War in the Washroom
This story began when I started to write another chapter in Kelly and her Friends and had trouble with the character "Bethany"; I find the best way to get a character to do what you want is to write something from her point of view; so a new series began to take shape. There will be more chapters; I hope you like them. My great thanks to the inestimable Scribbler for all his help and encouragment.*****
“Thank you for agreeing to have coffee with me, Bethany.” Naomi Ruggles sat down.
“Thank you for inviting me,” I replied. How could I refuse a request from the head of HR?
“Bethany, there’s no way I can sugar coat this,so I’m just going to come right out and say it.” She took a deep breath. “Office romances don't work, especially between junior professionals like yourself and one of the partners…even more so when Henry's still grieving over the death of his wife.”
I gulped. I reached for my coffee and in my confusion, managed to knock the cup over. It spilled all over the table and my pastry. Blushing with embarrassment – and not just about the coffee – I mopped up the mess.
“You probably think this is none of my business,” Ms Ruggles went on, “but as HR manager, I'm responsible for the staff and I try to keep a happy workplace. You know that some of the women are saying you started this affair to get a promotion.”
I mumbled something, still dabbing at the spilled coffee with a handful of napkins. I didn't want to reply. Her words cut too deep.
She continued. “...and others say you did it to get better client accounts.” She paused and looked at me over her own coffee cup. “Bethany…do you genuinely love Henry?”
I couldn't answer that - I didn't really know the answer, so I did what I had learned to do when presented with a difficult situation – counterattack and change the subject. “I’d
never screw the boss to get a promotion or better clients! I don't need to do that! Those people saying that are just jealous of me…you know how office gossip can be. They're after the clients or the promotion, themselves!”
She gave me a placating smile, obviously uncomfortable and wishing she didn’t have to deal with this subject at all. “That’s as may be. All I’m trying to say, is that office romances rarely end well, and while they’re going on, they cause a lot of drama. This isn’t going to get any easier, Bethany, so please think carefully about what you’re doing, and whether it’s worth it.” She stopped and looked at me carefully, thinking about her next words, before she added in a softer voice, “I’ve upset you. That’s not what I wanted to do, but I had to say what I had to say. Please…think about it.” She stood up without finishing her coffee, paid the bill and left me there at the table.
I was fuming. Not at her – she was just stuck in the middle and had to do what she saw as her duty to the firm. I was mad at the gossiping, vindictive bitches in the office who’d obviously started a whispering campaign that’d gotten noticed by HR.
Sitting there stewing wouldn’t do me any good though, so I finished my coffee and took a walk around the block for a few minutes, trying to calm down before I went back upstairs to work. It didn’t help.
When I got back to my cubicle, I tried to concentrate on some knotty problems that had hung around too long, to distract myself. That didn't work either. The too-hard basket got a little smaller and that was a good thing, but I was still fuming when I went to the bathroom just before I headed for home.
“What’s the matter with you, Beaverbrook?” Jo St Leon looked up at me from the wash stand. “You’ve been in a sour mood all afternoon.”
“Hush, you!” I snapped. I didn’t need aggravation from the likes of her. She and I had always rubbed each other the wrong way.
“Oh, you
are sour. What’s up? Did Ruggles give you a tough time about screwing Henry?” St Leon asked, not at all sympathetically.
I coloured again. “Did you put her up to it?” I hadn’t realised just how many people knew about my affair with Henry. I didn’t know that anybody knew I’d met with Ruggles. She hadn’t advertised it and I certainly hadn’t. I wanted to hide or run away, But I couldn't do either, so I did the next best thing – I counter attacked. “That’s just the sort of thing you’d do! I bet you even told her I was after a promotion and more clients, didn’t you?”
“Well aren’t you?” she snapped.
“Yes! So are you. So is everybody else…but I don’t need to fuck the boss to do it.”
“Pfft!” she snorted dismissively. “So you just fuck him anyway…slut. Tell the truth…you’re just fucking him to get the clients.”
I could feel the heat of my anger flood into my face. “What about you? Fixing your lipstick just then, when I came in? Your skirt’s all uneven and your face is still all flushed. I’m not stupid, Jo. You were screwing someone just now.” I gave contemptuous sniff. “At least I don’t fuck around on company time.”
I glared at her. I’d never liked Jo. She was about my age and even taller than me, which was unusual – I guess about 5'11”. She weighed around 140 pounds, but much of that was in her chest. Her breasts must have been 38Ds almost as big as mine and she liked to dress to show off her body. Not that it wasn’t worth showing off – she had long, shapely legs and a pretty face. Her even tan showed she was outside more than me – with my pale skin, I burned so easily that I had to stay indoors or cover up. The beach wasn’t for me but she had beach bunny written all over her. She swam and exercised more than me. She was probably stronger than me. I didn’t care though. I wasn't going to take her crap. I’d fight her first.
Fighting wasn't exactly new to me. I'd had a few small scuffles in the school playground. I guess most kids did. They’d been quickly broken up by watchful teachers. All that happened then was a few scratches and bruises, and the occasional detention. I'd generally won those fights and they’d taught me two things. First, I could beat another girl when I put my mind to it. Second, I discovered that I got a kick from the fight itself. ‘The thrill of the fight’ was a cliché but for me, that was just how it felt.
In the years since school, I'd had two more serious fights. Both had been over boys. The first was on spring break when I'd been more than a little buzzed. I'd clashed with some blonde, whose name I never knew. It had been the typical guy's idea of a catfight, with lots of hair pulling and ripping at clothes. It had only lasted a few minutes and ended when I managed to just about strip the blonde. Her embarrassment overcame her anger and she scurried off to the nearest restroom in just her panties. The guys got a good show – she had a great set of boobs. I got the guy that day and we spent the rest of the break together. More than that though, I’d gotten a huge kick out of the fight, and not just the compliments because I’d stood up to the blonde and won. It wasn’t about winning or losing. It was the fight itself. Fighting was my drug of choice.
The second one had been just before I joined Henry's company. That one had been more serious. I'd gotten into it with another brunette – again I never knew her name – and she’d given me a hard time. I'd sat down with the guy she was with, while she went to the bathroom. She'd come back and, angrily, tried to claim him back even though they’d just met that night. Angry words had soon turned into a fight. She knew how to handle herself and both of us were soon battered and bruised. I'd won by slamming her head down onto a table. It almost knocked her out cold and she was so dazed that she couldn't fight any longer.
I'd had a bloody nose. I'd gone to ER – more accurately, the guy we fought over had insisted that he take me to the ER to make sure it wasn't broken. He'd been a great guy. I was still fond of him but it just hadn't worked out. What chemistry there had been between us was the result of the fight. We were both hyped up at the time, but it had faded over the next few weeks to just friendship.
All of this took no more than a moment to roll through my mind. I looked at Jo again. Neither of us was dressed for a fight. She wore a low-cut, sleeveless black sweater. Like everything she ever wore at work it showed off her big bust. She’d removed her jacket, as we all did when we were in the office and not meeting with clients. Her skirt was red, fairly conservative, plaid and pleated. It finished just short of her knees. She wore white stockings and high heels. I was wearing a midnight blue dress, heels and sheer stockings. Both of us looked like any professional women in any corporation, anywhere in Chicago.
Jo hissed at me. She came at me and slapped my face before I could defend myself. I was surprised she went on the offensive so suddenly. I decided to attack her big tits. They were an easy target. I hoped they’d be sensitive too. I needed a quick win. She was fitter than I was. She would outlast me.
I slapped hard at her chest with my open hand, slamming it into the outside of her left breast, knocking it inward against the other. She didn’t bother to deflect the blow, and swung at me with a clenched fist. I grunted as it hit my face and jerked my head back. The bitch wasn’t fooling around, and she could punch. I slapped her tits again, harder.
She sent another punch at my face but this time I dodged. Her punch whistled past my head. Unbalanced from her punch, she stumbled sideways, hitting the wall. Seizing the advantage, I yanked at her hair with both hands, dragging her down, forcing her to bend at the waist. She cursed at me, struggling. I reached over her back and pulled her sweater up, exposing her back, the flesh crossed by the black strap of her bra. I meant to foul her – to pull the sweater up over her head – but she jerked backwards and before I knew it, I’d yanked the sweater right off her. She stood up, hissing at me, her face contorted with anger. I threw the sweater in her face. She caught it, throwing it right back. I got no traction from that.
My face hurt but I was high on adrenaline and the pain didn't matter. No, that wasn't right – the pain mattered but it was part of the thrill, just like a rock climber expects and even welcomes grazed shins and sore muscles. It was all part of getting to the top, so I expected bruises, aches and pains. They were part of the rush – obstacles to be overcome, to be conquered. I felt so much more aware, alive and – yes – excited.
Jo charged at me. I sidestepped but she grabbed at my dress as she stumbled past me. The dress tore at one shoulder and that side of the dress dropped, exposing the left side of my body. In clinging to my dress, Jo again lost her balance. She fell heavily against the wash stand. She groaned, grabbing at her right side where the edge of the counter had caught her.
Before she could stand up, I had the back of her bra in one hand. Seizing the back of her skirt in the other hand, I pulled her upright and slammed her into the wall. She cried out. The zipper on her skirt tore loose as I jerked her violently the other way, sending her stumbling across the room.
Jo got her balance before she hit the other wall and spun round to face me, holding her skirt up with one hand. Her eyes were teary. She was suffering. Good – I was about to make that a whole lot worse! She tried to fight me, going for my face again. I clenched my fists and pounded her boobs hard. She groaned and I knew I’d hurt her. That sent an even bigger adrenalin rush through me.
I wrenched at her bra strap. It loosened. I thought one of the hooks had snapped. She squealed. She tried to defend herself with one arm and hold her skirt up with the other. The stupid bitch seemed more afraid of her skirt falling off than of me. Big mistake.
Confident I had her on the run, I went after her. The washroom was too small for her to keep away from me. I aimed my left hand at her face, slapping it and her shoulder, grabbing for her bra strap. I wanted to rip the bra right off her. I aimed my right fist at her boobs. I had two separate targets. She couldn't defend both targets with only one hand. I needed to keep her wrong footed- and I did.
She squealed, she hissed, she groaned. I was hammering her relentlessly and she wasn’t coming back at me at all. Only then did she realise she needed to have both hands in the battle. She let her skirt go. It dropped down low on her hips, not falling all the way down yet. I kicked up hard and my knee slammed into her tummy. It all but lifted my enemy off her feet. She gasped and staggered. Her skirt dropped to the floor and she glanced down. I lunged, driving my shoulder into her chest. She reeled backward and fetched up against the washstand. I kneed her tummy again. She groaned and hunched over, grabbing her injured gut. Spit trickled out of the left corner of her mouth. She wept. She slid sideways along the counter, trying to get away from me.
I followed her, but caught my foot in her skirt. I kicked it away but it slowed me down for a moment and Jo took the chance to escape my trap. She scurried backward toward the bathroom door but unless she wanted to run out into the hallway in nothing more than her bra and panties, she had to stay and face me. “You bitch, Bethany!” She lashed out with a hard slap to my face.
“You started it!” I reminded her, slapping back. Both furious, we stood there trading slaps to the face for what was probably less than a minute, but seemed ages. Her longer reach gave her an advantage. I needed to get closer to minimize that advantage. She wouldn’t let me. She kept back, just out of my range but keeping me within hers. The pace of the fight was starting to tell on me. I began to breathe hard. Sweat started to run down my face. It got into my eyes and stung.
She was strong too. Her slaps whipped my head to one side, then the other. I was too angry, too proud to be the first of us to go on the defensive but the pain was taking its toll. The adrenaline rush was slowing. I hadn’t fought this long or this hard in either of the fights I'd had in the past. I hadn’t gone into either of them knowing the other woman, certainly not knowing that my enemy was stronger and fitter than I was. The excitement was still there, but the adrenaline rush was largely replaced now by a steely determination to see this through. I guess that was how the rock climbers felt. It wasn’t so much an instantaneous rush – more of a battle against the elements, against their own limits. I hadn’t felt that kind of thrill before but it too was a great sensation. The question was, how long could I last – and would it longer than the other woman?
Sensing that I was tiring, Jo attacked hard. I tried to fight back but she blocked my left fist with her forearm. She sidestepped my right. I tried to kick her. She leapt back out of reach. Her right fist shot towards my tummy. Down went my arms to block it and before I knew it, her left fist had cannoned into my chin. My head jolted back and my arms went slack for a moment. She seized the opportunity and struck again, pounding my tummy.
I gagged. I was struggling for breath. I needed to break away but Jo wouldn’t let me. Twisting, turning, she drove me back now. I had little room to move – I’d been near the wall when the slapping session started – and now I found myself backed into a corner. My guess had been right. She was fitter and stronger than I was. I cursed myself for not fighting harder and finishing her off quickly.
She started to punish me. My face stung. I was hitting less, defending more – and my defense wasn't working. More and more of her blows hit home. I was breathless. I had to break her momentum and turn this around, fast.
I crouched suddenly. Jo's blows went over my head. I sprang forward, aiming to head butt her. She stepped back to avoid it. I hit hard at her boobs, both my fists hammering her through her bra in rapid succession. She recoiled, covering up. I attacked her chest again with my right fist while I ripped at her bra strap with my left hand. She’d been worried about her skirt earlier – maybe I could distract her again, and give myself the chance to finish her.
The strap broke and hung limp. Her boob swung free, no longer protected. I pummeled it hard with my left fist. Jo squealed, pulling her right arm in to protect herself. She retreated. I felt a surge of elation. Again I had the advantage. I stepped in close, slapping hard at her soft mammaries. I didn't want her to restart the face slapping contest. I already knew I'd lose that, and I couldn’t afford to take much more punishment. I needed to finish this fight. My breath was rasping in my throat. I knew I was slowing down.
I clawed at her boob, my nails digging and twisting into her flesh. She screamed and retreated, trying to get away. I followed her. She slapped at my face, trying to make me back off but I kept up the pressure, hurting her.
She stumbled and hit the washstand again, grabbing at it for support. I took a few seconds to catch my breath before I closed in on her again, reaching for her shoulders. I wanted to bend her back the wrong way, the painful way – backwards.
Instead, as I rushed in to grab her shoulders, her raised knee rammed into my tummy. I gasped. I almost doubled over. A spray of spittle poured from my mouth as her blow drove most of the air from my lungs. I scurried backwards, abandoning my attack. She came at me, slapping and punching. Again I had little answer to her. I parried, hitting back as much as I could but I was lashing out defensively, just trying to keep her off me. Inch by inch she forced me back. I ducked a heavy punch and lunged forward, clawing at her boobs. She defended, pushing my hands away. I tried to claw her again. I needed to put her on the defensive, to recover my breath.
I swung my knee up hoping to hit her thigh. It worked. Jo groaned. She fell back. I reached up trying to clutch her head, hoping to pull her into a headlock. Close in, I had a chance but she dodged and fired two swift hard punches into my tummy. I faltered as pain gripped me. She fired more punches – left, right then left again. I stumbled back, my hands dropping defensively.
Before I could do so, her knee came up, hammering into my tummy again. I groaned and barely managed to stay on my feet. Jo seized my head by the hair and slammed it against the wall – three times.
Dazed and hurting, I had nothing left to fight back. “No…no, stop…please.” I felt hot tears on my cheeks.
“You slut!” Jo hissed. She punched my tummy again. I doubled up, clutching my battered belly. She grabbed my hair again and pulled me upright. “You stay out of my way in the future!” She slammed my head into the wall again. I whimpered. I was crying openly. “You make any more trouble, and I’ll destroy you!” She slammed her knee into my tummy a third time. I fell to my knees. I just couldn't stand any more. I felt like I was about to throw up.
She ignored me as she put her sweater and skirt back on, and strode out of the washroom holding her skirt together at the back so it didn't fall down. I hadn’t moved the entire time. I told myself I was trying to get my breath back, but I knew that part of it was fear of what more she might do to me.
I don't know how long I stayed in the bathroom. The thrill had gone. I felt cold and miserable. I'd lost and I was alone. Finally I gathered the shreds of my ego and got up off my knees. I washed my face, brushed my hair and tried to tidy my clothes. I looked at myself in the mirror. My face was red from her slaps and punches, and my eyes were puffy from crying. I eyed myself sternly. I was feeling sorry for myself, but I had to face the world. There was no other way. I was glad that at least most people would have left the office by now. I slunk back to my desk, grabbed my jacket and purse and caught the bus home.
My sister Isabella – my roommate – looked sharply at me as soon as I walked through the door. “Beth! You’re hurt! Your face is all bruised!” She strode to me and caught me in her arms. I glanced at myself in the mirror beside the door. My face was indeed dark with bruises that had obviously emerged in the hour since the end of the fight.
“What the hell happened to you?” exclaimed Bella. She made me sit down while she made some coffee. She made me tell her everything, from the moment when Naomi Ruggles had lectured me about Henry, to the point where Jo St Leon left me sobbing on the bathroom floor. She didn’t say anything. She just listened and made a few encouraging sounds when I hesitated – which I did, several times.
Finally she reached out and covered my hand with hers. “Beth honey, she’s' right about Henry, you know. He’s' wrong for you and you're wrong for him. You're not really in love with him.”
“It’s the double standard again!” I complained, trying to change the subject. I was afraid she was right but I didn’t want to admit it – not to her, and not to myself. “I’m sure Ruggles didn’t speak to Henry! No…he’s the man. He’s the boss. Two reasons for blaming me, not him. It takes two to fuck.”
Isabella waved my protest aside. She knew me too well to let me manipulate the conversation that way. “How do you know what she said? Anyway, that’s not the point, even if what you say is true.” She continued, “You might think you’re in love with him but you're not. You love the sort of world he moves in…cultured, civilized, a world of music, theatre, art, good conversation, people talking seriously…and acting seriously to help others. But you don't love a middle aged man whose kids are almost as old as you.
“Yes, I know you’ve always liked mature men,” she went on, anticipating exactly what I was going to say. “That got you in trouble in college, when you had that affair with your tutor…what was his name? In a way, Henry’s like him. You told me you got to know him when he talked about history."
“Yes, he helped me understand what Noni told us about his life before and during World War Two in Poland.”
“Sure, but you don't need someone who can help explain what our grandfather told you. You could have learned that yourself. No, what you really need is a man who’s 35 not 53…a man who can share your life and you can share his. You know that. Deep down, you know that…don’t you Beth?”
I bit back tears. “I guess so.”
“Besides, it’s wrong for Henry too. Having an affair with you might take his mind off his wife's death for a while, but it won't help him come to terms with it.”
I couldn’t argue with her. “So Bella, what am I going to do?”
My sister looked at me archly. “What’s the right thing to do?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know…but I know one right thing to do, and that’s go to work tomorrow with my head up, and look them straight in the eye.”
She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “Attagirl. Like Noni used to say…don’t let the bastards get you down.”
When I got to work the next day, I was surprised that no one spoke about the fight. They must all have known. They could see my bruises and scratches. Jo St Leon had more than a few of her own. I felt mildly better that I’d handed out some punishment to her, despite the end result.
Yet people were friendly. No one teased me about losing. No one tried to push me around. I soon worked out they were more than friendly. Some of them shielded me from Jo, sitting with me in the tea room. They made sure I wasn’t alone. I didn’t know quite how to feel about that. It felt good that they thought enough of me to want to protect me, but I hated the thought that I needed protecting.
It all became more clear, the following day – two days after the fight. Naomi Ruggles called and asked me to come to her office. As soon as I sat down, she said, “Ï know what happened with you and Jo St Leon the other day. Both of you are equally to blame. But we'll take it no further – this time.” The look in her eyes left me in no doubt that her decision would be very different if it happened again.
I really couldn’t blame her. Though Jo had struck the first blow, it would only be my word against hers. Ruggles could have fired us both, and she would have been justified. I was lucky. I wondered if it had something to do with Henry. I hadn’t seen or spoken to him since the fight – he was out of town on business for a few days. Nevertheless, I wondered if Ruggles thought there might be trouble if she fired Henry’s lover. I went back to my desk, deep in thought.
I really didn’t know what to do about Henry. My sister was right – the affair was no good for either of us. She was also right that it was the world he was part of, that attracted me, more than Henry himself. He was a decent middle aged man, but he was too old for me – a fossil, as Bella would have said if I’d been in the mood to hear it at the time. He was a very nice, gentlemanly, sweet kind of fossil, but a fossil nonetheless. The realization struck me as I sat my desk, staring blankly at my laptop. If I had his children, they’d probably be younger some of than his grandchildren – his daughter was already engaged to be married. That wasn’t a comfortable thought. Nor was the idea of being a stepmother to children who were as old, or older than me.
Despite all that, I had to be nice to Henry. Not only because he was my boss but more importantly, he had lost his wife. Bella was right. He’d been looking for comfort and he’d found me. It wasn’t right for him or me but he was still grieving and breaking up with me would only hurt him more. He didn’t deserve that. We had to part on good terms.
There was something else, too. I wasn’t going to let St Leon and her cronies think they’d won. If I just gave Henry up, they’d think they had put an end to our affair. They’d think they had scared me into giving him up. They wouldn’t let it stop there. They’d make my work life a living hell. That meant I had to be smart about it – and careful.
I had the first opportunity that night. Henry had a cocktail party – a charity function. He had invited me and some other people from the office too. He was always careful at those kinds of gatherings, that he and I wouldn’t be seen as an item. That had always rankled me but now I saw how wise he’d been. I wondered if he’d seen us as just a temporary thing, all along. Maybe I was just beginning to realize what he’d always known. We’d had our time, but now that time was coming to an end.
At the end of the night, he offered me a ride home. In the past, he’d always redirected his driver to his house, and that had been the prelude to some hot sex. Tonight though, he didn’t and on the long drive to my apartment, we talked about his wife and children, about work, about everything other than ‘us’. We both avoided the subject but we both knew it was over, by tacit agreement. “You’re welcome to come up for coffee,” I offered when we finally pulled up in front of my building, “but Bella will be there.”
He smiled, but shook his head. “I like your sister, but I think I’ll take a rain check. Some other time.” He kissed me – more of a peck than a fully blown kiss – and went on his way.
We saw each socially a couple times over the next few weeks. We had coffee, went to several concerts and had supper after. That was it. No sex. I think Henry was relieved. I certainly was.
THE END
