Proximity: Fill Me In
***
As the phone rang in my ear, vibrating like an alarm, I began to panic. This was not good. All of my confidence had instantly slipped away when I realized just how ridiculous calling her was. A second ring reverberated loudly, reminding me that if I didn't hang up within seconds, CJ was going to pick up.
Slamming the phone down, I looked around the apartment with embarrassment, as if someone might have witnessed my moment of incredible stupidity.
I got up in search of the bottle of scotch that I'd had lying around since Christmas. If I was at the point where I was calling CJ—out of some underlying hope that maybe she could think like me—I definitely needed a drink.
This had to stop, I thought as I settled back on the couch with a healthy amount of liquor in my cup. I was so in love with her that I was becoming delusional. Asking her out was not going to make her into a lesbian—and I had no reason to believe she wasn't straight.
Well, I thought optimistically as I swallowed a mouthful of the bitter scotch, at least she hadn't answered her phone.
***
Eight Days Later
***
"Morning," CJ grumbled, literally chucking her briefcase onto the couch in her office; I was up and out of my chair with her coffee before she had her coat off. CJ took the coffee and looked at her watch. "How much time do I have until staff?"
"Leo needed you twenty minutes ago, " I informed my boss, grinning because CJ was extremely late. She looked tired, her hair was a bit mussed, and the expression on her face was unpleasant. At least it was Friday…
"Fuck Leo," she growled, grabbing her notebook out of the briefcase. "We'll look at the wires later." With that she was out and down the hallway, leaving me alone in the office.
I could sense that it was going to be a long day and I wondered what had put CJ in such a lousy mood—and before 8 o'clock. That was unusual for her, but I knew I'd have to tiptoe around her all day. I sat down at my desk and sighed as I began to collect the wire reports.
***
CJ's mood worsened when she opened up the New York Times Op-Ed page. There, accompanied by a small photo of her behind the podium, was an editorial about the sarcastic wit that CJ had employed all week in spinning the President's hot-camera gaffe. I hadn't seen the article until CJ sharply called my name.
"When the fuck was Gary Gibbons given a press pass?" She eyed me suspiciously, looking down at the page quickly. I was taken aback and immediately went on the defense as I stood before her desk.
"It was a temporary one. It was only for this week," I insisted, recalling the conservative columnist. He usually stayed far away from this White House but had jumped at the President's Monday mistake, obtaining a pass for the inside scoop. "What's wrong?"
CJ sighed heavily, her mouth set in a line. "Isn't it kinda my job to issue these passes?"
I rolled my eyes and put my hands on my hips, her comment ridiculous. "CJ, we get hundreds of requests each week, so unless YOU want to deal with all of them personally… "
CJ glared at me silently for a second, then snickered. "Sit down and read what this little shit wrote about me."
The sarcastic smile covering her face told me she wasn't angry, and so I took the folded piece of newsprint. Perusing the column slowly, a mixture of annoyance and amusement rushed through me. She didn't deserve criticism, and this was nervy.
I looked up at CJ. She was watching me read, and it made my heart skip a beat. I cleared my throat and began to read. "Ha, this is nice. 'If Ms. Cregg is interested in stand-up, she should quit her job with the White House and apply for a position on Comedy Central.'"
CJ shook her head, a half-grin still at her lips. "I don't know, do you think I'm inappropriate in the room?"
I cocked my head thoughtfully, as it was rare that CJ asked my personal opinion. I considered my response, wanting to tell her so much more than that.
"You're informal, not inappropriate. I think your humor makes the reporters like you more. And personally, I love it," I admitted, recalling the many times she's made me laugh in the pressroom.
"You love it?" CJ asked curiously, taking back the paper. "And the next time Gary Gibbons wants a press pass, he has to get past me first."
"Ok. And yes, you're hilarious," I assured her, smiling in spite of my blush. "I almost dropped my notebook on Wednesday when you told Chris that the President had been unable to feed or bathe himself."
CJ smiled downwardly, tucking the editorial under a large pile of papers. "Thanks, Carol. That fixed my mood."
Satisfaction flooded my senses as I returned to my desk; I settled down at the computer and took a quick peek at CJ through the blinds; she had flipped on the radio and was looking substantially less pissed.
Smiling, I wondered if she'd launch a counterattack on Gary Gibbons. I recalled Sherry Wexler and how CJ had humiliated the ditz on live TV. It had been a great punishment for calling CJ a 'clothes horse' on the air, and we seldom saw Sherry around here anymore. I was laughing now but I knew how much being cut down hurt CJ. She wouldn't admit it—she'd simply fight back with class—but being a woman only made her job harder.
***
Around six o'clock, while CJ was on the phone, I checked my e-mail. There were only two—one from my sister and another from Leah that wondered how Mission Impossible was going. I had to snicker at that, as I wasn't sure if I'd ever even been on the task. As I was ready to compose a defeatist's reply, CJ stuck her head into my area.
"I know it's Friday, so you might be busy…but what are you doing for dinner?"
I leaned back in my chair and turned my head. "I was thinking about the mess. Why?"
"My date cancelled, but I have reservations in an hour. You wanna?"
Her date? CJ had a date? Since when did CJ have dates? And why on earth would they cancel? This was all very interesting to me, but her invitation was even more so.
"I'd love to," I nodded, willing myself not to seem too eager or excited. But dinner, at a restaurant with CJ? My heart couldn't have been beating any faster.
CJ nodded her head professionally, and headed back to her office. "We'll leave at quarter of, 'kay?"
"Okay…" I responded, fighting a huge smile as I turned back to Leah's e-mail. Ha, I chuckled, maybe Mission Impossible was no longer so.
***
She'd taken off her brown suit coat to reveal a sleeveless white turtleneck, and now as CJ leaned back with a glass of wine, I couldn't stop looking at her stocking-covered knee as she crossed her legs.
We were in a classy little Italian place, with white table clothes and small red candles on the table, and as CJ looked over the menu, I wondered what exactly would come of this night.
"What do you want?" she suddenly asked, looking up over the top of her glasses. With the track that my mind was on, I almost blurted out her name in response. I stifled a giggle and instead named my favorite—spaghetti with meatballs.
CJ ordered fettuccine Alfredo, and as we waited for the food, we talked rather comfortably, rather casually. She told me about the President's game with the hot camera and as we moved on to personal matters, the conversation took a turn that set my stomach butterflying back and forth.
"So Carol, fill me in," she said, her voice smooth as her eyes perused my face.
I sipped my wine, letting my eyes linger on CJ's slick lipstick covered lips. "On what?" I asked, leaning forward a bit, anticipating her every word.
She smiled somewhat seductively and tapped her nails against her glass. She took in a breath, ever so slightly before she opened her mouth. CJ finally allowed her wandering eyes to settle on me, and she began. "Hmm…" she crooned, cocking her head as our eyes remained locked.
"What?" I practically whispered, sensing her hesitation.
Straightening up her head, CJ raised her eyebrows and finally allowed her smooth voice to ask, "You're attracted to me, aren't you?"
***
TBC
***
As the phone rang in my ear, vibrating like an alarm, I began to panic. This was not good. All of my confidence had instantly slipped away when I realized just how ridiculous calling her was. A second ring reverberated loudly, reminding me that if I didn't hang up within seconds, CJ was going to pick up.
Slamming the phone down, I looked around the apartment with embarrassment, as if someone might have witnessed my moment of incredible stupidity.
I got up in search of the bottle of scotch that I'd had lying around since Christmas. If I was at the point where I was calling CJ—out of some underlying hope that maybe she could think like me—I definitely needed a drink.
This had to stop, I thought as I settled back on the couch with a healthy amount of liquor in my cup. I was so in love with her that I was becoming delusional. Asking her out was not going to make her into a lesbian—and I had no reason to believe she wasn't straight.
Well, I thought optimistically as I swallowed a mouthful of the bitter scotch, at least she hadn't answered her phone.
***
Eight Days Later
***
"Morning," CJ grumbled, literally chucking her briefcase onto the couch in her office; I was up and out of my chair with her coffee before she had her coat off. CJ took the coffee and looked at her watch. "How much time do I have until staff?"
"Leo needed you twenty minutes ago, " I informed my boss, grinning because CJ was extremely late. She looked tired, her hair was a bit mussed, and the expression on her face was unpleasant. At least it was Friday…
"Fuck Leo," she growled, grabbing her notebook out of the briefcase. "We'll look at the wires later." With that she was out and down the hallway, leaving me alone in the office.
I could sense that it was going to be a long day and I wondered what had put CJ in such a lousy mood—and before 8 o'clock. That was unusual for her, but I knew I'd have to tiptoe around her all day. I sat down at my desk and sighed as I began to collect the wire reports.
***
CJ's mood worsened when she opened up the New York Times Op-Ed page. There, accompanied by a small photo of her behind the podium, was an editorial about the sarcastic wit that CJ had employed all week in spinning the President's hot-camera gaffe. I hadn't seen the article until CJ sharply called my name.
"When the fuck was Gary Gibbons given a press pass?" She eyed me suspiciously, looking down at the page quickly. I was taken aback and immediately went on the defense as I stood before her desk.
"It was a temporary one. It was only for this week," I insisted, recalling the conservative columnist. He usually stayed far away from this White House but had jumped at the President's Monday mistake, obtaining a pass for the inside scoop. "What's wrong?"
CJ sighed heavily, her mouth set in a line. "Isn't it kinda my job to issue these passes?"
I rolled my eyes and put my hands on my hips, her comment ridiculous. "CJ, we get hundreds of requests each week, so unless YOU want to deal with all of them personally… "
CJ glared at me silently for a second, then snickered. "Sit down and read what this little shit wrote about me."
The sarcastic smile covering her face told me she wasn't angry, and so I took the folded piece of newsprint. Perusing the column slowly, a mixture of annoyance and amusement rushed through me. She didn't deserve criticism, and this was nervy.
I looked up at CJ. She was watching me read, and it made my heart skip a beat. I cleared my throat and began to read. "Ha, this is nice. 'If Ms. Cregg is interested in stand-up, she should quit her job with the White House and apply for a position on Comedy Central.'"
CJ shook her head, a half-grin still at her lips. "I don't know, do you think I'm inappropriate in the room?"
I cocked my head thoughtfully, as it was rare that CJ asked my personal opinion. I considered my response, wanting to tell her so much more than that.
"You're informal, not inappropriate. I think your humor makes the reporters like you more. And personally, I love it," I admitted, recalling the many times she's made me laugh in the pressroom.
"You love it?" CJ asked curiously, taking back the paper. "And the next time Gary Gibbons wants a press pass, he has to get past me first."
"Ok. And yes, you're hilarious," I assured her, smiling in spite of my blush. "I almost dropped my notebook on Wednesday when you told Chris that the President had been unable to feed or bathe himself."
CJ smiled downwardly, tucking the editorial under a large pile of papers. "Thanks, Carol. That fixed my mood."
Satisfaction flooded my senses as I returned to my desk; I settled down at the computer and took a quick peek at CJ through the blinds; she had flipped on the radio and was looking substantially less pissed.
Smiling, I wondered if she'd launch a counterattack on Gary Gibbons. I recalled Sherry Wexler and how CJ had humiliated the ditz on live TV. It had been a great punishment for calling CJ a 'clothes horse' on the air, and we seldom saw Sherry around here anymore. I was laughing now but I knew how much being cut down hurt CJ. She wouldn't admit it—she'd simply fight back with class—but being a woman only made her job harder.
***
Around six o'clock, while CJ was on the phone, I checked my e-mail. There were only two—one from my sister and another from Leah that wondered how Mission Impossible was going. I had to snicker at that, as I wasn't sure if I'd ever even been on the task. As I was ready to compose a defeatist's reply, CJ stuck her head into my area.
"I know it's Friday, so you might be busy…but what are you doing for dinner?"
I leaned back in my chair and turned my head. "I was thinking about the mess. Why?"
"My date cancelled, but I have reservations in an hour. You wanna?"
Her date? CJ had a date? Since when did CJ have dates? And why on earth would they cancel? This was all very interesting to me, but her invitation was even more so.
"I'd love to," I nodded, willing myself not to seem too eager or excited. But dinner, at a restaurant with CJ? My heart couldn't have been beating any faster.
CJ nodded her head professionally, and headed back to her office. "We'll leave at quarter of, 'kay?"
"Okay…" I responded, fighting a huge smile as I turned back to Leah's e-mail. Ha, I chuckled, maybe Mission Impossible was no longer so.
***
She'd taken off her brown suit coat to reveal a sleeveless white turtleneck, and now as CJ leaned back with a glass of wine, I couldn't stop looking at her stocking-covered knee as she crossed her legs.
We were in a classy little Italian place, with white table clothes and small red candles on the table, and as CJ looked over the menu, I wondered what exactly would come of this night.
"What do you want?" she suddenly asked, looking up over the top of her glasses. With the track that my mind was on, I almost blurted out her name in response. I stifled a giggle and instead named my favorite—spaghetti with meatballs.
CJ ordered fettuccine Alfredo, and as we waited for the food, we talked rather comfortably, rather casually. She told me about the President's game with the hot camera and as we moved on to personal matters, the conversation took a turn that set my stomach butterflying back and forth.
"So Carol, fill me in," she said, her voice smooth as her eyes perused my face.
I sipped my wine, letting my eyes linger on CJ's slick lipstick covered lips. "On what?" I asked, leaning forward a bit, anticipating her every word.
She smiled somewhat seductively and tapped her nails against her glass. She took in a breath, ever so slightly before she opened her mouth. CJ finally allowed her wandering eyes to settle on me, and she began. "Hmm…" she crooned, cocking her head as our eyes remained locked.
"What?" I practically whispered, sensing her hesitation.
Straightening up her head, CJ raised her eyebrows and finally allowed her smooth voice to ask, "You're attracted to me, aren't you?"
***
TBC