Fanny Bower Puts Herself Out There Read online

  Fanny Bower Puts Herself Out There

  Julia Ariss

  Copyright 2013 Julia Ariss

  License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  1

  Fanny was not a joiner. Whenever the threat of a large, boisterous gathering loomed over her, from which there was no possibility of escape, she became sick with dread. Each time misfortune placed her in the midst of a lively group whose chatter veered dangerously out of control into talk of parties and celebrations, she was seized by intense fear and an overwhelming desire to flee. Though she silenced the dubious, insistent critic in her head, she longed to blurt out, why not just a small get together? Who needs a cast of thousands? Even as discussion of some upcoming revelry escalated and ideas took shape, plans unfolded and were madly, joyously hashed out, calendars consulted and dates confirmed, she was secretly plotting ways to weasel out of it. She kept a large inventory of excuses at the ready. Just in case.

  Today was different though, for on this day she was starting anew. Having cast aside her niggling doubts and brazenly ignored all warning bells, she was doing something extraordinary, relatively speaking. Standing in the corporate lounge of a Toronto office tower, surrounded by at least a hundred co-workers, mostly strangers to her, she was making small talk and laughing whilst deftly managing a glass of wine and nibbling on hors d'oeuvres. She was mingling. The wine helped.

  As a hand extended toward hers, Fanny hurriedly swallowed her canapé and switched her wine glass, a bit too eagerly this time, to her left hand.

  "We haven't met yet; I'm Jack," said the voice belonging to the outstretched hand.

  Fanny wrenched her attention away from the splatters of wine she'd slopped onto the floor and their shoes, splatters that had caused both pairs of feet to swiftly edge back a step, and concentrated on the task at hand - returning a firm, dry handshake. Her inner resolve, only recently cultivated, helped her resist the temptation to dwell too long on the inelegant horror of the wine incident and wallow in self-loathing. She did not scan the room for the nearest exit. Nor did she release a stream of incomprehensible apologetic babble or turn an alarming and mottled shade of red. Nor did she instantly forget the name of the disarmingly attractive man with the salt and pepper hair and the dimpled grin who'd just introduced himself. Instead she stepped gingerly over the mess, met his gaze directly with a smile, and said, "No, we haven't met before but it's a pleasure to meet you, Jack. I'm Fanny Bower".

  "And you, Fanny. Look, I know you've just recently joined the company and I was just wondering how things are going. Are you settling in alright in Human Resources?"

  She'd noticed him for the first time on the elevator earlier in the day, but since he'd been absorbed in conversation with the head of the accounting department, and considering his ultra conservative attire on this evening, she could only conclude that he must be a number cruncher, most likely an actuary. But she was not going to allow an unimaginative tie or an aptitude for math to cloud her judgement; the universe would be her guide tonight and she was opening herself up to new possibilities. She needed to unleash a charm offensive, whatever that was. The wine helped.

  "Yes, I'm really enjoying my responsibilities in H.R. and my co-workers have been incredibly welcoming and helpful. It's only been two months but yes, feeling quite settled actually. Thanks for asking." This was the safe answer, the careful answer, the measured answer. There was no need to reveal to him that a series of soul-destroying contract positions had led her here, and now that she'd landed something full-time, she was still vaguely dissatisfied. She would dance around the truth for the moment and keep it light. This was not the time for candour.

  "Great. Glad you're fitting in. There's a great group of people in your department."

  "Yes they're good fun. Most of them are people people, as you would expect in Human Resources. This mixer was just about all they could talk about today and they've come out in force... they're in their element. So of course I couldn't miss it; I had to see if it lived up to the hype."

  "And has it lived up to the hype? I hope you're enjoying yourself."

  His eyes lingered for a moment expectantly, and in that brief span of time she busied herself processing the sensory input. She decided that a case could be made that his eyes were not strictly speaking blue, but more of a light grey and the intensity of his gaze did not amount to leering but was merely direct and curious. There was only one dimple and this seemed somehow right to her. She'd heard in his voice a sincere, soothing quality suited to radio and though he had a face for T.V. he was oblivious to it. His clothing was strictly functional, he was fit and tall-ish, he was in possession of a full head of hair and her senses were not reeling from overpowering men's cologne. She hadn't caught him sneak a peek at a hand held device and he did NOT wear a band on the ring finger of his left hand. All this was noted with a sigh of pleasure and as she observed him turning away she realized with a start that it was her turn to speak and she'd squandered valuable time when she could have been composing her reply.

  "Well, I am quite enjoying myself... despite my um... worst fears," she said. This caught his attention and he turned back toward her. "I'm not exactly at the top of my game at these things. I usually avoid company events like the plague but they're certainly not chintzy with the wine, and the food is free - always a winning formula; it does keep the rank and file like us cheerful." She raised her glass to him, realizing too late that he was empty handed.

  He stared at her, curiously, for a few moments and then said, "Yes, well the point of these events is so that we can unwind a bit so....mission accomplished, I suppose."

  "I think it's smart that employers are holding these things onsite more and more. Higher attendance. It's so much better than being ferried off to some dreadful company picnic. Blech!"

  "Then you'll be relieved to hear that its months away, not until the fall. The annual boat cruise and barbeque. It's intended to be fun... for all of us. Group fun. Ample time to mark your calendar," he said, massaging his chin and covering his mouth with a finger.

  "Oh. Well it's not that I'm anti-fun so much as I have an aversion to forced frivolity. I can't seem to pull it off. I don't have the gift of gab so I end up feeling like an imposter. But these sorts of one-to-one chats," she said, indicating their twosome, "more my thing and a lot less crowded."

  "You do hold your own."

  Fanny smiled uncertainly at his deadpan expression, pondering her next move, but was saved by a loud commotion that drew their attention to the far corner of room where a tall, pert blonde holding two wine glasses aloft was signalling to him anxiously.

  "I think...are you being summoned?"

  "Yes... it appears I am." He nodded briefly and turned away, carefully weaving his way across the room.

  She felt at a loss, for a moment, as to what to do next or where to go. She'd been abruptly cut adrift from her little party-of-two within the party before sh
e'd had the chance to wheedle out his full particulars, but she was fairly certain she'd detected evidence of a smirk before he'd skedaddled. It was something. The tongue loosening effects of wine had unpredictable results for her. Small talk did not come naturally to her because she was inept at thinking on her feet. It was her view that easy banter wasn't easy at all; it was a necessary evil that had to be pre-rehearsed. It was the immediacy of small talk that was problematic and, much like texting, it didn't allow for the luxury of time to organize thoughts. But she had chatted spontaneously with a male co-worker at a company do and that was progress, applause worthy really. Now she could go home.

  "Where are you off to?"

  It was her cubicle neighbour and new friend Evie, a whirling dervish who was the self-appointed social convener for her department. Determined to bring Fanny out of her shell, it was she who had convinced her to attend the quarterly staff mixer by wearing down her resistance with unrelenting psycho-babble and pep talks. "You never get a second chance to create a first impression," had been her dire warning to her protégé. "You need a bigger venue, a bigger crowd. Remember, less is not more. More is more." She was on to Fanny and not to be swayed by her carefully crafted excuses.

  "I'll be taking my leave I think," Fanny said, resolutely. “First night out as a social butterfly... rest my new wings a bit. I stayed, I mixed, I did my duty. It's a start."

  "This isn't just a Thirsty Thursday where some of us get together to hoist a few; this is the Mixer. You can't beg off early Fanny, it's not the done thing. Besides, you're hobnobbing with the company elite already and the night is so young -"

  "Hmmm, that's a stretch. It's unlikely Jack from accounting was enthralled."

  "Yes, I've heard he sometimes goes by Jack, but that was John Fitzwilliam, the Chairman of the company you were chatting up. The Grand Poobah. And spoiler alert - still unmarried, but sadly, no longer on the market either. Engaged, they say. A blonde, my sources tell me. Had you taken the time to check the company website, he might have seemed familiar."

  Fanny gaped uncomprehendingly at her for a few seconds and groaned inwardly.

  "What's the matter Fanny?"

  "Oh, I was just wishing I could unsay something... or that I could make him unhear it," she muttered, but the ever distractible Evie had already shifted her attention elsewhere.

  "What's all that ruckus at the door?" Evie asked. "Looks like party crashers ... and they have signs. And now there's building security. What a hoot! The lengths people will go for kicks."

  Fanny watched as a delighted Evie, drawn to the hubbub, hastily made tracks, bee lining straight into the melee. Now she was free to make her departure but as she hustled toward the door the commotion had worsened. Circling back, she took the stairs instead, walking the twenty floors down to the side exit of the building. When she opened the door she heard a chorus of shouts and was stunned to see a crowd of stampeding protestors armed with placards and bullhorns. Before she could turn back she was abruptly wrenched into the heart of a mob scene and felt her handbag being pulled from her grasp and fly in one direction as her body was jostled and tossed about amidst the shrieks and jeers and flash of cameras. Everything was an adrenaline-filled blur until she picked out the sound of her own voice, straining to be heard above the deafening roar, giving a detailed account of the chain of events that had placed her in the wrong place at the wrong time. She felt a wave of relief being able to unburden herself to a police officer and have things sorted out but it was short lived. He gave her the sideways look that only a seasoned cop who'd heard it all before could produce, accompanied by a preachy sermon with a trespassing-on-private-property theme which she tried in vain to hear before thrusting her into the back of a police van with the others. As the vehicle lurched forward into traffic, the shrill whining of the siren sounded and the taunts of the protesters exploded with the rallying cry, "Take On!"

  ***

  It seemed strange to her that she was so preoccupied with the minor irritation of her missing purse and cell phone; but it was a coping mechanism, she supposed, that kept the more pressing matters at bay. Police stations: vile places designed to deter. As she sat waiting to be processed she had to keep reminding herself that as surreal as it seemed, this was not another of her elaborate daydreams invented out of idleness for her amusement; it was her penance for ducking out of the party early.

  The mood was strangely festive amongst the protestors. The consensus seemed to be that they'd successfully delivered their message so they were pumped. Fanny sat quietly, unobserved and ignored, eavesdropping. "Corruption", "accountability", "inequality", "police brutality", and "Toronto Spring" were oft-repeated words and phrases she heard sprinkled throughout the conversations. Most of them appeared to be frustrated, unemployed college and university graduates emboldened by a shared cynicism, and some were street people, with another worldview, facing multiple barriers and caught in a crushing cycle of poverty, but nonetheless she discovered herself unconsciously nodding in sympathy at all their tales of woe. Despite their difficulties, they remained jolly. She admired their pluck and stamina.

  Even in her student days she had steered clear of controversy, avoiding the high jinks of her friends; she'd watched and lived vicariously from the sidelines. Only two months ago she too had been unemployed, and part of her, the gloomy recess that was reserved for nasty ego-shattering insights and survivor's guilt and the like, wondered if they were more deserving. They were definitely more worthy of an invite to the mixer; they certainly knew how to whoop it up.

  There was only one who stood apart from the others. His enormous afro first drew her attention and the guitar he clung to. Upon further scrutiny she realized he couldn't have been more than sixteen and a loner, looking as rumpled, bewildered and gloomy as she felt, but in an unexpected offer of fellowship he tossed her a friendly smile. It was just as she mustered the courage to ask him if he had a cell phone she could borrow that she overheard someone say to him in a conspiratorial and distinctly unfriendly tone, "we interrupted the swine at their feeding troughs". She started digging furiously in her pocket, pulled out a shredded Kleenex, looked down at her shoes and turned her attention to red wine stain removal.

  An hour later, as Fanny sat zoned out, drowsily watching a spider methodically spinning its death trap/dining room on a light fixture, and fantasizing about the creature comforts of home and the shower she could be taking, she was interrupted by a female police officer.

  "Fanny Bower?"

  "Yes?"

  "You're free to go. Could you come this way, please?"

  She was escorted out of the holding area and down a corridor into a waiting room where Evie stood clutching her missing purse. She rushed up to Fanny and gave her a quick embrace.

  "You poor thing, you look horrible. Now how did you get yourself into this mess?"

  "They call it being 'detained'," Fanny groused. "Like it's just a minor inconvenience-"

  "Never mind, you can tell me later," Evie interrupted. She lowered her voice and continued, "your purse was turned into the building security with your company identity card still inside, luckily, so it found its way to Jack." With arched eyebrows and a tilt of her head she motioned toward Jack Fitzwilliam who stood leaning against a corner engrossed in a phone call. "He figured out you'd probably gotten caught up in all this so when word filtered down to me I offered to drive down here and clear things up, but now he's here too."

  "Yes, a bit of a mix-up as I was leaving the party. Thank you so much for rescuing me Evie, now I really need to get-." Fanny abruptly cut herself off and as Jack approached she offered him a weak smile.

  "I'm so sorry you were drawn into all this. How are you?" he asked, lightly touching her on the shoulder and opening the door for her.

  She felt an embarrassing rush of emotion but quickly whipped it into submission, just managing to pull herself together. "I'm tired and thirsty and a... slightly rattled, I guess, but really I'm fine. I mean, I will be fine once I get ou
t of here and recharge."

  "A few more minutes at the party and you might have missed the whole episode. I understand the police took swift action with the demonstrators," he said.

  "Yes, I peaked too soon at the mixer. I'd had enough of the festivities...I mean, you know, I was pretty beat," she said, hazarding a sidelong glance in Evie's direction.

  "Well, I'm glad you weren't hurt," he said, "though it looks like you were in quite a skirmish," he added, pausing to gently rub what might have been a smudge from her chin. "Perhaps a drink somewhere, some wine, coffee?" he offered.

  Evie shot her a hopeful look, laced with meaning.

  "Thank you...no...just water, jammies, bed... maybe a glass of wine actually, definitely a bath, but alone - I mean, at home. I'll just grab a cab. Sorry, I can't be relied upon just now to string a coherent sentence together."

  Jack's brow was furrowed sceptically, the look of a man used to concrete answers, his expression souring. "It's understandable; you're worn-out. We're all bushed. But you're not waiting around for a cab out here, you'll come with me now and I'll drive you. I'll see you home safely."

  I'll come with you, will I? Fanny thought, apparently I can't be relied upon to make sensible decisions just now, either. Bossy. "I'm accustomed to long waits... really quite immune. Public transportation has that effect. Cabs are a treat for me and I figure I've earned my own chariot tonight. Truly. I don't mind."

  "But I'd mind," he said with finality.

  "Take care then, Fanny." Evie said with a sigh of resignation, giving Fanny a hug and smiling at Jack as she made for her car, her hopes dashed for any further carousing.

  Fanny watched Evie pull away then turned back to Jack who was now in the throes of multi-tasking. Glued to his cell again, he was carrying on a rapid-fire conversation, pacing like a zoo animal, madly clicking his key bob in a futile effort to locate his A.W.O.L. car, all while keeping one eye fixed on her, as if willing her not to move. She moved anyway. Her feet ached and she realized she was probably moments away from coming unhinged. She stared longingly at each passing cab but reflected on the tricky matter of his insistence on driving. The offer was delivered more like a command than a gesture of kindness, and she was starting to suspect he had an ulterior motive; he wanted to personally escort her home before she got into any more shenanigans. She was bad for business.