Kate meandered up her street on the way to the bus stop. Normally she charged off to work but this morning there was some reluctance. She was hoping that no one at the golf weekend had noticed that she had been behaving like a shameless hussy with Tom Benson. However, she felt sure she was in for a degree of ribbing from her colleagues, all of which she deserved, which wouldn’t actually make it any better. As she plonked herself on to a seat on the bus, she blushed as she thought about her behaviour but gave an involuntary giggle when she thought about the conversation they had had that night.
She had smiled lazily at him through her post coital haze, as he rolled on to his side to face her. “So do you so this often?” he asked in a deadpan voice. She gave a little snort and then answered with matching seriousness, “No, never.” She watched a smug satisfied look pass across his face.
“But you,” she said, rolling on to her side to face him and propping herself up on one elbow, “I imagine must be the master of meaningless sex.”
“I wouldn’t say it was necessarily meaningless,” he replied as he smoothed hair her out of her face and over her bare shoulder. She raised an eyebrow, “But you are the master?”
“I didn’t say that but I’m not going to complain if you do.”
“Do you opt for the sailor’s model – a girl in every port? A girl at every tournament?”
“You know, that’s not a bad idea. But perhaps if I just stuck to a girl in each country it would be less meaningless and I could maintain some semblance of self-respect.”
“It would actually bother you to have meaningless sex all around the world?” She sounded absolutely disbelieving.
“Contrary to what you might think from this,” he waved a hand to encompass the two of them entwined on the rumpled bed, “I’m a romantic at heart. Sex is good, very good but I’d like to think that there is something more to it than just a physical thing. I want to fall in love. To be with that person all the time. To have a proper relationship. To share things with someone who loves me and cares what happens to me, to us.” He shrugged in acknowledgement of how pathetic such a statement was in light of his current position.
“How sweet.” Kate said this with the requisite degree of worldly cynicism but she really did think it was cute.
“What about you? You didn’t answer my question. You’ve really never done this before? You’ve never jumped into bed with someone you’ve just met that afternoon before?” He sounded rather touched by the idea that he might be special in some way.
It was true, she had never done anything like this before. She agreed with Tom wholeheartedly that sex was an excellent pastime to be enjoyed as much as possible. But she had still never had a one night stand. She didn’t think there was anything wrong with it in principle. It was just not something she’d ever done. She’d never really had much opportunity as she had always been in some relationship or other. She never quite understood how you could separate the physical and the emotional aspects of it. But now she was going to find out just how it worked when you had casual sex with someone you hardly knew. No doubt it would be an interesting learning experience. Besides, she didn’t want Tom to get the wrong idea – either that she did this all the time with just anybody or that there was something so special about him that she couldn’t help herself. Whichever way he might take it, she didn’t want to admit that this was the first time.
“No, you are my first,” she paused significantly, before continuing, “professional golfer.” Tom collapsed against her laughing and tickling her. Through her giggles she managed to say, “But I don’t think you’ll be the last. Golfers might be my new thing.”
“Really, why?” he asked as he stopped his attack on her.
“When you think about it golf is the prefect preparation for sex.” He motioned that he was keen for her to continue in this vein. She rolled on to her back getting comfy for a lengthy discussion and started ticking points off on her fingers. “One. You have to be patient, after all a game of golf takes five hours.”
“And a tournament is played over four days,” added Tom, obviously enjoying this novel analysis of the merits of golf.
“Two, you have to walk a long way so you obviously have stamina. Three, golf is a varied game. You have to drive, chip, putt. So you have to be able to vary your tempo, strength and finesse are both important.” Tom nodded knowingly as if this was perfectly reasonable and everyone knew it.
“And finally, the objective of the game is to get in the hole, 18 times a day, four days in a row.” By this stage they were both laughing uproariously. Tom rose up, leaning on one elbow over her. He looked suddenly thoughtful and said, “You’ve evidently given this some thought. But you didn’t mention that we have to pay attention to details - spend time examining contours,” as he said this he slid a hand over her curves, from her collarbone, down to her breast, along the curve of her waist and around to cup her bottom and raised an eyebrow at her. “The impact a breeze may have.” He leant in close and blew softly in her ear, giving her goose bumps. Then he looked into her eyes and murmured softly, “And, of course, the most important thing is that we believe practice makes perfect.”
By this stage, Kate was completely sold on the idea of the advantages of a golfer as a lover and Tom was keen to demonstrate just how well his golfing skills translated into other areas. So practice they did. He demonstrated his patience, his stamina, the variation in his game and his attention to detail, which culminated in reaching the final objective – although possibly not 18 times in five hours.
Much later, she had leant over and kissed him, “I have to go.”
“Can’t you stay?”
“What and traipse out of here in all my black tie glory, saying good morning to my colleagues on their way down to breakfast as I go? I don’t think so.” She moved around the room unselfconsciously collecting up her clothes before slipping into the bathroom to get changed and make sure she looked reasonably decent for a quick stroll down the corridor to her own room.
Strangely, she felt more awkward now that she was fully dressed, so she became distant and terribly polite. “Thank you. I had a lovely time.” Then she paused aware that it sounded all wrong, as if she was six years old and had attended his birthday party. She cursed her mother for drilling manners into her so thoroughly. Then she smiled bravely and tried again, waving her hands around searching for inspiration. “It was very pleasurable, if meaningless.” She gave a slight shrug and was out of the door before he could say anything.
As she closed the door, she hung her head with shame at her completely ungracious departure. It was painfully obvious that she had no experience in extricating herself from this kind of situation with dignity. The dreadful words “Thank you. I had a lovely time,” echoed in her head as she made her way cautiously down the stairs to her own dark and lonely room. At least, she hadn’t said “Thank you for having me.”
As the bus reached her stop, she gave a small sigh and squirmed to rid herself of any residual embarrassment. She clambered off the bus and headed into her building, consoling herself with the thought of just how delectable Tom had looked in that huge, rumpled bed when she had left him. Consequently she entered the office with the hint of a very satisfied smile playing around her lips. She was quickly brought back to reality by Ravi, who was lurking outside her office as she arrived.
“Okay, tell me all,” she instructed, indicating he should sit down as she dumped her handbag and switched on her computer.
“Okay, company search first.” He passed her a sheaf of papers and sat quietly while she read through it. It all looked in order. Then she got to the list of shareholders – Clive Greenwood, Delia Greenwood, Carole Greenwood, Jane Greenwood, Alexander Greenwood, Jasmine Greenwood, James Greenwood and a host of other Greenwoods, for whom shares were held on trust by Clive Greenwood.
“Lots of Greenwoods. A real family business – assuming they are all family and it’s not just a coincidence that they all have the same name. We need to find out who they all are. Otherwise it looks fine. Can you please prepare a prospectus questionnaire from the precedents and incorporate this information into it?”
Ravi nodded. “And here are the results of my afternoon in the library.” He passed her another sheaf of papers. It was a memo on the question of restrictive covenants on shares traded on the open market. Kate flicked through it, “Nice, but what’s the answer?”
“No can do.”
“Excellent. We’ll go and talk to Hugh about Crazy Clive when he comes in. Thanks for your help, Ravi.”
She then began checking her email, but she was interrupted again. Kate looked up in annoyance at her morning routine (emails then Sydney Morning Herald on line before getting down to work) being disrupted again. Her irritation faded when she saw it was Matthew and that he was holding two cappuccinos. She smiled as he passed one over to her and made himself comfortable in the chair opposite her.
“So Kate did you enjoy the weekend?” he asked casually.
“Sure, you know client functions are my favourite way to spend a weekend,” she said sarcastically as she sipped at her coffee. He raised an eyebrow, “And how did you get on with the delectable pro golfer?”
“Ahh.” Kate couldn’t actually say anymore due to the goofy grin that had spread across her face.
“Okay, you do not need to say anymore. I get the picture.”
Kate looked at him in shock, “Matthew, do you mean to tell me that you are not going to pry?”
“No.”
“My God, don’t you feel well?”
“I’m appalled that’s how you see me,” he said with an injured expression and a hand on his chest to indicate his pain. He then switched gear, leaning forward intently “So tell me all – are you in ‘lerv’?”
She laughed, “I love you but you are the least discreet person I know.”
“Ouch! Okay, so no gory details. But was he good?” he shot at her as he stood up to leave.
“Matthew!”
Their conversation was interrupted by Gillian Martin. “What a surprise to find you two together!” she said in a bright voice, that failed to hide her real meaning – that they were complete slackers who never did anything useful. “I was hoping that you two could draft some letters to the clients that attended the golf weekend, thanking them for their attendance, blah, blah blah. I’d like to send them out today. Just to keep ALG top of mind. Thanks.”
This was obviously payback for Saturday night’s embarrassment. Kate glared at her retreating back. “Does she not realise that we’re here not as marketing slaves but that we actually do legal work and that’s what we get paid for? What the clients pay for?”
“I think she’s empire building and wants to suck us all into the black hole of marketing.”
Kate shuddered at the thought. “I have to see our esteemed boss now to prepare him for our new client, Crazy Clive. So you’ll just have to draft those suck up letters yourself. Thanks for the coffee.”
“Yeah, thanks for nothing, Kate,” Matthew grumbled. As she walked past him heading for Hugh’s office she whispered, “By the way, he was amazing.”
Following her chat with Hugh about Green Goods Ltd, Kate went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. She encountered several of her male colleagues conducting a post mortem of the weekend.
“Oh my God, I was so hung over yesterday I could barely stand up but I played like a legend.” Just the usual Monday banter in the office.
“Hi Kate.”
“Hi.”
“You left the party early on Saturday night. That’s not like you, Kate. You’re usually the life and soul of the party until the bitter end,” commented James, one of the banking team.
“I’m surprised you noticed, the way you were chugging back the vino.”
“Or perhaps Katie had a private party to attend?” One of the others commented, accompanied by guffaws.
She just smiled and willed the kettle to boil faster.
James continued as if there had been no interruption, “The weirdest thing was when I finally staggered off to bed around 5, I was sure I saw you skulking down the hallway in a hotel bathrobe.”
She turned to him boldly, leant back casually against the counter and said in an even voice, “You really did have a lot to drink. By the way, I never skulk.” With that she picked up her tea in shaking hands, tossed her hair over her shoulder and flounced off.
She shut the door to her office, having told her secretary she did not want to be disturbed. All she could think was “Shit, shit, shit.” She decided to call her best friend, Imogen, to make her feel better.
“Hi, Imogen, it’s me. Are we still on for dinner tonight?”
“Sure. I want to hear all about what crazy funster stuff you got up to on the golf course.”
“Imo, you have no idea.”
“My place, yours or somewhere out?”
“With the story I have to tell, I think it had better not be a public place.”
“Oooh.” Kate could feel that she suddenly had Imogen’s undivided attention rather than just the usual idle chat whilst continuing to work. It was not unusual for Imogen to swear at Kate and then apologise explaining that she had made a mistake in a spreadsheet or something. Kate was never sure whether she should be more offended about the swearing (which was pretty colourful) or the fact that Imogen didn’t really listen to her.
“So was it Richard from banking?” Imogen hazarded a guess.
“Eeeew. Why does everyone think that?”
“So I’m not the only one that sees the longing glances he casts in your direction.”
“He is so not attractive.”
“No, but that has never stopped you before.”
“Imogen!”
“Okay, tell me who.”
“I’m not telling you anything after how mean you have been to me,” Kate replied sulkily.
“Alright, I’ll wait until tonight then. I’ll be at your place by 9.”
Kate decided it was time to stop worrying about whether or not she had successfully bluffed the banking lads by checking Ravi’s draft questionnaire for the preparation of the Green Goods’ prospectus. The phone shrilled beside her. Her secretary’s number flashed on the screen.
“Natalie, I asked not to be disturbed. This had better be good,” she snapped irritably.
“Oh, it is. Can I come in?”
Kate sighed heavily, “Fine.”
There was a knock on the door. “Yes,” she called, trying to keep her annoyance in check. She started to tell Natalie that she didn’t need to knock on the door when she had just been told on the phone that it was okay to come in. She stopped when the door opened to reveal not Natalie but rather a massive bunch of roses. “Natalie, are you in there?” she asked faintly.
“Here I am.” Natalie poked her head around the bouquet, grinning. “I told you it was good.”
“You weren’t kidding. My God, they’re amazing.”
“Where do you want them?”
“Just put them here. Thanks, Nat.”
“Who are they from?”
The flowers were going to do nothing to quell the curiosity surrounding where and how Kate had spent Saturday night. She just smiled like the Mona Lisa and said, “Sorry, Nat, I’m really busy and unless you want to be here late tonight, I need to get on with it.” There was nothing like the threat of having to work late to get rid of the normally gregarious Natalie.
After she had left, shutting the door behind her, Kate looked for a card. There wasn’t one but she hardly needed one to know who they were from. After all, the roses were exactly the same colour as her underwear on Saturday night and tied with a black ribbon.
She was unsure of what to do. She felt that she should call Tom Benson to thank him for the flowers. It was only polite and Kate was terribly well brought up. The dilemma was she had no idea how to contact Tom. She was sure that Gillian Martin would know how to get in touch with him but she didn’t want to talk to the Lipstick Nazi unless it was absolutely essential. Especially not about anything connected with Tom Benson. Any other lines of approach, via Highbury Manor, the PGA or Tom Benson’s management company (he must have one), all seemed a little fraught. She sat at her desk dithering about what to do.
In the end none of her agonizing was necessary, as Tom phoned her himself.
Kate picked up the ringing telephone. “Hello Abercrombie, Lang & Gilchrist. Kate Shaw speaking.”
“Hi, Kate.” Her skin began to tingle just at the sound of his voice.
“Hi, how are you?”
“Good.”
“I’m so glad you called. I wanted to thank you for the flowers but wasn’t sure how to contact you. They were from you, weren’t they?” she asked suddenly anxious.
He gave a throaty laugh, “Have you been flashing your knickers at anyone else in the last few days?”
“Er, no.”
“Well, then you can be reasonable confident they’re from me.”
“Well, thank you. They’re absolutely beautiful. Even if they will cause a lot of raised eyebrows in the office.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing more than you can handle. Look, I might be in London next Tuesday on my way through to Spain for the first tournament of the season. Would you be able to meet up?”
Kate flicked the page in her diary. Natalie had written in big red letters that it was her birthday. After work drinks were planned at Anywheres, the retro 80s club around the corner from the office. Not something that Kate could miss - even for Tom Benson.
“I have something on that I can’t skip. Listen, call me when you’re available and I’ll see if I can get away.” She gave him her mobile number and hung up. She knew already that she would be out of there the moment he called but she hoped he wasn’t as aware of it as she was.
“So tell me all. Tell me, tell me, tell me. I’ve waited all day so it had better be bloody good.” Kate just gave her friend a Cheshire cat grin and asked what she would like to drink. Once she had poured them both a glass of red wine and they were settled on Kate’s tiny roof terrace, she told the whole story.
“Oh, my God,” breathed Imogen.
“So was it worth waiting for?”
“Yes, yes, it was actually. Good for you, Katie. It’s just what you need, a bit of no strings attached meaningless sex.”
“Well, thanks for putting it into perspective for me, Imo.”
“It’s most unlike you to just jump into bed with someone like that.”
“I know. There’s just something about him, I guess.”
“It’s not that he is famous, is it?”
“No, I don’t think so. I think it’s just that he is incredibly sexy.” She gave a nervous giggle.
“Really?”
“Really,” she replied with an emphatic nod.
“So what does he actually look like?”
“There’s a photo of him here in the programme from the golf extravaganza,” Kate said, wandering back into the kitchen to dig it out of her handbag.
“Bit of a souvenir, eh?”
“No, I needed it for the map on the back,” she retorted hotly.
“Yeah, yeah,” said Imogen as she examined the photo closely. “Not bad, not bad. And I guess since he’s a reasonably successful sportsman he has a fit body. Although he plays golf and that’s a game for fat bastards if ever there was one. That and darts.”
“He does not resemble a darts player, if that’s what you are worried about. He’s a perfect physical specimen,” she said with a smug smile as she remembered just how perfect he was.
“You said he was in the Top 10 in the world so he must be doing all right financially.”
“Imogen, I didn’t ask him what his bank balance was before I went to bed with him.” Imogen shook her head in disgust at Kate’s evident incompetence.
“But it should mean that he can afford to treat you like the princess you are and that’s always a bonus.”
“You’re assuming that this is going to be an ongoing thing.”
“Well, he sent you flowers, that does tend to indicate that he’ll be wanting something more from you.”
“You can be so commercial sometimes, Imogen.”
“But do you not think you’ll see him again?”
“Actually, I’m going to see him next Tuesday.”
Imogen hooted victoriously at this, “I told you, they never send flowers unless they think they’ll get a decent return on their investment. Hee, hee.”
“Imogen!”
“Oh, sweetheart, you should milk this one for all its worth. He sounds fabulous.”
“And what if I end up broken hearted and alone when he has finished his professional women phase and wants to go back to the preschool teacher types who ooh and aaah at his every utterance and think he’s a god?” This was a recurring theme between them as they often spent evenings lamenting the fact that intelligent men seemed to prefer women who looked up to them and fawned over them to women who were their equals, intellectually, financially and emotionally.
“I’m sorry,” Imogen said staunchly, “What about when you get sick of him and get over your professional jock phase and decide to revert to type and find yourself a nice doctor, lawyer or accountant?”
Kate laughed. “Perhaps a professional golfer is my equivalent of the preschool teacher.”
“Yes, but so much better paid!” They both giggled. And then Imogen proposed a toast, “To your new pro golfer toy boy.” Kate snorted and red wine spilled over her jeans as they clinked glasses with a bit too much enthusiasm.
“Just enjoy it while it lasts,” said Imogen, expansively, “I mean you’ll get to have dinner in nice restaurants, stay in ritzy hotels, receive flowers and most important of all, have sex with an actual man. What’s the downside?” Imogen saw the look of worry cross Kate’s face. She put out a hand to touch Kate’s arm.
“Don’t overanalyse this, Kate.” This was pretty rich coming from Imogen who was the queen of overanalysis.
“Okay,” said Kate, pointing a finger at Imogen, “As long as you promise that this was all your idea and you will be there to pick up the pieces when it all goes horribly wrong.”
“You can be such a drama queen. Yes, if the need arises, I’ll be here with a box of Kleenex in one hand and unlimited supplies of chocolate in the other.”
“Thank you, Imo, you are a true friend.”
Copyright (c) Sandra Pruim 2008
Remember to get your friends reading my blook as well! Thanks. Sandy
Happy Easter! 
