Perfect Presentation

[Authors note:

i

is the set up.

ii

is the payoff.]

i

Laura's heels click-clacked, echoing across the station concourse as she put in a token sprint towards the train after persuading the guard at the barrier to let her onto the platform. He looked her up and down; he radioed his colleague to hold the door and told her to get a move on. His grinning mate was watching her boobs jumping under her white silk blouse as he beckoned her towards the last carriage. "Come on love, shake a leg, this one is late." Although not late enough to prevent him having a long look at her bum as he closed the door behind her. She wondered why women put up with this, but hadn't she just acted the little girl lost to get the guard to open the barrier for her? He'd have said, "Sorry, mate, you're too late," to a bloke.

The crowded train reached Watford by the time she found her reserved seat. The middle-aged woman plonked in it refused to meet Laura's eyes. Rather than get annoyed, she'd wondered what her boyfriend Ross, would do in this situation. She placed her reservation ticket on top of the woman's newspaper and stood; comfortable with the silence, waiting for the woman to acknowledge her.

Embarrassed by stares from the other passengers, she looked up. "Oh, sorry, I didn't see you there. Is this your seat?"

"Yes, it is. Thank you very much," Laura added, leaving the woman in no doubt she was claiming ownership. "I'm meeting some colleagues later in this carriage. I am sure I saw some empty seats further up." The woman gathered her belongings without too much huffing and puffing and made her way in the direction Laura pointed. She felt guilty lying, but the woman's sheer bloody rudeness annoyed her.

That was one of Ross's pet subjects; the emancipation of women in the workplace had given them the right to be as rude to each other as men were. 'Why does a successful woman think she has to be a clone of a bloke?' Ross said at a dinner party two weeks earlier. The conversation had been boring until his provocative bomb stirred a spirited discussion.

Laura took her seat and tried to relax. She'd was conflicted about their relationship. They'd only known each for a year and had been living together for the last six months, but she suspected Ross was getting bored. That morning though, he'd been a lifesaver. She sent him a quick text.

Made the train. Thanks for everything. Love Laura x.

Less than a minute later, she had his answer.

Knew you would. I have every faith in you, knock them out champ

.

From nowhere sprang warm and contented feelings. Why were her feelings about Ross always at extremes? She never lived with anyone before and didn't know if this was normal. Maybe in time they would settle in the middle, but was that what she wanted?

Laura replayed the morning's events. Ross was working from home but got up with her and was watching TV breakfast news.

"I didn't know you were interested in the decline of the butterfly population," she said as she gulped her tea.

"I'm not. I just like to see what the girls are wearing." Ross's smile left Laura unsure if he was joking. She went into the bedroom to get dressed and heard him flicking through the channels.

"See anyone you fancy?" she joked.

"Oh yes, you can always rely on Sky Sports News to deliver the goods."

She could not resist putting her head around the door. A young woman about her age, wearing too much makeup and a party dress was reading football headlines. She might be a talented journalist, but Laura doubted her current job tested those skills.

Ross turned and interrupted her critique. "You've not got time eye up the presenters, get dressed." She snapped out of it and she darted back into the bedroom, glancing at the clock. Her nervousness at presenting later on seemed to slow her brain.

"What are you going to wear?" came Ross's voice from the couch.

"I haven't decided yet." Laura wished she had not left it to the last minute to choose her outfit.

"Who are the audience?"

She inspected her wardrobe and picked one. "A few doctors, nursing managers, but mainly hospital administrators."

"I see. People in the 30-50 age range. I'll tell you what not to wear. Don't wear a dark trouser suit with a formal business shirt."

Laura turned to make sure he was not standing behind her, then she looked back at the outfit bought from TM Lewin a few days earlier. She huffed. "What's wrong with an outfit like that, mister fashion expert?"

"Nothing, if you want to look like a stereotype business lesbian. You know, a late twenties woman with an MBA in a hurry to get on with her career. Dressing like a man won't earn their respect, plus you will alienate older people in the audience. The health service is not the City."

Laura was about to castigate Ross for his sexist views when she remembered how intimidated she was by how her boss dressed. Ross had never met her, but she could imagine him repeating his comments. Did she really want to model herself on Elizabeth?

She felt paralyzed with indecision. "What's your suggestion then, clever clogs?"

"What about that outfit I bought you in Paris? It's smart without being severe. Woman will be curious where you got it and the fit will charm the older men."

Laura opened the suit bag containing a calf length French blue pencil skirt in a clingy jersey material, matched with a white silk blouse and a grey waist-length jacket. The skirt zipped up the front and back, allowing the wearer to decide how much leg she wanted to show. It was an excellent choice. "I was just thinking of that," she said, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. She slipped it on and went into the living room where Ross appraised her with lustful looks.

"That's not the impression I want to make," Laura chided, hands on hips.

"Then you had better put the goods away," he replied, nodding towards the skirt, still unzipped to mid-thigh from when she first modelled it before they left for dinner. By the time he had finished with her, they ended up phoning for a take away.

Laura checked she had everything and glanced at her tickets again. Her stomach lurched. She was sure she had booked onto the 8.40 am train, but her tickets said the 8.20 am.

Ross recognised her panic. "Can I help?"

"I need a cab, or a magic carpet to get me to the station in time."

He smiled reassuringly. "No problem, you try one company, I'll try another." He started phoning. She was so glad he just got on with it without criticising her timekeeping. Sometimes, he could be the perfect boyfriend.

After getting no joy from two taxi companies, Laura's only option was stopping one in the street. She gave Ross a quick kiss, avoiding his last-minute molestation, grabbed her bag and set off.

She reached the corner when she heard a piercing whistle. Ross was on the balcony of their flat waving in the opposite direction. A minute later, a black cab headed towards her. The cabbie had his head out of the window, looking up and she caught Ross's voice. "The beautiful blond at the end," he shouted, pointing at her.

Laura gave thanks for living in central London and stepped into the road, waving. He pulled up, and she waved gratefully at Ross. As he waved back, his pyjama trousers fell down, attracting whistles from the by passers. With one hand covering his crown jewels, he bowed theatrically before backing into the room. "Your bloke's a bit of a showman," said the cabbie with a good-natured laugh.

"I guess he is," said Laura, not for the first time wondering where the performance ended and the person began. Ross could be kind, and sometimes she felt so right in his company. But in the back of her mind, an element of distrust nagged at her. The ticket inspector broke her reverie. 'Enough daydreaming girl, you've got other things to think about now', she cautioned herself.

As she checked her presentation on her laptop for the umpteenth time, a little note popped up on the screen.

'Laura, you need to choose. Safe or sensational. Ross x.

'

A couple of days before, she'd asked him to comment on it as he did them every day. Tactfully, Ross tried to get her to rethink what she wanted to achieve. He suggested while she might feel more comfortable reading a deck of PowerPoint slides; he doubted the audience would enjoy having her do what they could do for themselves. 'Tell them the story of what you did using as few slides as possible. Make them listen. It's you they want to see, Laura. Not your slides.'

The scheme was her brain child and had come from her five years' experience of working in different departments, and her parents twenty-five years' experience as a maternity nurse and a medical technician. Laura's attention to detail had been the key to its success.

Elizabeth showed little interest in her work. `You are good at the detail. I prefer the strategy stuff,' she said pompously, the only time Laura asked for advice. Now the pilot was yielding excellent results and generating favourable comments from the bigwigs, Elizabeth was quick to talk up her role in `our' project and qualifying Laura's achievements under her supervision. Laura was livid when she discovered Elizabeth, in a burst of shameless self-publicity, offered to speak about the project at the big national health administrator's conference in Birmingham.

"Women may not be equipt but they can still shaft each other," said Ross, returning to his theme from the dinner party as he tried to calm her down. "See if you can go along on the gig. Put your face in with people and make contacts," he added. Laura did not have the inclination or schmoozing skills that Ross had in spades, but agreed she should be there in case anyone asked questions Elizabeth couldn't answer. When Elizabeth declined her kind offer, `because the travel budget was thin at the moment, ' Laura bit her tongue to stop calling her a bitch to her face.

Just when Laura was convinced you had to be a bastard to get ahead, God intervened to prove otherwise. Elizabeth phoned in sick the next day. She'd slipped on the stairs and dislocated her ankle. Laura barely kept a straight face on the phone as she danced around the office, making sympathetic noises. "We'll have to cope without you as best we can," she said with a hint of irony, which was lost on Elizabeth.

When she told Ross the news that evening, he said, 'Some people get what they deserve and others get what they need.' He added he was feeling a little feverish after spending so much mental effort putting a curse on Elizabeth and needed to lie down for a while. Would she check to see he did not get delirious. She rolled her eyes at his opportunism but felt like celebrating. Ross made a remarkable recovery once he got her between the sheets. Laura did not believe in two miracles in the same day.

She gave up looking blankly at her screen whist trying to get Ross out of her head and thought back to where they first met. A City wine bar, with her friend Carol bemoaning her fate loudly, because everyone talking at the top of their voices. For the past year, she'd been the secret girlfriend of a married man, a consultant at their hospital. He was charming, brilliant, full of his own self-importance and a magnet for unwary young woman. Laura knew her friend was not the first and wouldn't be the last to fall for his charms.

"I don't know how long I can go on being his mistress?" Carol confided dramatically.

Having listened sympathetically for the last half hour, it was time she gave Carol a reality check. "Are you sure you're his mistress?" Laura questioned.

"What you mean?" Carol was put out Laura doubted her.

"A proper mistress is someone the man sets up somewhere and spoils her with affection and treats. He makes her feel special. Tells her she gives him something he could never get from his wife. Simon doesn't spoil you like that, does he? He treats you like some young bird he is shagging on the side when he's got spare time." Laura took a sip of wine while her friend processed her harsh words.

Carol looked up, tears welling. "How could you say that Laura, I thought you were my best friend?"

She put a consoling arm around Carol's shoulder. "It's because I am your best friend, that I'm being honest with you. You've got these romantic notions in your head, but he's bad for you and I don't want to see you get hurt."

Carol sniffed and searched for a tissue. "No, maybe you're right. When I'm on my own, that's what it feels like. It's good to know I'm not being oversensitive."

They sat in silence, watching the scene on the other side of the glass partition doors where a private party was taking place. A group of younger men were welcoming their guests; mainly single elderly ladies, although a few were accompanied by their husbands. It was a while before they noticed one host was studying them in return. He winked and they looked away in embarrassment at being caught.

Later, at the bar, Laura was turning round with two glasses of white wine when she almost walked into the man from behind the glass partition. He was fit, about 6 feet tall, with brown curly hair, the sort that mothers try to pat down after licking their fingers. He had grey eyes and a welcoming smile.

"Hello, my name is Ross." He looked her in the eye.

"Hello, I'm Laura," she replied, feeling shy at his directness.

"Your friend seems to have cheered up."

"So, you were spying on us?" said Laura.

"No, I just recognised the scene."

She wanted to prick this know-it-all's balloon. "Are we such a cliché, two women getting drunk and weepy?"

Ross stepped back from her assault. "No, not at all. You're right to be concerned for your friend." Laura did not respond and went to move on. "You know he'll never leave his wife for her?"

Laura was shocked. She couldn't believe from that distance; he'd worked out what their conversation was about.

Ross explained. "My sister had an affair with a married man. I must have said the same things you did. I recognised the look on your friend's face. Not the same as when women complain about a husband or boyfriend, it's much more intense."

Laura didn't know what to say. Ross had got to the core of them from across the room. He unsettled her.

"What are the pair of you doing later?" Ross asked, trying to lighten the moment. She knew she should go, but had to listen to his offer. She was curious which one of them he was interested in. "Our client meet-and-greet session will wrap up in a couple of hours." He looked back at the gathering behind the glass.

She was intrigued to find an explanation, for Carol of course. "What do you do?"

He explained. "Wealth management. Our company advises high net worth individuals how to invest their money." She smiled. "What's so amusing?"

Laura wanted to shock him, like he shocked her with his perceptiveness. "We thought you were a bunch of gigolos entertaining old ladies, and the husbands had come along to supervise who their wives took home for the night."

Ross's eyes opened wide in amazement and he laughed. "Laura, you've made my evening. I wish the work was that easy, although with most of our clients it would be impossible and I'd be sacked in the morning. Tomorrow, I will share your joke with my colleagues."

"No, please don't." Laura's face turned red. "I don't want to embarrass anyone."

"Not at all, you've made us all heroes. But you haven't answered my question. What are you doing later?" he reminded her.

"I don't know, Ross. We have no plans, but we should get something to eat after all this drink."

He nodded. "Just what I was thinking. I would like you and your friend to be my guests for supper at the Savoy."

It sounded so quaint. Laura had never been there. She confirmed he was inviting both of them, although in reassuring her it was clear he was being polite by including her friend. "I'm sure Carol would enjoy a posh supper too. I should get back to her now."

"Off course, and I have a few more clients to service," Ross winked, making Laura blush again. "But I will save something for the two of you. See you later." He walked away, leaving her open-mouthed at his sauciness.

Carol had watched their flirtatious conversation. "Well, what did he say?" She shrieked when Laura said she told him they thought they were gigolos. When she explained his job and Carol added, "so he's just charming their money out of their knickers," they both had tears in their eyes from laughing so hard.

As the evening wore on and the bar emptied, Ross would glance over occasionally and smile. A bottle of champagne appeared at their table with a note, 'With compliments from the gigolos'. He raised his glass to them and two embarrassed red faces held theirs up in thanks. Laura wasn't the only one warming to his sense of humour.

"Maybe I'm wasting my time with Simon?" Carol had not taken her eyes from the partition for five minutes, and was checking Ross out as he bent over the table to fill the glass of an elderly lady.

Laura was suddenly competitive. It had taken Carol showing interest to confirm her feelings. "We had an interesting discussion at the bar," she teased.

"Oh, what did you talk about?"

"Current affairs. In particular, your situation with Simon."

Carol was annoyed. "Laura! How could you tell that to a stranger, for God's sake?"

"Seems like you told him yourself. Apparently, it's written all over your face."

"What do you mean?"

"He said tell your friend he will never leave his wife." Carol coughed into her glass mid sip. Laura explained. "Ross said his sister had an affair with a married man. When he looked at you, he remembered. Ross says it's not the same look as a woman who's unhappy with a boyfriend or husband. The look of an unhappy mistress is much more pained."

Carol sat stunned, then opened her handbag to check herself in the mirror of a small compact. "Well, I can't see mistress tattooed across my forehead. But if it's obvious to him, God knows how many other men it is clear to."

"Maybe you should get yourself out of that situation," said Laura, more sympathetically. "Then it will disappear of its own accord."

"Yes, you might be right." Carol took a big gulp of champagne for courage.

Ross's reception finished at 10.30 and he joined them afterwards. The wine and champagne had given the girls a rosy glow. "So, you don't have to work the night shift?" said Carol saucily. He was even better looking close up.

"No, someone else is doing my shift this evening," Ross joked back. "Besides, they like to get to bed by eleven."

A short cab ride later, they sat in the Savoy Gallery restaurant. The place had a sense of theatre that impressed both girls who ooh'd at the elegant black and white tiled foyer and aah'd at the luxurious carpet and white wrought iron bandstand in the restaurant, where a pianist was playing soft jazz standards to the late night clientele.

"I love this place," Ross said, "Memories of grand times are recorded in these walls. Supper at the Savoy used to be an after-dinner treat for couples who came to town for the theatre. But it's just as valid to come in hungry after a skin full."

Ross was a wonderful conversationalist, and the time flew by. He had a fund of witty stories about people from his tiny farming village in Ayrshire. Laura didn't know how many of them were true, but he conjured up a magical old fashion world that enchanted both of them. It was nearly 1 o'clock in the morning when they caught a cab home.

"Can we drop you somewhere?" Ross said, looking at Carol and making his intention of being alone with Laura clear.

"She's staying with me tonight," Laura answered quickly. She knew if she were alone with Ross, she would not resist his advances and she did not want to be just a one-night stand.