We found you sleeping by your lover's stoneIt's a sad day when your boss asks you to bring your violin to work and then makes you play for a cup of coffee.
A ream of paper and a telephone
A broken bow
Across a long lost violin
Your lover's angel told the captain's man
It never ends the way we had it planned
And kissed her palm
And placed it on your dreaming head
I would have played for free, but he buys the very good coffee that I told him I liked. The Sumatra beans from the Human Bean, ground very fine. Served black, in a cup as large as one's head. That was my gift for my song today and now I'm in the throes of setting up my new (work) laptop and pretending that this morning didn't bother me one bit.
The contractor came by with his new plans, and Ben's surprise went out the window. The original suggestion of making the old turret into a widow's walk was shot down before he finished describing it. Simply because of the implications. Can't do it. Don't want to do it. Dear God. So Ben came up with the idea of taking out the windows in the upper old porch which is now a playroom and glassing in the walls to make an atrium. More usable than the turret, and then we could have plants. So many plants. All sun all the time. Bridget remains in the house instead of being on the roof.
Only he meant for it to be a secret for me and I stood like a fool and grinned at the contractor and told him that he needed to call Ben, that I wasn't supposed to know.
He said he would try, sheepishly. Then the car was waiting and I almost forgot it was time to go to work. Mike (Caleb's driver) waited patiently while I ran around collecting my bimbo shoes (whoops.) and pulling on my boots and got two laptops and he met me halfway up the sidewalk and handed me a Blackberry BOLD (HELLO!) and on it was a message to bring the violin so I went back in the house and got my case while Mike put everything else in the car.
And now I'm here. I think I figured out the coffeemaker and have pointed out bosses don't take their employees out to every meal and I brought a pear and a banana even and I won't starve. Caleb smiled (again. Stop that.) and pointed out few employees would adhere to a dress code the likes of his. I pointed out few girls like me would fail to indulge someone in a fetish and he asked me if that was so.
I just stared at him and then we both dropped it and started talking at the same time. About the weather.
I think it's already been a long week and I'm ready for a day off. Just from the psychological pressure. I'm the ninety-pound weakling and he is the bully.
Only holy, has Caleb been a busy beaver. Not only do I have a Bold which is awesome and my Blackberry curve is now happily living in my bra because the bold can be the bat-phone, but he had a desk made for me. A desk made from a Victorian gate, with a glass top and inlays made of beach glass and mother of pearl. And he put it in front of the big window in his office so that I can look out over the city. With a big comfortable overstuffed parlour chair I can curl up in. And it defies his masculine sensibilities because he has this behemoth of a wooden medieval desk already in the centre of the room and this beautiful little thing throws off the whole look. It's out of place.
Oh, wait. I just described Bridget, didn't I?
Actually, Caleb came up with that one.
He is spoiling me because after yesterday I don't think either one of us thinks this is going to work. But we're both too stubborn to give up without a fight. Okay, maybe that's just me and I'm projecting.
That's what seven cups of coffee will do for you.
Wait, what was I talking about again?