Choices
There was a secretary at the agency. Okay, there were a lot of secretaries at the agency, but this one was special – or at least, the vast majority of the men on Alfred's floor seemed to think so. Her name was Anne.
"Agent Jones, there's a call for you on line four."
"Thanks, sweetheart," he'd beam at her, and she would giggle and go back to her desk, her curls bouncing along with every step and her perfectly red lips curved into a smile. All the guys nearby would watch her leave and then give Alfred little looks. They liked her because she always called them "agent" like it was the best title in existence, and because she smiled at everyone, but she always sang Alfred's name. Alfred hadn't noticed for the first week or two, but pretended not to after that. Alfred was nice to girls and smiled at them because that was what you were supposed to do. He grinned at everyone anyway, so how was it really any different?
"Agent Jones?" she asked one day, but her voice was less confident than usual, and she said it like she couldn't see him sitting right there.
"Yes, miss Anne?" he said, wondering if something was wrong.
"Could you come here for a moment?"
He walked over to where she was standing by her desk, a piece of paper in her nervous fingers. She held it out to him. "Your boss left a message."
"Oh, thanks." He took the paper from her, but he hesitated. She looked as though there was something else.
She looked up at him, suddenly smiling, and he smiled back. "I was wondering if you were free sometime soon. I know you have a busy schedule, but I was thinking maybe we could . . . get some lunch? Or coffee, if you'd like." She was blushing, though not very much. Alfred stared at her, trying to understand what she was saying. It hit him and he felt awful. Anne was so nice.
"Oh, um, Anne, that's really nice of you, but–" He glanced over his shoulder at the room, noisy with typewriters and phones ringing, and knew that even though it didn't look like it, about half its occupants were listening. There wasn't anywhere to go, because neither of them had their own offices, but he really couldn't lie to her. "I really can't. I'm sorry. I'm not – I'm not interested." For an instant, she looked absolutely devastated. "Not – not that I'm not in you," he tried, and why did these things have to be so difficult? "I'm just, um – Right now–" He was floundering and he knew it. "Actually, no. Just – ever." He pleaded with his eyes, trying to make her understand. She frowned a little, looked away, and then her forehead cleared with what might have been recognition.
She looked at him. "In . . . any of us?" she asked hesitantly.
His face burning, Alfred nodded. She smiled faintly, and that was how he effectively outed himself to his entire branch of the department.
In the months that followed, Alfred got a few lunch requests which he suspected were thinly-veiled requests for more than that, but because no one was very clear about it, Alfred brushed them off easily enough with a laugh or a smile, or by turning it into a group thing. People at work were nice, but Alfred hadn't found himself really noticing anyone. He didn't think much of it, but really, years after Anne and about a year after he started talking to Arthur, he shouldn't have been surprised that someone finally asked him out.
Dave was very nice, and Alfred had been working with him in a casual sort of way for about a year. He wrote a lot of the reports and was very good at it. He was also pretty good looking and Alfred found him attractive, sure, but somehow he had never thought of him that way. In retrospect, though, Alfred shouldn't have been as surprised as he was.
"I was wondering if you'd like to go out to dinner," Dave asked in a way that was clearly meant to be casual but felt forced. They were alone in the cramped little kitchen where Alfred was currently fixing himself a cup of coffee.
"Like, tonight?" Alfred asked in surprise. "I can see if some of the guys are available, but it's kinda short notice . . ."
"I meant just us. Like a date." Dave shifted his weight awkwardly to the other foot.
Alfred looked at him and blinked. You haven't been on a date in ages, a part of his brain said, and Alfred would have been lying if he had said he wasn't tempted. Yet somehow, Alfred's thoughts slid to Arthur.
You'd have to cancel your call with him to go out to dinner, he realized, and Alfred realized that he really, really didn't want to do that.
"I'm sorry, but no thanks," Alfred said apologetically, and he meant it. He felt awful whenever he had to reject anyone. "It's nothing personal."
Dave shrugged, though he couldn't hide a look of disappointment. "I get it. Is there someone else?"
Alfred opened his mouth to say no, but then he hesitated. "Maybe," he admitted.
Dave smiled. "Well, good luck, I guess. See you around."
That evening, when Alfred checked in with Arthur as planned, Alfred realized that he didn't regret rejecting Dave in the least. When Arthur said, "Hello, Alfred," it felt like he was home.