Circle Lives: Monument

Pic: Sunil060902

Monument: banking perks

 Jane worked in a City merchant bank as a receptionist and most of the workforce was made up of men wearing dark suits and flashy ties. "The suits", said her husband in a scornful tone and he probably meant "the pigs". Martin worked in a hospital and did not like bankers.

Flirting was part of Jane’s job description. She had been chatted up by messenger boys, the security guards, employees and visitors, but nothing much had ensued. Her marriage might feel stale at times, but she still had her moral standards.

Then Mr Falco arrived, wearing glorious designer pinstripe suits, surrounded by a special aura as the eldest son of a famous industrialist. He had been seconded from the Milan office and was soon the darlings of all the secretaries, young girls who, in Jane’s eyes, had applied for their jobs to bag a rich husband.

Mr Falco walked past Jane's desk several times a day, devouring the carpet with his long, sharply suited legs. He was handsome in a Mills and Boon alpha male kind of way with his dark curly hair, masculine jaw and the build of a sportsman. He had a deep voice, like an actor so anything he said always sounded meaningful. Martin was no match. He was short, balding and a couch potato.

Jane had always liked men in suits and Martin was wearing a smart one when they had met in a pub, nearly 12 years ago, when he still had all his own hair. He had been so funny and romantic, buying her a red rose from a street vendor and presenting to her on their way to the tube station.

Jane was sharing a flat with Eileen, an Irish girl who loved horses and hated men. She accompanied Jane to pubs because she liked drinking but disliked being chatted up. This did not stop her enjoying the free drinks men bought them. She kept drinking and glaring at the men. She would only open her mouth to order the next drink so Jane had to be extra bubbly to compensate for it. Only on one occasion Eileen had brightened up and joined the conversation after hearing about a polo match.

Jane had met Martin while Eileen was in the toilet. She had been away for a long while, probably throwing up after four pints of Guinness and two Tia Marias. When she returned looking pale but determined to have another drink, Jane introduced her to Martin and Eileen soon found out that he loved horses and monopolised the conversation.

Jane won Martin out of a competitive feeling. Of course, Jane lost Eileen's friendship in the process and had to move out. They got married. Their life together was all right. They hardly quarrelled, sex was not too bad but something was missing.

When did dissatisfaction step in?  When did their life as a couple start to be as flat as an ironing board?  Work was more exciting now. Nine to five and suits of all kinds, shapes and colours.

Since Mr Falco had arrived Jane was changing her outfit every day, applying layers of make-up that needed to be freshened up during her lunch break. Unfussy, ‘the little black dress will do’ Jane had vanished.

Jane could not see how to progress beyond the greetings stage. She kept smiling significantly, hoping that Mr Falco would understand. She didn't give her special smile to anybody else after all. At night he lorded over her dreams. Jane knew she wasn't being reasonable, but her sudden obsession was hard to dispel with moral considerations.  She dreaded weekends until Martin started to work every other weekend to earn extra money. He was thinking they could buy a house now and wanted to put together a good deposit.

One morning Mr Falco was standing by the lift with his back to Jane. Suddenly, he turned and asked her for a paper clip. He strode to her desk and bent very close to pick it up, his handsome face only inches away. She could only stare; her tongue was heavy and useless. She felt stupid, like she had failed some sort of test.

The director, Mr Arpini, rumoured to be the youngest son of a Count, was going to be transferred to the New York branch and the personnel department organised a lavish, no expense-spared leaving party. The boardroom was emptied of all furniture and given over to an event organiser. Mr Arpini gave a short speech, calling all the employees "a big happy family" and then the champagne and wine started flowing.

Jane took a plate and filled it with the delicious buffet food. She ate standing up, juggling the plate with a glass of white wine. Mr Falco was standing on his own, holding the thin stem of a champagne glass with his tanned, manicured fingers. He met Jane’s glance, smiled and joined her.

Jane got rid of her plate and tried to strike a pose with her half empty glass. They started a conversation about holiday destinations while their bodies communicated a different message. Jane could not believe how easy it was now.

She re-assessed him. Mr Falco was not a Mills and Boons hero, more like a primitive idol who had to be pacified with an offering. Jane was only too eager to do so in the unromantic atmosphere of the cleaner's closet of which Mr Falco had a duplicate key.

Jane could not stop wondering how many other women had been initiated in the closet. How many pagan priestesses had given themselves to this clay-footed idol?

Reality was not as exciting as fantasy. Mr Falco was an unimaginative lover. Perhaps handsome people did not need to try hard. Jane had read somewhere that unattractive people were good in bed to compensate, was it in Cosmopolitan?

Out of the closet and back in the boardoom with a fresh glass of wine, Jane looked around. Mr Wright, the bald and bespectacled accountant, was on his own, absorbed in the task of trying to stab at a cocktail onion with a toothpick. Jane remembered an article about the relation between hair loss and testosterone production. She moved closer and smiled, while caressing the key she had slipped into her jacket’s pocket.