"You know, I was in Los Angeles once. A few years ago. It was a hoot. We wanted to go to Hollywood, but we never bothered to ask for directions. We were staying in the city center, so we just drove towards that big "Hollywood" sign in the hills that you always see in movies. We were on Sunset Boulevard, cruising in the direction of the sign, and we didn't know we were passing right through Hollywood at the time!"

"Uh huh."

"We thought that Hollywood was located directly below the sign. We went past the Hollywood and Highland mall, the Ripley's museum, and the Egyptian. It didn't even register with us at the time. When we made it past the Hollywood Roosevelt building we began to think we'd gone too far. But all the while, the sign's still in the distance. It was something!"

"Interesting."

"I know! It was quite an adventure. We had a very good time in Los Angeles. We'll have to go again sometime soon. Maybe when they have better mass transit. I don't know how a city that size can go without it."

I'm meeting Nicole, the mid-40s office production manager, for the first time and she's shooting me the shit about her one and only visit to Southern California. She lays down some of the basics about the office, the culture, the environment, the mindset, and anything else that pops into her mind at any given moment. Nicole seems very scatterbrained with her thoughts.

"You'll find that we are very dedicated to the Absolut account and we have a wonderful relationship with their staff and their internal advertising group. Good company, good booze, eh?" She punctuates the remark with a throaty Ha!

I didn't want to point out I wasn't a fan of Absolut's products. Ketel One ruled their ass in my book.

"And the people here are quite friendly and always ready to help out when called upon. We don't get territorial like you Americans do, with all of that it's not my job nonsense. So when overwhelmed, don't be afraid to ask for help. I have a feeling Anna won't be doing that though, she seems kinda difficult."

"Oh, you already met her?" I asked.

"Yes, earlier today."

"Well, once you get to know her better, I'm sure you'll drop kinda from your assessment like the rest of us have."

Nicole laughed so deeply I thought she was going to snort. "Do you want the tour and some introductions? Are you ready?"

I stood, taking that as my cue to move out onto the floor. "Sure, if it's time," I replied. I smoothed a wrinkle in my slacks and adjusted my sweater sleeve length.

"You're going to be quite the Ladykiller here, I can tell."

"What makes you say that?"

"Has anybody told you about the composition of our office staff here?"

I started getting nervous. Was there some great, private secret whose retelling would scare off anybody who dared enter the Toronto TWBA offices?

"No," I said, "should they have?"

Nicole chuckled. "Our staff consists of roughly 50 people. With you on board, only 5 are men. You do the math."

I stood there, stunned for a moment before the reality of it set in. This was not good. To take Nicole's remark and turn it into a gross generalization, I suppose I could have fantasized their office being comprised of women waiting to ooh and ahh over the men, fawning over every move and action in an attempt to wring any attention from us. Afternoon pillow fights would be a must. And of course they'd all line up to offer to show me around the town, or go out to lunch. They'd marvel in our storytelling skills and find our wit and wisdom irresistable.

But this wasn't fantasyland, and in reality I shrank back in abject fear over hearing I'd be surrounded by an office full of women. Females who would fight and claw each other in their daily battles to be the biggest attention whore. Women who would smile and say nice, personal things to their associates but as soon as backs were turned launch into their true thoughts about said associates, sparing no vitriol or malice. The office was likely on the same menstrual cycle by now, so if I dared to set foot in the office on d-day, I would have to come with blocks of Hershey chocolate bars belted to me. Contrary to Nicole's opinion, this place was nothing short of a coven. And it was my saving grace I had the policy of not dating the work pool. Cross that line and the entire office knows about it. In an office filled with women, comments will be catty and below the belt. Jealousy rearing its ugly head in the form of What's so great about her? and Why am I not good enough for him? God forbid the day the tryst ends and I still have to face her wrath in the office for the rest of my days in Toronto. Who knows what she'd tell the other women if it came to that. She could turn them all against me and make an unpleasant environment even worse. I didn't want a part of any of that.

I shrugged the thoughts off and replied to Nicole with a diplomatic, "should make for some interesting days, I imagine."

"Oh they're harmless," she laughed. As if. "Let's go meet them."
_________________________________________________________________________________

"Dammit it's cold!"

This had become my rallying cry. As to what it rallied within me, I remained uncertain. The doors to the hotel slid open and I stepped out into the Toronto night, where it was a mind-numbing 14 degrees. Sorry, -10 celsius. My mind hadn't made the adjustment.

At Olivia's suggestion, I was travelling three blocks north and around the corner to a bar that was supposed to be a good representation of the average Canadian pub. Ordinarily three blocks and a corner is nothing. At home I'd walk further just to get to my car, since parking on the west side of Los Angeles was nothing more than an attempt to keep us exercising by placing us the furthest distance possible from the place we are visiting without raising our ire to postal-level insanity. In Eastern Canada, in the dead of winter, three blocks and a corner was an entirely different challenge, and if the variable of having no protective head covering, or gloves, or a muffler tells you anything, it's that I had come woefully unprepared for the Ontario cold. I'd run to lessen the time spent outdoors but I'd run the risk of slipping on the black ice that dotted the sidewalks. I had no desire to break a bone.

I made the trip as quickly as I could, darting past the few people fearless enough to brave the night. A couple greeted me with a hearty good evening but I brushed past them with a terse and frigid unh, unh, spilled through chattering teeth. Before long I stood at the address Olivia indicated; a run down wooden bar front with an old oak sign that read "Malloy's." Figures. Does every metropolitan city have an Irish bar with that name? I noticed the arrow on the front door pointing down towards the staircase off to the side that led below ground. When I saw steam rise from the staircase like the gasps of air emanating from New York City manholes, I knew it was the direction to head.

Inside I found Olivia quickly. She wasn't difficult to spot, being the only exotic-looking curly-haired woman in the joint. If she was beautiful in a hotel clerk's outfit then she was damn radiant in her civvies. Tight jeans hugged all the right curves on her body, accenting their features, while other areas hung just loose enough to make a man dream about her creamy skin and everything underneath. Her hair had been let completely down and was teased just a bit, but there was no getting over her beauty. This woman was surely a tomboy who came into her confidence and her body in the past few years.

Olivia saw me walking towards her, hands wrapped around my arms and feverishly moving up and down in a pathetic attempt to warm myself up, and waved me over.

"You found it," she said. She seemed much more confident, more at ease in a neutral setting where the roles weren't defined in black-and-white terms of customer and employee.

"Yeah, the walk was something," I replied.

"Is that the heaviest jacket you brought with you?" she asked. I looked down at the same Banana Republic jacket I'd worn on the day I arrived. The Toronto winter had mocked it to this point. "You poor thing, you've got to get yourself some warmer clothing. And more of it. Think layering."

The drinks came fast and furious as the night wore on. Olivia could drink, deceptively so considering her small frame. I watched her as she talked about herself and what she did, watched as she periodically played with her hair or licked her lips to keep them moist. Her eyes danced when she spoke of things she was passionate about, and her smile periodically got larger or smaller, but never disappeared.

Olivia wanted to manage a hotel. She was currently going to school at the University of Toronto for a degree in hotel and institutional management. She mentioned that hotels look for somebody with strong service and people skills, and that was why she worked at the front desk.

"Hotels place strong emphasis on the customer service areas. For now I'll work there but I'll have to become familiar with restaurant and lounge management at some point as well as managing the housekeeping staff," she added.

When she asked me what I did I mentioned a little bit about our company and what I was doing in Canada. I then mentioned having met the people at the new office earlier today and how the place was slanted overwhelmingly towards women.

"You must have the rule of the roost," she joked.

"There are 5 guys in the office. The girls' name for us is "The Ladykillers."

"That's funny. You can't tell me you and the guys don't love the attention."

"The regulars might. I don't care either way. The situation is a powder keg if you ask me. At first glance working along side the estrogen posse might sound like good times, but it's not."

"How's that?" she asked.

I told her my theory. I told her about the catty comments, the backstabbing, and the one-upmanship. I told her about a few of the women. I told her how six already offered me tours of the city, and another three said they'd take me out to "experience the nightlife". She sat there eagerly listening and somewhere in the middle of the conversation I realized she wasn't comparing these women to herself or trying to change the subject to something solely about her. She was listening to stories about other women and not objecting. This was a big departure from Southern California women. Their motto is "it's all about me," and should you have the gravas to attempt talking in their presence about another woman, consider the night over. Olivia was not at all like that. I'd later find out many Canadian women were not like that either.

When we were done getting liquored up and finished sharing our stories Olivia mentioned she had class in the morning and needed to get going.

"You could walk me to the metro station. It's only a few blocks. I'll give you directions back to the hotel so you don't get lost."

"I'm glad I didn't intimidate you into another sneezing reaction tonight," I said.

"I don't feel that way anymore about you. You're a very nice guy."

"Whoa, whoa," I said, "I've got a reputation to protect so let's not go sharing that with everybody." She laughed and I grabbed her coat from its hook at the edge of the booth. When she went for her purse to pull money out I begged her off. "I'll take care of this. I consider it an investment. Investigating the local culture." I smiled at her. "And some damn fine company."

We walked to the metro station, Olivia's arm wrapped around the bend in my elbow. If there was ever the time to strike, this was it. But I knew of her anti-fraternization rule, and besides, as much as I wanted to grab her and whirl against the wall and plant a deep kiss upon her, I knew that being a stranger in a strange land would only make things messy. I knew the moment I accepted tonight's invite there'd be no happy ending like I wanted. You win some, you lose some.

It turned out it wasn't my decision to make. Shortly after arriving at the empty station I began to tell her I had a great time and thanked her for not leaving the new guy bored back in his room when she grabbed my hand, pulled me close, and kissed me. Hard. Deep. Long. Our lips parted and I felt her tongue flick into my mouth. Then I felt the cool polished steel of her tongue stud. Everybody has one of these, it seems. Piercings have crossed international lines.

I briefly pulled back for air but we resumed almost immediately, this time much more softly and passionate. When we broke I said "I guess this means your fraternization policy is void."

She smiled. "I knew five minutes after meeting you I was going to cross that line. And I don't care if you're some flash in the pan who will be gone in a few weeks, I don't."

"Gee, I feel like a piece of meat. Thanks."

She laughed. "Aww, you know what I mean." She leaned in and gave me another kiss. Ahead we began to see the lights of the metro train.

"I had a really great time tonight, if you haven't figured that out already."

"Me too Olivia. You're some woman."

"You too. Man, I mean." She laughed again. "The California girls' loss is my gain."

The train pulled to its mark and stopped. The doors opened and Olivia gave me one final kiss before moving towards the doors. "I'll see you later. Maybe tomorrow night, I'm working." She smiled one final smile as the doors started closing.

"I'll find you," she said. "I know where you live."