The List by Joanna Bolouri Page B

wasn’t for Lucy I’m sure I’d have killed at least one of them by now. As it’s a sales environment, they’re all obsessed with the team bonus, which can only be achieved when we hit target. Of course, this only applies to the sales team, soadmin-extraordinaire Lucy doesn’t give a shit and frequently offers to make them all a big cup of SHUT THE FUCK UP. The thing is, they never want to buy anything interesting with the extra money. For Brian it’s always something new and decidedly boring for his car, and I can see Kelly already planning her next fake-tanning session with Jennifer; a woman who ‘totally doesn’t streak you so is worth the £40’. (I could see everyone eyeing up her streaky legs and making a mental note to avoid Jennifer and her tanning gun like the plague.) The worst of them all is Frank, who is clearly an idiot but a very clever one. He gets paid big wads of cash to do sod all and then buys stuff with it. Not content with his upside-down artwork, he came blazing into the office today with a new piece of bling, which makes all other bling weep uncontrollably and want to try harder. ‘It’s a one-off, you know,’ said Frank, waving his wrist around the office like a magician. ‘Only one like it.’
    Lucy grabbed his arm to take a closer look: ‘
My, my
. You have your initials on there and everything. That.
Is
. Special.’
    The sad thing is, the majority of people in the office, even Stuart, were actually impressed, but I’ll forgive him one tiny mistake because I love him.
    From: Lucy Jacobs
    To: Phoebe Henderson
    Subject: Tick Tock
    That watch makes me want to stab Frank in the face, but strangely I find him sexy today. Shame he’s such a prick as I totally would. He looks like David Duchovny. Ever noticed that?
    From: Phoebe Henderson
    To: Lucy Jacobs
    Subject: Re: Tick Tock
    I wish that last email had a ‘dislike’ button.
    From: Lucy Jacobs
    To: Phoebe Henderson
    Subject: Re: Tick Tock
    Remember my birthday dinner on Sunday. Can you bring some wine with you? Thanks love x
    Shit, I had totally forgotten. I must buy her that spa voucher. How do I manage to have any friends at all?
    Thursday March 17th
    I left the office in record time this evening and zoomed home to get ready for the first role play I had planned with Oliver. We’ve decided on three scenarios, and the first is based on the very common university student/lecturer scenario: Mr Webb and Miss Henderson having a one-to-one tutorial which inevitably ends up in some serious and somewhat illicit shagging. A no-nonsense prim and proper student arrived at Oliver’s flat, complete with a folder full of essays (well, actually just a couple of magazines I’d been reading on the train), dressed casually in jeans with suitably provocative underwear hidden underneath.
    â€˜Hello, Phoebe. Are you ready for our session?’ were the first words ‘Mr Webb’ uttered as he opened his door, dressed in a suit with his hair all dishevelled.
    Fuck me, Oliver had made the effort.
    We sat down, and as we stared across the kitchen table at each other I remembered something important: I hadn’t planned this part. Shit. I had been so excited about playing out this fantasy that I’d overlooked a vital detail: how the hell do we actually act this out? My improv skills are dodgy to say the least, and I could almost hear myself being heckled with ‘Ooh, matron!’ as I racked my brains trying to avoid anything that sounded like a Robin Askwith or Sid James line.
    Oliver, on the other hand, had obviously put some thought into it, and just as I was about to panic he reached for something under the table.
    â€˜I’ve got some material for you to look over, Miss Henderson. You can let me know if you need anything explained in more detail.’
    He handed me three porn magazines and sat back.
    I started to browse through them, pleased that they