Chapter 4: Addicted to Love by Florence + The Machine
"What happened to your hand?" A voice nudged me out of my reverie. I glanced away from the computer screen (upon which I had no focus,) and looked up to see the Human Resource Manager staring at my gauze-covered hand.
"I uh…" A brief memory of pain flashed through my mind, and immediately was halted by a pleasant thought. A comforting thought. A thought that both increased and decreased my heart beat all at once. "…accidentally cut my hand with a knife." My face must have looked oddly joyous for my explanation, because Sheila's eyebrow shot up in the air. Desperate to complete the details, I decided to act like I thought the accident was amusing.
"Yeah, it was stupid," I nervously giggled, but inwardly cringed. I hoped she wouldn't see through my little plan. "I cut it while making a sandwich, which is the only food in my house, so I guess I'm screwed, huh?" Damn, my acting is horrible.
"Or just stick to butter knives," Shelia responded, smiling softly. I subtly sighed in relief. She had taken the bait. "Anyways," she continued, "I've noticed your art. It's good. I want in." Several thoughts passed in my mind all at once. First, complete and utter embarrassment. Sheila had noticed my art. Meaning, she had noticed all the little drawings I had unthinkingly made this past week in my free time. Little drawings consisting of dark eyes, followed by full and expressive eyebrows, and finally a beautiful set of lips. Second, I was surprised and touched. She thought my art was good! But third, however, came confusion. She wanted in?
"What do you mean?" I inquired, puzzlement etched on my face.
Sheila sighed. "I mean, I want you to draw me. See," she studied her long and expensive-looking finger nails before returning her gaze to me. "I've been wanting to get one done for years, but being stuck in this office all the time is time consuming. So I want you to do it. Meet me in the break room at 6:00." My blank expression seemed to be an answer enough for Sheila. Apparently I would be spending some time in the break room today.
When the clock hit 6:00, I started to collect my things for Sheila's portrait. Blushing, I guessed it shouldn't have been to much of a surprise to know others noticed my art. I did, after all, bring sketching pencils to work. Solitaire just doesn't do the trick for me.
I halted in shock upon entering the break room. The normal, bland-looking space was transformed…and dark. Purple material of all ranges covered every inch of the table area, on which a lit, lavender lamp and violet notebook with a fuzzy pink pen resided. Sheila was sprawled across a chair (foreign to the break room,) in an extravagant purple dress. Mouth agape and eyebrows to the ceiling, I closed the door behind me.
"Wow. This is…" I started, but could not seem to find words. I felt the urge to excuse myself when laughter bubbles started to form.
"Yeah, I've been planning this since Tuesday," Sheila nonchalantly smoothed out the dress; oblivious to my amusement. "You ready to get started?"
I cautiously made my way into the room and sat on another purple chair. I cleared my throat as I started to draw Sheila.
Art is my getaway. Apart from music, it is simply something I can completely immerse myself in. I can paint my sorrow upon a sheet of canvas, or carve my curiosity into a sculpture, or leave imprints of my joy in pottery. The possibilities of expressing oneself are endless. So, despite my stress (and the bad lighting of the room,) drawing Sheila oddly eased my mind completely. I calmly stroked the page with the black tip of the pencil, capturing every elaborate detail Sheila had deliberately laid out for me. However busy my fingers were, my mind was elsewhere.
The past few days had been lonely. I realized on Tuesday night, alone in my pajamas and watching an old Seinfeld rerun, that it was the first day I had not seen Jerry since my arrival. I could not deny that my heart seemed to become heavier at that moment. Apparently, my subconscious was not at all pleased with this. My dreams were intermixed with Jerry's words, his face, his hands. Jerry Jerry Jerry. I had to stop watching Jerry Seinfeld's sitcom at once.
This morning, I realized with glee that Jerry's late-night work week would be over. The possibility of seeing him formed urgings; urges that resulted in doing my hair and makeup with great care and precision. My girly excitement might have been silly and dumb, but I couldn't help it.
My train of thoughts came to an end though when I finally finished Sheila's portrait. I got up to show her. Sheila sighed, or rather huffed, in relief. I didn't blame her. I mean, those heels she was wearing were quite unnecessary.
Seeing the portrait, Sheila squealed in delight. "Girl! Look at that! I look AMAZING!" I laughed at her reaction, but we were soon interrupted by opening of the break room's door.
What's all this noise going on around here?" Elizabeth Tilly, the receptionist from the lobby, stepped in with crossed arms. I noticed her normal, curly up-do was down, and she was wearing a light blue cocktail dress.
Beth, look at this!" Shelia all but shoved her portrait in Elizabeth's face.
"So, this is the artist you forced to draw you. Hmm," she observed, "this is good stuff. You look hot, Sheila." Sheila beamed while Beth sidestepped over some purple fluffy material.
"So, you ready?" asked Beth.
Sheila nodded. "Mm-hmm. More than ready. I just hope the guys at The Pulse are ready for this," she indicated to her dress while Beth giggled and turned to me.
"Are you coming, too?" she asked. I had already guessed The Pulse must have been some kind of dance club. Not exactly my scene, but Sheila butted in before I could answer.
"Hell yes, she is! With the week you had, you need this."
Flustered, I managed to say, "I don't even have a dress…"
Beth came to the rescue. "I have the most perfect dress for you to wear! It's in the back seat of my car. And look, your hair and face are already perfect!"
My face must've revealed that I was searching for a way out of this, because Sheila grabbed my arm and said, "Don't even try it. You need a girl's night out. Come on." And that was the end of it…or rather, the start of it.