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He scratches his head with his free hand. “I’m not denying it’s a bit blurry. But I remember. ”
“That was personal, Geordie. As personal as it gets. No matter how drunk you were, you should never, ever have let those words come out of your mouth. ”
“I know that. I do. ” He looks so earnest. Almost heartbroken, like what he said hurt him more than it did me. Geordie always wants to do the right thing; he just doesn’t always get there.
This time, though, I’m not letting him off the hook. “I don’t discuss what our sex life was like. Not even with my best friends, and definitely not with strangers at a party. If we’re going to stay friends, you have to do better than this. Do you understand?”
Slowly, Geordie nods. The two of us stand there in awkward silence for a few moments before he straightens out the piece of paper. “I felt so bad about this that I wrote you a poem. ”
“. . . a poem?”
“Yes. ” He stands almost at attention, like a politician about to give a speech. “The title is, ‘I Am a Complete and Total Shit. ’”
I’m not going to laugh. I’m not.
Geordie reads: “I am a complete and total shit / sometimes I act like a stupid git / when I become a blabbermouth / all my relationships go south / forgive this lowly wretched wanker / or I’ll be sad, nothing rhymes with wanker. ”
I can’t help it anymore. Giggles bubble up inside me, and Geordie’s worried face gentles into a smile of relief. I never could stay mad at him for long. “Please tell me there are no more verses,” I say.
“I felt I’d achieved poetic perfection in just six lines. Less is more, you know?”
“Yeah. For instance, less intimate details about our relationship, more enjoyable parties. ”
He puts one hand on my arm—not a romantic move, just a reassuring one. “I swear to you, I’ll never reveal anything that personal about us again. Never. There’s not enough gin in the world to get me that drunk. ”
I sigh. “Okay. But you’re on probation. ”
“My sentence is just and fair, Your Honor. ” Geordie squeezes my arm, then steps back. “So, I’ve got to get to class. ”
The law school isn’t particularly close. “Will you have to run it?”
“Possibly. But we’re all right?”
“. . . sure. ”
With a grin, Geordie turns away to lope across the green. He’s older than almost all the other students, but the way he moves—running, his longish brown hair flopping with every bound—he looks more like a kid than any of them. Shaking my head, I watch him go.
The teaching assistants all share a space on the fourth floor. The elevators only go to three. I take the steps the whole way—it’s less irritating. Our designated office is as grand as you’d expect: a long narrow room that was probably originally designed as a closet, outfitted with the oldest, most beat-up desks that haven’t already been thrown out as scrap. I don’t really mind. Most of my work is done at home or in the studio anyway. Besides, even as low as I am on the totem pole, I still get to rely on the department secretary.
“Well, hello there,” Kip says as I walk into the main office. “Not looking nearly as slinky as you did Friday night. ”
“Oh, no! I meant to wear lingerie to impress my two P. M. class. ” I smack my forehead with the heel of my hand. “Do you have any pasties lying around? Or a G-string?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Kip gives me a sidelong glance; his quick fingers never stop typing for a second. “I thought you might want to look nice for Geordie. Don’t think I didn’t see him out there, so spare me the sarcasm. ”
“Geordie and I are just friends now, remember?”
“Mmmm-hmm,” Kip hums, making it clear he doesn’t believe me.
When Kip Rucker joined our department last year, I wasn’t sure what to think. Our previous secretary was a grandmotherly lady who wore appliquéd sweatshirts themed for every holiday, including Arbor Day. Kip, on the other hand, wears skinny jeans, oversized designer T-shirts, and nail polish. It takes courage to be as out as Kip is, here in Austin; we might be the bluest city in the great red state of Texas, but this is still Texas. So I admired his guts from the start, but couldn’t imagine him fitting in. He has a big mouth and a bigger attitude and doesn’t give a damn what anyone in the world thinks of him. Usually this is not great secretary material.
Within three weeks, Kip had restructured our entire office. Suddenly we’d become efficient. He turned around work faster and more effortlessly than any of us had dreamed possible. Even the old coffeemaker vanished, replaced by a newer model that produced actual coffee instead of blackish sludge.