Wish I'd Stayed In Bed: 2. Butter Wouldn't Melt

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"Gillian told me I have to go to dinner tonight as Belinda."

Paul, to his credit, struggled manfully to not laugh. "She can't do that. She can't ask you to do that."

Wish I'd Stayed In Bed by Kaleigh Way

 

2. Butter Wouldn't Melt

 

When I was fourteen, the Olympics came to Sydney. My parents volunteered to help with the games. Somewhere along the way my father was given an official Team Australia rugby top, and most of the team signed it. Of course it became one of his prized possessions.

One day I took the blessed thing to school to show it off, and one of the boys in class tried to take it from me. As we struggled, a teacher intervened and confiscated the shirt. All through English class it sat there in plain view on his desk, and I was stewing. My father had no idea I'd borrowed it, and he'd be livid when he found out. I didn't know how I'd even begin to explain. Although I was sure that somehow my father would get his shirt back in the end, I was offended by the injustice of the situation: after all, it wasn't MY fault that moron wanted to steal it.

And so, in spite of my usual timidity, as soon as the teacher left the room to change classes, I walked boldly from my place at the back of the room, directly to his desk, and took the jersey back. I stuffed it in my bag, and that was the end of the story.

Why do I tell you that little anecdote? Because that's where I was again, sitting at my desk, stewing. My clothes were hanging in Gillian's office, and Gillian had gone to lunch. The same sense of wounded justice, of a great wrong done — and none of it my fault — was overwhelming. I wanted nothing more than to walk into her office, claim my suit and shirt, and change back to the way I was meant to be, the way I was dressed for work this morning. To put on my own damn clothes.

But — a moderately big but— Gillian wouldn't forget, or pretend to forget, the way my old teacher had. She'd been quite clear that Bel was expected at dinner tonight, and Lord knows what would happen if Bel wasn't there.
 

The office was still empty. Everyone was still at lunch. I was hungry, but I couldn't eat. Once more I wished that I'd stayed in bed this morning! Someone else could have delivered my slogan. Someone else could have gotten my raise, for that matter! I wouldn't have cared. Um, well, I would, but...

I was so lost in my inner misery that I didn't see Paul until he stood right in front of my desk.

"You look awfully blue for someone who did so well this morning," he said. "I was going to tease you about your outfit again, but you look so downcast, I can't bear to."

I smiled ruefully in response.

"Congrats on the raise, in any case."

I grunted a wordless thanks in response, so he asked me, "Why are you so glum?"

I sighed and lifted my head. "Gillian told me I have to go to dinner tonight as Belinda."

Paul, to his credit, struggled manfully to not laugh. I watched the contortions on his face, until finally he managed to say, "She can't do that. She can't ask you to do that."

"Well, she did," I said.

He stood in silence for a moment, so I asked him, "What would you do, Paul?"

"In the first place, I would have gone home to change," he replied. "But if she asked me to wear a dress, I'd tell her to stuff it."

I nodded. Not bloody likely. I mean, I couldn't see myself telling Gillian to stuff it. Not to mention the idea of Paul in a dress...

He said, "Listen, Bill. I want to apologize for that crack this morning about powder blue being your color."

I shrugged. "It's okay," I replied.

"Now that I've seen this outfit again," he continued, "I have to admit that pink really does it for you. Blue might match your eyes, but pink... yes, it's more subtle." Nodding at his own sense of style and inherent wisdom, he went off to his desk.

As if on cue, Dianne and Cathy entered the office. Dianne's sunny smile turned to a puzzled, half-amused frown when she caught sight of me, moping at my desk.

"Bill, what happened? Don't tell me they lost your clothes! Oh, that would be the living end, wouldn't it!" Her eyes took on a mischievous twinkle, and Cathy couldn't hide her smile.

"No," I said. "They're not lost, but they may as well be. Gillian took my suit and shirt, and someone else nicked my shoes."

When I explained how Gillian had taken my clothes, Dianne scoffed. "She can't possibly mean that, Bill! She's just having you on. You might not believe this, but even our Gillian has a sense of humor. She's probably getting her own back after the shock you gave her this morning."

You mean the shock you gave her, I thought to myself. If Dianne hadn't said anything, I would have told Roger my real name. He might have thought I was a bit fruity, but at least he would have known that I'm a man.

Cathy added, "She's right, Billy. There's no way she can ask you to do that."

"When she's back from lunch, we'll straighten it out," Dianne promised. "In the meantime, what's this about your shoes?"

"I'd put them in the window to dry, and now they've disappeared," I told her. My one good pair! Another bit of Dianne's advice gone wrong.

Gillian entered, crossing the office quickly, as she usually did after lunch. As she passed our little group, she said, "Dianne, come to my office."

Dianne mouthed the missing word please at Gillian's back. Before she turned to follow, she told me, "Talk to Carole about the shoes."

Cathy disappeared to her own desk, leaving me to puzzle out what Dianne could possibly mean. Talk to Carole about shoes? What — was I supposed to borrow yet another pair?

At the same time, I knew Dianne well enough to see that she wasn't joking, so I got up and walked to the reception area. Maybe Carole would have a clue.

"Hi, Billy," she said, "enjoying your new look?"

"No, not really," I replied.

She dimmed her smile by a few notches and in a more sympathetic tone, asked, "What can I do to help?"

"Dianne told me to talk to you about shoes," I said. Then it came to me. "My shoes disappeared from the men's room. I'd put them in the window to dry, and now they're gone."

"I'll call building maintenance," Carole told me. "One of the cleaning crew probably found them and took them to lost and found."

"Oh, thanks, Carole!" I gushed, "That's the first good news I've heard all day!"

"Oh?" she said in mock surprise. "So your raise was bad news, was it?"

"Oh, I, uh—" I stammered, completely flummoxed. "I don't know," I said stupidly.

She smiled. "Don't worry, Bill. The minute I have news about your shoes (hey, that rhymes!) I'll give you a ring."
 


 

It's funny how the slightest thing can buoy you up or throw you down. Right now, Carole's idea that my shoes were simply in lost and found had me nearly walking on air, and I wasn't ready for the dark look on Dianne's face as she returned to her desk.

"Where've you been?" she demanded with a frown.

"Talking to Carole about my shoes," I replied.

"You and your clothes," she huffed as she stood up. "Come with me now, and you, too, Cathy." She led the two of us into the lunchroom, and sat down at the little table.

"Right," she announced. "Sit down, you two. Gillian has given me the task of sorting out 'Belinda' for the dinner tonight."

My jaw fell open, and Cathy gawked in disbelief. "You're joking!" she said.

"No, I'm not, and I'd like to get through this quickly. We've got a lot to think about, and Gillian's not throwing any money our way. So it's beg, borrow, or cadge." She clicked her pen loudly and began scribbling on a pad to get the pen started. She looked angry enough to spit.

I was speechless. For Gillian to say it was one thing, but now to have to plan it out, and go through with it... was simply outrageous!

"For the dress," Dianne began, "I have this black silk thing that I can't wear. It's too tight on top." She wrote the word DRESS and put a tick mark in front of it. "Next, Belinda will need her hair and nails done. Cath, don't you have that friend who's a cosmetology student?"

Cathy didn't respond; she was still in shock, staring open-mouthed at Dianne.

"I imagine the answer is still 'yes' — we'll have to give her a call and see if she can come to my place tonight—"

"No," Cathy said.

Dianne ignored it. She wrote HAIR, NAILS, SHOES in column under DRESS. "I know that Carole's got about a dozen shoes under her desk. One of us has to go and see whether she's got a suitable pair in black—"

"No," Cathy repeated. "I'm going to talk to Gillian. This is just plain wrong." And with that, she left the room.

Dianne didn't look up. I'd never seen her angry before, but now she gripped her pen like a dagger pointing down, and stabbed her notepad, leaving a deep blue dent.

"Quiet people," she said. She looked at me, her jaw working as if she was trying to break something hard with her teeth. "Quiet people always get me in trouble. People like you.

"If only you had an ounce of initiative... if only you could think on your feet... if only you didn't have that cute doe-in-the-headlights look... I wouldn't have jumped in. I wouldn't have said anything. But I knew that you'd just mumble and stammer..." She shook her head.

She went on talking, but I only half-listened. The whole business had taken on an unreal quality to me. It was as if I'd had my quota of weirdness for the day, and couldn't take on any more. Now that Dianne and Cathy were upset, I was calm. Surely it would resolve itself before the end of the day. I'd put my suit on, go to the dinner, Roger would have a laugh — he was a good sort, after all — and we'd get on with our business.

Cathy stuck her head in the door. "Gillian wants to see the team in the meeting room. Now."
 

Gillian didn't waste any time. As soon as everyone was seated, she got right to it: "Right. You all know that I asked Belinda to come to the dinner tonight, and I understand that no one is happy with that. I'm going to give you all the chance to speak your minds, but first I'm going to tell you mine.

"First of all, no one asked me about Bill's difficulty this morning. I would have told Roger that Bill got drenched, and I'm pretty sure — Roger being the good sort that he is — that it actually would have helped the presentation... made him more sympathetic." She stopped a moment to make a point: "That wouldn't work with most clients, by the way. Don't *ever* aim to be pitied.

"Second, I was blindsided, and that simply can not happen. This is a business in which every detail is important, and we can't have surprises at the last minute. I need to know.

"Third, I don't want to change the team — it's never a good idea. *I* understand that Bel is Bill. *You* understand it. But will Roger? He might take it badly. He could think we've played him for a fool, and that we don't take his business seriously. Clients, even the best of clients, don't like change, and they *hate* being patronized.

"My last point is that I'm not asking Bill to have a sex-swap, or to change his way of life. I'm just asking that he dress in a somewhat feminine way when Roger's around. Once the campaign is launched, Belinda will disappear.

"That's my side of things. Let's hear yours."

Dianne spoke first. "You know mine. I'm against it. It's partly my fault, and I'm willing to go to bat with Roger. I'll explain things and patch it up. If I can't make it work, make him like Bill as much as he likes Bel, you can let me go."

Gillian smiled slightly and said, "Don't be so dramatic, Dianne. You know I wouldn't do that. Cath?"

"I think it's wrong to make Bill do it, that's all. It should be for Bill to say, whether he'd come as Bel or no. He should be able to bow out and work behind the scenes. We can make up a story for Roger: family issues or something like that. Bill could keep out of the way whenever Roger came around."

Gillian nodded, and from the expression on her face, I got the feeling that that was where she wanted to go: she was going to let me bow out. She'd left us to stew to teach us — me — a lesson. She never meant me to go through with it!

For now she had to keep up the facade, then she'd go off and "have a think," after which she'd let us (mainly me!) off the hook.

"Paul?" Gillian prompted.

"I don't like it. You shouldn't have asked Bill to do it. It's not a fair request or a real choice. He might say yes because he'd believe his job and his raise are in jeopardy, even if they aren't. And sure, it was a silly prank, but it's done. We have to move on."

"And what does 'moving on' mean, Paul?" Gillian asked, eyebrow raised.

He shrugged and spread his hands. "That's another question. If we agree that Bill will remain as Bill, then we can talk about how to handle the client."

Carole popped her head in. "I've got Roger Donaldson on line one. Will you take it?"

Gillian picked up the handset and punched the button. "Hello, Roger, this is Gillian. What can I do for you?

"Right: the limo pickups. I'll talk to my team, find out where they'll be, and email you the list... Right. Five, ten minutes.

"What? Oh, you did?" Her eyes fell on me, and I turned scarlet. "Yes, I'm sure she appreciated it... Oh, yes, that's our Bel!" At her use of that name, Paul, Cathy, and Dianne visibly lit up and shifted in their chairs. I sat still as a stone. If we'd all been listening before, now our ears were straining overtime.

"Oh, yes?" Gillian chuckled politely. "No, no, it isn't you; she's just that shy... With everyone... No. She's a good copywriter. A very good copywriter." She laughed again. "Yes, I'm glad you feel that way... Yes, me too... Oh, I don't know, you might be opening a Pandora's box, there! ... Alright, then, Roger. I'll see you tonight... No, I've never been! I've heard it's one of the best restaurants in the world... Oh, did you?

"Good, Roger... yes, I'll get that list to you, posthaste. Cheers!"

After Gillian hung up, the silence in the room was palpable. Gillian fixed her eyes on me, and drummed the table with the fingertips of her right hand. I wasn't sure whether she wanted me to speak, and no one else was speaking, so I looked at her and looked at the table and wrung my hands white.

At last Gillian spoke. "Look at you," she said. "Sitting there, as if butter wouldn't melt in your mouth."

I gave her an uncertain look. I've never understood that expression, but I wasn't about to ask her what it meant.

The atmosphere in the room was electric. Dianne was sitting to my left, and though I didn't dare look at her, I could feel the full load of her curiosity ready to burst out of her.

Then Gillian let it fall: "Exactly when were you going to tell me about your little car ride with Roger Donaldson?"

Dianne let out a long, rising "Whaaat!?"

Paul's jaw dropped. He started blinking and couldn't stop.

Cathy goldfished.

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. "Now, I guess?"

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]


Thanks to Kristina LS for her help and feedback.

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Comments

A Great Job

joannebarbarella's picture

Look, I loved the original, but you're reworking it and expanding it and keeping the atmosphere and the characters so true to the original and yet, it's different, and I'm chuckling all the way through, and I so want it to go through to a conclusion, whatever that may be (HEE, HEE). Can't wait for the next episode,
Hugs,
Joanne

like quick sand

it seems when ever Bill tries to move a bit to get out of that mess he is sliding in deeper. I can't wait to see where this will lead.

thanks for this fun story Kaleigh

hugs

Holly

Friendship is like glass,
once broken it can be mented,
but there will always be a crack.

This Story Takes The Old Adage Of

Staying in bed to new levels. Oh my!! Will he ever get a break?? Maybe he needs to meet Marcie or Short Chapters.
May Your Light Forever Shine

    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine

When in a hole,

stop digging. There's a problem if someone else is doing the digging, though.

Looking forward to more of this. It's not usually my type of story but I got hooked. Well done.

Susie

Dig UP you fool . . .

If it takes one team half a day to dig a hole, how long will it take Bill or Bel for that matter, to dig herself--um, himself out of it.

Your mind is more warped than mine and that's saying something.

I think he should definitely have stayed in bed.

Jessica
I really AM that bad

OMG, he's stepped in it, he has.

Poor sappy Bill, I can just guess where this is going now. Poor baby, NOT!

Gwendolyn

Wickedly entertaining:)

Although there were a few moments where I was kinda thinking that Diane was being a bit of a b--ch:) I think she's a bit of one of those run over you kind of people.
Loved the ending that whole meek hand wringing this.

*Hugs*
Bailey.

Bailey Summers