sydney hit him in the face. Morning peak hour was over, the work day had begun, but it was not yet lunch time, the quite morning lull. There were only hundreds of people rushing around to their next appointment, instead of the thousands that would be bustling the streets in a few hours, all trying to get lunch.

He stood on the street uncertainly. He had no idea what to do with himself. If he went home he would have to explain what had happened to his flatmates. He didn’t even understand it himself yet. Everyone else he knew was at work and not being fired. He needed to sit down and shake off the nerves that were still threatening to trip him over.

Just keep walking.

Despite their unsteadiness, his feet seemed to know the way and ten minutes later he found himself an acceptable four blocks away, standing at the counter of an almost empty McDonald’s. He ordered a large Big Mac meal without even thinking about it and carried his tray to an empty booth upstairs.

As his butt touched the red faux-leather padded chair his legs gave way, he collapsed into the booth. The strain of keeping himself upright and moving was one less thing to worry about.

What the fuck do I do now?

He picked up a fry and chewed on it slowly as he stared through the back of the chair opposite him.

Six months ago he had sent his résumé in for a sales job at a ‘Naught Games’ computer shop. He had never done sales and had never wanted to, but anything was better than the dole. At least that’s what people always said. Surprisingly they had hired him and with very little effort he was the newest ‘Account Manager’ at one of their many suburban stores. The title of ‘manager’ had surprised him until he had learnt that everyone in the company was a ‘manager’ of one thing or another. It should have been his first red flag. He hadn’t known the company was desperate, hadn’t known they would hire anyone that applied.

He had tried, he really had, but he just couldn’t bring himself to use the required high-pressure sales tricks, or up-sell something that the customer clearly had no interest in. So while the customers were always happy with his assistance, his manager and the CEO were unhappy with his sales figures. Not that they told him at the time.

He reached for another fry and his hand went into the empty carton. He looked down at the tray and realised that the food was gone, the burger wrapper scrunched up and the soda cup empty.

Who ate my food?

The answer came with a stifled belch tasting of cola and burger. He looked at his watch, 10.54 am.

Now what? Can’t sit in McDonald’s all day.

Back into the streets, walking without direction. He tried very very hard not to think about his financial situation.

He walked past men in dark business suit pants and bright white business shirts. He walked past women in high-heels and coloured summer dresses. His hands in his pockets, his head down, not looking where he was going, he didn’t see any of them. When he occasionally glanced up all he saw were hundreds of people all of them still employed. The glimpses he got of their faces confirmed his fear.

Everyone knows I’m a loser.

While waiting at a pedestrian crossing he absently pulled his mobile out of his pocket. He dialled Matt, his ‘very bestest friend’, as he waited for the lights and tried not to notice that the city was full of successful people.

The crossing light went green, and he stepped out into the road with the other people, a forty legged beast crossing the road as one.

“What’s up Joe?” asked the voice in his ear.

“What are you doing? I need to talk. I got fired.”

“Sucks to be you.”

Arsehole.

“Can you—”

“Busy here,” Matt cut him off, “got things to do, later.”

The phone line cut off. That had actually gone better than he had expected. At least Matt had answered the call.

Two months ago the regional manager had promoted him from the sales role in his suburban store, to the stock role in the city store. Everyone was a manager, the city store had 19 account managers, a stock manager, a finance manager and a store manager. However the job was simple enough, all he had to do was monitor every piece of stock that entered and left the store and do daily, weekly and monthly stock-takes to make sure all the books balanced. He hadn’t known he was being set up.

He blinked and looked up at the sun as it climbed towards its zenith, the bright warmth doing nothing to improve his mood. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his sun glasses. Shielding his eyes was easy, shielding his fears, not so much. He lowered his gaze and took in the man-made nature of Hyde Park. The trees swaying softly in the wind and soaking up the sun. On any other day the sight of the swaying green would have warmed his soul. Today it just reminded him of money and his pending lack of any.

Do I dare even look?

He stopped on the foot path and looked around, the first time he had really taken in the view of the city around him, his eyes looking for any one of 28 different symbols or signs that all meant the same thing. Three shops further along a small yellow ATM sign hung out of a connivance store, like a hustler trying to con people to look inside.

He had to know.

He walked into the compact shop and tried to act like someone who still had a job, finding the teller machine tucked away at the back of the store, forcing him to make his walk past all the candy and chocolate. He punched the numbers and waited for the machine to spit out the receipt. He glanced at it and shuddered. If he cut back on his food then he might last four weeks… maybe five if he really pushed it. After that it would be back to Centrelink.

He brought a bottle of coke just so the small Indian man behind the counter wouldn’t think he was an unemployed bum, and walked back out into the sunny street.

Too many people. I can’t think with all these people around.

He turned slowly on the spot, hoping his feet would just start walking again as soon as he was facing the right direction, but when he spun back around to the start he guessed his autopilot had given up. He looked to the right, into the now bustling streets of the city, he looked left, towards the park. At least there were less people in the park.

Half-way across the park he sat down on the cold grey stone steps of the War Memorial, not seeing the ‘do not sit on steps’ sign. He drank some of the cola as he stared at the reflection pool, the water rippling slightly in the wind.

The first full stocktake had gone smoothly, the previous stocktake manager had stayed on to help. The second full stocktake a month later had turned up a few problems, but the store manager offered to help, and the problems went away. A few days later the store manager quit.

His bum was numb so he got up and continued across the park. He followed the left hand path around the large artillery gun that stood at Whitlam Square, the military grey weapon pointed straight down Oxford Street.

Incase the gays invade.

He smiled for a second at the thought of scantily clad gay marching boys trying to do anything more complex than dance in step. He walked down the three steps that returned him to street level, the exact spot that only a few yeas ago he had waited to meet his first ever date. That made him smile a little too. Finally his mood starting to lift.

He unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt as he crossed the road. He rolled up his sleeves as he walked up Oxford Street. Trying to fake a more casual attitude.

An instinctive need raised in his brain, a longing, an undeniable desire.

Coffee.

He stopped walking and looked up, standing directly outside his favourite coffee shop, or at least the closets thing he had to a favourite. He went into the narrow shop and ordered a strong black, not his usual drink.

Sitting at a table on the sidewalk, he sipped his drink. The coffee was hot, too hot, it burnt his tongue and the roof of his mouth. He swallowed it down fast just to get ride of the discomfort, the damage already done. The skin on the roof on his mouth already forming a heat blister and dying.

He added another spoon of sugar to the hot coffee, knowing it would neither improve the gritty flavour nor make the brown liquid cool enough to drink. A justification, a reason to delay having another sip. He added yet more sugar, giving the beverage more time to cool off on its own.

He procrastinated another spoonful of sugar into the coffee. While listening to the high pitched tick of the spoon hitting the hot white ceramic as he stirred the sugar in, he wondered if it was fair to sum up his personality as an active procrastinator.

After the new store manager started at the shop it was time to do another stocktake. The problems turned up again. The exact same problems. Only this time they didn’t go away. That had been yesterday.

His phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket. The caller ID on the screen read. “Matt.”

Too late.

He hit the ‘ignore’ button and stuffed the phone back into his pocket.

He watched the people walking along the street, this was better than the city, the people here were more real, less judgemental. Creative types that knew what it was to struggle with a vision. Horny types that were after only one thing. Downtrodden types that couldn’t see a way out of the gutter.

$252,900.04 of stock was missing. Over a quarter of a million dollars. More than five years of his wage. And whose responsibility was it? He had to admit that as the stock manager for the store, it really was his problem. The CEO agreed with him.

The sun started to drop slowly, moving from the harsh mid-day, to the long summer afternoon.

More coffee.

The waiter walked over and put his new coffee down on his table.

“Rough day?”

Joe blinked in surprise, looked up and just nodded.

“Want to tell me about it?”

“No, not really.”

Why was this guy being so friendly?

The waiter shrugged his shoulders.

“Suit yourself mate.” And picked up the empty dirty cup and went off to his other duties.

As he sipped the second coffee, more carefully than the first, he noticed the surface of the drink ripple slightly. He put the cup down and held his hand out before his face, the muscles in his hand twitched a little, the caffeine and the stress getting to him. He shrugged and sipped at the coffee anyway.

The conversation had been brief. The CEO wanted answers. Joe didn’t have answers. The best he had were suspicions, guesses, but no proof. It would just look like he was pointing the finger, shifting the blame. So he said he had no explanation. So the CEO said he was fired.

He looked at the empty coffee cup and then at his watch. 3.05pm. Peak hour would hit soon, the buses would be crowded with the hot smelly cranky people on their way home.

No way I’m putting up with that, not anymore.

He went to the counter to pay. The waiter took his money.

“Cheer up. It could be a lot worse you know.”

He frowned as he took his change.

“I guess. Could be a lot better too.” He shrugged and left the coffee shop.

He walked back towards the city, walking a little lighter now, his unease caused by too much caffeine now rather than the adrenaline from before. He had been unemployed before. He could do it again. Back to baked beans on toast for breakfast, lunch and dinner. He would make do.

The bus trip home was long and dull. He rested his head against the window, feeling the vibrations of the bus rattle around in his skull. It was strangely comforting.

He had been shaking a little as the CEO hung up on him. He put down the phone. There was no way he was going to make a scene. So he wrote a short, but polite, email and addressed it to everyone in the company. He pressed send. A message appeared on the screen:

“Not able to send email. You do not have permission.”

Stunned at how quickly he had been frozen out of the system, he set his computer to secure erase all his personal files, picked up his sun glasses and his iPod and walked out the back door of the shop before anyone could stop him.

Three months and still unemployed.

The fortnightly trip to the local Centrelink office was once again part of his routine. The Centrelink office felt like it was deliberately designed to make you feel unwelcome. From the ‘Welcome to Centrelink’ sign written in a sharp harsh font and half hidden behind a potted plant, to the pinky-grey synthetic carpet that was puke and blood proof.

He stood in the queue with the dole-bludgers, the chronically unemployable and those just unfortunately on the wrong side of 50. He waited to hand in his form and get the judgmental acceptance of his Government.

In the corner of the barren office space was a television, mounted from the ceiling so no one could break it. His attention was draw to a familiar face. The caption read “CEO - Naught Games”.

What the hell is he doing on TV?

The sound was muted on the tele, so all he could go by was the captions as they changed.

“Naught Games liquidated.”

The queue moved forward slowly as the people ahead of him had their issues dealt with.

“Millions in unpaid salaries.”

Jonathan, the man behind the counter gave him a weary smile as Joe handed over his form. Jonathan looked the form over, one side and then the other, stamped it and added it to the pile.

“CEO flees country.”

Maybe being unemployed isn’t too bad.

END

Story first written for Uni Class in November 2011

Ethan sat naked on his bed in the dark room rubbing one side of his head with one hand and holding his old iPhone to the other side of his head with the other hand. Stupid. Should not have answered the phone. Very stupid.

“Trace, its two in the morning, can’t this wait?” More stupid, should not have asked a question.

“No. It can’t wait.” At least her sobbing was calming down. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

The call cut off before he could say anything. In the dim blue light from the phone screen he looked at the large body next to him in bed, his lover, his boyfriend, his partner. The words didn’t capture the full strength of his recently growing feeling. Husband. A smile flickered across his face unconsciously. So what if they weren’t actually married.

Ethan reached out and patted Arron’s hip. “Go back to sleep Big Bear.” Aaron’s grunted under the covers and pulled the sheet up over his head.

Ethan got up, stretched and padded to the bathroom, he peed as quietly as he could in the handbasin while he checked facebook for updates on his phone.

There was an update from Trace 3 hours ago:

OMG what a pig, and not the sexy kinky kind. Someone get me out of here.

Ethan needed some clothes. The idea of answering the door stark naked was always fun, but if Trace was in a horny and rejected mood she might think it was an invitation. He shuddered.

He fumbled around in the dark bedroom, grabbed some track-pants and a t-shirt and pulled them on as he left the room, closing the door behind him.

As he walked to the kitchen he sent Trace a text message:

Don’t ring the doorbell.

Yawning he filled the electric kettle, got cups and teabags ready.

The phone vibrated in his pocket.

I’m here.

Too late to get out of this now.

He walked to the front door and pushed the intercom unlock button.

Trace pushed the door opened with her shoulder as the lock buzzed loudly. She walked up narrow concrete staircase. Why did Ethan have to live in a building that didn’t have a lift?

When she got to the third floor Ethan was waiting for her, leaning against the door frame to his apartment, a hot mug of tea held out towards her as he sipped on his own bright pink mug. God she loved this man, why did he have to be so gay.

She reached out and took the offered mug and sipped at it without either of them saying a word. Ethan pulled the door to his apartment closed and nodded his head back towards the staircase.

She nodded in agreement.

Ethan’s building, as he actually owned the whole building, was a small modern apartment building in the trendy intercity part of town. The roof offered a surprising unhindered view of the city skyline, so the tenants used it as a communal area. During the day you would usually find one someone working on their tan or yoga or just hanging out their washing.

In the corner of the roof with the best view was a random collection of second-hand chairs. Ethan and Trace sat down in silence and looked at the view of the city and the stars. The night air was warm, still and clear.

She sipped at her tea again and looked over at Ethan. “You got anything stronger than tea.”

Ethan shock his head. “Not for you, tea only.”

She grunted, unhappy with his answer.

“So where the fuck do I get a good guy from?”

Ethan shrugged. “Most the guys I know are gay.”

She grumbled. “Well that doesn’t help.”

He shrugged and then pulled a notebook and pen out of his pocket and opened the book to a blank page. “Perhaps if you told me what you were looking for.”

“A huge cock!” She blurted out.

Ethan blushed and chuckled at the same time at that. They were close, but usually didn’t talk about sex stuff. “I thought girls didn’t go by size.” He wrote it down anyway.

Wanted: Huge cock.

She smiled, “Well, if I’m being picky, why not.”

Ethan smiled. “Yeah, fair enough I guess. So what is this huge member attached to then huh?”

Trace closed her eyes and thought about it.

“Killer body, dazzling smile, honest, caring, wicked sense of humour, masculine with out being ‘blokey’.”

He wrote all this down.

“Must be mature.” She went on.

Ethan shock his head. “No no no, don’t put that in, unless you want him to be over 80.”

“Well, then what?” She sipped her hot tea more.

He scratched the blunt end of the pen to his ear as and considered. “How about ‘romantic grown-up with boyish charm.’”

She nodded. “And rich.”

He kept making notes.

“No smokers. No Asians.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow, “Racist!”

She grinned and shrugged. “No inmates. No small cocks.”

Ethan smiled. “Obsessed with size aren’t you?” He tore the page out of the notebook and passed it over to her. “Just sign your name to the bottom.”

She read over the note, crossed out the word ‘huge’ and wrote in ‘massive’ and then signed it. “If only I had a fairy god mother or something to send this to.”

“Just a fairy gay guy here tonight.” Ethan pointed out. “In the movies they always tear up and burn the letter so the magic can happen or something.”

Trace folded the note over and tore it into pieces and then pulled out a cigarette lighter and light it on fire and tossed it into the air. The pieces of the note floated up into the sky as they burnt away, the feeling of rejection and loneliness lifted, but only a little.

Ethan finally made it back to bed at half past three, after having driven Trace home and seen that she had gotten inside. He pulled the sheet over himself, trying not to wake Aaron.

Aaron reached over and hugged him into a spooning position and kissed the back of his neck.

“You are far too good to that girl.”

Ethan put a hand over the large hand on his chest. “She was very very kind to me once. When she didn’t have to be and nobody else was.”

“You ever going to tell me that story?” Aaron mumbled.

“Do I have to?”

Aaron hugged him a little tighter. “No. No you don’t. But you don’t have to keep it to yourself either.”

Ethan smiled deeply, feeling truly happy. “Ask me in the morning.”

Interviewing for a new shop assistant was not going at all well. The hangover she had from last night was not helping.

Trace couldn’t exactly remember how she had ended up at home, but if it was anything like usual Ethan had probably been all gallant and made sure she got home in one piece.

Only three people came in to apply, and they had all been guys. Not that guys couldn’t be florist… but these three guys were definitely not right for the job. She couldn’t even figure out why any of them had applied.

The first one had been a huge hulk of a guy, easily 6’8”, muscled but softly spoken. He had walked into the small florist, careful to make he way though the shop without knocking anything over and waited until she had finished her phone call before introducing himself. He seemed uninterested in the flowers, but instead asked her about herself, her past, her future, her dreams. They had talked for almost 45 minutes and then he had written his number down on a post-it note before making some excuse about having other positions to apply for and leaving.

The second had been closer to what she had expected, shorter, 5’10”, slim, wearing funky alternative clothes and a messed up hairstyle, his ears and eyebrows pierced, and probably other places too. He had looked around the shop and seemed genuinely surprised when she mentioned the flowers. When he had said “All I know about flowers is that they aren’t very tasty.” She couldn’t help but look at his flat belly and imagine the tight abs his t-shirt was not doing a very good job of hiding. He had left a business card that listed his title as ‘Circus Geek’.

The third guy had been slim and tall and wearing a perfectly pressed pin-stripped suit and a bowler hat. He had spoken proper english and had assured her that he had all the qualifications she had specified and she was welcome to inspect his equipment if she wanted to confirm his claims. His business card was a shinny waxy card with embossed lettering and only had his name and phone number on it.

No one else had turned up for the job. It was now almost midday, she had served a few customers and made up a few online orders, but was getting behind again. She still needed a new assistant, but she couldn’t possibly hire any of them. She would just have to run the ad again.

Just as she was unwrapping her egg salad sandwich for lunch another man walked into the little florist shop. She looked him up and down and smiled. Finally someone that might suit the job. He was short and slim, shorter and slimmer than Trace was, which always bothered her a little, guys shouldn’t have a smaller dress size than her. Tight fitting designer jeans and a white designer t-shirt. Definitely gay.

He walked over to a display and picked up a bunch of 12 red roses, he set them down on the counter as he sat down on the stool and smiled a very large friendly smile and opened up a old looking filofax.

“So, how did the candidates go?”

Trace frowned. “Aren’t you hear to apply?”

He shock his head and smiled more. “Oh no dear, I’m just hear to see that you find the right person.”

He held out his hand for her, she automatically reached over and shock it.

“Max Snogfest.” He stated, as if that somehow explained everything. “You did put in an advertisement, did you not?”

From inside his organiser he pulled out a folded piece of paper. She leaned forward a little and looked at the paper, it was charred and sticky-taped together. Oh my God. That was Ethan’s handwriting, and her signature.

“Where did you get that?” She grabbed at the paper and snatched it off him.

She looked up from the letter. “So… the guys this morning were…” She look back at the charred letter.

Max nodded. “Yes, exactly, what did you think they were here for?”

She pushed the newspaper across the counter top to him. One ad was circled in blue pen.

Wanted, shop assistant for busy inner-city florist. Must be good with customers and flowers.

Max read the ad and nodded. “Oh well… that’s not really my field, but I’m sure I can find someone for that too.” He smiled. “The much more important question is, which of the gentlemen from this morning are you going to send these roses too?”

Still looking at the letter and remembering what had happened the night before. “They can’t all be perfect matches.”

Max smiled more and reached across the counter and picked up one of the cards used for adding a message to the flowers.

“No, not perfect matches, but the three best I could find as such short notice.” He wrote something on the card with a old style biro. “No one is prefect, and you have some very vague requirements, and some very specific requirements.”

“The circus guy was cute… what’s his problem.”

Max flicked to a page in his filofax. “Hmm, he has a few fetishes, nothing too kinky.” He flicked to a different page. “But they seem to be ones you will enjoy.”

Trace blinked. “You have a page about me in there.” She tried to look in, but he snapped the book shut.

“I have details about all of my clients.”

Max attached the card he had been writing to the 12 roses and then handed Trace the cash to pay for them.

“Joseph has a performance tonight.” He said and handed her a ticket to the show. “Go along, and then go back stage after. See what happens.”

Then Max picked up the roses and left the little florist, leaving Trace confused with her egg-salad sandwich.

Trace had sat at the back of the small theatre to try and blend in. It turned out that Joseph, the circus guy, did sword swallowing, juggling and other side show tricks. He went by the stage name of ‘The Diamond Python’, and looking at the poster Trace couldn’t help but wonder what ‘python’ referred to.

In the show he had picked her out of the audience and called her up on stage and then proceeded to do a surprisingly good mind reading trick. When he had guessed her favourite number was 6 and her favourite colour was sky blue she had been impressed. When he had announced that her favourite animal was a palomino unicorn she had been stunned.

After the show he had mingled with the audience in the foyer, posing for photos and singing autographs. She waited by the bar and had another one of the awful house white wines. Eventually everyone else had left and he walked over to her.

“So, does this mean I got the job?” He asked with a cheeky grin.

She couldn’t help but smile back. There was something charming and disarming about his style.

“Not yet. All you have at the moment is a trial period.”

“Well then, I think dinner and talking and if that goes well, some hot sex.”

She finished off her wine. “Does it have to be in that order?”

He smiled more. “Yeah, lets be old fashioned for a change.” He reached out and took her hand in his. “I need to get out of this costume. You want to wait here? Or come back to my dressing room?”

“What happened to being old fashioned?”

He shrugged. “Nothing in that says you can’t look.” And with that he lead her back to his dressing room.

The dressing room was much like the rest of the theatre, old and dark and slightly odd. As soon as the door to the dressing room closed he started to take off his clothes.

“You’re a bit of an exhibitionist aren’t you?”

He grinned. “Did the sword swallowing on stage in front of 100 people not give that away?”

Trace looked around the little room and noticed 12 red roses on the dressing table. She walked over and looked at the card.

Thought you were cute today, so here are some flowers. Would love to see more of you. Trace. PS: don’t eat the flowers.

“Don’t eat the flowers?” She echoed.

“I didn’t. I was a good boy.”

“Why would you eat the flowers?”

“Why wouldn’t I? I’ll eat anything.” He replied as he got fully naked.

She caught a glimpse of his naked butt in the mirror, but she turned around as he was pulling his jeans up.

“Oh, no fair, I didn’t see.”

He turned to her with a cheeky smile and zipped up his jeans, drawing her eyes to his crotch. “Wine and dine me and I’ll let you look all you want.”

The bulge looked impressively large as he made no effort to look away. Maybe Ethan was right, maybe she was obsessed.

She slowly looked up Joseph’s bare flat abs and over his defined but not built chest, up over his prominent adam’s apple and his square chin to his large lips, finally looking him in the eye.

“So what do you want for dinner?” She finally asked.

He smiled again. It made her smile back.

“Like I said, I’ll eat anything.” He pulled a shirt on and then walked over to her and leaned forward and kissed her before she could stop him. “So the real question is, what do you want?”

“I had dinner before the show. We could get pizza and go back to my place.” She suggested and then realised she had just invited a strange man, a very strange but very interesting man, back to her flat.

“Pizza’s always good. Let go.” He picked up his jacket and lead her out of the theatre.

She lay in bed with the man of her dreams sleeping soundly beside her.

Five large pizza boxers were on the floor empty, he had actually eaten every last slice, which was amazing. More amazing was that she found that a strange turn on. She filed that away as something to maybe mention to her counsellor as she reached over and rested her hand on his belly.

In the dark room he reached over and picked up her phone and wrote out a text message to Ethan:

I found him, the guy from the ad. I don’t know how you did it, but thanks.

END

Story first written for Uni Class in September 2011

Nate walked through the morning city rain under a small brightly coloured umbrella that was clearly not the sort he would normally use. His mostly dull black and blue clothes contrasted with the bright rainbow of the umbrella. His shoes and the lower half of his jeans were soaked.

Five minutes earlier he had been at the train-station with all the other ill-prepared commuters as the rain had started. He had looked at his watch and then back to the sky, trying to determine if he could wait out the downpour. But he was already running late. The only thing for it was to buy an overpriced umbrella from the nearby convenience store and continue on.

He arrived at the old factory, mostly wet anyway and with an umbrella he would probably never use again. He stood under a small awning and pushed the intercom button. The small speaker hummed softly and then spluttered static.

A distorted voice crackled through the static. “Maxwell’s Christmas Factory.”

“Jenny, it’s Nate.”

More static: “Jenny’s’not in today.”

He leaned in closer to the speaker grill. “Its Nate, Nathaniel.”

The static blasted again. “Nate’s not in either.”

He actually groaned. “No. I’m Nate. Come on, I’ve worked here for four months, its pouring out here, just let me in.”

Nothing, not even static. He leaned against the door as he reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone. The door buzzed as it unlocked and swung open behind him, he fell through and landed on his butt in a puddle of water on the cold concrete floor.

He cursed loudly, got back to his feet and slammed the door closed. The sound echoed through the empty factory floor and around the forgotten machines, not disturbing the decade of dust that covered everything. He tried to brush himself off and headed up the stairs to the office level.

At the front desk sat the overly perky Scarlet. She smiled sweetly.

“Oh, Nate, it’s you.”

He nodded. “Yeah, me, wet, but still me.” He smiled back, happy to at least be in out of the weather. Even after 4 months he didn’t know what to make of Scarlet, she was always happy and sincere, but totally inefficient and unable to do the simplest of office tasks. He had no idea why she still had a job.

He weaved his way down the hallways and into his office, setting down the completely wet rainbow umbrella and taking off his mostly wet jacket. He pushed the ‘power’ button on the computer and picked up his empty coffee mug and left the computer to startup as he made his way to the small kitchenette at the end of the long narrow hall.

First coffee of the day. Only instant, but still very important, as was the ritual of making it. Fresh hot coffee in his mug, he turned quickly to return to his office and ran into Scarlet as she walked into the kitchenette. Hot coffee went all over his shirt.

“Oh, opps, that was clumsy.” Scarlet smiled and pushed past him.

He could just tell. It was going to be one of those days.

Nate looked down at his coffee soaked business shirt and then at his empty coffee mug. The wet shirt didn’t really bother him, the hot coffee soaking through the cotton and onto his chest and belly had a warming effect compared to the cold rain outside. The empty mug however did bother him.

He put the mug in the sink, unbuttoned his shirt and took it off.

Scarlet made herself a cup of hot water and dropped in one white sugar cube while she watched Nate disrobe. She made a point of looking him up and down.

“Not bad for a nerd.”

Nate smiled as he put the plug in the sink and turned on the taps. “Thanks, I think.” He replied as he soaked his shirt in the warm water.

Scarlet sipped at her sugar water and shrugged and left Nate to do his laundry.

With a fresh cup of instant coffee in his hand, and his wet shirt over his shoulder, Nate finally made it back to his office. He hung the shirt up in the hope that it would dry before the end of the day. Knowing it was unlikely, a problem to worry about later.

Despite the lack of a shirt it was past time to get to some work done. Checking the website and his emails kept him busy for a few hours. A few people came up to his door, as if about to ask him a question. But they would notice he was sitting semi-naked at this desk and they would just turn around and leave again. He actually got a lot more work done than usual.

Around lunch time he checked the shirt, it was still damp, and it was still raining heavily outside. Sandwich at his desk for lunch.

Again.

Just as he was about to take his first bite, the intercom buzzed and Scarlet’s voice filled his small office.

“Nate, delivery here for you, guy wants you to sign for it.”

He set his untouched sandwich down and reached over and pushed the buzzer. “I’ll be right out.”

The delivery guy smirked at Nate’s lack of shirt and handed Nate the electronic-clipboard.

“Nice outfit.” He said.

“Er, thanks.” Replied Nate as he glanced at the delivery guy.

He was shorter than average, fitter than average, his wet uniform showing off more than it should, sandy brown hair that didn’t look natural and bright green eyes that didn’t look natural either, the creases around his eyes when he smiled said he was over 30, but not by much, his name badge read ‘Brian’, but he didn’t look like a Brian.

Nate signed the clipboard and took the package and was about to leave, when the delivery guy, Brian, stopped him.

“Oh, and here’s my card.” Brian said, scribbling a phone number on the back and handing it to Nate. “In case there are any, erm, problems.”

Nate frowned at the card and shrugged. “Okay then. Thanks.”

The delivery guy turned and bounded down the stairs two at a time, and headed back out into the rain.

Nate was still looking at the card. “That was a little weird, right?”

Scarlet smiled looking over the edge of her newspaper. “Only if you think getting hit-on by a super cute man in uniform is ‘weird’.”

Nate looked up. “He was hitting on me?”

Scarlet added a thirteen to her sudoku. “I was flirting with him, yet you ended up with his number, its not rocket science you know.”

Nate nodded. “No, much more complicated.” And he turned to leave the room.

Scarlet stopped him. “Wait 20 minutes, ring him, ask him for a coffee, tonight. If he says yes, cancel whatever boring thing you were going to do.”

Nate looked back at her from the doorway. “Really?”

Scarlet shrugged. “Or you could do nothing and go home and play your computer games. Up to you. But next time you feel lonely you’ll know it was ‘cause you couldn’t make a phone call.”

Nate walked back to his office, even less sure what to make of Scarlet.

He set the package down on his desk and examined the card. Turning the small cheap business card over in his fingers, examining the hand written phone number.

His mind was fixated with the ten digits. Before he could stop himself images of ‘happily-ever-after’ flooded his imagination. Brian and him buying a small apartment in Bronte, growing old together and spending evenings having dinner parties and entertaining the sort of friends that a glamerous couple ought to have. Feelings of a perfect first date, where every sentence Brian said was wry and clever and insightful, and Nate having the perfect response.

He turned the card over again.

Visions of the worst date of all time flashed through his mind equally unbidden. What if he made a fool of himself, what if Brian was a moron. What if his parents didn’t like him. What if they spit up in ten years time and couldn’t decided who should keep the dog.

He turned the card over again.

He looked at the simple phone number. The one thought that rang true in his head was:

“Your 29. And this is the first time that anyone has ever given you their number. Ever.”

There was a knock on his door and Nate looked up. Scarlet was standing in his doorway.

“So?”

Nate frowned. “So what?”

Scarlet smiled. “So, its been 20 minutes.”

Nate blinked and glanced at his watch.

“Are you going to ring him or not?”

Nate looked at the card.

“What if your wrong, what if he wasn’t hitting on me?”

Scarlet shrugged. “What if I’m not?” She smiled and then reached over and pulled the door closed, leaving Nate in his small office alone, shirtless, and resolved to make the call.

He picked up the phone and punched in 4 digits, got the 5th digit wrong and slammed the phone down nervously.

He tried again, this time making it all the way to the end and waiting for the phone to answer.

“Er, hi, is that Brian?”

Nate listened closely, his eyebrows furrow with the stress.

“It’s Nate here, the, um, shirtless guy.”

He paused and his posture tensed a little.

“Um, no, I haven’t opened it yet. Um, I was wondering-” he stopped, interrupted.

“Yeah, coffee.” He nodded to himself.

“Newtown?” He nodded again.

“Yeah I know the place. What-” interrupted again.

“Okay. See you then.”

He hung up the phone and sighed and slumped into his chair.

That had actually gone a lot better than expected. He glanced at his still damp shirt. It was also his best shirt and he had nothing clean at home to wear. More problems. Was it overkill to buy a new shirt for a date? Was coffee a date?

Nate sat back in his chair and noticed his still untouched sandwich. Finally, time for lunch.

After lunch Nate found it difficult to concentrate. Nervousness about the evenings date kept him form focusing on his work. He needed something to take his mind off it.

Coffee.

He reached for the half full mug on his desk, lifted it to his lips and sipped. Cold coffee filled his mouth and he spat it back into the mug, realising he had made the coffee hours ago. Time for a refill.

The rain continued to pour down on the factories tin roof, filling the building with loud soothing sounds. Much better than the continuous christmas music that was piped though the factories PA system.

He returned to his office, fresh coffee in hand and was surprised to find his boss waiting for him. More worrying was that his boss was idling turning the package on Nate’s desk over and examining it.

“Can I help you Jock?”

The old man jumped slightly, having been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He turned and frowned noticing Nate’s shirtlessness.

“Um, yeah, Scarlet said you got a package.”

Nate nodded. “Yes. For me. Just something I bought online.”

Nate reached over and picked up the package and put it in his shoulder bag under the desk as he finally figured out what Jock was looking for.

“Is the new prototype supposed to get here today?”

Jock nodded.

“Well, I’m sure it will turn up. I’m keen to see this thing myself.”

Jock nodded again. “Okay, well you will let me know if you get it.”

Nate shrugs. “Won’t it be addressed to you?”

Jock shrugged back. “The elves don’t always get this stuff right.” And he turned and left the room.

The rain started to ease outside and the sounds of ‘Jingle Bells’ Caribbean style could be heard through the loudspeakers. Nate reached over and turned on his radio to listen to something else, anything else.

He sipped at his coffee.

Scarlet knocked on his door and he frowned.

“Yes Miss Scarlet?”

She smiled and tossed a bright yellow t-shirt at Nate.

“Found this in the store room.”

Nate lifted the shirt up and looked at it. On the shirt in garish green and red letters, it read: “Maxwell’s where it’s Christmas everyday!”

“Um, thanks.”

Scarlet just shrugged. “Incase your shirt isn’t dry in time.”

Nate raised an eyebrow. “Well, I guess I could turn it inside out or something. Thank Scarlet.”

Scarlet smiled brightly. “No problems sugar.” And she turned and bounced off down the hallway.

Nate eyed his trash bin, but decided that wouldn’t look good if Jock came back in, he shrugged and pulled the t-shirt on, finding it was a size too small and hugged tight to his body. He wasn’t sure if this was better or worse than going shirtless.

He was about to pull the shirt back over his head when he heard shouting from the other end of the hallway.

“Its hear, its hear!” bellowed Jock’s voice.

An appearance at these sort of events was mandatory. He had learnt that on his first week on the job.

Everyone gathered in the meeting room, a little over 20 people, squeezed into a room meant to hold 12. Nate looked around, some were like him and only turned up at these unveilings out of obligation. Others, like Jock himself, were actually genuinely eager to see what the next major development in christmas decoration technology was.

Jock was too eager to wait, he opened the large box and dove his arms into the polystyrene packaging peanuts and pulled out a truly grotesque 2ft tall santa statue.

Jock set it down on the table. The santa look old and stooped over, his cloak and clothes dark brown, his hair and beard unkept, a large hock nose and a grin that said “I’m going to steal your children” on his face.

Nate had never seen such an un-christmas christmas decoration. He loved it.

Jock was examining it in great detail. To Nate’s total surprise Jocks first comment was:

“I expected it to be uglier than that.”

Nobody else said anything, nobody seemed to know what to say.

In this awkward silence blasted a flash of lightning, followed less than a second later by a loud boom of thunder.

Then the lights went out.

Nate turned and ran out of the room and down the hallways and into the small utility closet that now housed the web server. The machine was beeping loudly, its backup battery only good for 5 minutes at most.

Nate pushed the big red ‘emergency shut down’ button. The button didn’t do anything, it wasn’t hooked up. But it felt good to press it anyway. He then pushed the small silver button on the front of each machine causing them to save and shutdown safely.

Another rumble of thunder echoed through the building.

Then the hail started.

The hail pounded on the factory’s tin roof, filling the empty factory floor with a deafening roar. The offices were better protected, but the noise was still oppressively loud.

The lack of power was a bigger problem.

Nate went down stairs and walked through the unused machinery, leaving footprints in the dust. He unlocked and opened the door to the power room and went in and checked the fuses. Everything was in full working order. The building was simply not getting any power.

The blackout must be outside somewhere. He headed over to the front door of the factory and opened it. The little designer swimwear shop across the road was in darkness too. He leaned out the door and looked up and down the street. Everything was out.

Well at least it wasn’t something he would be expected to fix. He went back up to the offices and found Jock.

“Looks like power is out for the whole block at least.”

Jock nodded.

Nate went on. “The website is down, and even if someone rings to place an order by phone, with the computers down we can’t do anything.”

Jock was clearly not thrilled about this. “So we’re screwed?”

Nate shrugged. “Until the power comes back on yeah.” He paused. “And even if we had that generator you wanted, that would only give us an hour of power.”

Nate looked at his watch. It was 3.14pm. The chance that he would get out of here before five today were almost non-existent.

Jock shock his head. “Mains will probably be back on in an hour.”

“Wanna bet?” Nate asked as he walked over to the door.

Jock’s reply was drowned out but deafening boom of thunder.

This sort of thing had happened to Jock before. 29 times before. He only remembered three. The human memory is a fickle thing, and he didn’t even remember that he didn’t remember.

On the occasions he didn’t remember he had simple repeated whatever he had been saying that got drowned out by the background noise. Sometimes this had been the right thing to say, sometimes it hadn’t.

However three times in his life he had stopped, reconsidered and changed his mind. Coincidentally all three times this had turned out to be the best thing to do. These were the only three occasions that Jock remembered.

To Jock this was proof positive. Every single time he had had to repeat himself due to loud noise, changing what he said had been the right thing to do. It was the only option. His poor memory was proof of that.

So as Nate politely waited for the thunder to pass and asked the seemingly simple question. “What was that?” There was nothing simple or accurate about the thoughts that bounced through Jock’s brain.

“Err, nothing. Just let me know when everything is back online.” Jock answered.

Nate went back to his office, stopping at the front desk and the little waiting vestibule to pick up an old newspaper. He folded the paper open to the crossword section and realised Scarlet had already finished the crossword. Perhaps ‘finished’ wasn’t the right word, filled-in was more accurate. She always wrote random colours and numbers into the crosswords.

One hour and four minutes later the lights came back on. Time to get to work. Nate headed to the broom closet he mockingly called the ‘server room’, and started the process of bringing the website back online.

Jock opened the door as Nate was down on his hands and knees resetting the power supply. The overly tight yellow shirt riding up a little, and Nate’s jeans riding down, revealing his plumbers-crack.

Jock, just like anyone else in this position couldn’t help but look. As he did he noticed a large mole above Nate’s left buttock.

He pointed at the mole. “You should get that looked at, it looks cancerous.”

Nate yelped in surprise at Jock being there, and at the comment Jock had made. He tried to twist around to see what Jock was pointing at.

“Are you serious?”

Jock nodes. “I never joke about cancer. Just get your doctor to have a look at it.”

Nate stood up and dusted his knees off as the severs started to hum back to life.

“Great, just what I needed.” Nate checked the computer screen and nodded. “The website will be back online in about 10 minutes.”

Jock wandered off, satisfied that his supervision had fixed the problem, and went to find something else that needed his management.

Nate twisted around, trying to look at the spot on his lower back, but it was in just the wrong place. He went to the men’s room to check it in the mirror. Small, black, irregular shaped mole. Had it always been there? Had it always been that shape? He would have to get it looked at.

5.29pm and Nate was still at his desk, the website up and running smoothly, everything going as it should. He could finally go home and relax after the strange day.

He looked out the window. It was still raining. He pulled on his damp shirt over the top of the bright yellow t-shirt, picked up his shoulder bag and his rainbow umbrella and headed out into the rain.

A 5 minute walk to the station, a 10 minute wait for the train, a 12 minute train ride into town, change train, 6 minute more waiting, a 18 minute train ride home, and finally a 4 minute walk to his flat.

He climbed the three flights of stair to the top floor apartment, side the key into the lock and turned it, and stopped.

“Ah crap.” He shouted to himself, suddenly remembering his date plans for the evening. He had planned to stop in the city and get a new shirt. He looked at his watch. 6.27 not enough time. He pushed the apartment door open and went inside.

Before he got three steps in the door he was stopped by his flatmate. Glen.

Glen was a nice guy, a really nice guy, a bit of a flake, but a nice guy. Without a doubt the best flatmate Nate had ever had. And Nate had had a few in the past few years. But Glen was also the campiest little queen Nate had ever meet.

“Okay, before you freak out, it’s not as bad as it looks.”

Nate frowned and raised an eyebrow. “What’s not as bad as it looks?”

“The damage.”

Nate’s frown deepened. “What damage.”

Glen pointed towards the kitchen. “From that super scary hail storm.”

Nate dumped his bag and umbrella in the hallway and stepped into the kitchen. The window had been smashed, and several plates and cups were shattered on the floor among the window glass.

Glen walked into the kitchen too, pulling on a pair of kitchen gloves.

“Broken stuff.” Glen said, as if that was somehow helpful.

Nate nodded.

“Do I, just put all the bits in the bin?”

Nate nodded again.

“And then… mop or something?”

Nate nodded. “Yeah… and I’ll find something to put over the broken window.”

Half an hour later, the mess all cleaned up and Nate had tapped a large piece of cardboard over the window. It wasn’t a good solution, but it would see the night through.

Nate slumped down on the couch and Glen turned on the telly.

“So… what you up to tonight Nate?”

Nate shrugged and then yelled. “Oh crap.” He got back to his feet and rushed to his room. “I’ve got a date tonight.”

Glen frowned and turned the telly off again. “Did you just say ‘date’.”

Nate’s dashed across the small apartment, unbuttoning his still damp work shirt as he walked into the bathroom. “Yeah, and I’ve got nothing to wear.”

Glen smirked. “Nothing to wear? OMG, you are gay after all.”

Nate stuck his head out of the bathroom door. “Why does everyone always think I’m straight?”

Glen shrugged. “That doesn’t matter right now. Right now you have to tell me everything, about this date, about this guy… it is a guy right?”

Nate grumbled from the bathroom. “Yes it’s a guy. Fine. I’ll tell you, but you have to lend me a shirt to wear.”

1:23 AM

Tuesday, 25th October 2011

Nate was alone, standing on the footpath outside of his apartment building, confused and unsure of himself or of the future.

He slowly walked up the three flights of stairs. His confusion was mostly caused by feelings he had never felt before and didn’t know the right names of. Not knowing what to call these strange new feelings was bothering him far more at the moment, than what these feeling might mean.

Deep down in the being he was sure he had made the biggest fool of himself, and screwed up his one and only chance of true happiness. The perfectly messed up ending to a truly crappy day.

Falling out of bed, orange juice on the cereal, coffee on the office shirt, black out, cancer, and now this, the date from hell.

Maybe he would be in luck, maybe Glen would be asleep and he could just sneak in and…

“Nate! Your back!” Glen chirped.

Nate shrugged and slumped down in the couch, there was no way he was getting out of this.

“So… how did the date go?”

“Worst date ever.” Nate mumbled.

Glen frowned. “Oh really? I’ve told you about that guy whose aunt pulled a knife on me?”

Nate nodded. “Okay, maybe not ever. But MY worst date.”

“Nate, don’t take this the wrong way, but you haven’t got a clue what your talking about. Tell me everything.”

The last thing Nate wanted to do.

“Besides,” continued Glen, “I did lend you my ‘lucky’ shirt.”

Nate nodded.

“Well… it all started with your so called lucky shirt didn’t it.”

Glen frowned and raised one eyebrow.

“We meet at the coffee shop. Turns out his name isn’t Brian. So I made a fool out of myself there.”

Glen interrupted. “So what is his name?”

“Er, Lex. Anyway, so I kept getting his name wrong, after about the tenth time he corrected me. So embarrassing. But then he said he didn’t like my shirt. He said something about ‘liking what I had been wearing earlier’.”

Glen smirked. “When you where shirtless?”

Nate frowned. “Oh… that makes a lot more sense.”

Glen shock his head and got up and went into the kitchen and turned on the kettle. “So then what happened?” He shouted out.

“Well. We ordered coffee. He ordered decaf with soy.”

Glen stuck his head out of the kitchen. “Doesn’t mean he’s a stinky hippy.”

Nate nodded and went into the kitchen so he could continue this conversation without having to shout. “Yeah. Well, turns out he’s lactose intolerant. And the waiter got the order wrong. He downed half his coffee before he noticed it was milk and then he ran to the bathroom. I was left sitting there for 25 minutes waiting for him to return.”

Glen made two large mugs of black tee, one in his bright blue mug, the other in Nate’s pink mug. “Sounds like Lex might have had a crap date too then.”

Nate sipped his tea. “That’s the point. The first time we meet and he gets sick. Why would he come back for more?”

Glen lead the way back to the lounge room. “So… this was at what 8? 8:30? Its now 1:30. What have you been up to for the last five hours? Just moping around and feeling sorry for yourself?”

Nate shock his head. “No, Lex walked me to the front door. We’ve been talking and had more coffee and food and walked around a lot.”

“I’ve had relationships that didn’t last that long.”

Nate sipped at his tea slowly.

“So what else did you do wrong?”

Nate frowned. “Criticised his religion, and a few of his other stupid beliefs, his politics, you know… all the subjects to avoid.”

“But he kept talking to you?”

“Well… yeah.”

“And he walked you home?”

Nate nodded.

“The there is only one question that really matters.”

Nate frowned, a little worried about what this question could be.

Glen smiled. “Was the kiss any good?”

Nate blushed deeply at this and just nodded.

Glen smiled more. “Going to see him again?”

Nate shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Glen smirked, a strange little smirk that made him look more like an elf. “Can I have his number then?”

This caught Nate by surprise. “What, no way. No.” He almost yelled. The conviction in his voice surprised himself.

Glen nodded and got up. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. ‘Worst date ever’ my arse! I’m going to bed.” And with that Glen headed off to his room.

Nate sat on the couch and finished his tea. He was still confused.

Nothing had gone right today. He was sure as he sat there in the darkened room and tallied up all the things that had happened.

Fear and anxiety kept rattling around in his head, but so did these new feeling. He still wasn’t sure what they were called. But he had narrowed it down to two labels. It was either love or lust. That just confused him more.

He got up, put his empty tea mug in the sink and fell into his unmade bed.

It had been a bad day. One of the worst. He was sure. Hadn’t it?

end of chapter