Oh my! He types fast.
________________________________
From: Z. Zinfandel
Subject: Today
Thursday, May 26
1:22pm
Sweetheart,
With much respect; I don't give a fuck about Chicago.
Why are you alone? Why don't you want your husband with you? Answer me. Now.
Z
_______________________________
His email reads quite aggressive, and I’m starting to shake a little. Is he mad at me?
________________________________
Reply
Subject: Today
Thursday, May 26
1:32pm
Mr. Zinfandel
I’m not sure why you're mad at me, but I do apologize if I have offended you in some way.
I don’t require my husband here today. We are very independent people, and he is very busy with his own career. I would feel terrible if I kept him from his work, when I really don't need anything from him here.
Regards.
________________________________
Okay. This is getting ridiculous. Why won't he stop emailing me? I have work to do, and he doesn’t seem to care at all. Dammit.
________________________________
From: Z. Zinfandel
Subject: CALL ME Z!
Thursday, May 26
1:43pm
Sweetheart,
If you call me 'Mr. Zinfandel' one more time, I WILL be very angry with you, and I’m not playing a game.
Every time you don’t want to answer a question honestly, you retreat, and I become Mr. Zinfandel once again. Please stop retreating.
I expect honest answers from you, whether you are comfortable with me or not.
What is your address? I'm going to come over so we can speak face to face.
Z
________________________________
Reading his newest email, I am absolutely stunned. Oh. My. God! He is NOT coming here. No way. I can’t have a strange man in my home, whether it is to 'talk' or not. What does he think I am... a slut? I am a respectable, married woman. I am NOT a Slut.
________________________________
Reply
Subject: CALL ME Z!
Thursday, May 26
2:02 pm
Z,
I do apologize for my rudeness, but you are not welcome in my home.
I don’t know what kind of woman you think I am, but you have the wrong idea. I am a respectable MARRIED woman, who does not have strange men show up at her home. Why would you even want to? We’re strangers to each other.
You are my senior, and as such, it is highly inappropriate for you to even suggest such a thing as coming to my home.
Please refrain from emailing me again, unless of course, it is work related. I must get back to my reports.
Thank you.
________________________________
There. Sent. Finished. What the hell WAS that? My cell phone suddenly rings. Shit. Its Z's 212) cell number. What do I do? Ignore it? I'll ignore his call, and hopefully he’ll get the message. When it stops ringing I finally breathe.
Shit! There’s already another email.
_________________________________
From: Z. Zinfandel
Subject: ANSWER YOUR PHONE!
Thursday, May 26
2:18pm
Sweetheart,
Pick up the phone. Now!
I am starting to get furious with you.
Pick it up now!
Z
________________________________
Suddenly, I’m scared to death. I don't even know this man. Why is he doing this? What’s happening? Did I do this? I think I was fairly professionally detached. What did I do wrong? WHAT DO I DO?’
When my phone starts ringing again, I jump. Grabbing it, I answer on the second ring, "Hello..."
"Why are you trying so hard to push away my concern?”
"I'm sorry Z, but I don't know what I've done wrong to upset you. I've answered all your questions. I've been perfectly polite and professional."
Cutting me off, he almost snarls into the phone, "Yes. You have been perfectly polite and professional, and even respectable. Aren't you a little tired of it?"
"I'm sorry, I don't understand."
"Why don’t you try speaking a sentence which does not contain the phrase 'I'm sorry' for starters? We'll work from there."
"I'm sor... What? What do you want Mr... ah, Z?” Jeez... I suddenly acquired a stutter.
"You’re doing very well deflecting, but I am much better at attaining the answers I require. You are very adept at answering most questions with an emotionless quip. You are truly exhausting and frustrating. Do you ever just give an honest answer? Do you feel anything at all?" Pause.
What the hell? Do I FEEL anything at all? Of course I feel. What the hell is he talking about?
"Yes, I feel. Do I seem so heartless to you?" I whisper.
"Stop deflecting! Do you feel, Sweetheart?"
"I'm not deflecting. I don't know what you mean. I'm sorry, but I'm really confused here. Could you please just tell me what's wrong with me, so I can get back to my reports,” I ask desperately.
And there’s another pause. A long pause actually. My heart starts beating very hard and my hands have started shaking again. Maybe I should say something. What is he waiting for?
"I'm sor..."
Interrupting me, he shouts, "Do not apologize! I can't stand to hear another apology fall from your mouth."
All I want to say is 'I'm sorry' for saying 'I'm sorry'. I’m such an idiot. He’s totally thrown me off balance. I feel less controlled. I feel out of control. I feel...
Out of nowhere, I can't breathe. Gasping for breath, I clutch the phone in my hand, and grab my chest with the other. Panicking, I want to go. I need to hang up...
"Jesus Christ! Don't you dare hang up, love. Come on. Stay with me right here. Breathe slowly, so I can hear you. Come on Sweetheart, breathe with me. Listen to my breaths and follow along. Breathe..."
Slowly, I dig myself out. Slowly, my breathing returns. Slowly, I feel my arms and legs tingling again. I have to go. I need to get away from him. I need my senses back.
"I need to hang up, Z. I need to lie down... okay?" I whisper, but there’s just silence. "Please... Z. I need to hang up. I can't take anymore of this right now."
Exhaling loudly, "Alright, Sweetheart. I want you to lie down right now. I’ll give you an hour and a half, and then I'm calling you again. I strongly suggest you sleep with your phone beside you so you’ll pick up when I call. Am I clear?"
"Um... yes. I'll talk to you later. I really am sorry for all this drama. I'm not usually like this," I whisper.
"It's going to be okay, love. I'll talk to you soon. Lie down now. I insist."
After hanging up, I stumble to the small love seat in my sunroom. Pulling a throw blanket over my shoulders, I feel absolutely exhausted. With my phone in my hand, I close my eyes and…
I'm done.
==========
Abruptly, I wake to the sound of my phone ringing. Jumping, I answer quickly.
"H-hello...?" I'm completely disoriented.
"Hello, Sweetheart. Did you sleep well?"
Leaning over toward the end-table I see its 5:01pm. "Um... Yes. Why did you let me sleep so long?" I ask.
"Say my name, Sweetheart. Say 'Z'. I need to hear my name from your lips when you just wake sounding all sleepy and hoarse. You make me think of waking up with you..." he practically growls in my ear. Holy shit! What the hell do I say to that?
"Ah, Z... I have to go. I shouldn't have slept so long, and I really need to get some work done. Otherwise, I'll be up all night working on these reports. Um, thank you for waking me..."
"It was my pleasure. I love the sound of your voice right now. Picturing your gorgeous lips, and your alluring eyes and hearing your voice all sleep-sexy, makes me wish you would meet me at my hotel this evening
." WHAT?!
"Ah... I'm, um... married. And I don't know you! And I don't do that! I'm sure you could find someone else in Chicago who would join you. Maybe give Kayla a call..." Did I just say that? Oh my god, I just made Kayla sound like a slut. Shit.
Chuckling, Z says, "Tempting as that may be, I would still prefer YOU join me this evening. Though Kayla is delightful, I'm not in the mood to fight for dominance in the bedroom; that’s not really my thing. I would much prefer you, soft in my arms."
Soft? There it is. He thinks I'm heavy, and therefore 'soft'. NOT like perfect 'tight' Kayla. God, I wish I wasn't me some days, I really do.
"Sweetheart? Where did you go? I can almost feel your retreat. Why don't you think about meeting me later." As IF!
“No. I will NOT meet you later. I'm too ‘soft’. Not your type at all. You really should give Kayla a call though. She’s all tight and delightful,” I sneer.
"Why are you speaking to me with that tone? I never implied..."
"What tone? THIS tone?! Please, Mr. Zinfandel, leave me alone. I'm done. I really can't talk to you anymore. Okay? I'm really sorry, but…"
"DO NOT HANG UP ON ME!"
"Sorry. Bye. Have fun with whomever you see tonight..."
I’ve done it. I hung up on him. Please don't call me again. Please don't call... Shit! My phone starts ringing. My phone even sounds louder when its Z calling to yell at me. Ignore it. IGNORE IT!
Five minutes later, my phone stops ringing and I'm totally stressed out. What the hell is going on in my life? I can't stand all this drama. Who does he think he is, anyway? He can’t tell me what to do. Yeah, but everyone else tells me what to do, why can’t he? Dammit.
==========
Grabbing a glass of ice water, and making a turkey sandwich, I suddenly realize I haven't made a 'proper' dinner for Marcus. Dammit. What looks elaborate, but is quick and easy? What looks good, but can be prepared in half an hour? What can I make? I can think of nothing. Oh! I have lasagna in the freezer but I'll have to thaw it in the microwave first which will make it gross, but what else can I do?
Throwing the lasagna in the microwave to defrost, I feel all stressed again. It's like the potential for soggy lasagna will determine if I have a panic-attack or something. Why does a lasagna have this much influence over my life? Why am I giving a lasagna this much power over me? Christ! I AM crazy!
Twenty minutes later, the nearly defrosted lasagna is in the oven for an hour and a half. That brings me to 7:30. Marcus should be arriving home around 7:30, and it’ll look like I planned his dinner properly, at exactly the proper time.
BUT WHAT ABOUT THE STUFF?! Argh…
Grabbing a package of ground beef from the freezer, I cut up as many small pieces as I can before dumping it down the garberator and leave the empty package face up in the trash can. From the fridge I pull out and also empty 2 jars of my homemade sauce down the sink, and rinse and line up the jars beside the sink to dry. Brick of Mozzarella Cheese? Um. Grabbing it from the cheese drawer, I hide it behind the vegetables in the crisper drawer. Ricotta? Hidden behind the pickles. Spices? He'll never know. Does Marcus even know where I keep all the spices and seasonings? I doubt it. Noodles? Opening a box of lasagna noodles, I smash them into smaller pieces, hide them in a brown lunch bag, and push them low in the garbage with the empty ground beef package back on top. Crushing the box of lasagna, I make sure it’s on the top of the recycling bin in the pantry.
There! Ha! Marcus will never know I didn't make it today. God, my hands are shaking. I was in such a rush to prepare my already prepared lasagna; I hadn't noticed that I've been holding my breath for hours it seems. Marcus will never know though, so I'm safe from disappointing anyone tonight.
Trying to calm my nerves, I head back to my desk in the sunroom. There are 6 new emails:
- 1 email from Mr. Wallace in Washington, with an amendment.
- 1 email from Mr. King in Sarasota.
- 2 emails from Kayla.
- 2 from Mr. Zinfandel timed in the last 45 minutes.
I don't want to read them, I really don't. I can't handle any more of this... SHIT! I have to. Opening the first email...
________________________________
From: Z. Zinfandel
Subject: I’m disappointed
Thursday, May 26
5:19pm
I am very disappointed in you, Sweetheart.
That was very rude.
I thought I made myself perfectly clear. I will not tolerate rudeness.
Do not hang up on me. Speak to me.
If I frighten you, or you feel uncomfortable, please say so.
I want to know what you’re thinking.
I would really like to know what you’re feeling, as well.
I will give you a little time to gather your thoughts.
I am very aware of your incessant need to feel 'in control' of yourself, but try to understand that it is NOT my goal to undermine your need for control.
Please do not push away my concern and affections... You will only hurt yourself further.
Yours patiently,
Z
________________________________
His ‘concern and affections’? He doesn't even know me! I don't even know me anymore. Oh, but at least I’ve disappointed him. One whole day without someone’s disappointment might have actually given me a false sense of security or something. Thank god! I’m back on track today.
________________________________
From: Z. Zinfandel
Subject: It’s a date
Thursday, May 26
6:00pm
Sweetheart,
I do hope that you’ve settled down some.
I’m going to call you this evening at 10:00pm sharp.
I suggest you have your phone with you and find a private location. I will be speaking to you rather bluntly, so I strongly suggest you find some privacy.
Please do not think it would be wise to ignore my call; I have ways of forcing your attention, even if you do not desire my attention.
I look forward to speaking with you this evening.
Yours,
Z
________________________________
10:00? 10:00? Marcus will be here. It's not like I could go anywhere else. I never go out through the week. What am I going to do? What will I do? This is INSANITY! I'm married. I have a husband who’ll be home while I'm talking to another man? Who does that? Not me. I'm not answering. What can he actually do? It's not like he’ll show up at my home. Does he even know where I live? Ahh… probably. Oh god. I have to email him back.
________________________________
Reply
Subject: It’s a date
Thursday, May 26
6:34pm
Z,
Please don't call me. My husband will be home by 10:00 and I have nowhere to talk with privacy.
I am feeling very stressed out by you and your demands.
Please, leave me alone.
I have to finish work, and I can't with all these emotional distractions.
I'm begging you to stop harassing me.
I can't handle much more.
Please...
________________________________
There. I sounded a little pathetic but maybe that'll work. I can't do anything else but beg. Hopefully he’ll take pity on me, and leave me alone.
==========
Returning to my spreadsheets, I once again begin calculating expenses. This is the easy part; it’s mindless. Number crunching is easy. I've already researched all the approvals, and categorized the approved and unapproved expenses for each Accounts Manager. Now I just need to formulate grand totals. I may even have this completed by mid afternoon tomorrow, in which case I could email off the summary reports to Mr. Shields before Monday. Maybe if I'm early, I won't look so incompetent this week.
At 7:35, the lasagna is out of the oven. Running to my bedroom I have a quick rinse-off shower and finally get dressed. Blac
k capris and black cami top with cardigan. There, I feel much better. Returning to the sunroom, I work a little more while I wait for Marcus to come home. I feel like I actually accomplished something today.
By 9:30, I'm scared. Marcus isn't home. I have no additional emails from Z, but I'm scared to death he's going to call me anyway. Where the hell is Marcus? Why hasn't he called to say he’d be late? Marcus always calls if he isn't going to be home by 7:30, except on Mondays.
Walking to the kitchen, I look at the dried out, hours old lasagna I spent all day slaving over. Huh. I feel a giggle bubble up at the thought. I haven't had one of those for a while. Trying to suppress my laughter, I call Marcus from the kitchen phone.
"Hi. What can I do for you?" He quips.
"Ah, hi honey... When are you coming home? I told you I would prepare a proper dinner for you this evening."
“Oh. You’ve been so tired lately, I assumed you had forgotten to cook again,” he sneers.
Wow. He really is pissed at me. Maybe I should just apologize for questioning his sexual ability. Maybe I should just tell him it's my fault.
"Marcus, I'm sorry I haven't been well. I'm not sure what's going on, but I'm calling the doctor tomorrow..."
"Look, I'm very busy here. I'm not sure when I'll be home, so don't wait up, okay?"
Holy shit! Marcus hung up on me. Marcus doesn't know when he'll be home? Marcus doesn't even care about the doctors? He always cares about stuff like that. He wants his wife to be healthy and drama-free. Wake up! Marcus doesn't care about me anymore.
At 9:58, I check my emails again, but there’s nothing. Good. Maybe Z decided to back off. Maybe my begging worked. Maybe he called someone else. Maybe, Kayla? Maybe he became bored with me...
When my phone suddenly rings, I jump once more. Will I ever learn to handle a phone ringing again?