Chapter Nine
Lessons Learned from MacGyver
#114
The decisions we make shape our lives.
Deciding to break Barry and his girlfriend up was one thing; actual execution was another.
I spent the entire weekend thinking about this. I turned off my cell phone and meditated on the problem (Dwight would have been so proud of me). I holed up in my room and plotted. I schemed. I made lists, threw them away, and recompiled them. I sketched out my war plan until every possible scenario was covered. MacGyver couldn’t have done better.
I was ready.
Daphne holed up all weekend too. In fact, she was so inconspicuous, I forgot she was there.
Until Monday morning. I stumbled out of my bedroom, moaning, my eyes half-shut. Somehow I made it into the kitchen and set a pot of water on to boil. I opened the cabinet where I kept my coffee paraphernalia. I got the beans, the grinder, and the press pot down.
As I was plugging in the grinder, I noticed something amiss. Something wrong. I scowled and picked it up.
Ajar of Folgers Crystals.
I shrieked.
Sacrilege
.
Then Daphne hurried out of her room with a coffee mug. She paused when she saw me, then joined me in the kitchen. “I thought you’d be at work by now.”
I glanced at the clock. “Only nine.”
“I know.” She frowned. “Won’t your boss be upset if you’re late?”
“Not late.”
She stared at me. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” Except you. But I didn’t say that. Honestly, I thought I was doing really well for not yet having my coffee. I was making words, after all. I could have been grunting.
I ground my coffee, caressed it into the press pot, and poured boiling water over it. I slumped against the counter and watched Daphne make herself another cup of that—that—Shudder. I couldn’t even think of anything horrible enough to compare Folgers to. I had to turn away as she drank it. Disgusting.
I mixed sugar into my cup and took it into the living room. Daphne followed, making ridiculously happy noises as she drank her shit. “I love this stuff,” she said as she sighed and settled onto one side of the couch.
I narrowed my eyes at her. Death wish. Is that what this was? But I made special dispensations because she was, technically, my sister.
However, I couldn’t help but say, “I thought coffee robbed your body of nutrients.” That earned me a frown and several minutes of silence.
Too good to last though.
“So.” She smiled at me in that fake happy way she did sometimes. “What’s on the agenda for today?”
“Grr.” I glared at her as I growled. That’s what I had on my agenda.
“Hmm.” She raised her eyebrows, her lips thinning in disapproval. “I know you have work. Right? But do you have anything planned afterward?”
If I had a pillow, I would have hidden under it. Better yet, I would have smothered her with it.
“Because I was thinking maybe we could go out.” She tried smiling. “You could show me the hot spots. I’ve been gone for so long I don’t know what’s hot anymore.”
Clarification: Daphne had never known what was hot. She’d stayed home and studied on weekends before she went off to college at fourteen.
“I thought we could go dancing.” She shrugged, gazing at me steadily.
“You couldn’t wait until I’d had at least another cup of coffee, could you?”
“Excuse me?”
Like I was going to buy that innocence act. “You’re trying to confuse me.”
Her frown was instant. “I don’t know what you’re talk—”
“Admit it.” I pointed a finger at her, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You’re trying to throw me for a loop. You’ve planting cameras around my house and are just waiting to capture for posterity the moment I fall into your trap.”
“What trap?” She scrunched her nose. “I just wanted to know whether you were busy tonight or not.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I’m busy.”
She stared at me for a beat, shook her head like she was trying to clear it, and rose from the couch. “You’re insane.”
Then I had a thought. Conveniently, she was already walking out of the room so I didn’t have to bother to hide my grin. “Hey, the hottest bar in Portland is a strip club. Wanna go? Monday nights women get in free.”
“You’re sick,” she called over her shoulder.
I couldn’t help it if I took perverse satisfaction in teasing her. I’m sure it was genetic—probably nothing I could do about it.
And I didn’t lie about the strip club. It
was
the hottest bar in town. There were more strip clubs in Portland than regular bars. Hell, there were more strip clubs per capita than anywhere else in the country.
Feeling better now that my morning had turned around, I showered, dressed, threw away the Folgers, and took off for work. Instead of taking the bus, I opted to drive (I had a stop to make after work).
Which reminded me: I needed to call Matt.
Because I hated making calls while I was driving, I waited till I got to my cube. Matt went to work way before I even woke up, so I knew to call his office.
He answered on the fourth ring. “Yeah?”
I grinned and wondered if he realized how distracted he sounded. He was probably too distracted to realize. “Hey. It’s me.”
“Hmm?”
“Philomena Donovan. Your best friend.”
“Uh-huh.”
I took out a whistle I kept in my drawer for occasions just like this and blew. Loud and piercing.
The few programmers who were in early (because ten o’clock is early for most programmers, unless they hadn’t gone to sleep yet from working all night) yelped in surprise. One fell off his chair onto the pile of candy wrappers under his desk.
Matt fumbled with the phone before he yelled at me. “Jesus Christ, Doc! What the hell?”
It always worked. I put the whistle back, ignored his sputtering indignation, and said, “I’m not going to be in class tonight.”
“That’s all this assault was about? That you’re not going to be in class? I think you could have spared my hearing and just sent me an email.”
Matt was always touchy when his work was disrupted. “I thought this was more personable. Besides, I haven’t talked to you all weekend.”
“Whose fault is that?
My
phone wasn’t turned off so my friends couldn’t reach me.”
He knew me so well, sometimes it was irritating.
“So what’s such a big deal that you’re missing class? Dwight’s not going to be happy.”
I couldn’t very well tell him I was launching stage one in my assault on Barry—I doubted it’d go over well. So I resorted to the most logical course of action: evasion. “Daphne wants to see some hot spots.”
Silence. Then he said, “I can’t believe you’d lie to me.”
“I’m not lying,” I protested. I wasn’t. Daphne really did want to go out. I just didn’t say we weren’t doing that tonight. “She really does.”
More silence. “If you don’t want to tell me what you’re doing, just say so. Don’t make things up. Have a little more respect for me than that.”
“I’m telling you, she really does want to see the night life.”
“Since when?” There was still a trace of suspicion in his voice.
“Since this morning. Listen, I have to go. I’ll call you later.”
“Be careful, whatever you’re up to.”
I crossed my eyes at the receiver.
“And don’t make faces at me,” he said before he hung up.
Good thing I loved him.
I set the phone down and looked up at the disgruntled programmers who were milling around shooting daggers at me from behind their Coke-bottle glasses. I smiled sweetly at one of them. “Hey, Darby. You have a Snickers wrapper stuck to your butt.”
Muttering, he flushed red and twisted left and right to look behind him. I tried not to laugh, but he looked like a dog chasing his tail.
I ducked my head so he wouldn’t see me, well, snickering. Then I turned on my computer and got on with my day. The first thing I did was check my email.
Mistake. Big mistake.
When are you free this week? I need to kiss you.
Eew. I almost gagged. What a way to start off the morning.
And what was he doing sending personal stuff like this through company email? I quickly tapped out my reply.
you shouldn’t send out personal email from your work account. the company has everything you send archived. and you never know who may read it.
I hit send without addressing his obviously delusional desire to kiss me (blech). Or telling him as sys admin I had access to every email everyone in the company sent out. (No, I didn’t exercise that power—not usually, anyway.)
His response arrived seconds later.
You’re driving me insane. Tell me you’ll see me this weekend.
I sighed. Damn, it was hard being a femme fatale.
need to check my schedule. i’ll let you know.
Fortunately, he didn’t email me back. Maybe the Japanese investors were visiting today and he was busy. Maybe he’d be busy all week.
Hey, a girl can hope.
After about a dozen nagging phone calls from people having trouble logging in to various servers and Web sites, hours of Lewis fawning over me, and a meeting that seemed to last until the end of time, I was ready to call it a day. More than ready. I’d been champing at the bit to make my first move in getting Barry back.
His blog, for once, made no mention of what his plans were for the coming week, but that was no problem—we’d dated for a year, after all. Sure, off and on, but I had basic knowledge of his habits. Like, for instance, on Mondays he had private boxing lessons at the gym with Rio.
It was brilliant, really. Men always wanted what they couldn’t have. Especially if it belonged to a friend. And Barry was more competitive than most. If I dated Rio, Barry would remember how much he wanted me and dump his Daphne-impersonating girlfriend and beg me to take him back. I’d appear desirable simply because he couldn’t have me.
Guilt niggled at me. Then I remembered the expression on Rio’s face as he told me about his girlfriend using him, and the guilt increased.
But I stifled it. I had no choice. I had to play dirty to win. Besides, Rio
had
invited me to drop by. And it wasn’t like I was lying to Rio, or even using him. I was just asking him out for a drink.
I hopped into my Prius and drove to Barry’s gym. It was northeast of downtown Portland, about a fifteen-minute drive on a good day. The gym itself wasn’t anything to write home about—it was a renovated factory with a few separate rooms for their various classes. No frills. It surprised me that Barry would be a member there; his family is old Portland money, and his lifestyle is ritzy despite his philanthropic bent. The gym wasn’t even convenient; it was in the opposite direction of his house.
When I got there, there was a guy manning the desk. He gave me a sweet smile that was at odds with his tough, muscle-bound exterior. “Can I help you?”
There was something in his voice that made me automatically smile back. “I’m here to meet Rio.”
“He’s in Studio Three.” He looked at his wristwatch. “His lesson should be over in about ten minutes.”
“Can I wait for him outside the room?” I batted my eyes and tried to look innocent. “I promise not to interrupt. I just don’t want to miss him.”
The guy’s eyes narrowed (I suppose innocent was a stretch for me), but he nodded and said, “Sure. It’s down the hall and to the right. There’re windows so you can watch Rio teach from outside.”
I looked where he pointed and then beamed at him. “Thanks.”
“Sure thing, sweetheart.”
Men were so easy.
I followed his directions to the room, but there was only one man there, and even from the back I could tell it was Rio.
God, he looked good.
I put my hands up to the glass and stared in, checking out the room to make sure Barry was in there for my grand entrance. No such luck. I glanced into all the studios, looking for him. A yoga class and a couple of guys fencing, but no Barry.