Not In The Office

Mr Brick looked perfectly normal that morning. He entered via the
same door, wiped his feet in the same brisk manner, nodded his familiar
greeting to me, in which I detected no change. There was nothing, not
the smallest detail, to indicate the curtain of insanity and trauma
that would fall over the office later that day.

I spent the morning in much the usual way - swerving money-anxious
clients on the ever ringing telephone, avoiding my supposedly casual
girlfriend Maxine on that same instrument of communication, wishing I
was a woman so I could at least be stereotypically filing my nails. And
would have breasts to play with whenever I so wanted. I first became
aware that there was something wrong with 'today' when the wall clock
clicked loudly onto 11am, and I'd heard nothing from Mr Brick's office.
Usually he'd have demanded coffee and bagels several times on the
intercom, and our shared routine was such that I would ignore these
demands until he finally burst through his door. This was my real cue.
We both preferred it that way - it was an intuitive agreement. On this
day though, his majestic entrance was over an hour late. I shrugged,
put it down to wife problems - Mrs Magdalen Brick was a money-eating
monster - and went back to contemplating how low a neckline would be
acceptable by Brick's standards, would that I were a femme fatale. I
kept it in the back of my mind though, until swinging off my twirly
chair I could no longer stand being bereft of meaningful duty, and went
to enquire about breakfast.

I knocked gently, curiously, intending to imply through the tapping
that I understood there was something afoot and I understood. Mr Brick
was a man of little words, preferring action any day. Although I can't
say I live my life in this manner, I certainly understood where he was
coming from. Unfortunately for the man, I believe his wife also did,
far too well. But, I digress. Gossip does not become me, I find.
So.

After knocking, I waited, almost pressing my ear to the shiny polished
door, for any small indication toward the situation. I heard him
clearing his throat, and a whisper of conversation.

"I'm sorry, Sir," I called, "I didn't mean to interrupt you on the
telephone."

"Come in, Laine. Quickly."

Feeling curiosity lumping in my stomach, I carefully turned the door
handle and entered the room. The sight I saw was certainly not what I
had expected. In the office, of all places.

The window - a large monstrosity which opened in a confusing variety of
ways - was open like a door. Wide open. It was quite cold in there. Mr
Brick was sitting in the corner of the large, oaky room, his back
straight against the sheeny veneer of the wall, his shoes off - thrown
with haphazard in the opposite corner I noticed, after following the
direction of his socked feet - cross-legged. Crouching next to him was
a very peculiarly dressed young man, whom I had never seen before.
Definitely hadn't been in the office before. He was dressed in a sort
of skin-tight suit. Blue, with white lightening stripes emblazoned
diagonally across the chest. The stripes were picked out in iridescent
sequins, I saw - the light in the room reflected off them, so the young
man's unexpected presence could be seen in every part of the room. I
had imagined a similar costume once for myself when considering the
advantages I might have had in a career in figure skating, had I been
of the greater sex.

I tried my hardest to compose my features into a natural and
comfortable expression, which might say - 'I can, and will, deal with
anything.' Mr Brick examined me for a moment and then, obviously
satisfied, said gruffly:

"Laine, I won't be having coffee and bagels this morning. Could you
bring-"

Here he looked at his companion with an inscrutable look - it was
pleasure, relaxation, shyness, and probably many other things that my
sadly untrained eye missed.

"-Some porridge instead? Enough for two please. And with maple syrup.
And lots of sugar in hand as well."

I felt a little stupid. But the man was paying me.

"Sir, I wonder if I might be so bold as to ask an alarmingly silly
question? The thing is - your..friend. I didn't hear him come in.
Forgive me for asking Mr Brick, but is everything quite alright?"

Mr Brick scrambled to his feet. His young acquaintance did the same,
mirroring his movements exactly.

"Well, Laine, thank you for asking. This morning, I came into my
office. And everything was not normal, not quite the same. Today, it
was interesting, for the first time ever in this bloody job."

His voice boomed and bounced around the office as he revelled in his
speech.

"Today, Laine, I entered my office, home from home for almost twenty
years, and found this young man, Rickmanno. In my office. He had -
miraculously, and lord knows how - climbed in through the very window
you see gaping before your eyes."

I was intrigued - we were six floors up. And, as my stammering belied,
more than a little speechless. Mr Brick interrupted my inane noises
with a sharp slice of his arm into the air between us. His sleeves were
rolled up to the elbows.

"Rickmanno is a ballroom dancer. I looked at him and his beautiful
clothes, and felt awed. That someone could come into this room and make
it their own, their stage, so easily. This is just space, Laine.

"So, I looked at him, and he remained silent. Feral, you may even say.
I was not aware of whom I was dealing with. And then I spoke to him,
and he spoke back. And since eight-thirty this morning we have been
doing just that. Speaking, and speaking back. Being, Laine, human and
human. A man enjoying another man-" (here I audibly gulped, I seem to
remember) "and I discovered, that we both love porridge. So will you
fetch us some porridge, and we will enjoy each other's company as
porridge-lover and porridge-lover. Thank you."

I glanced at Rickmanno. He smiled weakly at me, and forced out a timid
"thanking you" in a false falsetto Italian accent. As Mr Brick proudly
and loudly saluted the ceiling in praise of its being there for him all
these years, I noticed through the sickly translucent costume the dark
words 'EVERTON 4EVA'. I asked him how much the outfit had cost, making
a mental note, and winked slyly at him as I did so.