Peter and I were sitting together eating our lunch in the cafeteria. Peter is in sales and I am in product development, which means that we make good lunch companions because we don't give a damn about the other people in our respective departments. We are opposites in many ways: he is stylish, I am a Sears wannabe; he is married and I am "between girlfriends" (I'm seem to always be); he is outgoing and I'm kind of quiet. We met during a sales prep meeting and since then we try to schedule lunch together at least once a week. Our coworkers shake their heads when they see us seated in animated conversation.
Peter was complaining was another sales convention in Las Vegas that was going to be five days long and run over the weekend. He was whining about the long hours staffing a booth and losing the weekend. Peter was bitching, but I knew he was also excited because one of the powerhouse VP's was leading up the team and he would get to schmooze him for five days. Once a salesman, always a salesman and Peter loved to sell himself.
Since he was peddling one of my pet products, I took his whining in stride. Peter mentioned that his wife was upset about the trip and she was anxious about being alone. I nodded with detached concern and went back to my pet product, but Peter turned the conversation back to his wife.
"Hey," I volunteered, "do you want me to call her while you are gone just to check in?" He was selling my stuff; I was willing to do my part on the home front to make sure my numbers were good. One phone call: that would be, what, two minutes of my time.
I had met Jessica once at a required attendance function. She was tall with a good figure and a
little reserved. She had said "hi" to me, held on to Peter and stared down at her drink. It must have been a fascinating drink.
Peter nodded at my suggestion and concluded, "it couldn't hurt."
He left on Thursday and true to my word I called Jessica Saturday morning.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Jessica, it's Brad. I told Peter I would check in with you to see if you needed anything."
I heard silence from the other end of the line. "Are you okay?" I asked showing a little concern in my voice.
"I don't know what to do," whispered Jessica. I could hear the anxiety in her voice and I bent down trying to hear her better.
"What's the matter?"
"Peter would know what to do," she began, "he would tell me what to do."
"What's the matter?" My own worry meter was starting to quiver.
"The dishwasher. It. It won't run." Her anxiety was palpable.
"Oh." I paused considering what I was getting myself into, "Would you like me to come over and look at it for you."
"Yeah," she croaked and I could hear the tears forming behind her words.
I told her I would be over in half an hour and slapped on a pair of almost clean jeans. I only got lost once and made it to Peter's house in forty-five minutes. Toolbox in hand because I keep one in my car, which only proves that product development is a good fit for me, I knocked at the door. Jessica opened the door with red eyes and a sniffling nose. She was wearing an old blouse, a jeans skirt and that was about it; she was barefoot and a bit unkempt.
"Um, thanks for coming," she said as she twiddled a strand of hair around her index finger and stared at the floor.
"No problem," I proclaimed and stepping around her, made my way to the kitchen after a few sweeps to find the room. Jessica followed after me, almost on my heels. Putting down my toolbox, I tried the dial on the dishwasher and the machine was dead.
"Can you fix it?" Jessica said worriedly. I looked up at her with sincere puzzlement on my face. A dishwasher is no big deal, the sink still works after all, so what was all the worry about.
"Easily," I said with a sagely nodding of my head. The look of relief on her face was so thorough that I knew that something was going on inside her head that just didn't fit the usual. My eyes dropped down taking note of her braless breasts against the cotton of her blouse. Finding the floor I stared for a moment at her feet and her perfectly painted toenails; it was the beauty of symmetry.
"Where are the circuit breakers?" I asked coming back to my senses. Jessica mulled over that one for a moment and then asked me if she should call Peter and ask him.
"Don't bother," I replied, "we can find it ourselves." And off we went with me leading the pack as Jessica followed at my heels. The panel was not in the garage but it was next to the washer in the laundry room. The circuit was good.
"We need to go back to the kitchen," I announced and Jessica latched on to my heels again. I was beginning to wonder about this woman. In the kitchen I opened the doors under the sink to check the wires running through the cabinet. It was crammed tight with cleaning crap. I asked Jessica to fetch a laundry basket; she jumped up and scurried off to find it.
After removing a ridiculous number of cleaners, scrubbies, mops and ant killer, I found the wires had been jerked around and twisted by all of the stuff. Jessica bounded back into the room with a smile and the basket. I pointed to the mess and told her to load up all of the cleaners. She gave me another smile and I shrugged not knowing exactly how to reply.
Back to the circuit panel to kill the circuit with my newfound friend attached at my hip with her filled basket, we then returned to the dishwasher. I removed the panel at the bottom, found the wire that had been ripped off of the post and re-attached it. Back to the panel again, Jessica stayed at my heels.
The dishwasher worked; I was a hero and I had acquired an admirer. Understanding machines comes easily to me but figuring out people takes me a little longer. As I twisted the dishwasher dial through its paces, the pieces of the puzzle that was Jessica began to fit into a pattern. She was shy to be sure, she acted damn near helpless, and she did not want to be alone. It wasn't just alone though, she wanted to be near. Even more, she smiled and came alive when I gave her tasks to do.
More out of curiosity I turned and looked Jessica in the eye, "Make me a cup of coffee, you would?" That smile came back to her face and she almost pranced to the pantry to grab a coffee filter and the grounds. Here was a woman who loved to take orders and do what someone ordered her to do; Peter must be some lucky guy.
As the coffee finished brewing, Jessica looked up and asked me if the dishwasher was all fixed up. "All done and good as new," I answered.
She poured me a mug and handed it to me. Our fingers touched and I felt a spark of electricity go through my body but Jessica continued to lean in and kissed me on the cheek and said softly, "thank you." The musty smell of her sweat tickled my nostrils and I breathed deep to inhale her scent.
I melted. My smile strained all the way back to my ears and Jessica's face, when I looked up, mirrored mine.
"Do you have anything to do today?" I managed to ask without choking on my nerves.
"Just the dishes," she answered with a little pout on her lips.
"Join me for a cup of coffee." The pout disappeared and she reached for another mug and filled it.
We sat at the kitchen table and we talked. We talked about this and that and even touched on Peter a little. My stomach rumbled loudly and Jessica offered to make me lunch. We were both lonely and she does make a really good salsa.
I excused myself to use the pot and when I returned Jessica was staring at me, running her eyes up and down my body and frowning. "You know," she started, "those clothes don't look good on you at all."
I think my jaw dropped a foot as my whole head dropped to view my fashion disaster.
"No, no," Jessica giggled as she grabbed me by both arms. "I don't want to stay home today and I want to help you get some new clothes. Consider it my way of saying 'thank you' for saving me from my dishwasher."
"Don't you want to wait for Peter to call?," I offered, warring between my newfound desire to be near Jessica and my loyalty to a friend.
Jessica looked out the kitchen window and got a distant sort of look in her eyes. "He isn't going to call."
