Meant To Be - Part I

Celia Thomas - Present

May 1st, 1986, Thursday

Erika and I crammed into the lift, between men in iron-pressed suits, who smelt of coffee. I fiddled with the hem of my pinstriped skirt that matched my oversized blazer. Erika had on a similar combo, but hers was navy. The mandatory skirt or dress rule never seemed to bother her. She liked the way they made her legs look longer.

“Yesterday, Mum called me. She was like, ‘How was your date?’ And I was like, ‘He was well fit, but not me cup of tea,’” Erika whispered to me.

“Yeah, for sure,” I said.

“He was well too polite. Like I need a man, not a skimpy know-it-all.”

“Same, babes,” I said as we reached our level. Marketing Statistics. I shimmied my way through the gaggle of men with Erika holding onto my arm.

“Look, I slept wif him, but I don’t fink he’s worf a second date.” Her date night stories always seemed to end in sex.

We chatted about her date all the way to her desk, located in the main area. She was the assistant to the manager of the division. On her desk, Nurofen sat next to pictures of her family, of her cat JuJu, and of her and me from our sixth-form graduation. We wore white gowns, which blended with our pale complexions, making us like ghosts.

“Want to walk home together?” I asked her, before leaving for my desk.

“Yeah, babes. Meet you at the lifts later.”

Fortunately, my desk was before the office of my boss, who was head of the department. His large windows made his office inviting.

“Morning, Celia,” my boss said.

“Morning, Mr James! Anything pressing this morning?”

“The Americans arrive in an hour. Make them feel welcomed.” He combed his fingers through his slicked hair that was longer than mine. Mum insisted on keeping mine short. She said, “In a man’s world you must have a man’s hair-do. It radiates power.”

“Tea? Strong, two sugars?” I asked.

“Perfect.”

My workday never started until the kettle whistled, and I smelt the bitter comfort of English Breakfast tea. Do Americans like tea? Everything I knew about America came from television. They must be like Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta in Grease, dressed in head-to-toe leather and gold chains.

The hour passed with me daydreaming about Danny Zuko swaggering up to my desk, batting his eyelashes at me, leaning before me, close enough I could smell his body spray, which had a hint of vanilla. I would ask, “What do you want, stud?” We would instantly fall in love and would drive off in a flying car over the London eye, and would go wherever they go to at the end of Grease.

“Excuse me, honey, we’re here from the New York office.” An American accent. The sound of it fluttered my fanny. I diverted my gaze to the man talking. Instead of the dreamy faces of the T-Birds greaser gang, three frumpy men stood before me.

The one who spoke was short and stout, with no hair to grease back. His plaid, short sleeve shirt tucked into his corduroy trousers. The other two were slightly, and I mean only slightly taller than Mr Short and Stout. One was blond with scars on his cheeks, sporting a similar fashion to Mr Short and Stout. The last one was the most presentable of them, but only a little. Not the sexy I had wanted. He was hiding behind chunky glasses, but at least his choice of blue buttoned shirt was better than the other two’s.

“I’m Celia, Mr James’ assistant. I’ll be helping you out for the next several weeks.” I grinned.

“Hi ya! I’m Mark,” said Mr. Short and Stout. “This is Horris,” he pointed to blondy, then gestured to glasses, “and Jacob.”

They offered me friendly smiles that were a bit boring. They didn’t seem like the types of exciting playboys from the movies. They were more like the Eugene Felsnic from Grease—the one picked on by the T-Birds.

“Mr James is waiting for you,” I said sweetly, gesturing to Mr. James’ office.

Jacob Kupper - 1 month before

April 2nd, 1986, Wednesday

“Jacob? Earth to Jacob!” I heard my boss’ voice. “Jacob!”

The green light coming in through the window temporarily blinded me. “Mmm?” I pushed my glasses up the slope of my nose and stepped out of the glare. I thought that seeing better would help me to understand what was happening.

“Todd’s wife just had her baby. He can’t come to our partner branch in London. We want you instead.”

“I’ve never been outside of America before.” I leaned against the leather chair, facing my boss’ oversized oak desk. I estimated that about two of my desks could fit into his. “I don’t even have a passport.”

“You have less than a month to get one.” He took his Mont Blanc pen and scribbled something onto a piece of paper. “I’m marking you as accepting the position. The company will configure your flights and sleeping arrangements. Get that expedited passport.” He stopped writing and raised his bloodshot eyes to me. “Son, you’re going to England for seven weeks.” He glanced down to his work, revealing a bald spot surrounded by frail wisps.

England was approximately 3,400 miles away, and about a seven-hour plane ride.

“Thank you.” I turned around and headed back to my cubicle. Polaroid pictures from my across-America Road trip with my family were pinned to the fabric divider. The only framed picture on my desk was of Tanya, my Labrador.

I slid out the yellow pages phone book that was tucked neatly under a stack of client papers. I scrolled to the section that listed U.S. Department of State–Bureau of Consular Affairs, memorised the number, then put my finger onto the phone dial and spun it.

“Hello? I need to obtain an expedited passport.”

Jacob Kupper - Present

May 2nd, 1986, Friday

Yesterday, we didn’t have much given to us by our sister office, since it was our first day in England. But today, I was assigned the surveys. In Marketing Statistics, the surveys were the most important jobs one could get. They established the foundation of our clients’ services and determined how we should proceed in assisting them.

“Finalise them and input the numbers onto the computer by the end of the day. We need to send them tomorrow. The computer room is down the hall to the left. My assistant, Celia, can help,” James said to me. I shuffled my feet across the grey carpet from his office.

“Celia?” I asked, approaching James’ secretary.

“Hi,” she said. Her short hair framed her narrow face. Her accent intrigued me. The way she slurred her words stressed the nerve endings in my stomach.

I glided my hands to my hips, to my sides, back to my hips, then resorted to resting the base of my chin against my thenar eminence, the fleshy part of my hand. I shocked my face with the static electricity of the wet air combined with friction from my feet against the carpet. I flinched before returning my chin to the thenar eminence.

She lifted her gaze to me. Her eyes were hypnotising. The left one had two colours—top half was brown, and the bottom half was blue, and the other one was even bluer than the bottom half of the left eye.

“Yes? What’d you need?” she said.

“I’m Jacob.”

“Yes. I know. What’d you need?” She raised her eyebrow at me.

“Do you know one of your eyes is two different colours?”

“What? Do you have a mirror? Oh my god. What? I never knew that!”

My stomach tugged at my throat. “You didn’t know? I’m–I’m so sorry.”

Her widened eyes shrunk to a squint. She side-smiled and crossed her arms against her chest. “Of course, I know what colours my eyes are.” She laughed. “Some parts of Africa would think my eyes are those of a witch doctor!”

The veins in my face enlarged, creating more availability for the blood to flow, which transformed my regularly pale face, hot and red. I shifted my weight and tugged at the belt loops of my pants. “I’m in charge of the surveys this week. Could you help me with them by taking a practice one, when you get a chance? I need someone to take the survey to make sure it’s effective for the population.” I was rambling without taking a breath. In her presence, the chemicals in my brain were in overdrive as though someone had pushed fast forward on my intelligence-VCR.

“Sure, I’ll help.” She got up and coiled her arm through her handbag. “I have a break now. Let’s go to the conference room. It’s empty.” She walked ahead of me, heels clicking on the wooden floors.

The conference room was at the other end of the office. It was a big room with a long wooden table, surrounded by green chairs. It smelled of sweat and aftershave.

I passed her a pencil and the survery for our home insurance client. It listed about fifty yes or no questions about insurance and family situations. My job was to make sure the survey was suitable for the public.

Once she brought it to the corner, she ticked the appropriate boxes. Each survey is anonymous, requiring only age and gender. I was watching her intently, fascinated by the way she bit her lip when she concentrated, seducing her survey. In between check marks, she twirled the pencil around her fingers. She hesitated towards the end of the page.

Celia Thomas

Why was he watching me? His glasses made his eyes appear larger, like he had eyes on top of eyes. If Danny Zuko had enlarged eyes, he would be dreamier. Jacob wasn’t like that. He stared at me the way my dad used to stare at his roast beef on a Sunday—mouth-watering and a fork and knife in hand, waiting for mum to say grace.

I peered up from the survey. Jacob averted his gaze and resisted a slight smile like a toddler caught doing something naughty. One dimple dented his left cheek. I honestly didn’t understand how to answer most of these questions. If I didn’t know, I ticked no, since I wasn’t agreeing to anything. I had two questions left, which I did know the answers to: Do you rent your property? Do more than two occupants reside at your property? I ticked off yes for the first one, then no for the second, and brought him the finished survey.

“Some phrasing was confusing, but otherwise it looked good,” I said.

“Which ones?”

“I circled them.” I leaned over the survey on the table. I pointed them out. Jacob got closer. He smelt good—not like aftershave or body spray, but clean.

“Oh, I see. Thank you.” He turned his head toward me, and I was suddenly very conscious of how close my face was to his.

I pulled away and checked my watch. “My break’s over.”

“Okay.” He stood. “Is there a place to be on a Friday night?”

I tugged on the bottom of my skirt and headed for the door. “Yes, it’s London.” As I said it, I realised it sounded rude. “Check out Covent Garden. There’s a place there with a mechanical bull.”

“A bull? Have you ridden it before?”

“I’ve ridden lots of bulls,” I said, smirking at his nervousness. “It’s a Americanesque. Bye Jacob.” I left him in the conference room.

Sometimes Erika and I ended up going to the Bull Bar on a Friday. Something about him made me want to see him ride the bull. Maybe it was his innocence. There must be a Danny Zucko somewhere inside him. I would just have to get him out to play.