Patiences Do Not Do Resolutions

Patience woke up with a hangover on the morning after the works' Christmas party. She was alone, as usual, disappointed and, as she had overslept by half an hour, she was going to be late for work for the first time in her five-year-long working life at XYZ Bank.

She felt disappointed and miserable this morning, noticing her bad bed hair in the steamed up mirror that she wiped with one hand as she brushed her teeth with the electric brush she'd treated herself to in last year's January sales.

When she was promoted to team leader last January she had begun the year with boundless energy and enthusiasm and had looked forward to a great future. Still alone and unloved, of course, but she had thrown all her eggs into the one basket and felt after four years of concentrated study, that she had the unpredictable bond market pegged and the Boss had not only recognised that and even pointed out in his pre-office-party speech that she was now running a successful team of twelve traders that were really hauling in the results.

But that warm glow of recognised success was early that previous evening, now at dawn on this dark winter morning she felt she had definitely let herself down.

She dressed listlessly noting the time on the bedside clock. She was planning on starting work at 9 this morning, two hours later than normal, as most of the staff were instructed to post-party. The markets would be quiet everywhere today. It was a concession Kevin the Boss had made and announced when he decided that they would have the office party on the Thursday before Christmas, that they should start the Friday late and have a hair of the dog and some nibbles at noon for an hour at most and then clear the office until the Wednesday after Christmas.

It was a plan and Patience decided she had about half an hour to spare and she would use that time to sit down and write her New Year Resolutions now.

She had been doing them every year since she was about six years old, usually five in number and she would tick them off as she broke them one by one. One year she lasted on her 'no chocolate shall pass these lips' resolution until Easter; only last year she didn't last much past 4pm on New Year's Day, while staying at her parents and the mint-choc Matchmakers did the rounds, and Patience's patience gave in on the third round.

She sat at her tiny one-bed flat's galley kitchen with a pad and pencil and a tea cup with a tea bag brewing in it.

'Number 1 no fucking chocolate', she wrote and underlined it twice and, as an afterthought, crossed out the 'fucking'.

'I'll write this out in big letters and stick it on my new kitchen noticeboard, when I get one in the January sales," she thought positively, 'so no words like 'fucking'. Write down sensible resolutions, Patience, ones that you know you can keep.'

She wrote on her pad, 'No. 2. No Sex' then crossed the 'No Sex' words out and wrote, 'No BAD Sex', and underlined the 'BAD' three times.

"Oh god," she said out loud to echo in her empty flat, "I did have bad sex last night, so bad that it was sooo damn good, the best sex ever. And then that bastard Jeremy wakes up before me and sees me lying there with my streaky make-up and bed hair and sneaks off out without a fucking word! The. Total. Fucking. Bastard!"

'No. 3. No Swearing', she wrote on her pad and chewed the end of her pencil, remembering bits and pieces of vague mixed up memories of last night.

"And it was all my own fault," she sighed, "After all that booze from a free bar all evening and followed by being bedded by a complete a-hole who I would never normally touch with a barge pole. He's younger than me and I'm his boss, it's like cradle snatching by a ridiculous old maid, I'll never live it down in the office. Never. Ever!"

'No. 4. No Alcohol', she wrote. "Damn, I've got half a bottle of wine in the fridge, but then I've got a week until the New Year. I might need that as therapy tonight after the day I guess I'm going to have. Oh, going into work ... I know I was hammered, Jeremy the Bastard was definitely hammered, beer goggles on his part, pure lust on mine. Oh God, what have I done? I was relying on being discrete but was it as obvious as it now seems in the cold light of day? So embarrassing, sleeping with ... him, him of all people. The office Casanova. I'll never live it down."

'It's so unfair, the blokes get hero-worshipped and hi-fived for being total sluts and given a name that even sounds romantic, like Casanova, while I've probably become the Office Slut and will forever be labelled an Old Tart and a Cradle Snatcher. Shit!'

Patience stirred her tea bag, lifted it, squeezed it out and plonked the spent bag onto the saucer. She stirred in a splash of milk and sipped the hot refreshing liquid from the lip of the cup.

Closing her eyes, she thought about the pain, no, the pains, plural. The hangover pain, the pain from way behind her tired eyes, the pain of rejection by the man who had got his jollies off and the pain of embarrassment that she knows will come and keep coming back until Jeremy leaves the company or she does. "Damn, and I worked so bloody hard for this life, damned hard!"

'No. 5. No Fraternisation, Ever!!!' she wrote on her pad, underlining 'Fraternisation' with a wavy line for emphasis.

'That's not just a New Year Resolution, that's a Golden Rule for Life,' she said to herself, then out loud, "A golden rule for a quite bossy chick with attitude, a little on the chubby side maybe, but one who has a solid foundation for a career to concentrate on. I am going to win respect and be a role model for my staff, with no distractions, not a single one. I can do this and these five resolutions will get me back on track. Ms Patience Long, future CEO of XYZ Bank. I can see the gleaming brass plate on my suite of offices now."

Her phone chirped on the charger next to the bread bin.

"Must be 7 o'clock," she said to herself, "I must get going."

But the chirp extended to a full ring.

"Who's ringing me at this unearthly hour?" she wondered.

She got up and turned, the phone only two steps away in her tiny kitchen. She didn't recognise the number, 'Mmmm,' she thought.

"Hello?" she asked.

"Hi de hi, Sweetheart," the bright and cheerful voice came over the loudspeaker of the phone, "you up yet, showered, dusted in pure babe powder, dressed and decent, or are you ... otherwise?" The last word deep and full, Patience thought, of sexual innuendo.

"Er, yes, I'm up" she answered hesitatingly, "er, who's this?"

"Oh, I'm soooo mortally wounded, I'm clutching my broken heart to hold it together," the voice replied with an upbeat chuckle at the end, "so cruel you are to a mere mortal and yet you seemed such a sleeping beauty, a goddess in repose, when I had to tear myself away at some ungodly hour to serve my slave driver overseer, you know, tote that bale, pluck that cotton, service the plantation owners' insatiable daughter."

"Jeremy?" Patience asked, "is that you?"

"Yes, my dear, and who else would be calling you this early, worshipping you with 'sweetheart' and other endearments?" Jeremy said brightly, surprisingly brightly he seemed to Patience.

"Well, no-one I guess," Patience replied, "except my Dad, sometimes, but not often recently."

"Well, get used to it, terms of endearment are customary between couples, feel free to chip in manly compliments whenever they take your fancy. If you feel 'sweetheart' is a little jaded then I'm sure I can come up with something, but definitely not 'sugarplum' you do have to draw the line somewhere, ga-ga-ga," Jeremy said, with a little vocal gagging impressions at the end. "Anyway, copy this phone number into your contacts and put me under 'Stud', if you have to, but I'd prefer 'Jezza' or 'Jez' but never 'Jezzie', sounds too much like 'Lezzie' OK? Then, you can get your cute butt into work, Kevin's PA is already unloading the booze ready for the Noon do."

"What?" Patience felt disorientated, her mind running through selected words, like 'sweetheart', 'sugarplum', and 'cute butt' and 'noon do' and trying to make sense of it all. 'I mean,' she thought, 'the sex last night was indeed out of this world. But I'm just a notch on the Jeremy bedpost, aren't I?'

"Hey, 'So-called-Stud', how did you get my number, did I give it to you last night?" she demanded.

"No, you were totally incapable of coherence after, well before too but definitely and especially after," Jeremy laughed, "we both were after all. I got your number off the office contact list and you are now in my phone as 'Pash', that is 'Paaysh' with a long 'a' sound so it is recognisably short for Patience, not 'pash' as meaning 'passion-full'. They are spelled the same and in your case they mean the same but are pronounced quite differently."

"Office contact list? Where the hell are you?" Patience asked.

"In the office, of courses," Jeremy replied, "you asked for at least two volunteers to man the office and I volunteered along with Lick-arse Lenny and Dreamy Di, but neither of them have showed up. Di said she was the sensible married one, remember and her hubby fireman-lifted her out of the pub at about 9.30. As for Lenny, well we all know he's all talk and no trousers. He's only still employed as he's Kevin's god-son."

"So how?"

"Ah, I woke up, I have an excellent sense of time and place, and I left you at 6 and made it here quarter of an hour early. Really quiet on the Tube, I think a lot of offices have started Christmas early," Jeremy laughed. "As for the office, I'm the only one in from our team. Kevin's PA Karen came in on her starting time at 7.30, she wasn't at the party, and has brought the booze in and has scooted off to get the grub from M&S when they open at 8. So, I thought as I was the only one here all on my lonesome with no-one to boss me about for a change, I would call my loved one for a private conversation and thank her most sincerely for blowing my socks off, which I hope we can repeat fairly constantly now that the barriers are down."

"Loved one?"

"You are there on your own this bright cold winter morning, yes?"

"Yes, but."

"And, you are trying to recover from a night of passion with 'your secret admirer' who sent his second very private secret 'secret Santa' prezzie to you, remember? Ooh I think you were checking it twice and I delivered it thrice, if my memory of Christmas Party Past serves me right? Blame the alcohol for that, Hon, if you wish but we both had more than a hand in what happened after that. And, on the receiving side, you appeared to have acknowledged that secret prezzie on, well, for want of another expression, multiple times, am I not exaggerating?"

"Er, yes, I do remember the second present quite fondly and the first, the Hairy Beaver, rather less fondly," Patience laughed for the first time this morning, noticing the unwrapped Hairy Beaver with the pot and packet of grass seed on one side of the kitchen worktop, "you cheeky sod. I was so embarrassed when I opened that in front of everyone."

"Not as embarrassed as you seemed opening your optional additional present somewhat later, you did grow a delightful flush to your cheeks. But yes you laughed at the public gift," Jeremy returned her laugh, "we were limited to less than £10 which cut down on options, but it did make you laugh and I even got a penny in my pocket for change. Actually, it was Christine who organised the Secret Santa draw and fiddled it in my favour. Now, that we've broken the ice I'm hoping we can watch your hairy beaver grow together and, if you like, I'll take over the watering and trimming duties, I've got the scissors for the job and a grooming kit to boot if you have the necessary beaver."

"As if I'd let you anywhere near my precious beaver with a sharp implement," Patience said, realising too late what she said.

"No, Pash, tempting, but not going there," Jeremy laughed.

Patience giggled and shook her head in surprise at their saucy conversation. She was sure she hadn't giggled like that since she was a girl; she'd been so focused on school, college and career that she only smiled briefly in welcome or thanks and never walked around like Jeremy who always seemed to have a permanent smile affixed to his face. It's one of the things that had always attracted her to him from afar.

"Look, it's almost ten past. I better get a move on, get my coat on and I'll see you soon."

"OK," Jeremy said, "I might speak to you on the Tube, if the office is still empty of big ears."

"Oh, O ... K," Patience replied a little doubtfully.

"Come on, Sweetheart," Jeremy insisted, "don't go all 'stranger-danger' on me. We. Have. Been. Intimate. Between us the barriers are not what they were before. At work we can be as frost as usual, and be as standoffish as you were until you attacked me in the cab."

"What?!" Patience exclaimed as she slipped her shoes on. "You seduced me, you cad, with sweet talk and ohh those kisses, so many dreamy kisses, and, and ... your lovely fingers. Now, shut up, minion, I have to get my coat on, lock up my flat and run for the train."

"Running shoes on?"

"Of course, it's dress down Friday," she replied smugly, gathering her handbag and keys, surveying the flat, wrinkling her nose at the dirty tea cup, the used wine glasses and, through the open bedroom door a scene reminiscent of Tracey Emin's infamous artwork. Patience was never this disorganised, ever. She remembered to put the milk in the fridge. "Hey, are you still in your tux?"

"Of course not, Dear Heart," Jeremy replied equally smugly, "I usually cycle in, so I have a locker in the men's executive bathroom with a week's supply of clothes that I change regularly, so I am smart cazz, if you really want to know. I'll show you my tighty-whities later, only they're blue ... possibly, I wasn't paying attention."

"How did you get a key to the--" she started as she clattered down the stairs to the street door.

"Special concession to regular cyclists, doing our bit for the carbon footprint of the planet," Jeremy answered.

"You smug bugger!" Patience exclaimed, "speak to you later, young man, hanging up." She hung up and smiled despite the chill outside.

xXx

In the tube the silenced phone vibrated in Patience's hand and lit up to show the name 'Jez'.

'I'll have to take a photo of that disgraceful wretch,' she thought to herself before pressing the green button, saying, "Rightnin' Fast Chinese Lraundly, starchin' men's tightly-whiteries our speciarity. How can I herrp you preeeze?"

"Oh, you certainry make my undies tighter," Jez laughed. "I hear you are in the Oxo cube, winging your lovely self towards my aching heart. So, what were you up to this morning when I rang, you seemed preoccupied."

"You sound as though you are still alone in the office?" she asked hopefully, not wanting her dirty laundry hanging out to dry in the office.

"No, just Karen is in the outer office, unpacking the groceries," Jez laughed, "our secret is still secret, but with all that stuff being unpacked I got an attack of the munchies, so I retreated to your office. I thought I might as well do nothing in here rather than obviously doing nothing in plain sight. Talking of 'plain sight' how can I put this without you superglueing my nostrils together while I sleep?"

"What? I wouldn't," she protested, "girl guides' honour, I don't even have any superglue. What were you going to say?"

"OK, now bear in mind that, in repose, with your face relaxed and untroubled by work worries, you are beautiful, but."

"But?" she asked, interested but also wishing to fill in the growing pause from the other end.

"... you looked like sleeping beauty, my love," he said softly, tenderly, "but your make up from last night was spectacularly mashed and mingled, but in a delightfully sexy way, just don't venture into raccoon territory during mating season, unless of course, you really feel you must. I mean, I'm open minded and would prefer exclusivity, what with that rare but virulent raccoon-flu on the rise, some zoo keepers say it's worse than monkey-clap."

"You arse!" Patience laughed, "Yes, I saw your lips and tongue had rather muddied up my studied arrangement of pigments designed to emphasise the better features of my rather pale and uninteresting physog. So, my face in the bathroom mirror did look like the palette of a demented impressionist, but I clean up OK. Oh shit! I forgot to put my face on. That's your fault talking to me on the phone."

"Oh no," Jez said, "just calling up the breaking news on your tv screen, looking for the headline 'Tube Horror! Faces Eaten off by Aliens', nope, not in the news yet."

"Clown," she muttered, "I never go out without my make-up, just a little mascara because my eyelashes are light brown, a little blue eyeshade to make my eyes pop, a bit of lippy otherwise my lips crack and, as for my eyebrows, they haven't been plucked for so long it must look like I'm hiding under a hedge. God, I must look awful."

"Pash, my sweet girl, you are an English rose, I assure you," Jez said, "I have unscented lip balm in my kitbag and an excellent invisible moisturiser. I use both on the bike to preserve my youthful looks and, I will say, far from being Capability Brown's hedge left rampant, you use those lovely eyebrows very expressively, I love them. And I can rub the balm and moisture in using my magic fingers, I am a fully trained massager, you know, ITEC Level 3 Massage Therapy, passed with honours during my gap year."

"You certainly have magic fingers, I was really sore this morning," she said quietly, moving the phone nearer her mouth and checking that there were no other passengers within four or five metres of her. "What you did in that cab ride was well, magical. You did seduce me, I remember now."

"You kissed me first, and I admit I am a little sore too, we didn't hold anything back last night and I might need a tetanus jab for that bite on my shoulder," Jez pointed out. "We were almost the last ones out of the pub. You were a little plastered and I assured Kevin, who felt a little responsible after all the praise he heaped on you, and I said I'd get you a cab. When we hit the street, you virtually swooned in the fresh air. I couldn't leave it to the cabbie to get you home, so I jumped in with you and then you jumped me."

"Oh, I did, damn," she remembered, "it's just that I'd fancied you for three months before a year ago I became your boss and, well you were young and far too handsome for a Plain Jane like me and then my defensive inhibitions were down last night."

"Plain Jane my arse, Sweetheart," Jez laughed, "maybe you don't realise how lovely you are. You're the whole package, fit, you dress well, you're bright and intelligent, a bit school-ma'amish at times, but hey, that floats my boat, so when you piped me aboard, well, I let nature take its course and I have no regrets, at all. And I am not interested in just a festive holiday cruise romance, I want to sign up as Sail-Mistresses Mate. One Able Bodied Semen maker reporting for duty and ready to sail the Seven Seas as shipmate, Ma'am."

"You charmer. I think you're going to be serious trouble, mister," she laughed, "it was you I was making a list for when you rang."

"Ooh I love lists. Right, to start with, I love silk stockings and suspenders, not for me of course," Jez jumped in and started his preferred list, "but I could look at you in those things for hours, and unrolling silk from a bended leg has to be one of my Seven Wonders of the world. I'm not fond of granny knickers or thongs, but frilly French knickers, what can I say, they tick my boxes every time."

"You arse, I was writing my New Year Resolutions," she said, "although I was definitely thinking of you as I was writing them."

"I bet you were thinking of me, you minx," Jez cooed over the loudspeaker, "come on then, out with it, how many resolutions are we going to break together and what are they?"