And as I take a seat next to him at the oval table, I find myself thinking,Fuck it.Art’s right. We’re doing our best and Susan must see that. Bernard isn’t going to be here forever. We’ve heard nothing more about this doctor business. Maybe what we overheard between Bernard and Gina was just paranoid raving. And most importantly, next week this anniversary drama will all be over and things will start to change around here.
So when Bernard stalks into the room I tune out his usual bullshit. When he says, ‘How’s your script coming along, Ms McDermott?’ I stare right back at him and say, ‘Fine, thanks to all your notes.’ I let his snide comments slide off my back because I know there’s no point in engaging with him now. I ask Susan a few questions about small issues in the script and she gives helpful answers. It all goes … actually, it all goes pretty well. I can get through this. Wow, maybe I can actually get through this. I mean, I’ve somehow convinced Art I’m not a constantly simmering ball of neurosis. Maybe I can do anything.
By the time the meeting ends I feel I have electricity running through my veins. It could be because I survived the meeting without snarling at Bernard, it could be because this script is almost finished and this crisis is nearly over, but I feel weirdly liberated.I want to throw caution to the wind. I’m full of adrenalin and excitement, like I could go for a run or go to the gym or do one of those other things I never do to let off steam.
When we get up from the table, Art leans towards me and says, ‘That went well.’
‘Very well,’ I say, as we walk out the door.
‘Oh, bollocks,’ says Art. ‘I forgot my notebook. I’ll follow you on.’
And as I make my way to our little office and close the door behind me, I think,Well, there’s definitely one thing we can do together to let off steam.
After all, our office is pretty much soundproof. And I know from Tuesday that he’ll have a condom in his wallet.
I was always nervous about initiating sex with new boyfriends, but Art isn’t a new boyfriend. He’s not a boyfriend at all. I’m not trying to impress him. Which means none of this really matters. Which means I can do whatever I feel like doing.
I slip off my navy cotton knickers and stuff them in my bag just before Art comes into the room.
‘Lock the door,’ I say.
The way he looks at me as he clicks the lock shut makes me know I’m doing the right thing. Or the wrong thing. Whatever. I’m glad I’m doing it.
‘You look very, very good in that eye-watering dress,’ he says.
I reach out my hand and he takes it.
It goes against all logic, against all reason, that I’m doing this, that I’m kissing him in our office, with people in the open-plan space outside, that I’m leading him over to the couch where he writes his scripts, that I’m pushing him down onto it so he’s leaning back against the cushions. We keep kissing and now I’mstraddling him, rubbing myself lightly over the hard-on that’s visibly straining against his trousers.
‘Christ, McDermott.’ His voice is hoarse. ‘What are youdoingto me?’
I feel my lips curl upwards in a smile. I can’t remember the last time I smiled at someone like this.
‘I’m not wearing any underwear,’ I whisper in his ear and he says, ‘Ohfuck’ and pulls me closer. I kiss him, hard, and then unzip his fly before lowering myself a fraction lower, letting his erection brush against my clit. I gasp. There’s nothing but the cotton of his underwear between us. I rub myself against him again and he lets out a breath.
I meet his gaze.
Neither of us says anything.
And then there’s a knock on the office door and Susan’s voice says, ‘Hello? Can we come in?’
I almost fall off the couch as I scramble to my feet. Art is frantically doing up his trousers. I tug down my dress, glance at Art to make sure he’s decent (the answer is just about, now he’s grabbed a script and put it on his lap) and say, ‘Sure!’
My voice does not sound normal. Oh God, could she possibly guess what we were just doing? Surely not. Technically we haven’t really done anything, technically we were just kissing, he was still wearing his boxers, technically we barely touched each other …
But that’s not what it feels like when I unlock the door and Susan comes into the room followed by – ohJesus– Bernard. The office suddenly feels like a place where two people have been doing all sorts of depraved things. Maybe I am depraved. I’ve been driven unhinged by this place and by Art. How did I possibly think this was a good way to get rid of nervous tension? I amvery, very conscious that I’m not wearing any knickers. Oh God, where are they? They’re not sticking out of my bag, are they? I feel queasy with horror at the thought.
‘Everything okay?’ says Susan.
‘Everything’s great!’ says Art. His voice doesn’t sound normal either. ‘What can we do for you?’
‘We’ve got some bad news, I’m afraid.’ Susan’s expression is grave. But Bernard looks like he’s trying not to smile.
I do not want to hear bad news when I’m not wearing any underwear, but I can hardly ask them to go outside while I put my pants back on.
‘It’s about Adam,’ says Susan.
‘Adam Pender?’ My stomach lurches at the name.