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Chapter Four

I hate work.

My current job is tolerable, mainly because the other jobs that have preceded it have been such torturous excursions of employment that being assigned to janitorial duties in the depths of hell would be preferable. I worked in a pizza place, which was easy, a grocery store, which was stupid, and a fast food restaurant dealing primarily with pseudo-Mexican food, which caused me to smell of burritos on a daily basis. Currently, my job requires me to sit down all day, one of my favorite activities, and type sometimes, which I excel at. It isn't the actual job that I can't stand, it's arising early in the morning and providing services for others in exchange for money on a strict schedule that really pushes me over the edge of patience.

Either way, I arose early that morning to find the rain and hail had stopped, although the temperature had failed to rise. Celia had fallen asleep on our living room floor and I nudged her with my good foot. "Cel, wake up, I'm leaving."

"Mwwrgh." She growled at me and pulled the blanket over her head.

I sighed and shook my head. "Fine, guess you won't get to see Mark when he picks me up." I sang.

She sat up immediately, eyes wide open. "I'm awake!" She declared, tossing the blanket aside and leaping to her feet.

I crossed my arms. "Nice to see where your priorities lie, Celia."

"Mmm." She ran her fingers through her shoulder-length hair and it fell perfectly into place. "I do it out of love for you, Rose."

"Love. So that's what the kids are calling it nowadays."

"Very funny." She arched a thin eyebrow at me.

There was a knock at the door and Celia and I each made a mad scramble to get there before the other. I pushed her out of the way and she slapped my arm and I glared at her, and we both went silent and still as I pulled open the door.

"Hey." Mark, looking exhausted, held up a hand in greeting. "Ready to go, Rosemary?"

"Yeah." I tried to slide out the small gap in the door when Celia pulled it all the way open quickly, causing me to lose my balance and fall against it.

"Rose, aren't you going to introduce me?" She batted her eyelids and held out her hand in a debutante-like manner. "I'm Celia, Rosemary's best friend."

"Er, nice to meet you." Mark took her hand, startled, giving it a brief shake. "C'mon, Rosemary, let's go."
"Sure," I agreed, turning to cast a hateful glance in Celia's direction. She mouthed the word 'HOT' incredibly inconspicuously as Mark and I walked down our short walkway to his car.

"How's your ankle, Rosemary?" He asked as he started the engine.

"A lot better, actually."

This was the entire sum of our conversation on the way to work.

The reasons for our silence remain a mystery to me, it might have been the simple fact that neither one of us operated at full capacity that early in the morning. It might have been the fact that after we both arrived at the building, neither one of us would ever have another reason to talk to the other. Sometimes in life, it seems as if you keep avoiding fate, but when you land right in its lap, it may be unrecognizable. Whatever wild Cinderella fantasies I may have been having were dissipating quickly, and I was content to let it be so. We arrived, still silent, and took the elevator up together, as, apparently, we had done so often before. On his floor, he gave me a small wave and finally said, "Well . . . take care, Rosemary."

I smiled weakly. "Thanks, Mark."

And with that, the elevator doors shut soundly.

My stomach wrenched up as the elevator began to rise. I found this odd, as usually only long car rides cause that feeling of nausea. The feeling only increased as I started to walk into our office, and I found myself ducking into the restroom on the way. Once inside the stall, I thought at first I was going to throw up, then I felt tears burning my eyes and I grabbed a handful of toilet paper and wiped at them furiously.

I liked Mark.

I really liked him.

I had only known him two days, and one of those days didn't count, as I had fallen on top of him, which was really just an awful thing to have happened.

But I liked him.

A lot.

I hated liking people like this. I used to think that once I was out of school, my acne would clear up magically, I'd lose a bunch of weight, and I'd never have to suffer through another stupid, unrequited crush ever again. Other than my pores un-clogging themselves, these premonitions had failed to manifest desirably. My chest hurt, and I could feel my heart tearing itself in half. Feeling everything to extremes like I do can be hilarious at times, but when those feelings are bad ones, like heartbreak, it becomes the opposite of hilarious and something closer to traumatic.

There was nothing to be done. I wasn't particularly attractive, and my personality was grating -- although my friends would be polite and call it an "acquired taste", which is what snooty people say when they eat the brains of baby cows.

I clenched my fists in determination. I was sick of being compared to the grey matter of infant bovines, I was tired of never having any energy and lacking the confidence to go after what I really wanted.

And what I wanted was Mark.

I flushed the toilet. I hadn't used it, but it seemed to punctuate my internal statement rather succinctly.

I would have to lose weight. Technically, I was only a size or two above the average American woman, but that still meant that I was fat, and that had to go. It was healthy, and even in the end if Mark decided he hated me forever, then I would be more able to move on quickly and find someone else who was even more awesome and great than he was.

Immediately, however, I tried to talk myself out of this course of action. Who was this guy, this Mark guy, anyway? Why should I lose weight for him, huh? He's probably secretly married or something. Or some weird kind of perverted voyeur, you never know nowadays. He could be in the mafia, for all I knew.

Reasonably, and even deep in my heart, I knew none of that was true. Losing weight for a guy, though, it seemed unthinkable, as though I was betraying all of my feminist ancestors and setting back civil rights by decades. Yet there was no denying I was fat, and losing the weight had been a necessary course of action for some time, and if my feelings for Mark were the catalyst that would lead to this undertaking, then so be it. Compromising with myself, I made a self-promise that even if Mark turned out to be married/perverted/a dog puncher/racist/gangster, that I would continue any course of weight loss until I reached my goal.

Walking out of the bathroom and to the office, I began to think of how I should going about losing the weight, what my goal should be, and how long I should take to achieve it. Should I join a group? That would be embarrassing, though . . . of course, the point of such a group was that all of the member went through the same experiences together . . . although they did cost money, and I was cheap. So cheap. And also poor. Maybe I could try one of those free trial thingies for a couple of weeks, it might help a little.

With these concerns and more running through my head, I took a seat at the front desk, the position I had been awarded for the day, and also the one I hated the most. It meant I had to deal with our clients directly, face to face, when they came in for appointments, and that meant I had to spend the entire day feigning my best manners.

Our first client of the day, luckily, put me in an extremely good mood.

The glass door to our office opened with a flourish, and Mr. Sypher held his arms out theatrically. "Perkins Financial, I have arrived!" He announced, sweeping his salt-and-pepper hair out his eyes in a grand gesture. A regular client, he's known for being absolutely insane, although since he's rich, we think it's more politically correct to say he's eccentric. Nevertheless, I enjoy his visits immensely.

Today he was followed by a skinny boy who looked like he was twelve or thirteen, although tall for his age. The kid had blonde hair that looked like it was growing out of a bowl cut, and large thick-rimmed glasses that looked as if he had purchased them at a Buddy Holly estate sale. He was wearing what looked to be a school uniform from the local Catholic school, which seemed strange since Mr. Sypher had never come off as a religious type.

"Rosemary, tell me, are you still keeping company with those dreadful dunces, Parsley, Sage, and Thyme?" Mr. Sypher leaned against my desk, pushing his glasses up his nose, illuminating the twinkle in his bright eyes.

"We've had a bit of a falling out, unfortunately," I grinned and nodded. "Who's the kid?"

"This," Mr. Sypher put one arm around the scowling boy. "Is my son, Seth. It's Take-Your-Daughter-To-Work Day, and I thought I'd bring him along and show him how I do business."

I blinked. "Isn't he your son?"

"Yes," Mr. Sypher scratched his chin.

"And isn't Take-Your-Daughter-To-Work Day in April?"

"Yes, it is!" Immediately distracted, Mr. Sypher went over to the door to Mr. Perkins and pushed the door open, the last words I heard from him being, "Perkins, you old ninja-pirate! Advise me financially!" before the door slammed soundly.

Poor Seth was left behind, and so was the huge scowl on his face.

"Hey, kid," I began uncomfortably. "Um, you can sit down. I think we have some Highlights Magazines or something."

"Whatever," he growled in a low voice before slumping down into one of the chairs.

"So, uh, your dad," I cleared my throat, trying to initiate friendly conversation. "He seems pretty cool."

"He's an idiot," Seth replied from behind a three-month old copy of People. "A gigantic idiot."

"Well, I mean, at least he has a sense of humor."

A loud snort from behind the glossy pages was all that came in return.

"That's cool." I began talking, mainly to myself, trying to see if I could illicit any kind of reaction from him. "I guess I'll just have to eat all of this delicious candy I have all by myself." I opened the top drawer of my desk where I kept a supply of chocolates large enough to feed a heathen family of four that would be left behind if the rapture happened. "Mmm . . . chocolate." I unwrapped one loudly, peeking over at the unmoving teenager. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw his hands twitch ever so slowly.

"Ooh, wait, hold on a minute!" I announced in a booming tone. "Could it be--yes! It is! Dark chocolate! How wonderous!"

The People magazine shook a little bit.

"Oh, and look, chocolate covered cherries!"

Feigning nonchalance, Seth set down the magazine and edged his way over to my desk slowly, avoiding eye contact.

"Oh, Seth, did you want some?" Without looking at me, he exended a pale hand. I placed a chocolate in it and he unwrapped it and devoured it quickly like a starving squirrel. "See? Everyone loves candy."

"Yeah, well," he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked down at me expectantly. "You gonna eat yours?"

"I --" I paused for a moment. "Ah, no. I'm on a diet."

His stare turned suspicious. "How come?"

"Because I'm fat, why else?"

He looked me up and down in evaluation. "Eh, you're not that fat." He put his hands behind his head and sat back down on the small couch. "A little pudgy, sure, but not fat."

"You're so couth." I felt the energy go out of me. "You know what that means, right, kid?"

"I'm not retarded." He rolled his eyes and picked the magazine back up. "But diet if you want. Maybe you'll get anorexia and die."

"I don't know if anorexia is something you can catch."

"Have you ever tried?"

I shook my head. "I lack the will power to be anorexic and the gag reflex to be bulimic. Those girls who can are so lucky."

He laughed. "I don't know if they'd call it that."

Mr. Perkins door opened with a loud bang right then, and Mr. Sypher strode out, lifting his legs in a military march. "Ah, I'm still rich. It's so comforting. Seth, my boy," He held out his hand to his son who ignored it completely. "Your father has lots of money. Aren't you proud?"

"No," Seth deadpanned.

Mr. Sypher laughed loudly and waved goodbye as they left the office together, Seth's trademark scowl re-plastered onto his face.

Mr. Perkins staggered out of his office, looking uncharacteristically disheveled. "Rosemary --" he stumbled and leaned against my desk. "That man sucks the life out of me. Do you know he wants to run for political office next year?" He shuddered.

"Well, it might be fun to have someone like him in government." I smiled my brightest smile.

Mr. Perkins eyes tried to escape from his face desperately as he glared in surprise. "You're crazy. He's crazy. They're all crazy . . ." His mumblings grew quieter as he shuffled back into his office, defeated.

Feeling as though my life story had not advanced whatsoever, I turned to my computer, ready to work. Right as I was about to perform the vital functions of my job, Helen emerged from the back room. "Rosie! Where do you wanna go for lunch today?"

"Uh . . . I'm not really hungry, Helen." I lied.

Her eyes tried the same escape maneuver Mr. Perkins had a few minutes before. "You're kidding, right, Rosie? Pat and Kelly want to go to Olive Garden."

Oh, the Olive Garden. How I love its delicious mockery of authentic Italian cuisine. Nevertheless, I had made a promise to myself, one I would keep, no matter what sacrifices I would have to make, even if said sacrifices include losing out on unlimited soup, salad, and breadsticks. Delicious, tasty, breadsticks. "Nah, Helen, I'm good. I had a big breakfast." Another lie. I never eat breakfast, eating in the morning makes me nauseous.

She hesitated. "If you're sure, Rosie."

"I'm sure." I smiled a convincing smile. "Don't worry about me."

"Okay." She seemed satisfied and let me return to my work.

The end of the day came and I was starving. As I left the office, I envisioned some sort of sandwich to satisfy my hunger. One that consisted of many meats, cheeses, and a large variety of condiments. Wonderful sandwich. It was the only thing I could think about.

Until the elevator arrived at the floor below and Mark stepped on.

"Rosemary." He nodded politely.

"Hullo, Mark." I replied dully. This would be an excellent chance to show off how witty, charming, graceful and clever I was. I may be only starting my weight loss endeavor now, but I could still cause him to see how wonderful I was on the inside. I opened my mouth, prepared to deliver a line of hilarious insight, that would show off my worldliness and mastery of wordplay in one fell swoop. "How's it-- how's it going?"

Oh. Lord.

"Not too bad. You?"

"Meh." I was starving. My stomach was threatening to gang up with my duodenum and attack the esophagus at any moment. I had to maintain control.

"Well, that's the most anyone can expect for a Wednesday."

"Wait, today's Wednesday?" I looked up at him, wide-eyed.

"Yeah."

"Awesome!" I grinned. Wednesdays are the best day of the week. My insatiable urge to devour flesh covered in mayonnaise topping baked flour had nearly made me forget.

"Awesome?" He replied, confused.

"Yeah! Well--" I faltered, realizing I couldn't tell him why Wednesday's were so great, he probably thought me strange enough as it was. Actually, I reconsidered, why shouldn't he know? I wasn't going to change my personality for anyone, especially not for him. Clearing my throat, I continued, "It's new comic book day."

"What now?"

"Wednesday is the day all the comic book shops get in their new issues. It's my favorite day of the week." There. Now he knew. Despite the fact that I was a girl, I liked comic books. And I looked forward to the new issues of them. That would mean I read them on a regular basis. Followed their story-lines. Waited in anticipation to see what would happen next.

My brain cringed. I had sabotaged myself.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot."

I looked up at him, surprised.

"I had a personal falling out with Marvel two years ago and haven't read any since," He continued, checking his watch. "I'm sure they've fixed things by now, though. Mind if I tag along?" He looked at me expectantly.

"I-- sure," I nearly had to use my own hand to restrain my jaw from falling open. So this guy likes everything I like? My eyes narrowed. There had to be a flaw there somewhere. And it had to be massive. Life-altering. Maybe he was in the Witness Protection Program. Or the mafia. Or he ran a smuggling ring of illegal exotic animals. "You can, uh, follow me. I guess." Great. I was turning into the Incoherent Wonder. Use your grown-up words, Rosemary!

I sighed, knowing my day was going to become even longer.