With a deep moan, Claire lifted her head. She saw the ceiling of her office dancing in her double-vision, making her feel very dizzy. Quickly, she closed her eyes and grabbed her head. It felt like she had a hangover, but that was impossible, because she didn't drink.
Rolling off of the sofa, Claire crawled over to her desk. On the way, she jostled her pencil holder, which proceeded to dump its contents over her head. She groaned and stood up. Without warning, the door to her office opened, and she saw her assistant staring at her with confusion. Claire plucked a pencil from her tangled hair and smiled.
"Good morning."
"Claire . . . It's a Saturday."
She nodded.
"I know. I just . . . had some work to do."
The assistant nodded.
"Alright. Do you need anything?"
Claire pursed her lips.
"A glass of water, maybe?"
Her secretary nodded and left. Claire stumbled over to the window and looked outside. It was about noon. What had happened the night before? She vaguely remembered following a woman to a bar, but whatever came after that was a blur.
Claire heard a voice. It was Owen, and he was singing in the courtyard below.
"Well I woke up this mornin', looked out my door
I can tell my Clai-aire, could tell by the way she lows
So if you see my Clai-aire, won't you drive her on home
Cause I ain't had no milk and butter since that cow's been gone
Now you gotta treat me right, baby
Day by day
Just dump your stupid pie charts
And treat me the nice and wholesome way
Cause you gonna need, you gonna need my help someday
And you gonna be sorry that you treated me this way
Well I said moo, moo on
I said moo on pretty gal, moo on
Well I said moo, moo on
I said moo on pretty gal, moo on
You're gonna keep right on mooing
Until you lose your happy home
Well I tried everything, little woman, to get along with you
Now I'm gonna tell you what I'm gonna do
Gon' quit my cryin', leave you alone
If you don't think I'm leavin'
You can just count the days I'm gone
Cause you ain't gonna see me
You ain't gonna see my sweet face no more
And you gonna be wondering
Where in this world I-"
Claire threw a pencil at Owen. It hit him on the back of the head with a loud "plink". Claire ducked out of the way as he searched for his assailant. When she heard his footsteps moving down the road, she stood up and looked out the window. He was jogging away with his hands in his pockets.
Good. He deserved that.
*************C*************
"I didn't expect to see you here today."
Owen sat down miserably and put his head in his hands.
"I didn't expect to see me here today either, Barry. I had to walk Claire to her office last night."
Barry lifted his head and gave a coy smile.
"And did things proceed from there?"
Owen shook his head.
"She was drunk."
"My question still stands."
Owen cuffed him and sighed.
"I think I'm done with her. She's hopeless. Completely and utterly hopeless. I've done my best to get through to her, but she's a miserable and frigid woman. I don't really like her all that much."
Barry cocked his head.
"You sure you're not just saying that because she rejected you?"
Owen shrugged.
"Maybe. But she's also rude in general. It's a shame, really. I thought there might be more to her than just being the 'Office Bitch', but I guess I was wrong."
He leaned forward, placing his hand under his chin. Using a long stick, he drew her face in the dirt and scribbled over it bitterly. Barry watched him with a neutral expression.
"Owen . . . Maybe you're going about this the wrong way."
Owen shook his head.
"I told you, Barry, I'm done."
Barry elbowed him lightly.
"Oh, come on. Don't give up yet. A few days ago, you couldn't shut up about her."
Owen hummed.
"Things change."
Barry leaned back and grabbed a red towel. He placed it on his head and turned to Owen.
"Alright. Pretend I'm Claire. What would you say to woo me?"
"Barry!"
"Interesting approach, but I think you can do better."
Owen smiled and stood up.
"Where are you going to, my pretty Claire,
With your clipboard and graphs and your rose-red hair?"
Barry adopted a falsetto.
"I'm going a-milking, kind sir, she said, sir, she said, sir, she said.
I'm going a-milking, sir, she said."
Owen grinned.
"May I go with you, my pretty Claire,
With your clipboards and graphs and your rose-red hair?"
Barry grabbed two coconuts and held them in front of his chest.
"Yes, if you please, kind sir, she said, sir, she said, sir, she said.
Yes, if you please, sir, she said."
Owen danced around with Barry.
"What is your problem, my pretty Claire?
With your temper and quips you make me despair!"
Barry twirled around and wrapped a cloth around his waist in a mock-dress.
"My job is my problem, kind sir, she said, sir, she said, sir, she said.
For the stress of my work makes me wish I was dead."
Owen gave a coy smile.
"Then I can't marry you, my pretty Claire,
With your makeup and labcoat and rose-red hair."
Barry turned around dramatically.
"Nobody asked you, Owen, dear! Owen, dear! Owen, dear!
You shouldn't want me at all, I fear."
Owen sighed and sat down. Barry tossed his coconuts and cloth to the side.
"I shouldn't want her, but I do," Owen said, "I don't know. There's something about her that I can't shake. It might be worth another shot."
"Good for you. Don't give up."
Owen frowned.
"Did you get that out of a fortune cookie?"
Barry smiled.
"Hey, come on. Tomorrow is another day, right?"
"Maybe," Owen replied, "But I don't want to get hung up on this one stupid thing. Might be hard, though. She heard me singing."
"And?"
"I may have called her a cow."
Barry sucked air through his teeth.
"Yeah . . . That won't go over well."
"I'll say! What should I do?"
Barry shrugged.
"Just let her come to you."
"She won't."
"She might. If she doesn't, maybe it was never meant to be."
Owen nodded.
"You're right. This isn't the end of the world. I can do this. I might need a strong opening line, though."
"How about 'Got Milk'?"
Barry ran as Owen chased him across the yard with a stick.