Page 32 of Glitterland
“That’s a sex salad, is it? Because, to me, blue cheese does not scream passion. But,” I added, with a play of reluctance, “I suppose I’ll have to trust you.”
“It’s a salad. It doesn’t need a safeword. I’ll send you the details. Also, we should go for a coffee.”
“Yes, we should.” This was how all of our conversations ended, with vague intentions and abstract good wishes.
There was a pause.
“Ash,” Max said, with a trace of hesitation I was unused to hearing in his voice, “why do you always give me the brush-off?”
“I said yes, didn’t I?”
“In a ‘never getting round to it’ way. I mean, you don’t have to. I can be your Long Distance Salad Guru. But I miss you.”
I shuffled uncomfortably. I was half convinced the reason I’d managed to retain whatever good opinion Max had of me was through the judicious application of distance. “What if I’m shit company?” I said, as though it was a very self-deprecating joke.
“What ifI’mshit company.” He paused and then, half jesting, half sincere, added, “Am I shit company? Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”
I sighed. “I’m a misanthropic, clinically anxious, bipolar lunatic. I avoid everybody.”
“Lies. You see Amy all the time.”
“I work with Amy.”
“Oh, so that’s why she’s entitled to misanthropic, clinically anxious, bipolar lunatic action despite the fact that some of us, it could be argued, have prior claim and should, therefore, be first in the queue?”
“There’s a queue?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
“Max I…I just don’t…I’m just not…” I trailed off. What could I tell him?I’m so much less than I used to be. Seeing you reminds me.
“Fine,” he said. “Fine. If it has to be professional, then so be it. I shall come and consult with you about improving your corporate culture. Over coffee.”
I gave a helpless, unexpected laugh. “I’ve got enough fruit, thanks.”
“I bet you don’t. I actually bet you don’t. I bet you don’t have a single piece of fruit in your whole house.”
“Darling, I am the fruit.” And while he was chuckling, I went on hastily. “Anyway, I’d better see about this salad. Bye.”
And I hung up on him, like the selfish coward I was.
A few minutes later, my phone bleeped. True to his word, Max had emailed me salad ingredients and instructions. It seemed just about within my capabilities. On a good day.
I could do this.
9
Later
“Yorite, babes?” said Darian as I let him inside.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I said with impressive nonchalance. “How’d it go?”
“Fink I did good. I fink they fought I was a bit Ibeefa party boy though.”
“I don’t think orange has quite the same play in the international marketplace.”
He grinned, unabashed. “Leave it aht. Did you get everyfing?”
