HEADY ROMANCE

A Heady Romance

Cynthia heard her own voice call out as though it belonged to someone
else,

"Excuse me &;#8230;Oh dear, I feel quite odd ... most strange." She
felt her ample frame sway as she clambered to her feet, her chair
scraping across the laminate floor loudly.

Everyone turned to stare at her. At least seventy pairs of eyes in a
variety of colours, blue, grey, green, brown. Brown. In particular,
Cynthia found herself staring into the dark brown eyes of Ryan Thomas,
Senior Solicitor, specialising in Personal Injury Claims on the Third
Floor. He just so happened to be sitting in front of her and was gazing
up at her now, one eyebrow raised in amusement as she stood, bright red
and swaying. The whole Conference Room fell silent with anticipation.
Cynthia wished someone would open a window or just do something,
anything, instead they continued gawking at her until she
fainted.

She came round propped up against the photocopier out in the corridor
and wondered miserably how on earth she had got there. Rosemary from
Personnel was on standby with a plastic cup of tepid water and promises
of a taxi to take her home straight away.

"Do you mind if I run off 30 whilst we're waiting," she asked briskly,
loading the copier and hitting the start button before Cynthia had time
to answer.

Cynthia felt the heat of the photocopier warming her back, the
machinery whirring into action somewhere beneath its plastic cover. Her
mind wandered again, the question on the tip of her tongue but she just
could not bring herself to ask it. Someone must have carried her out of
the Conference Room and positioned her here, a box of copying paper at
each elbow as though to stop her from slumping sideways, but who?
Better not ask. Better not to know.

In front of her, stretched out like two little fat, pink sausages were
her legs. Her tights were laddered and one of her shoes was
missing.

"I've sent Mike back in there to look for it," Rosemary said following
her gaze and they both silently stared at Cynthia`s big toe poking out
through her tights.

At that precise moment, Mail Room Mike, as he was affectionately known,
tiptoed out of the Conference Room, where, Cynthia noticed crossly, the
meeting was still in progress, waving her shoe in the air as if it was
a trophy.

"Found it," He said proudly then added for a joke, "by the
smell."

Humiliated, Cynthia snatched it from him, wholeheartedly wishing she
had bothered to clean her shoes that morning and tried with some
difficulty to stuff her foot, already swollen from the heat, back into
it. She gave up and held it in her lap instead.

"Are you ok," Rosemary asked in a concerned, but matter of fact, voice
and then glanced at her watch, "Because if you are &;#8230; I'm
running late and I really do need to grab a bite to eat before the next
meeting..?"

Cynthia nodded unhappily, "No, no - you carry on. I'm fine. It was just
the heat." She tried to make light of it, "Trust me to faint in front
of nearly half the workforce."

Rosemary nodded sympathetically, as if it was just the sort of thing
she too, did on a regular basis and knew exactly how Cynthia was
feeling. Cynthia watched her hurrying off along the corridor in search
of her "bite to eat" and stared down at her own body ruefully. "Plump"
was probably something of an understatement. Cynthia liked more than
just a bite to eat.

"Everything in excess, that's you Cynthia," her mother always
said.

Mail Room Mike crouched down beside her on his haunches and fanned her
face with a sheet of copy paper which Cynthia found hugely irritating.
He was so close that Cynthia could smell coffee on his breath. She felt
her fringe lift and fall as he fanned, his face a mask of total
concentration.

"Mr Gibson and Ryan Thomas had to drag you out of there," he announced
suddenly, nodding towards the Conference Room, and grinning widely at
the memory.

Horrified, Cynthia's imagination projected the awful picture into her
mind with earth-shattering results. She groaned inwardly - not Ryan
Thomas. All the women in the building had a crush on him. What on earth
did Mail-room Mike mean by "had to drag her out of there". She had
visions of Mr Gibson, Senior Partner, holding her wrists and Ryan
Thomas, gripping her ankles with a clear view up her skirt. She cringed
when she remembered the horrid grey knickers she had pulled on in a
hurry this morning. How bloody typical. The first thing she was going
to do when she got home was sort out her knicker drawer just in case
anything like this should ever happen again. Ryan Thomas getting a
glimpse of her washed-out greys! She closed her eyes with a moan.

A slight breeze brought her back to reality, "Do you mind?" she used
her best telephone voice and fixed her puffy eyes sternly on Mike's
repulsive little face. Hurt, he stopped fanning her and put the piece
of copy paper carefully back in the box at her elbow.

"I'll go and see if the taxi's come yet," he said awkwardly,
sauntering off down the corridor.

Where was that damn taxi? Why had everyone left her here like a piece
of old rubbish? She tried to stand up and make her way down to
Reception, but found that she could not get to her feet without feeling
dizzy. Best sit still, she thought, her heart suddenly sinking again
because she could hear the meeting coming to a close. Mr Gibson was
thanking everyone for their attention, hoped the good work would
continue throughout the next year. Bla Bla Bla. Bloody good job she'd
missed it all by the sounds of things.

The Conference doors swung open and everyone came swarming out, some
pausing to ask Cynthia how she was feeling, others politely
side-stepping her swollen legs and a few throwing her looks of pure
disgust as though she had fainted on purpose. She was pretty sure that
when Marina from Reception kicked her as she went by, it was no
accident. Marina had held a grudge against her ever since the time
Cynthia reported her for having a crafty cigarette in the Ladies.

How Cynthia wished she could have got her shoe back on. She was sure
everyone was staring at her big toe. It was all so humiliating.

She tried to bluff it, smile and pretend it did not matter, but of
course it did. It was one of the worse things that had ever happened to
her in her life. She felt a little bit like the Queen, nodding her head
and waving her hand in a jerky but regal way as everyone filed past
her.

"You ok down there?" Cynthia stared up into Ryan's brown eyes again,
his face crinkled with concern.

"Fine ... Er thanks for helping me." Cynthia tried hard to sound
professional. She hoped he wouldn't look at her big toe.

"My pleasure," he smiled kindly, "Look. It can't be very comfortable
down there, let me help you to Reception. " He went to pull her up when
he noticed Cynthia's bare foot. Cynthia watched in amazement as he
knelt down beside her, took the shoe out of her lap and tried slipping
it onto her swollen foot with some difficulty. After a few minutes of
twisting and turning the shoe, trying to force her foot into it, the
shoe suddenly and miraculously went on. Cynthia breathed a sigh of
relief.

She was Cinderella.

A few minutes later she was sitting comfortably in reception and he was
smiling again, "That's better isn't it?" he asked, as though she was a
child and she nodded eagerly. "It was hardly professional you lying up
there in the corridor. We do have clients coming and going at all
times, I can't understand what Rosemary was thinking of."

Cynthia felt suddenly miserable again. She watched as he strolled
self-confidently back across Reception, stopping briefly to flirt with
Marina who simpered affectedly, and then he was running back up the
staircase, taking two or three steps at a time.

"Oh there you are, I've been up and down the corridor looking for you.
" Mail Room Mike was back, he sounded a little put out "Your taxi's
here."

******

The following morning, Cynthia's mother bustled into her room with
breakfast on a tray.

"You look pasty, Cynthia," she declared, drawing back the
curtains.

Cynthia was tucking into the tea and toast, her cheeks bulging, "I was
thinking of having the day off " she said, "I'm not up to going back
yet."

"Good idea," her mother readily agreed.

"Would you bring me up the phone, mum?" Cynthia asked in between
mouthfuls, "I'd better phone in, just to let them know."

She had thought about Ryan all night, his genuine concern for her, his
insistence that she be settled comfortably in reception and the way he
kept on holding her hand when there was no need to. His lean, tanned
fingers entwined with her own little stubby white ones. She remembered
the feel of his firm grip on her foot as he fitted it in her shoe. It
definitely all pointed in one direction - he couldn't keep his hands
off her.

Heart pounding, she quickly dialled his direct-line number but his
secretary answered after two rings. Cynthia quickly pressed the
disconnect button.

I'll just finish off these chocolate biscuits, she thought and then try
ringing him again. Three more times his secretary answered but the
fourth time - success!

"Good morning, Ryan Thomas speaking."

She quickly swallowed a mouthful of biscuit, "Hello there, Ryan.
Cynthia Poole here. Just ringing to thank you once again for coming to
my rescue yesterday."

"Cynthia&;#8230;? Oh, yes. Think nothing of it Cynthia, " his voice
sounded quiet, but pleased to hear from her, "How are you feeling
today?"

"Much better. I think I'll be back at work tomorrow, " she brushed
crumbs off the duvet cover.

"You're at home then?" he sounded surprised, "well look, see you
tomorrow."

See you tomorrow. Cynthia lay back on her pillows and smiled to
herself. See you tomorrow.

She wore her best knickers the following morning - just in case, and
polished her shoes. Well, you never know. As soon as she arrived at
work she popped up to the third floor and hovered around outside Ryan's
office. She could see him through the glass partition talking on the
phone, leaning back in his chair, one hand waving wildly in the air.
She stood and watched him hoping he'd hurry up and pop out to have a
chat with her, but his secretary spoilt it all by asking Cynthia in a
cold voice if she wanted anything. Cynthia thought it best to leave for
a while. Perhaps she'd come back later when the secretary was at lunch
or something.

By the end of the week, her own boss was becoming increasingly
disconcerted by the huge pile of work accumulating on Cynthia's desk,
the constant ringing of the phone and no Cynthia there to answer it.
Cynthia, meanwhile, was still hanging around up on Ryan's floor, hoping
to attract his attention and had been for the last couple of days. Ryan
had smiled at her a few times - nothing more, but she knew he was
probably trying to be discreet. If anyone found out his true feelings,
well there would be a lot of jealousy. All the girls in the building
fancied Ryan. He obviously realised it would make things difficult for
her.

"Hello Ryan," she called out as he headed for the photocopier.

"Oh ... hello there."

His casual tone didn't fool her for a second. She watched him glance
over at her a couple of times, scratching his head. She knew what was
on his mind. The Law Society Annual Dinner and Dance was only few weeks
away and it was probably only a matter of time before he asked her to
go with him.

*****
"I'm dieting" she declared to her mother at the weekend, ignoring her
mother's raised eyebrow and look of disbelief.

"So you wont be wanting this full English then" her mother waved the
plate under her nose temptingly.

Cynthia eyed the plate of fried food hungrily, "Well, yes&;#8230;
but I'll just have one egg, instead of two and if you grill the bacon
from now on then I can still have some. Where's the tomato
sauce?"

As she chewed on a bit of sausage, Cynthia had a little plan for the
rest of the day. She was going to pop round to Ryan's Apartment down by
the harbour to see what he was up to. She had found out his address by
a bit of ingenious detective work in the office and had been dialling
his home phone number regularly, hanging up whenever someone answered.
A few times it had been a woman, more than likely his cleaner.
Sometimes Cynthia got up in the middle of the night and dialled his
number, sitting huddled on the stairs hoping to hear his voice, thick
with sleep, sexy. Lately though, an answer-phone clicked on, his
familiar voice inviting the caller to leave a message after the tone.
Sometimes she did some heavy breathing. After all, most men liked a bit
of mystery.

*****
A few hours later she was standing outside the impressive Apartment
block that was Ryan's home, plucking up the courage to ring his
intercom buzzer and at the same time dreaming about the Law Society
Dinner and Dance and the day she was going to be moving in with him.
She wasn't sure how much more excitement she could take. She pressed
the buzzer beneath his name and waited, transferring her weight from
one leg to the other."

"Hello?"

It was that bloody cleaning woman again, the one that sometimes
answered first thing in the morning.

"Is Ryan there?"

"No," the woman sounded suspicious, "Who is this?"

"A friend from work," Cynthia was seething. Who the hell did this woman
think she was? "What time will he be back?"

"Excuse me, could you give me your name at least? I do know most of his
work colleagues."

"Listen," Cynthia purposely made her voice was hard as nails, "I'm a
friend from work." She emphasised the word "friend" hoping this silly
woman would understand the real meaning of it. "Have you got his diary
to hand? Can you tell me please where he has gone today, how long he
will be and when you are expecting him back. I think you'll find he
will be extremely annoyed if you do not."

The woman cut her off. Annoyed, Cynthia rang the buzzer again, this
time keeping her finger pressed down on the plastic button constantly
for about five minutes. She rested her forehead against Ryan's brass
name-plate and traced her finger along the letters of his name. Where
on earth was he? He must be out. How frustrating. She banged her head
against the wall a few times but it didn't help. She kicked over some
empty milk-bottles for good measure and smiled nastily when one of them
smashed. Give that lazy cleaning woman something to do. She spread the
glass about a bit with the toe of her shoe. For about 15 minutes more,
she just hung about, marching bulkily up to the main gates and back,
staring up at the windows, wondering which one was Ryan's. She was
hoping someone would either enter or leave the building so she might be
able to nip inside, but no-one did. Sod's law, she thought. Eventually
she got bored and decided to go home for a while and come back later,
anyway it was getting cold. Before she left though she kicked off her
shoe, the very same shoe that Ryan had struggled to put back on her
swollen foot the day she had fainted, and left it by the door. She
smiled smugly to herself. Ryan would immediately understand the meaning
of the shoe. Her Prince Charming.

*******
"I've made scones" her mother called cheerily from the kitchen, the
house felt warm and cosy.

"No thanks mum" Cynthia breathlessly slumped into the armchair, "I'm
going back out again in a mo, anyway I'm on a diet."

"Oh yes, " her mother said, suddenly remembering and handing her a
plate of hot, buttered scones anyway "Oh, a young man phoned for you
about an hour ago, he sounded very nice. Mentioned something about Dr
Who. Where's your other shoe?"

Unfortunately, her mother couldn't remember his name. "It might have
been Ryan," she said rubbing her chin thoughtfully, when Cynthia
prompted her, "But I couldn't bet my life on it."

Dr Who? Cynthia munched on a scone and wondered if it was a code or
something. She couldn't think what it meant. She'd pop back down to his
apartment and see if he was back yet. She could just imagine his
expression when he saw her shoe, picking it up tenderly and carrying it
lovingly into his apartment with him.

Waiting for her.
*******
Just as Cynthia struggled off the bus and hurried lopsidedly across the
brick-paved driveway to Ryan's apartment block, she saw him striding
from his car, sports-bag in hand. A young woman, tall, with blonde hair
- one of those scrawny types - was hurrying anxiously towards him,
glancing about her as though some madman was after her. Drama queen,
Cynthia thought wrinkling her nose in disdain.

"Ryan!," The couple turned to look at her - they were too far away for
her to make out their expressions clearly but she had no doubts that
Ryan would be delighted to see her. She broke into a clumsy little run,
with her knees clamped together, her heavy breasts bouncing
uncomfortably and threatening to break free from the confines of her
blouse, the mother-of-pearl buttons straining for all they were worth ,
"Ryan!". It was hard to run in only one shoe.

Ryan turned and said something to his companion who stood some way
behind him looking pale and tearful. Cynthia slowed down as he came
marching purposefully towards her. He looked angry. Cynthia smiled - it
looked like the cleaning lady was about to get her comeuppance.

He stopped abruptly in front of her, "What the&;#8230;? Cynthia
isn't it...? What's the meaning of all this?"

Cynthia struggled to catch her breath, "Wh&;#8230;what do you
mean?"

"Coming here and scaring my wife like this. Insinuating we are having
some sort of relationship, ringing the intercom, smashing milk-bottles,
leaving a shoe on the doorstep like some sort of booby-trap. I assume
that you are the person who has been making nuisance calls to my home
non-stop for the past week."

"Nuisance calls&;#8230;?" Cynthia frowned. "Not exactly..." her mind
raced. Wife? Did he say he had a wife? She glanced over his shoulder at
the blonde woman who looked like she had been crying.

"I thought she was the cleaning lady", she said lamely. " Do you like
Dr Who?".

"Dr Who?" he was gobsmacked, "This is ridiculous..."

Cynthia was in a bit of a tight spot so she pretended to faint at his
feet. Ingenious really, except that she hit her head a bit too hard on
the brickwork causing it to bleed and all the buttons burst on her
shirt.

Ryan turned away in disgust.

Of course, the Police were called and a little crowd had gathered as
she was ushered into the back seat of the police-car. It would have
been quite exciting under different circumstances, romantic even. As
she was being driven away, she placed the palm of her hand flat against
the car window and stared sadly at Ryan like they do in the films at
moments like this.

Later on, when they dropped her back home, she went straight upstairs,
ignoring her mother's unnecessary little comment of "You've been up to
your old tricks again haven't you, Cynthia?"

All that questioning! Honestly, anyone would think she was a stalker or
something.

Her mother tearfully blamed it on her diet. She was talking to the
young policeman downstairs.

"She's been starving herself, " she told him, blowing her nose loudly
"I told her it wouldn't do any good but she wouldn't listen to me.
That's what did it. Lack of food. It's no good for you&;#8230; I did
warn her, mind you. The same thing happened last time. She gets
delusional. She's always been big you see, her father was. Diets are no
good for big people and now this! Honestly, it's so out of character."
Then, in a worried little voice " It wont be in the papers again will
it?"

******
Cynthia's GP signed her off work indefinitely and arranged for her to
see a Psychotherapist on Friday afternoons, a Mr Montgomery, who nodded
silently as she talked about Ryan and offered her a Kleenex when things
got a bit emotional, as they frequently did.

Mr Montgomery was kind with lanky legs and floppy hair. Cynthia found
herself looking forward to the Friday afternoon sessions tremendously.
She really didn't know how she would have got through it all without Mr
Montgomery's help and he had the kindest brown eyes she had ever seen.
No-one had ever paid her as much attention as him. He listened without
interrupting, nodding as though he understood exactly how she was
feeling and jotting down notes so as to remember her every word. So
attentive. So genuinely interested in all she had to say.

"I think I'm over the Ryan business now," she told him one
afternoon.

"I think so too Cynthia," he had said, "and I'm very pleased with
you."

It was the way he looked at her as he said it. She knew exactly what
that look meant. He didn't fool her for a second. Here we go again, she
thought.

A few weeks later she received a letter from the Police to say that all
charges had been dropped but she was being given an official Caution
for disturbing the peace and Rosemary from Personnel sent Cynthia a
little Get Well Soon card with her P45 inside.

"Oh well" said her mother, "best off out of it."

Mr Montgomery talked about turning a negative into a positive.

It was quite exciting really. All this attention!

Mail Room Mike popped round regularly bringing with him office gossip.
One day Cynthia asked him how Ryan was. Mike and her mother exchanged a
little glance, her mother looked anxious.

"Best not to talk about him" her mother chirped as though the whole
episode had been Ryan's fault.

On one visit, Mail Room Mike plucked up the courage to ask Cynthia on a
date but she soon put him in his place thank you very much and
disdainfully declined his invitation to join him at a Dr Who Conference
in Brighton one weekend in December. Did he think she was desperate or
something? Crestfallen, he told her that he had collected Dr Who
memorabilia since boyhood and was a member of the Dr Who Fan Club as
though it might make a bit of a difference. It did not.

"I hate Dr Who" Cynthia said unkindly, but couldn't really remember
ever having watched an episode.

Cynthia's mother volunteered to go to the Conference instead as she
felt like a little break now that Cynthia was on the mend slightly and
she'd never been to Brighton. She'd borrowed some Dr Who paperbacks
from Mike, exclaiming (a little too loudly Cynthia thought), "They're
really very good."

******

Mr Montgomery was pleased with Cynthia's progress and noted that she
never mentioned Ryan Thomas at all these days. Yes, she had had some
sort of breakdown, had acted uncharacteristically perhaps, but the
sessions seemed to be helping her a great deal. She just had a slight
tendency to latch on to any man that showed her a bit of kindness and
certainly didn't pose a risk to anyone. He was going to recommend that
next Friday be their last session as Cynthia really did seem to be
improving. He'd already dictated the necessary letter to Cynthia's GP.
If only he could find his diary he would pencil it in as their last
day.

Cynthia, meanwhile, was looking forward to having the weekend to
herself. She had a few things planned - a bit of a surprise for Mr
Montgomery. Last Friday she had "borrowed" his diary from his desk when
his back was turned. Now she had his address, phone numbers and other
personal details and she saw it as a sign - he had obviously left his
diary there for her to take on purpose. She intended to pop round to
his place on Saturday morning and see what he was up to.

She'd started phoning his home number occasionally, hanging up whenever
someone answered which, disappointingly, was usually a woman. She
sounded sort of snobby and a bit agitated. Probably his Receptionist or
something.

Cynthia smiled to herself as she imagined Mr Montgomery's pleasure at
seeing her on his doorstep, his brown eyes smiling fondly.

"I thought you'd never come," he'd say, "How did you know how I felt
about you?"

"A woman's intuition" she would tease. Of course, she wouldn't tell him
that it happened to her all the time.

Men just seemed to find her irresistible.