Irene - a fantasy story inspired by a true event.
I see her every day at work, and she’s my favorite colleague by far. You know how some people seem to get everything done, and effortlessly at that? Irene is that kind of woman. She’s a professor and a researcher, and yet somehow also finds the time to mentor PhD students. She’s curious, intelligent, extremely knowledgeable… it would be obnoxious if she weren’t also such a friendly and outgoing person.
I’m guessing she’s around fifty, though I never claimed any talent in the guessing age-department. Her hair is salt and pepper - heavy on the salt - and in a blunt, no-nonsense, neck-length bob. Somehow it suits her. In the same vein, she’s frequently seen with her glasses in her hair, pushing it off her face like a headband. She’d be prettier if she’d wear some more colorful clothes instead of the incessant pastels, and though I do dislike the idea that women “need” make-up to somehow look acceptable to society, I still think some subtle eye make-up would really flatter her.
Thing is, though, she doesn’t care in the least. Her mind is on very different things. She’s frequently the center of action, some random comment or discussion sparking an idea for a new research topic that she’ll explore verbally over lunch.
Well, “lunch”.
You know how some workplaces never let you just sit and eat your lunch in peace and quiet when and where you feel like it? Yeah. That kind. Where you have regularly scheduled work-related meetings on certain weekdays, training on others, and then you have the sales people coming in to present their latest thing they want you to buy. It’s ridiculous how planned and scheduled every lunch hour is.
If not for my slightly crazy bunch of coworkers this would be nearly unbearable. But most of us have worked together for years now, and it’s a very entertaining group. People will banter and go off on tangents, and before you know it Irene will be off running with another idea of something she wants to find out more about. I actually love these times when we’re all sitting together, because even though lunch always has an agenda it’s still both entertaining and interesting.
Except right now.
The sales representative currently about to try his pitch at us can’t get the video projector to work, and people are making well-intended but so far completely unhelpful suggestions. At least the sandwiches he brought are really very good. I take another bite and try not to get restless. To say the least, I’m not known for my patience. I have stuff I could be doing, damn it.
Then Irene stands up, and my attention shifts to her automatically. (I’m always hoping no one realizes how quickly or frequently that happens.) She walks over to the projector on the table, pulls the signal cable out and looks at it. Of course. Hands-on action lady as always. I look at her figure as she bends down to look at the machine, wishing she’d wear something that was just a little less shapeless. Is it strange that I find her kind of sexy?
“Hey, Mike?” she asks absently, attention still on the projector.
“Yeah?” The man sounds understandably puzzled. We all know he can barely operate a microwave, much less anything more advanced than that.
“Can I borrow your glasses for a second?”
Everybody looks at her, but for a moment no one speaks. “You already have glasses,” Mike points out, but there’s a definite question in his voice.
She shakes her head, finally looking at him. “They don’t work for this.”
I almost smile as Mike still looks puzzled. Irene is slightly nearsighted, and for most things around the department doesn’t wear her glasses. If I were to guess, I’d say they’re somewhere around -1. Not enough to cause much problems indoors, which I suppose is why they’re stuck in her hair so much.
“These are for distance,” she elaborates and points to the top of her head. “But this plug is small and close. I think one of the prongs is bent, but it’s hard to see. So, may I borrow yours?”
“Yes, sure.” He hands her his reading glasses, but he’s shaking his head slightly as he does so. Irene slips them on, and I try to hide my amusement as I watch the whole scene.
I can totally understand Irene’s problem. I became nearsighted as a teenager, and wore glasses for the next decade or so before having laser surgery some years back. It got rid of any need for minus lenses, but it didn’t take many months before I realized I now had problems focusing close instead. I was seriously pissed off about it for a while but eventually, like most sane people, realized that I preferred the glasses to the headaches. At least I only need them for reading. I suppose that’s what happens when you’re nearsighted and always take your glasses off to read - it does nothing to maintain good accommodation.
Irene’s situation is of course different - she’s still naturally nearsighted, but also presbyopic enough to straddle the zero, needing minus correction for distance and plus for close. Sometimes, anyway. She’ll usually only wear her glasses during presentations, and has never seemed to have any problem reading normal text without glasses.
While I’ve been musing, Irene has taken a pen and fiddled around with the prongs on the signal cable. Looking satisfied, she straightens and plugs the cable back in. “Try now,” she tells the sales guy, removing Mike’s glasses and holding them in her hand. The man tries to connect again, and this time it finally succeeds. Irene hands Mike’s glasses back and sits back down with a smile, unruffled by the applause.
“Kay?” I look up at the familiar voice, pausing in gathering my things at the end of lunch. “Yes?” I turn to face Irene.
“I wondered if you’re coming to the evening seminar on Thursday.”
“The drug company sponsored one? Who’d want yet another opportunity to listen to those guys?”
She shakes her head, smiling. “It’s really not an extended sales pitch. They have researchers presenting research - sponsored by them, of course. Have you looked at the topics? They look interesting.”
“I’ll take a look and think about it,” I promise.
“Good. While I have you here, can I pick your brains about a student?”
“Of course.” I finish gathering my things, and follow Irene into her office.
Thursday arrives, and I’ve decided to go to the seminar. If Irene thinks it’s good, I’m sure it will be worth the time. It’s not like I had any other plans for the evening anyway, and the research topics really did look interesting.
I’m at my desk proofreading a first draft of a research report when there’s a knock on my door.
“Come in,” I say as I continue to read, finishing the paragraph. “Just a sec…”
I finish reading and look up as I pull my glasses off. It had taken a while before that action was automatic, as before I’d do the exact opposite - frequently take my glasses off to read, and always need to put them back on for everything farther away than arm’s length.
“Joan, hi. How may I help you?”
Joan was one of the PhD students at the department, and also becoming something of a friend.
“I heard you’re planning on going tonight. Any chance I can catch a ride with you?”
“No problem. I’m leaving at five.”
“Ok, see you then. Thanks!”
She smiles and leaves, dark curls bouncing on her shoulders. Pretty, I think absently as I put my glasses back on and search for where I left off.
When Joan and I arrive at the seminar that evening, I’m surprised by how many familiar faces I see. At least half my department is here, as well as several people I know from schools all over the country. Maybe it just means I actually do have a professional network at long last. I’m not an outgoing person by nature, but I suppose a good decade helps even me develop some relationships.
Just not the kind of relationship I most want.
It’s not that I hate being single - after all, I have been for most of my life. But I would so like to have someone to share that life with. Unfortunately for me, vertically challenged and very offbeat men are the ones who most frequently seem to find me attractive. Not that anyone can help any of those things, obviously. And actually, the only real issue is the male thing, as I seem to be around 110% lesbian. Not saying that I swear I’ll never find a man attractive, but in nearly 40 years it hasn’t happened yet. At 5'9" I don’t expect other women to be taller than me, and ‘offbeat’ can be a real plus in my opinion.
I mingle for a while as we wait for the first lecture to start, and find myself rather enjoying catching up with people. Maybe there’s hope for my social skills yet?
Irene arrives at the last minute, the natural center of attention the moment she breezes through the door. “Hi! I’m glad it hasn’t started yet. I was sure I’d be late - I got distracted by the research protocol we discussed yesterday.”
I smile. Classic Irene.
As she turns to me and continues to explain about her thoughts on said research protocol, she slips her jacket off and looks for somewhere to hang it. In a quick glance I realize she’s wearing all black - shell, nicely cut cardigan, and pants. It looks stunning on her, and the contrast with her hair is striking. Why have I never seen her in black before? And when did she get changed? Oops, eyes up, I tell myself as she turns back around, talking all the while. Irene is rarely not talking.
Irene waves to a few people as we walk in and find seats in the lecture hall. The company has provided notepads and pens for everyone - with their logo on it, predictably. I half smirk.
I sit down and find my glasses, expecting I’ll need them to see my notes once they lower the light. Next to me Irene is pulling hers out too, as for once they were in her purse and not her hair. I watch out of the corner of my eye as she puts them on, thinking I don’t see that nearly as often as I would have liked.
The first lecturer enters, and I pick up the pen and turn my attention to the stage. I soon realize I do need to put my glasses on to read anything I write, but I also need to pull them down to see over them at the screen at the front of the room. I feel old. When working on the computer, and actually also when reading, I prefer to just push my glasses up on my nose. Partly I think it looks less dorky - and old! - that way, and partly it feels more familiar and therefore comfortable. But right now it doesn’t matter what I’d prefer.
The evening program consists of four lectures on current topics in clinical neurology. None are directly relevant to us, our focus being on neuroscience, but they’re interesting nonetheless. The two areas are rather related anyway. I have to admit, almost reluctantly, that the evening really does prove to be worth the time.
It doesn’t hurt that I’m sitting next to Irene, sharing the occasional comment as we’re being lectured to. As I look at her, I’m struck by the icy blue shade of her eyes, and I wonder if I’ve started to imagine things. I also realize that I’ve never noticed how shiny her hair is. It looks soft and pretty. Down, girl, I kick the smutty part of my mind into submission. I must be hallucinating. Maybe extended deprivation of sex will do that to a person? I decide not to bring that up as a possible research topic.
Another lecture goes by before I realize there may be a real reason for my unexpected observations. When we talk at work, we never sit this close. Because I’m trying to take notes in the relative dark, I have my glasses on. And since she’s so close, I suddenly realize I’m looking at her through my glasses rather than over them - a possible first. I look again, trying to be subtle as I compare how her hair looks with and without glasses. The difference is bigger than I would ever have guessed. With glasses every strand comes into focus, and the natural color variations stand out. Without them, everything melts together in a stripey mass at this distance. I had no idea.
After the lectures, the sponsor has arranged a dinner for the participants. I had planned to just go home, but change my mind when it turns out everyone else from the department is going. Again, it’s not like I had other plans.
The dinner is at a nearby restaurant, and everyone from the department chooses to walk there. The evening is only a little bit chilly, we all want some fresh air, and the restaurant is right around the corner. I wander along in the middle of the group, absently hearing Mike behind me go on about one of the lectures. He’s as good with the theoretical stuff as he’s clueless with anything practical. It’s so stereotypical it’s kind of funny.
Ahead of me I see Irene walking next to Adina, our new Department Head. She’s also talking, as usual, and Adina is listening and adding the occasional comment. I listen to Irene’s voice, as always finding her accent adorable. Somehow she’s kept her rural dialect through decades of academia and city living, and even after years of working with her I’m still fascinated by the different conjugation, word choice, and intonation.
Yes, I’m weird that way. Well, that way too. I am apparently several other kinds of weird as well. I send Irene’s backside a very long, very thorough and appreciative glance, enjoying the way she moves.
The restaurant is surprisingly dark and intimate for what I’ve been thinking of as a late business lunch. We don’t all gather around the same table, but spread out a bit so we’re not too rude. One of the drug company representatives sits with us, as well as several colleagues from other places. From my department I see Joan, Irene and Adina, the latter two still deep in conversation. Behind me, Mike is still talking shop. I hear Norbert, a recently acquired international PhD candidate, argue a point with him. Good luck with that, I think to myself.
As dinner arrives, I reluctantly realize I need to get my glasses out again. I don’t usually need to just in order to eat, but it’s late in the day and surprisingly dark where we’re sitting. And I hate tension headaches more than I hate looking dorky.
Even though everyone at work has seen me with glasses countless times, I still try to be inconspicuous as I pull them out of their case and slip them on. And then, seconds later, pull them down so I can still see everyone around the table. I feel both old and silly.
I mostly listen to everyone else talk while I eat. Irene has left the work-related topics behind, and is currently talking about her recent trip to Paris. I know she likes to travel, but I haven’t heard much about this trip yet. I recall my own visit there several years back, and feel a little wistful. I’d gone with Mariell, my girlfriend at the time. Paris did indeed seem to be for lovers. It had been magical.
Irene says she went with her kids, as a college graduation gift to the youngest. I know she has two sons, the oldest a few years into his PhD in chemistry now. I also know she was married at one point, but isn’t anymore. For as much as she talks, Irene doesn’t share a lot of information about herself. I wish I could get to know her better. Not only because I find her physically attractive, but because I find her absolutely fascinating in every way. Unfortunately, my odds of catching her attention are about as good as Norbert’s odds of winning a discussion with Mike: slim at best.
Irene is talking about the Versailles, and I volunteer a few comments about my memories from seeing it when I was there.
“I didn’t realize you’d been to Paris,” she says, surprised.
I shrug. “It was years ago… but very memorable.”
“Do you speak any French?”
“Un peu. Actually not very much anymore, but I was good at it in school.”
“Impressive. I’m not very good with languages.”
She’s right about that - she’s actually pretty much useless. Her statement doesn’t require any comment, though, and so I just go back to listening as the conversation moves on to other topics.
An hour later people are starting to leave after enjoying a very good dinner and even better dessert. The evening has definitely been worth it, I muse as I look around the table. The remaining people have all gathered here, and I’m surprisingly comfortable just sitting and listening. And people watching.
There are several women in the crowd, which is in itself quite impressive in our area of work. I also happen to find several of them attractive, which is just icing on the evening for me. My gaze keeps wandering back to Irene at the end of the table, though, admiring the way the light bounces off her straight, shiny hair.
“Kay?”
I snap back to reality, realizing Irene is looking at me. “Yes?”
“Any chance I can borrow your glasses a moment?”
“Ah, sure.” I’ve put them back in my purse after eating, but reach down and pull the case out and hand the whole thing to her. Like I was going to turn that request down?
I watch with interest as Irene lifts my glasses out of their case and puts them on. They actually look funny on her - too narrow, and the dark frames are rather overwhelming her face. It’s still hot.
She picks something up from the table and peers closely at it - it looks like a bracelet or maybe a necklace. I try to be subtle about my glances as she fiddles with it for a while, probably trying to repair it somehow.
After a while of concentrating intently, she holds the object up with a smile. Necklace. Now fixed - of course. She puts it down on the table and looks at me while removing my glasses again. Or she at least looks in my direction. Since I can’t even focus that far with my glasses on, I know there’s no way she can either.
She puts my glasses carefully back in their case and sends them back to me via a couple of helpful hands. “Thank you,” she mouths. I merely nod.
“Thank you for the loan earlier.” I’m in the ladies’ room, just done washing my hands when Irene walks in.
“No problem,” I reply. “Do you not have reading glasses?” My emphasis on the verb is subtle.
“I have several floating around at home, and at least two pairs in my desk at work. I don’t usually have any in my purse, but it seems like that needs to change.”
“For what it’s worth, it’s really dark up there. I don’t usually need to wear glasses to eat.”
“No you don’t.”
I look at her, surprised by her quick agreement. So she notices things like that?
She shrugs, and I wonder if she’s looking just a little bit sheepish. “We eat lunch together every day,” she says by way of explanation.
That is true, of course. But while I know I would notice if anyone got glasses - or new glasses - or went back to old glasses because the new ones were broken - I’ve never thought anyone else would pay attention the same way. Maybe I’m wrong about that?
I have no idea how to approach that question, though, and so I remain silent. And for once, Irene is too. In the end I just nod at her as I turn to go back to the table. Confusing woman.
The party is gradually moving from the dinner table to the dance floor. I don’t feel like dancing, and wish I could order a drink or two. But I drove here, and tomorrow is a regular workday - which means both staying out late and getting drunk are stupid ideas. I should just leave, really, except it’s kind of nice to sit here and relax while watching the people who do feel like dancing. If you’ve ever watched drunk(-ish) people attempt to dance and flirt - or dance while flirting - you know you can’t buy entertainment like that. So I decide to order a virgin drink and stay another little while and watch the floorshow.
I end up being at the center of a small group of non-dancers, and we form the base the other ones come back to when they want to catch their breath. Or order more drinks.
Rather to my own surprise, I realize I’m actually enjoying myself. We’re chatting about topics completely unrelated to work, and it makes me realize how much I still don’t know about my coworkers.
Although, some of the things I learn I wish I could un-learn immediately. Some people really need to remain coworkers only.
“I didn’t mean to scare you with my comment earlier.”
I turn and look at Irene, drawing a blank. “Comment?” I’m in the restroom again, and again I was about to leave when she entered. What’s up with that?
“When I agreed that you don’t usually wear glasses to eat. You seemed to be uncomfortable.”
I try to shift gears, not expecting her statement. “Not uncomfortable. Surprised.” I pause for a moment, then gather my courage. “Pleasantly surprised,” I admit.
“Really?” Her eyes on me are hard to read.
I nod. “It’s not every day that someone notices…” I trail off, too embarrassed to finish the sentence with the first person singular pronoun, object form.
“Uh, notices things like that,” I eventually finish lamely.
“I notice,” she says suddenly. I look up, meeting a firm gaze. “I notice you,” she adds, and I feel myself blushing brightly. I need to get out of here, but as I turn to flee I feel her hand on my shoulder.
“Kay, please wait.”
I stop, but I don’t turn. Her hand is warm and soft on my shoulder, and the silence deafening.
“I notice because I like you,” she finally says.
Like me? What does that even mean? I still don’t move.
“I know you better than you think.” Her voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it, and I try not to react noticeably.
“I know that Norbert puts you on edge. I know you find Joan attractive, but not date material.”
She’s right on both counts. Social skills, Irene vs. Kay: 2-0.
“I also know that you like me.”
My breath catches in my throat at the unexpected statement, and I turn to face her. For a long moment, nothing is said. We just look at each other.
Irene is the first to speak. “You know - or, you probably don’t, but here is it: I love seeing you in glasses, Of course I notice when you wear them and when you don’t. I was a little sad when you had the surgery, even though of course I was happy for you. But then you started wearing glasses again a while later. They’re very becoming. So I look, and I’ve been noticing that you keep doing the same thing.”
I’m staring, wordless. She stares back, seemingly calm. Does nothing ruffle this woman?
“Do you make a habit of following women into restrooms?” I ask suddenly.
Even that doesn’t as much as make her blink or look the least bit guilty. “Not a habit,” she says with a small smile. “It’s on a case by case basis.”
Of course she has a comeback for everything.
Irene is looking disgustingly smug. And that crooked smile is just… just… Infuriating! Well, infuriatingly, irresistibly gorgeous. Ridiculous. Our eyes meet, and I’m not sure what to do with this burst of emotion that’s welling up in me and demanding an outlet. I want to… yell? Dance? Run? Jump up and down?
Ohhh, wait…
My body moves, and I find the answer I was looking for.
I want to kiss. And kiss. Annnnnd… kiss.
When I pull back, I finally get the satisfaction of seeing Irene completely gobsmacked. Reaching into my purse - I was about to head out the door after the restroom visit - I for once find what I want right away. I pull my glasses out, keeping eye contact with Irene the whole time as I slowly slip them on.
“You were saying?”
Her jaw actually drops. I always thought that was just a figure of speech.
“Your place or mine?” I ask Irene as we nearly sprint for the door.
“Yours. Didn’t I hear that you drove tonight?”
“I did.”
She nods, and it’s settled. I find my jacket, then look around until I see Joan in the crowd. “Joan? You’ll have to get a taxi home tonight.”