Approximately One And A Half Weeks Later...
Andy had been doing stock-take in the back room, but she knew before the door closed just exactly who had stormed right through it.
Again.
She came out into the front room, smoothing the displeasure at being disrupted from her face. The woman – Miranda – looked to be in a similar state as the last time she'd seen her: highly agitated.
"It didn't work."
"…I-I'm sorry?"
"I said… I said it didn't work."
"Listen, if the merchandise is faulty…"
"The merchandise isn't faulty." She averted her eyes, colour creeping into her cheeks "It's me – I didn't… I couldn't…"
Andy didn't need to re-school her features this time. Her sympathy was genuine, and it was only her professionalism that kept her from physically reaching out, as was her natural inclination.
"So... you froze up again?"
In the blink of an eye Miranda's agitation was transformed into a quiet fury. She planted the hand that had been toying with her necklace firmly on the counter, and leaned in – not far, just enough to lend her a subtle air of menace. Her voice dropped to a whisper, and it cut the air between them like a knife.
"Listen. I've had quite enough of Stephen insinuating that I'm frigid, I'd expected a great deal better from you."
Andy blinked at the change in her demeanour. Alluding to ice had apparently been a mistake.
"No, Miranda – that's not what I meant. That's the last word I would use to describe you."
She leaned back, not quite satisfied and thinned her lips, an unreadable expression on her face, and Andy forced herself to not squirm beneath her steady gaze.
"…And just how would you describe me?"
Andy flicked her eyes down to her watch and sighed internally. Miranda didn't have an appointment, but she was only about five minutes from closing.
"If you wouldn't mind waiting a moment, we can continue this conversation."
Andy cursed the day that she'd decided that a coffee machine was an inappropriate fixture for the workplace. She'd had a run of late nights working on a novel and she'd hoped to have been crashed on her couch by now. It was hard to be professional when she was so exhausted, and Miranda's perfume was making her head swim pleasantly. The woman had a presence that filled up a room and in college Andy would not have been disinclined to day-dream about giving her a personal tour of the inventory room.
But she was a professional now.
Resisting the urge to tap her pen on her notepad, she opted instead to cross her legs and lean forward slightly, making a small show of directing her attention to Miranda.
She was a goddamned, motherfucking professional.
"So… how would you describe your sex life?"
"Really, Andrea?" she drawled.
Andy inclined her head in an acknowledgement of her hesitance that she hoped seemed reassuring."Yes. Really. I am the soul of discretion."
Miranda's eyes retained a sceptical gleam, but answered the question regardless. "It's, well… it's… uninspired."
Andy kept her eyebrow from arching. Wow. So specific. "Okay, uh… do the two of you engage in foreplay?"
"Occasionally."
"Huh." Andy's memory was exceptional, but she still made of point of scratching out some notes. "…Oral sex?"
"I find it… undignifying."
Andy looked up from her notes and locked eyes with the woman, her expression one of careful concern, and lowered the pitch of her voice as she clarified her question. "I meant, on you." Colour bloomed high on Miranda's cheekbones. "So, have you two… never?"
"He doesn't enjoy the… odour."
"Okay. Does he use his hands?"
Miranda sighed deeply, "To what end, exactly?"
"To, uh… directly stimulate your clitoris." Silence. "…I'll take that as a 'no'."
"'No', indeed."
"Is there stimulation of any other erogenous zones? 'No' again?"
Her silence was telling. Andy looked down at her scant notes and wanted to cry of frustration. The picture they painted was positively primitive. This was ridiculous.
Miranda's eyebrow arched in an expression of '…So?'
"Well, it's, uh… it's no wonder you've been having difficulty reaching orgasm during intercourse. To call that 'uninspired' is the very definition of understatement."
"And… so, you don't think that I'm the one… who…?"
"No. Fuck No." Andy buried her face in her hands and groaned in frustration. Fuck professionalism, she decided. Fuck it all to hell. "…Permission to speak freely?"
"Permission granted."
This time, when she met her gaze, her expression was uncensored. She didn't know what it looked like, exactly, but it felt like anger and disbelief.
"I know… I know you're trying to save your marriage, but honestly? Miranda, you married an idiot."
Andy kept the "and he doesn't deserve you" to herself.
