Canada?

The thought had followed me home, boss lady’s words ringing in my ears with constant reverberation.

Canada?

Our sub-zero neighbor to the north? That freezing fucking tundra? What good could come of it? I sat on my sofa the next morning and replayed the previous night’s events.

Canada?

The former commonwealth was a Mecca of bad music like Aldo Nova, Celine Dion, and Bryan Adams. Those three alone should have been enough for this country to bear an unforgivable grudge. Canada was filled with squat, doughy people who gave Wisconsin and Minnesota fat asses a run for their money. Canadians spoke in nasally tones. It was a land of flannel. Bad flannel. Curling was a sport to them. And there was the whole “eh, you know, aboot” thing to contend with. Horrid.

And then the biggest hurdle of all hit me like a bolt of lightning. I would have to fly. On a plane.

I was never fond of flying. The whole idea of sitting on a 100 ton flying death machine elbow to elbow with 200 strangers inhaling everybody else’s poorly re-circulated air never sat well with me. Something that size was never meant to ride thirty thousand feet in the air. If it weren’t for the little bottles of booze they sold on board, I’d be a complete basket case for the ride.

Before our dinner concluded Gloria mentioned that the move would need to be made in the next two weeks, so I’d have to make all arrangements and wrap up my affairs by then. I gazed around the living room of my apartment and took inventory of what affairs I’d need to put in order: Mail and magazine forwarding, making sure the security people knew I’d be gone for some time, finding somebody who could water my ficus tree, the only plant I managed not to kill. I’d need to turn off the gas and electricity so the place didn’t explode in my absence. I looked at Sophia, curled in a tight ball on the ground below me. I’d have to find someone with whom she could stay. It would likely be my parents. Asking Michelle to do it would be too much of an imposition; her place was too small. At least my parents had a yard for the dog to roam around in. They were the only option. My dog would be too standoffish with anybody else. I watched her sleep. I'd never been separated from my dog for more than a week. I'd miss her.

I’d have far too many people to say goodbye to. I might not get to them all.

The phone rang. Caller ID read “out of area” and though I really should have sent it to voicemail I instead picked it up. My mistake.

“Hello?”

“Why hello Reed. It’s been a while since we’ve talked.”

The voice was monotone, slightly gravelly, and female. There were no special enunciation on her words. I knew the voice but something in me still felt it necessary to ask.

“Who is this?”

“The knee in your groin. The one who will wreck your confidence.”

I sunk back into the sofa. I remained quiet and motionless. At first I didn’t know what to say. But I knew what to do. I went over to my computer and opened up a console window, clicking on the red record button. On Monday I’d email the resulting mp3 of our conversation to the district attorney. Internet telephony is great.

“Hi. I guess I can call you Ms. MacKenzie now.”

“If you wish,” the voice coolly replied.

“Aren’t you supposed to refrain from contacting people who, you know, are going to testify against you?”

“You know as well as I this joke of a case is never going to see a courtroom. There’s not enough in it for the D.A. He’ll accept whatever plea is thrown his way so he can allot his resources to something bigger. I’ll get a slap on the wrist and see you in a few months.” Sadly I knew she was right. Suddenly I wanted nothing more than for this to go to trial. And suddenly I wanted to be there. I wanted to be part of the reason she got put away.

“So tell me again why I’ve deserved such special attention?” I asked. I was playing by the book. When I met with the district attorney’s office they told me it was commonplace for the plaintiff or somebody connected with her to try to contact a witness, usually as a scare tactic. The best thing I could do was draw out her reasoning and keep the her from getting angry. I checked the display window on the computer. Everything she’d said was being recorded to my hard drive.

“Because of your wicked ways. Because of your women.”

“My women? You take issue with those I date?”

“You objectify them, you degrade them. You’re less than human. And then you write about it on the internet."

"It's called a 'blog'," I replied. "It's short for 'weblog'. Sort of like a diary."

"Whatever. You write about all the women you've been with and boast about how cruelly you treat them. You are going to pay for that.”

Music to my ears. The D.A would later tell me that last piece was as good as a confession.

“Nobody is getting hurt Ms. MacKenzie. I look up to women, maybe even too much. They fill a void. And I take offense at your assertion I treat anybody inhumanely. That’s nonsense.”

The other side of the line went quiet. I waited, hoping she’d given up.

“Just remember,” she continued, “this trial changes nothing. The next time you take your dog for a walk around your Santa Monica apartment I’ll be there. The next time you go to work at your advertising agency, I’ll be there. The next time you take a girl on the town I’ll be there. You’ll never be rid of me.”

“You’ll have to excuse me if I want to believe the courts will have their say on that.”

“Don’t be so sure,” she replied. “Everybody pays for their sins. Everybody.”

“Then I guess I’ll be seeing you in hell,” I responded. I clicked off the phone, and after a momentary pause threw it against the opposing wall. Today was turning into such a great day.
___________________________________________________________________

“God, no, anybody but Anna. I’m begging you.” Monday morning picked up right where the shitty weekend left off when Gloria informed me that our production manager would be accompanying me to the TWBA/Chiat offices in Toronto.

“Whatever personal differences you have with her aside, Anna has pertinent real-world experience in this area. The project will run more smoothly with her there.” Gloria paused and quickly adjusted her hair as she passed the framed mirror on her wall. “Believe me, she will be an asset. And she will protect you. The worst experience you can have is being thrown to the wolves your first time out. The campaign will suffer. And we will suffer as a result.” She took her seat behind her desk. “And,” she added, pounding the butt of her Mont Blanc pen on her leather planner, “you will suffer.”

Saying I didn’t like Anna wouldn’t be accurate. I wanted her dead. Anna was a loud, rude, and pretentious woman in her late 30s who had little tact and zero manners. Even her name, pronounced “On-a,” oozed conceit. If this woman possessed an inner monologue she sure as hell didn’t know it. With Anna, privacy didn’t exist, everything was considered on the table for discussion – be it your private sexual history, your religion and why it was “wrong,” or why certain employees within earshot were idiots – and feelings were something she never spared. Half the time I felt embarrassed for Anna, believing some people are in fact this socially retarded. The other half of the time the woman grated on me in ways which I felt the only justified revenge would be a quick death. It was no wonder Anna was unmarried.

“The only solace I can offer is you do not have to travel with her. She mentioned something about cashing in her airline miles for an upgrade to first class and going a day or two ahead of you. But you will have to work together as a team.”

“What about hotels?” I blurted out.

“Same hotel. Request a different floor if it means that much to you.” Gloria began rubbing the area between her eyes. I could tell my dumb questions were beginning to annoy her.

We quickly worked out my stipend and when I’d be leaving, only to pause for matters of difference about who I would actually be reporting to. Gloria wanted to streamline things and make me accountable to Anna. That ruffled my feathers like nothing else. The thought of having to report to that woman, ugh. I suggested letting Chris, the big boss in Toronto, sort it out. Besides, who wants to be told be a boss in a completely different office who should report to whom?

I left her office and went home to begin making arrangements. It was done. I was really taking the plunge.
___________________________________________________________________

The most difficult matter to undertake with would be ending things with Katie. In a short amount of time we had grown close. I liked how she was between the sheets, but I was taken with her in so many other ways as well. For me that was a rarity, a reason for not wanting to let go. Ordinarily I’d stay in it for the sex until something about their personality drove me to the brink. Katie was different. She was commanding yet disarming. Complicated but easy to figure out. I never thought needing to say so little would feel so good. Southern California women are all about talk talk talk, and usually about things of little difference. Katie didn’t feel a need to fill moments of silence, and it made me feel good knowing that. These final two weeks would be a frantic race to a finish line I was unwilling to cross.

Melinda apparently had her own matters of separation anxiety to deal with. “So it’s true, you’re transferring out,” she said, eyes pointed to the floor.

“Afraid so. You’re going to have the run of the place.”

“It’s not going to be any fun around here. Who can I pass the day shamelessly flirting with?”

I looked up from packing a few things and saw her put on her best little girl pouting face. She stamped her foot for added effect and the pinstripe pattern of her slacks rippled in response.

“I’m sure any guy here can adequately fill the void. Craig perhaps?” I pointed out the door towards where Craig sat. Mel frowned. Truth be told I was going to miss Melinda and her smoldering sexuality. I was going to miss the overt sexual front she projected and her eternal cheerleader looks. I’d miss her legs. They don’t make legs like that anymore.

“Have you bought anything for the winters out there?” she asked. “It’s going to be very cold. I hope you own a scarf, gloves, and an overcoat.”

“No, no, and no,” I replied.

“God Reed, you’re going to be eaten alive if you don’t have those. I can take you shopping if you want. We could go to the outlet mall that’s on the way to Palm Springs Saturday. I bet you could find a nice full wool overcoat from Brooks Brothers for half off. That way you’re only spending $200 on it, leaving you enough for another jacket or two.”

“That’s okay, I’ll be fine. Besides, I can pick out a coat for myself you know. I did inherit a style gene.”

“Well, we will have to go out for drinks before you leave, promise me that,” she said, walking towards me and brushing a piece of lint from my jacket.

“You wouldn’t be trying to liquor me up as I leave town just to take advantage of me, would you?” I asked, coyly smiling.

“A girl should be so lucky,” she responded in kind.
___________________________________________________________________

Two weeks came and went more quickly than I thought. It's different when working on limited time. I’d barely taken care of all necessary details and saw the people most important to me when my final day was upon me. I was going to the Derby with Melinda to have drinks and listen to nouveau-swing music. An easygoing, comfortable last night before leaving town.

That is how I envisioned the night would be. Unfortunately Melinda had other ideas, as she tried to set some kind of speed record for most drinks consumed in 90 minutes. By the time I’d ordered my third Ketel One dirty martini she was on her sixth cape cod. And by the time I gave our waitress the Roberto Duran “no mas,” opting for Perrier as I had to drive, Mel was three sheets to the wind.

“You know what,” she slurred, “people around the office always say, they say ‘Melinda, you and Reed would make for such a cute couple.’ And you know what? I agree.”

“Yeah, people are stupid like that,” I replied.

“No they’re not. Don’tcha ever wonder if we would make a good couple?” she asked. Leaning in she added, “you’d be so sweet,” pinching my cheek.

“I would be no such thing. Besides, we work together so that’s one strike, and I saw just how ‘sweet’ you could be that night at Mike Cross’s Halloween party. That's strike two. We’re the same side of the magnet, Mel. We'd be opposing forces.”

“It would! Give it a chance!” she exclaimed. “You won’t give it a chance!”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree Melinda. It wouldn’t work. Trust me.” I was done talking about it.

I thought we’d buried the topic, but when it came time to get a very drunk Melinda home the topic was broached a second time. “Woo-hoo, Reed is taking me home. Wanna last wish on your last night?” she asked, trying her best to appear seductive despite the insobriety.

”Yeah, I wish you were sober,” I responded.

“Party pooper.”

I would leave my car at the Derby and drive Melinda home in hers, figuring I’d hop a cab back here for my car after dropping off the drunkard. When we got to the passenger side of the car I stood her up against its side as I fumbled around for the right key.

“Kiss me,” she said, leaning in towards me. I brushed my lips across her cheek in jest.

“Pssh,” she responded. “A real kiss. I want to swap spit.” With that she tried to cup my groin with her hand but instead ended up squeezing my leg.

“I hope you’re looking for my cell phone.”

“C’mon. Don’t make a girl beg. I’m not going to see you…”

“For two months Melinda. Two months. I’ll be back before you notice I’ve been gone.”

Mel began getting teary-eyed. “You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t know how much I want you. I’ve always wanted you. Do you know what it’s like to have somebody so close and you can’t have them? Do you? It’s so hard to handle. And you don’t even care.”

I finally got the door open and carefully guided Melinda into her passenger seat. “You’re drunk. You don’t mean most of these things, if any. The vodka’s got your mind going cuckoo.”

“I am NOT. But you don’t even care. You don’t even care how I feel. Stay the night with me. I mean it.”

”You will be asleep in ten minutes.” I leaned in close enough to kiss her lips and in anticipation she puckered them slightly, closing her eyes. “And I mean it,” I added. She punched my shoulder.

Fortunately Melinda’s place was not far and her roommate worked the graveyard shift. I managed to get her up the stairs with not too much difficulty and into the apartment. As I attempted to dump her on the sofa she pointed towards her bedroom. I pulled her into the bedroom and deposited her on the bed. She was turning more and more into that wet rag people become when they drink too much. I removed her heels and dropped her legs on the bed. “Umm, that feels nice,” she distantly responded, anticipating more. I peeled back her covers and attempted to get her under the sheets. Her body wasn’t responding. It had given up the fight. I dropped her back down on top of the covers and she responded, “no…no, hold me.” I played along.

“Why don’t you want me?” she mumbled.

“I’m a Leo, you’re a Sagittarius – it wouldn’t work,” I laughed.

“What, no, I mean it. We could be fun. Stories.” She was making less sense than she did outside the Derby.

I gently lowered Mel to the bed and sat in the dark. I never imagined my last night stateside would involve playing caretaker for a drunk coworker. That’s what she was. That’s all she ever was. I sensed Melinda went through life encountering little resistance when she found somebody she wanted to be with. A guy had a hard time saying no to somebody with looks and a body like hers.

I waited another minute before saying “Melinda? You awake?” She didn’t respond. I shook her. She remained motionless. As predicted she was out.

“I suppose it’s better that you’ve passed out,” I said to nobody in particular, “It’s probably the only time I can really talk to you. I’ve always thought you were beautiful. You are smart, with a sharp tongue and charm to match. Few can match those talents. And you’re probably the most beautiful woman in the office.” She moved slightly and grabbed randomly at a bunched up portion of covers.

“There’s the problem, Mel. The office. You and I. It would never work out. We work too closely together. If something ever happened to us romantically and it turned sour, we’d be through professionally. We’re both prideful people. I don’t think our egos could handle the shock of having to be business associates after having been so much more.”

I rubbed her shoulder to make sure she was still out. Nothing. “You and me, we’re all about the chase,” I continued. “If we ever acted on it we’d end up nowhere. I’ve always been here; you’ve always been here, always within grasp. But we don’t go through with it because we know the minute we do, the last façade will be gone and we will have nothing left. People like us don’t settle down into relationships, Melinda. We never cross that line. We’re too alike in that sense.” I folded over a cover from the other side of the bed and covered her with it as best I could. Then I went into the other room and phoned a cab.

When the driver pulled up ten minutes later and gave two quick honks I returned to Mel’s side. “Goodbye Mel.” I said, leaning in and giving her that kiss on the lips she'd been after all night. “You’ll always be my girl, just not in the way you’d like to be.”