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Over time, Debbie had recovered. When James first met
her, he thought her the most well adjusted of people.
But although a lot of the pain had gone, some still
lingered, and it made her sensitive. She trusted James
but any tiny hint of attention from another woman upset
her.
When work expanded beyond his capacity to cope, James
hired Kath. He chose her because he liked her and she
had an MBA. He could have chosen a man but Kath was
better than any of the other candidates. He was sensitive
to Debbie's feelings but there were limits.
He made sure he introduced Kath to Debbie early on.
In a Falafel bar in the East Village Debbie eyed her
with caution initially, then with a more relaxed dispassion
and, by the end of the evening, with warmth and ease.
Miracle of miracles, the two liked each other, and they
became firm friends. It worked out well. Debbie had
someone to keep an eye on James, someone to report back
if he misbehaved, and that was just fine. It allowed
James the freedom to work in the city without wondering
if Debbie was worrying. There was no need to worry and
he wanted to make sure she didn't. Most of the time
he was grateful to Kath.
This time was different, though. This time he had simply
taken a girl to lunch. There was no hidden agenda. There
was no plan to charm her, it was just lunch.
He drained the last of the coffee and took a couple
of deep breaths. Then he headed back to the office,
wondering what to say to Kath. She was still at her
desk. She looked up when he took his coat off, and he
could see a tear running down her left cheek.
"Hey. Kath. I didn't mean to make you cry."
She shook her head. "I wish you'd been here."
"What?"
"It was Doberman." The sobs became louder.
He walked around the desk and perched on the edge, laying
his hands onto her arms.
"What happened?"
"Right after you left he came in here." James
found it hard to understand her. Every third word was
lost in the sobs. "He said my work's no good and
he's going to lay us both off if we don't start to do
better. He said half the figures in the presentation
last week were out of date."
"Which presentation?"
"The one he gave to that bank? Remember?"
"We didn't have anything to do with that presentation."
"I know. But he was so nasty about it. He wouldn't
let me say anything. He just yelled at me."
"Well, look. It's almost time to go home, and
neither of us is going to get anything done this afternoon.
Let's head home now. I'll call Deb and ask her to mix
some margaritas. Does that sound like a plan?"
She nodded, dabbing her eyes. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah. Me too.
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