The Fiche Room Read online

  “Ouch,” I said, exchanging a playful look between the two men.

  Jodes reached behind him and tapped a girl with dark-auburn hair on her shoulder. “Stacy, come meet Emma.”

  Stacy moved forward into our circle. “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey,” I said right back to her.

  The other wife moved in at this point. Her chunky golden highlights rested on her dark hair so perfectly. She stood taller than Colin. She traced my outfit with a judging eye. “I’m Rachel, Gary’s wife.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  We exchanged pleasant smiles before they turned inward on themselves again.

  I turned back to their husbands.

  “Emma, what’ll it be to drink for you, sweetheart?” Gary asked.

  “A glass of wine would be perfect,” I said.

  “I’m getting a little jealous that you’re calling my fiancé sweetheart,” Colin said, reaching for his wallet. “I’ll buy this round.”

  “Don’t think you’re going to use your good-boy charm on the women here. This is my round,” Gary said.

  Colin backed down.

  “Hey, Colin, I have a treat for us. Brought our favorites,” Jodes handed him a cigar.

  Colin placed it under his nose and slid it back and forth sniffing it. “Thanks, buddy. I’ll look forward to enjoying this after dinner.” He stuffed it in his breast pocket on the inside of his sports coat.

  Cigars. Could anything be worse? What a turn-off to see puffs of dirty smoke clouding his face. I never understood the lure. I tried a drag of one once at a bachelorette party and got sick to my stomach.

  Colin winked at me.

  I forced a smile.

  He pulled me in to him, “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

  “Nothing, I’m fine.” I forced my voice to sound sing-song.

  “Lighten up. It’s just a cigar.”

  All I wanted was to just have a nice dinner. So, in my vain attempt to reassure all was well in our world, I kissed him and nibbled on his bottom lip.

  “Hmm, we’ll pick up at this spot later,” he said in a soft, husky voice, pulling me closer to him and glancing up to wink at the boys.

  I pulled away just in time to grab a glass of red wine from Gary. I thought about having to kiss Colin’s cigar breath later, and hoped I would be too drunk to care.

  ****

  Through dinner, the conversation went from one bad topic to another as the guys started their one-up routines while debating local politics. And the women were wrapped up in a deliberation about the world of yoga, which I knew nothing about. So, with my lack of contribution, I could’ve choked and they wouldn’t have paid me any less mind. So, I fell into a fog, wishing I could rest my head on the table and take a nap while they all finished their boring repartee.

  I just wanted to go home.

  Then, conversation got even more painful, as the men and women began to catalogue their latest career accomplishments—Gary became a partner at his law firm, Stacy sealed a contract with Washington’s premier developer to add a half a million dollar addition onto her spa, Rachel, a psychiatrist, was mentioned as a leading expert in a recent New York Times article, and Jodes began to plan a campaign to run for Senate.

  In between shoving pieces of bread in my mouth, I panicked. A horrible scene played in my head; one where I had to tell them my life story, the one that included my title, my nick-named title – fiche girl. Yeah, no matter how much I could’ve colored the truth on that one, there just was no way to add much glory to pulling account statement records in the fiche room at my dad’s firm.

  I didn’t plan on being fiche girl forever. I was an artist. I just needed someone to take notice, to offer me my big break.

  Colin was too busy nursing his brandy to pay attention to my flushed face and averted eyes.

  I relaxed into my bowl of noodles when they started talking football. Blocking out the table around me, I drifted my eyes around the restaurant. I couldn’t take another minute with these people who lived in a world so far from my reality.

  I excused myself, though no one noticed. I walked toward the ladies’ room, and my eyes focused on a table of two college-aged girls, with long, flowing, silky hair. They were leaning across the table entranced in their conversation. They laughed, the kind that originates deep inside, as one of the girls spit a little of her drink onto the table. They looked comfortable, down-to-earth and fun, like Haley.

  I entered the regal bathroom, with its brass-trimmed mirrors and granite basins, and walked into a stall. I closed the door and leaned against it. My mind drifted to the woman I’d met earlier that day and how different she was in personality from these two snobby women who sat at my table that evening. Her spirit was refreshing. With her, I had been witty, likable, and even surprisingly more comfortable than I’d imagined I could be in that circumstance.

  I also felt sexy. When was the last time I felt that?

  Chapter 2

  Monday morning, I merged onto the clogged Beltway to enter the rat race. I crawled towards Silver Spring, pondering Saturday night’s dinner the entire time. Nothing, outside of morphing into a high society woman, could’ve prevented the night from being a total emotional blowout.

  To impress, I would’ve had to lie, to fake interest in the women’s intense yoga diatribe or pretend to be an avid fan of political rhetoric. Yoga was yoga, and I knew all I wanted to know about the activity, which in my opinion consumed too much of my memory already just from the little I’d heard. I just didn’t care that Stacy could maintain her one-footed stance for five minutes, up from three minutes the week before.

  I hated to fake interest. Colin seemed to love it.

  When he cared to get to know someone, he always managed to appear intrigued with everything that person said. He manipulated people, getting them to believe he cared about their opinions.

  Me? I didn’t have it in me to pretend like him. Maybe that’s why I liked working in the fiche room. Contained within its small confines was my private office, my oasis.

  I entered the room an hour later, checking the mail slot for research requests before venturing to my desk. Five reps requested information on accounts, just enough to keep me busy without interrupting my real goal of the workday – to complete my sketch for Tatiana, my best friend Goldie’s little girl. My passion for drawing and painting started when I fingerpainted as a little girl with my mom. Now as an adult, I craved art, and studied about brush strokes and shading every chance I had. I brought my sketchbook into work every day and drew in between requests.

  Before I dove into Tatiana’s sketch though, my dad walked through the door. He never visited me in the fiche room. If he wanted to see me, he summoned me to his cushy office suite upstairs.

  “Emma!” He opened his arms for a hug.

  I fell into them. He smelled like fresh aftershave. “What brings you down here, Dad?”

  “I didn’t know I needed a reason.” He stepped back. He fit the mold of a typical businessman, dressed in a tailor-made Ralph Lauren suit that emphasized his healthy, six-foot frame with exquisite perfection.

  “What’s going on?” I asked this cautiously.

  “Colin and I talked the other day.”

  I circled my fingers around my sapphire earring, easing into what I knew was coming next. “And?”

  He placed his hands on my shoulders. “You need to move upstairs.”

  I pulled away from him and walked to the window. “Dad, we’ve talked about this already.”

  “I know, but I’m closing in on retirement, Em. Colin and I both agree that it’s time.”

  I spun around to face him. “I don’t like that you discuss my career with him.”

  “He’s eventually going to play a major role in this company so he needs to be brought in on these types of discussions.”

  “I understand he should be in on employee discussions, but I’m not comfortable with it being mine.”

  “I’m sorry. This is business. Colin�
��s input is valuable to me.”

  I squeezed my arms around my chest, digging my fingers into my sides. “I don’t want to move upstairs, Dad.”

  “We think it’s best. Don’t you think you’ve been wasting your time down here for too long?” His voice echoed off the barren walls.

  Moving upstairs was not an option for me. Being an accountant was his dream for me, certainly not mine. The more I avoided propelling forward with his dream, the harder he pushed.

  “I’m not wasting my time, Dad.”

  He shifted his sharp blue eyes around the room, with a look of disgust, as though caged within the confines of a dirty, rat-infested prison cell. “Why do you like being trapped in this dungeon?”

  “You wouldn’t understand why I like it.” I could illustrate all day in my secluded refuge. Working in the fiche room allowed me to make money while pursuing my art. The view out of the window, the large workspace, and the isolation inspired me. How could a number-driven professional ever understand this?

  His brows lowered over his puzzled eyes. “How do you think it makes me feel when my staff thinks this is as good as it gets for you? How could this be enough for you?” he asked.

  My mouth flew open. “You’re embarrassed of me?”

  “I just don’t get it, that’s all.”

  The humming sound of the fluorescent lights covered the silence as I struggled to gain footing. “I’m happy with what I’m doing for now.”

  “How can you be happy thumbing through a bunch of microfiche, being behind the scenes, having no face within this company?”

  “It’s enough for me. I don’t need the glory.”

  “You deserve glory. You deserve to be visible and in a role that accentuates your intelligence. I didn’t send you to college so you could stare at microfiche all day.”

  “Don’t worry, Dad.” One of these days, I would have all the glory I needed, once someone discovered me. Until then, I would strive to make this dream a reality in the comfort and privacy of my fiche room. And, one day, I’d make my dad proud—my way. “I won’t stare at microfiche for the rest of my life. I promise.”

  “I just want you to be happy, Emma. There’s an office waiting for you upstairs when you’re ready to get serious.”

  He had no idea what would make me happy. I knew which office he meant, and for me to move into that fishbowl would bring me ultimate misery. In there, everyone could monitor my daily routines; when I ate my morning apple, when I ventured to the bathroom, when I put on lipstick, but most troubling, I’d have to actually work with numbers all day.

  “Let me get through tax season and the wedding first, Dad.”

  “Just don’t sell yourself short. Promise me, after tax season at least, you’ll consider the move?”

  Inwardly, I groaned, but countered his request with a cheerfulness that would comfort him. I at least owed him the hope that he had a daughter who gave weight to his opinion. I always saved face with him. With the facade of a person in contemplation, I winked at him. “I promise to consider it, Dad.”

  “Good enough. I’ve got to get back upstairs. I’ll see you later,” he said, then kissed my cheek.

  As he turned to leave, I sank in my chair and watched my steel-haired dad walk away, leaving in his wake his familiar fresh scent. As unreasonable as he was at times, I adored him.

  I hated to let him down.

  ****

  As the day progressed, I raced through each research request, hoping to salvage time to sketch. With each completed assignment, a new one barged in and robbed me of downtime. By five o’clock, with my eyes red and swollen from glaring at the microfiche machines, I left the fiche room and, even though I hadn’t finished Tatiana’s picture, I decided to stop by Goldie’s anyway. A visit with her always lightened me up.

  Just as I got in my car, I realized Colin hadn’t been in to see me at all that day. I drove out of the parking garage, and veered off to the back of the building where I could see his office. Driving past his window, I noticed that the gold and green desk lamp I’d given him as a Christmas present two years ago lit the room, which meant he was in his office.

  In the past three years that we worked together, no matter how much work buried him, he never failed to visit or call me during a workday. Maybe I had embarrassed him the other night. I certainly didn’t complain about the dreadful night. In fact, I led him to believe I had a great time with the snobs. What else could’ve I done?

  As usual, I ignored the urge to ask and instead, pressed my gas pedal and drove on by. Whatever the problem was, it would resolve itself over time. It always did.

  ****

  I arrived on Goldie’s street and shimmied into a tight spot outside her front door. She didn’t live far from the café where Haley and I had coffee. I closed my eyes, sealing in the memory, experiencing all over again the allure of her teasing smile; her sweet smelling perfume; the way her hips moved side to side in perfect rhythm.

  Snapping back, I climbed out of my car and breathed in the misty, mild February night air. Besides an isolated dog bark, the street was quiet.

  When Goldie buzzed me into the stairwell, Tatiana whipped open the door to their apartment and jumped down the steps two at a time to meet up with me. The little girl squealed, “Tia, I have something to show you.” When within my reach, she grabbed my arm and pulled me up the stairs. “Come on. Hurry!”

  “What? No hug for your Tia?” I planted my feet on the bottom step, not allowing the bubbly little girl to budge me.

  Tatiana turned and threw her small arms around my hips and squeezed me. “Guess what?” she asked, her voice muffled by my suede skirt. “I’m going to be in a ballet recital.”

  I smoothed her wild curls away from her forehead and tucked them behind her little ears. “Can I go and see you dance?”

  “Well, I don’t know. I only get two tickets and Mama’s boyfriend might want to come too,” she said, leading me up the staircase again.

  I stopped short. “Mama has a boyfriend?”

  “Yup, Charlie,” she said, yanking harder on my arm.

  Once I entered the apartment, I could smell the delicious aroma of Goldie’s signature dish, Tamales. She was in the kitchen wearing a red, chili-peppered apron. She nodded at me, and her kinky, dark-brown hair, piled high on top of her head, flapped in unison.

  Tatiana pointed to her newest piece of furniture, looking like one of those models on The Price is Right. “Tia, try out my new bean bag chair.”

  I plopped down on the spongy green and yellow plastic, sending a whoosh sound through the room, momentarily drowning out the noisy cartoons. “Ah, this is so comfortable. Mind if I take a quick nap?” I closed my eyes and pretended to snore.

  She giggled and with her lanky arms, pushed me off the lumpy sack onto the pine board floor, hopping back on it before I had the chance. I surrendered to my knees and crawled over to the black leather couch.

  “Emma, can you come in here, please,” Goldie called from the kitchen nook.

  I walked in to find her standing on a chair, stretching her five foot body to reach the top shelf of her cupboard. Exasperated, she jumped down and landed perfectly on her high heels with a poignant thud. “Can you please help me get the glass bowl from up there?”

  I braced my hands on the back of the chair and propped up, then steadying, retrieved the bowl. “Why didn’t you tell me you have a new boyfriend?” I handed the bowl down to her.

  “And ruin the surprise?”

  I scrutinized her, arching my brow to play up a critical eye.

  “Don’t give me that I’m disappointed in you look,” she said.

  “Is it serious?”

  She strained against the question, rolling her dark-brown eyes back.

  “Well?” I searched her face for a hint.

  She lolled her head up and down. “Kind of, Em. I really like this one.”

  She never admitted she liked any of the guys she dated. “Can I meet him?”

  “Hang on
.” She dashed off down the hallway leading to her bedroom. Her leather pants squeaked with each step she took.

  I ventured back into the living room and sat down with Tatiana who had settled in to watch the cartoons on the television. She wrapped her small hand around mine and pillowed her head against the crook in my arm.

  Within a few moments, Goldie emerged from the hallway with a tall, big, scruffy-looking man behind her. He wore his long hair pulled back at the nape of his neck exposing a coarse, disheveled beard that blanketed his face. He sported black leather boots, ripped jeans, and a faded orange t-shirt with a smiley face on the front, which cracked from too many washes. This man didn’t look at all like the handsome Latino men Goldie had dated in the past.

  “Emma, I’d like you to meet Charlie. Charlie, this is Emma.”

  I rose and he stepped forward and shook my hand. His smile revealed his crooked teeth. “It’s finally nice to meet you,” he said.

  Finally? How long had this been going on for? I studied him until Goldie threw me a covert warning. I cleared my throat. “It’s finally nice to meet you, too.”

  “You two sit and get to know each other. I’ll finish getting dinner together.” Goldie rushed back into the kitchen nook, leaving us to fend for ourselves.

  I heard her clanking glasses and rummaging through her cupboard for pans as I sat with this stranger watching cartoons. Baffled, I couldn’t help but keep glancing at him out of the corner of my eye.

  He laughed when Tatiana laughed, which only intensified her giggles. Tatiana liked him. She drew her little face away from the screen just to watch him laugh. In between chuckles, he would glance over at me and offer an awkward smile. One thing was obvious; we both didn’t enjoy first meetings. And this commonality actually facilitated the first run of words to escape from my mouth with more ease than I was used to. “So, Charlie, what do you do for fun?” I finally asked him.

  He turned to me, “I’m a guitarist in a local rock band, Wayside.”

  I rocked my head back and forth to appear interested. “A rock band, huh?”