POP, glug glug glug – the sound of champagne always promises more than it delivers, Belinda thinks as she
opens and pours the first of ten bottles, just like the man in my life, perhaps it’s time to move on?
“You’ll get done for opening that,” Faye shouts, stepping down from the chair.
“You might - but she won’t,” Tom says. “Our Belinda won’t get done at all. With
that pretty little face of hers - our Belinda can do anything she wants.”
“Get lost, Tom,” Faye snaps. “That’s sexual harassment that is, isn’t it, Belinda?”
But Belinda’s too busy filling three glasses, and trying to decide if her man will ever deliver on his
promises, to bother with her work-mates petty squabbles. She’s worked with them for two years and has become so used
to their constant bickering that their spat is just background noise.
“Pretty face but cloth ears,” Tom rolls his eyes to the heavens. “Faye, you should have let
Belinda put that banner up, she wouldn’t have needed that chair.”
“Pig! I’m sick of your fat mouth. She might be tall and pretty, but gentlemen prefer blondes.”
Tom laughs, “Where are you ever going to meet a bloody gentleman?”
Belinda walks over to Faye, who is sobbing and sitting on the chair she’s just used to put up the banner
saying, “Happy Retirement Eric,” and puts an arm around Faye’s shoulder, “Tom, there’s
no need for that, you know she’s sensitive about her height.”
“You always stick up for her, it’s different when she’s having a go at me, who sticks up for
me?”
“I do, and you know it.” Belinda walks back to the table, “Now stop it, both of you. Come and
drink this before the rest arrive. We’ve earned it, getting this party ready.”
Tom walks over and picks up a glass, “Sorry, Faye.”
“Sod off, Fatty.”
“Tom, who said you could open that bottle?” Pete snarls as he walks through the swing doors, “I
thought I said not to start until everyone’s here?”
“Sorry, boss, but Belinda opened it and said it was okay, seeing as we’d set the whole thing up.”
“Oh, no harm done, I suppose. Give me one then, I’ve a mouth like the inside of a pygmy’s flip-flop.”
Tom looks at Belinda and Faye as he pours Pete a drink. Winks at them then whispers, “Told you so, thank
God for a pretty face.”
Faye sticks out her tongue; Belinda raises her fist.
“Fancy a game of squash later, Tom, when we’ve finished here?” Pete asks as Tom hands him a
glass. “Help us get over the booze?”
“Er, no thanks, boss, got a young lady to meet. Down town, clubbing, you know the score.”
Faye smiles sweetly, “While you’re dancing, what will you do with her guide dog?”
“Get you to limbo under its belly, little Miss shortarse,” Tom ducks to avoid the inevitable retaliation.
He doesn’t move fast enough; Faye throws her champagne as she runs past sobbing, closely followed by Belinda
who glares, wild eyed, at Tom, who in turn tries to find a napkin to dry himself.
Pete has no success in controlling his laughter, “Nice one, Tom,” he splutters, after regaining partial
control of his voice.
Tom beams, “Thanks, I’m rather proud of that one. But I’m surprised; she doesn’t usually
react like that? Run off I mean.”
Pete nods, “Time of the month?”
“Must be? She’s not usually this touchy, usually gives as good as she gets. She usually stands her
ground at least.”
Pete tuts, “Women, eh? And their bloody hormones? You never know with ‘em, do you?”
“You certainly don’t, boss!”
“I'll tell you what though, Tom. That Faye’s nothing but a foul-mouthed dog, but I wouldn’t
mind giving that Belinda one. Tall; legs right up to her neck. Pretty as they come - she could easily be a model.”
“I’ll go along with all of that, boss, but can I ask you a straight question? Off the record, man
to man, before the rest arrive?”
“Certainly, why not? It is a party after all.”
“Have you ever had a girlfriend?”
Pete blushes, “Of course I have, why do you ask? Has something been said around the office?”
“Well, one or two have been talking. I’ve been here two years and never seen you with one. You’re
what, in your mid-thirties, own your own firm - still not married or got a regular woman?”
“Are you trying to say that I’m queer? Anybody who says that I’m queer will get their cards,
and I mean - ANYBODY.”
“No, course not, boss. I’m not saying that at all, but one or two around the office are beginning
to talk.”
“I can vouch that he’s not,” says a voice from behind.
Tom and Pete spin around - Faye and Belinda are back, and they’ve been listening.
Faye, hands on hips, glowers at the two of them, “I said, I can vouch that he’s not a puff.”
“I er, er, don’t think there’s any need for this,” Pete’s now ashen faced and looking
decidedly queer. “Come on, I’ll er run you home, you’re er obviously upset.”
“Stuff your lift home. You thought it was funny, didn’t you? Laughing at this fat pig’s insults.
I think there’s every need to tell them. We don’t want people thinking you’re a puff when you’ve been
shagging me for the past year, do we? Laugh that one off, sex bomb!”
“You’ve been shagging him for a year?” Tom splutters. “But I’ve been giving you
one every Saturday night for the past nine months!”
“Only because this chinless wonder goes away every Friday for the weekend, or you wouldn’t get a
look in, you fat ugly pig. And I’ll tell the pair of you something else, I’m pregnant, and I’ve no idea
who the father is. Do you want to draw lots - or cut cards for it?”
Tom shakes his head; “It’s not bloody mine! Christ knows who else you’ve been with.”
Pete backs off towards the doors, “I’m saying nothing until I’ve spoken to my solicitor.”
But he gets no more than two paces before Belinda punches him so hard he falls to his knees, blood trickling from his nose.
Faye sobs gently as Belinda takes her by the arm and walks her toward the swing doors, where the rest of the
staff now stand, open mouthed, as they watch the floorshow.
Through her tears Faye looks at Belinda, “Thanks, the bastard deserved that, but I’m surprised, I
didn’t think we were that close? You’ll be fired now.”
Belinda laughs, and directs her words at the audience; “We’re closer than either of us ever thought;
where do you think the bastard's been spending his weekends? I’ve just sacked - HIM!”
© John Sales 2001.
