Colm Brady

Call Me

"Work never waits" was what the partner would have said if he saw him sloping off at half three. He had mumbled something about going for physio as he left and nobody had reacted.
At 29 he was going for a lot more physio and playing a lot less games these days and everyone knew it.
Rugby had got him the job in Slaughter Harness and Antler and a distasteful niggle in his head murmured that maybe it might lose it too.
In a rare glimpse of self-awareness he looked at his reflection in the glass divider and saw that his once powerful frame was less defined and his cauliflower ears were looking less attractive by the day. A movement the other side of the glass highlighted that a secretary was returning his gaze quizzically.
"Oh she is nice - whats her name Louise, Laura…Leticia that’s it - wouldn’t mind maybe oh yeah I did at Christmas."
The girl shot him a hard look and returned to her work. The lesson today children is don’t shit where you eat. The gene pool in this place was becoming progressively smaller but no other firm would put up with his antics and cavalier outlook.
He met another conquest at the lift and blatantly looked at his shiny tan shoes to avoid her. He got in and hummed the bassline to Seven Nation Army for seventeen floors to the ground. On the street he compared his suit to those he met and it compared favourably on style and price. This pleased him slightly but not as much as usual.
He checked his Blackberry before he got on the tube but nothing but dirty jokes from his mates and a rather severe message from his boss about timekeeping – Fuck them.
He used the tube journey to recreate yesterday evening. There had been a sevens tournament and he had pulled something. He had went to his usual physio outfit but they were booked out so he went to one recommended by his teammate Rob. She was attractive but not that attractive and he had given her his most winning smile.
"Lie on the bench please"
"Erm I think I have a groin strain" he said hopefully
"It just looks like a strain in the thigh muscle"
He had let her get on with it and casually asked her if she was Irish.
"Yeah I live in Camden"
Camden was good and it meant she was renting - you couldn’t get a gaffe in Camden on a Physio’s Salary – time to turn it on a little.
"Ive got a place in Islington myself"
No reaction whatsoever except to wrench some body parts into an unnatural juxtaposition – ouch.
"That’s you done - you can dress here and settle up in Reception"
"How about a drink some night?" delivered with a raffish wink
She snorted and began to move her lips to refuse but he pressed a business card into her hand. The contact details took up more space than anything else. There was a work extension, Mobile, Skype, e-mail and messenger Ids. He was the most contactable man on earth.
She just walked out without another word - no bird had ever done that to him before.
He was appalled, aggravated and a little bit attracted.
She was gone when he arrived at reception and the girl was not giving out her name. He had gone home and slept the sleep of the just but this morning life had shifted slightly. In a meeting he had played with his mobile all morning and he hadn’t fancied lunch.
Then at three pm he realised he had forgotten to divert the landline in the apartment to his mobile. This was obviously why the girl had not been in touch. He deduced that she had called the landline being a good traditional Irish lass and left him a steaming message with her phone number. Score.
He willed the tube on and practically ran down Upper Street to the church.
The Church had been deconsecrated and converted into luxury apartments – all oak beams and pretension. He got the lift to the top level to save time and struggled to deactivate the alarm.
At the end of the hall was a picture of Al Pacino holding a very businesslike machine gun. On a wrought iron table stood the Bosch SCR9000 cordless telephone with voicemail.
He glanced at the front where a red LED light was flashing – once – Bingo.
He grabbed it and pushed play – a familiar female voice came ringing out.
"Hello Owen, hold on I’m talking to his machine, this is Mammy speaking…"
His spirits fell as he heard his father swearing in the background.
"Your cousin Assumpta got engaged and Mrs Nolan has a polyp in her nose."
This message came every Friday and he had to own up to ignoring a large amount of them.
"Give us a ring when you get a chance and remember to get mass"
He hung up and carried the phone into the main room just in case. He looked up at the former churches vaulted roof and this gave him a slight lift. That roof definitely appealed to the chicks which brought him back to the lack of contact from the girl. Why didn’t she ring – did she not know how great he was? – Everyone said so.
The possibility occurred to him that she might have e-mailed him in an effort not to appear too eager.
He had seen girls use this approach in the past – casual like. He picked up his Titanium cased wireless with round baler laptop and logged on. Nothing there and nothing on the Blackberry - he would have to wait, wait – him!
The irony was not wasted on him that he had often forgotten to ring or deliberately delayed the call to mess with their heads. Maybe he would behave better in future but then again maybe not.
He jumped on his large well-appointed couch and went fishing through his growing collection of remote controls. He found the one he needed and his huge television apparatus rolled down from the ceiling. He watched some Baseball program for ten minutes but couldn’t concentrate.
He made coffee in a machine that had only marginally less controls than an Airbus then realised he had no milk. Bugger. He decided to drive up to the petrol station for the distraction. He went through the ritual of diverting all phones to his mobile and checked twice that it and the blackberry were powered up.
He walked downstairs to the basement and walked up to a small but speedy German car. He had been secretly delighted when it had been recalled to have a spoiler fitted due to instability at very high speeds – oh yesh.
He bought the milk and preened slightly as he pulled out of the forecourt. The logic or otherwise of buying an expensive sportscar in a city that had virtually outlawed the car was not lost on him. On the other hand the car was cool and by extension so was he. He couldn’t wait to see the girls face when she saw him rock up in its gleaming magnificence. A quick glance at the mobile showed no news as yet.
He started to think, a rare occurrence that usually landed him in trouble. If she were to ring in two minutes the time between now and then would pass regardless – it was all subjective and it made his head hurt. He parked having come to the conclusion that women didn’t love him for his intellect.
In the apartment he made more coffee with milk this time and picked up the post.
He would give himself the time it took to go through it to ignore the looming white beast of a phone.
Timeshare Ad – Bin
Readers Digest letter – Bin
Holiday Brochure - Bin no hold on lets look at the pictures. 30 seconds to leer through them then onwards.
Bill - Paid
Subscription to Bloke Magazine – file on couch for future reference.
After this monumental exercise he had gone for 2 minutes and 45 seconds without thinking about the girl. Admittedly he had been thinking about the girls in the holiday brochure but they didn’t count.
He was halfway through the coffee when it occurred to him the phone might not be working – the only suggestion was to test it – she could be calling right then.
He texted his mate Dave to ring him on his landline urgently. Within seconds his mobile rang the Kool and the gang ringtone grating more than usual. (That’s the way ohaw ohaw I like it)
"Hello"
"Hi its Dave, you told me to ring you"
"I told you to ring my landline you Nong, hang up now"
He replaced the mobile in his pocket as the landline rang out.
"Hello"
"It’s me again"
"Cool; now piss off Dave, I’m busy"
Busy indeed, he started flicking rice crispies off the table in the general direction of the bin in the corner. He had two hits out of fourteen attempts so he got the remaining twelve and lined them up on the table for round two – this time its personal.
At half time in the world rice crispie shooting competition he took a bathroom break. Bathrooms in the church were cavernous rooms all marble and chrome. He did a quick audit and noticed that hair gel and moisturiser levels were approaching critical. Normally he would stroll up to the Tesco Metro to scope the singletons shopping but with his newfound maturity he had lost the desire to ponce around carrying a bottle of expensive red and a meal for one. No he was going to change his ways after he started going out with the girl.
He had images of Picnics in Regents Park; Hilarious reposts at speaker’s corner and touching moments on the London Eye. Life was going to be peachy.
It was five thirty by now and usually he would be installed in a Café bar on form and on his first beer. Thirsty he went to the massive chrome fridge and extracted a Ukrainian beer. This stuff was five times the price of normal lager and he refused to admit it didn’t taste even twice as good. A game was starting so he draped himself over the sofa and forgot about everything for a while.
At halftime some team were leading some other team by a goal, it was a rubbish match but he couldn’t bring himself to switch it off - the alternative was too horrible.
This was getting sad, extremely sad. The second half of the match was even more appalling than the first and…..
……and the phone was ringing – loudly. He jumped up and looked at his divers watch – it said a quarter past seven and he felt confused from the sleep and the drink.
He tripped on his lace as he stood up and banged his elbow off the corner of the table. He wondered as he got up why it was called a funny bone when it wasn’t remotely funny.
Taking a few milliseconds to compose himself he answered the phone.
"Hello"
"Is that Owen O’ Sullivan?" came a breathless Irish accent. Brilliant.
"Yes it is, who is this?"
"Owen O’ Sullivan of Slaughter Harness and Antler?"
He grinned at the performance - she must have his impressive card in front of her.
"That’s right, how are you doing there?"
"We are doing great – there are a big gang of colleens here who want to talk to you Owen"
This was going superbly – he couldn’t have hoped for better.
"So whats the message from you guys?" This was met with a gale of female mirth and much sniggering.
"Owen O’ Sullivan, Junior Associate you have been awarded the title of…Plonker of the Month now feck off back to Islington ya tool ya."
His face dropped and he hung up. He stood in shock with the taunts ringing in his ears – how could they? Didn’t they appreciate the legend that was Owen O’ Sullivan?
A tiny sliver had been jammed into his pupils – he was looking at the old church apartment and the car and the job in a different light. Those girls would be spending their miserable paycheques and laughing all night at his expense.
That was the worst.
He stepped up to the chrome American fridge and delivered a beautiful arc of a kick. He succeeded in denting the fridge and fracturing his toe.
Now he was a joke with a dented fridge and a fractured toe - Now that was the worst……

posted by Colm Brady @ 9:49 PM