SEVENTEEN

I went for lunch with Fiona, her husband Donald, and the other artist upstairs Gordon. There's a fun little pub not far from here -at the airport actually, it's where the float planes land- that has really good food. Inexpensive. We had a rather fun time, the four of us get along quite well.

Beer was had, of course. One pint each. Or for me anyways, that's my limit. I haven't been drinking much for the past few years (drank enough through university to kill a grown man, I did), preferring to smoke that good ol' BC bud.

But Fiona can't leave it at that, she's goading me into having another. I can't grasp why the three of them don't just have another round and let me nurse the pint I have. I can almost feel buzzed already, and it's only 12:45. She's having none of it and I can see myself agreeing to order another one.

"I can't do it Fiona, one's my limit for lunch, I'm not kidding."

I try my best ingratiating grin; usually it works it's charms. Fiona proves more stubborn than I.

"I'm a total lightweight now."

I glance at Donald and Gordon but they are sharing that under-the-eyebrow glance that tells me they are DYING for more beer and just won't feel right if I don't have one too.

"Aw com'on Keta, it's just one more! You've had a good lunch you'll be fine."

Fiona calls the server over; I completely suck at ruining everyone's good time so meekly order another pint for myself even though I know it's going to cost me.

We get back to work and Fiona is all flighty and giggly but no one notices because she's always kind of like that anyways. I, however, must reek of guilt because it's not five minutes before Petra sniffs out my intoxication. I figured I would just sit at my computer quietly, I'm not so hosed I can't work, and after about 20 minutes the buzz would fade. I must have given myself away somehow.

Petra, for all her friendly quietness and seeming to just be interested in the job, is amazing tuned to what goes on around her. With her back turned and all the impression of being immersed in her work she can radar out the slightest drama, confusion or personality clash from 20 paces. I've mentioned before that I find her quite unfathomable.

I, unfortunately, am a rather open book. I know that most people find me deep and mysterious and in other ways completely unusual but there is a core of my Being that is immuatable. There are certain things that I will ALWAYS take a certain way, certain principles that I never let go off. Petra has spent the past four years of deadlines, crises, problems, and sheer torture to measure, consider and guage my various reactions.

It doesn't help that I will stand up and just plainly TELL anyone that will listen what I think, why I think it and why it's correctly so at any given moment of any day.

Petra has gathered all the data she can in the constricted environment of this job to know how to 'get me', use me or string me along to the best of her abilities. It doesn't always work because I am no fool, but I am also not conniving nor manipulative so am not geared to sniffing out such behaviour in others.

Fiona is doodling away at the other end of the room, I am trying to appear as sober as possible but sense that possibly I have already given it away; and Petra has already discovered my great indiscretion so is already hatching a way to capitalize on it as much as possible. It's not that she's necessarily vindictive -although she may be, for all I can decipher- it's just her twisted set of values, and complete lack of a life of her own, that drives her in this direction.

Enter Jack.

By some method of osmosis, telepathy, eye signals or sheer witchcraft Petra conveys my state to Jack. He sits at the spare station, then promptly asks for my help on something basic that I'm sure he already knows. Desperately I try to think of a way to get out of it, but I've been focussing on not letting my buzzed state be visible and can't quite think on my feet.

I wander over to the station, stand behind Jack's chair then indicate how he can perform the function he desires, speaking a quick explanation over his shoulder.

I slurred.

Petra is clearly gleeful.

Jack spins around in his chair so fast I am truly startled,

"You're drunk!" he exclaims.

I look at him in shock, struggling to come up with a denial, an excuse, anything.

Just then Fiona walks by humming happily to herself. Petra is so absorbed in the drama I can almost feel her delight.

"It's you! This has never happened before. You did it!"

Still I have no words, watching in horror as the scene unfolds.

Fiona looks over, all the confidence in the world, "What?"

"She's drunk! It's you. She's gone for lunch before and this has never happened."

Jack is justifiably outraged. Fiona shoots me a look of total disgust,

"We only had one!"

Jack storms into his office leaving us to our shame. I look over at Fiona with an expression, 'I told you I couldn't have two.' Petra watches us both with a level of interest that can only be described as orgasmic.

Fiona, for her part is aware of what has just gone down. Probably better than me. Fiona stradles the line between my pure obliviousness and Petra's masterful orchestration. An impulsive soul herself, Fiona is not a stranger to manipulating situations -and people- to get the result she desires.

She grumbles under her breath something about knowing Petra is behind it all.

Then that's it. The moment passes, we all go back to work, and it is never spoken of again.

Crazy.