Page 16 of My Boss

“Well, he is like that. Maybe God created him for loftier purposes than smiling and talking?”

“Meaning?” I stick out my chin and rub off the leftover paint.

“For counting and fucking?”

I burst out laughing.

“Please, Olga. The fact is, the guy has a flexible mind, but physically he’s stiff as a pole.”

“And I think that’s the point, isn’t it? He should be stiff.” She vigorously moves her eyebrows and jumps off the countertop. “Okay, I’m going back to work, because today I have to leave at four to pick up my son from school.”

“Lucky girl. I, for one, will probably have to sit extra four hours as part of my twenty-minutes being late.”

“We’ll talk when you have a child.” Olga pats me on the shoulder. “Enjoy your freedom. Believe me, sometimes at home I miss work so much that I would love to swap with you. See ya.”

“Bye.”

When she leaves, I’m still scrubbing my face, which already looks a lot better (although it’s pink and burning). I remember Olga’s comment about the ‘lofty purposes’ for which God createdJan, and I want to laugh. My boss and fucking. Yeah, these words are contradictory. Antonyms. Like warm and cold. Moist and dry. Young and old.

Well, that’s it—my boss is cold, dry and old.

God, I’m so cruel. I should feel sorry for him—the guy is wasting his potential. He could have become Mister Polonia. He’s damn smart, he’s on the ball, and, no matter what, he’s as handsome as a model promoting an exclusive brand of suits. I have no idea which one because the subject is foreign to me and completely uninteresting. I’ve never had a reason to absorb this kind of information. This is further proof that men like Engler (who wear suits, cufflinks and ties) have never been part of my sphere of interest. That has been, is still, and ever will be the case. My type is a laid-back guy in jeans, a T-shirt, a leather jacket and a smile on his lips.

Such as Karol…

Oh, doggone it! I was supposed to call him.

*

“Hi, beautiful. How’s it going?” Karol, as usual, greets me so cheerfully that my mood immediately improves.

“Great. Can you take a break? I want to talk to you about what happened yesterday.”

Silence.

“Hello, are you there?” I lean against the bathroom countertop.

“Well, yes,” he replies, although I can hear less enthusiasm in his voice now.

“Will you come down? I have a surprise for you.”

“Surprise?” He sounds a bit tense.

“Can you take the keys to the storage room where you keep the advertising gadgets?”

“You know that admission is limited to me, the manager and two other guys from the department.”

“I know, and I think this is the perfect place to do what I feel like doing right now,” I add coquettishly.

“You mean?” I conclude from the tone of his voice that I have intrigued him.

“Me on my knees, you leaning against the wall,” I murmur into the receiver. “What do you think? Meet me in five minutes at the entrance from the stairwell?”

“I’ll be there in two.”

That’s called motivation.

I walk out of the bathroom, look around to see if anyone can see me, and duck quickly into the stairwell. The clatter of the heels of my boots echoes in sync with the thumping of my heart.

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