Bobbi batted her eyes. She looked straight ahead, not saying a word.“Sometimes,” I added, “we have to take a deep breath and re-evaluate things.”“Why do you have to make so much goddamn sense?” she asked as she looked at me, her legs slightly spread from her seated position next to my desk. I wheeled my chair to a position directly in front of her.I placed my elbows on my knees and extended my hands on her knees, and said, “I’m here for you, babe. I know how you feel. I feel the same way.”I was being metaphorical, but then she placed her hands onto mine and we connected for the first time since our accidental hallway bump several weeks before.I looked down at her hands, and I found myself clasping her hands in mine. Her hands were cold but quickly warmed as I looked at her.“If it makes it any easier for you,” I said softly, “I’ll step out of the way and we’ll pretend this conversation never happened.”Bobbi began to shake her head back and forth.“Oh no,” she declared, “If I have come. In fact, he seldom had very much to say in any conversation in his desire to stay away from the limelight that might call attention to his shortness of stature and hidden pointy ears under an unruly mess of terrible red curly hair.He was fortunate enough to have a girlfriend of sorts by the name of Mary Kelly that was the runt of the litter of three sisters all belonging to the still attractive Eileen Kelly with her long shapely legs that looked devastatingly glorious under her almost sheer frock of pale green. She wore her revealing dresses like a flag of unhappily married life. Poor Mrs. Kelly had a husband often away on voyages to far-away places too difficult to either pronounce or remember with any degree of clarity. She would cast her lust-filled eyes on any male in proximity with time on his hands and a restless look to his tightly-fitted trousers. Her youngest daughter's male friend was in her home on a daily basis and she wondered what treasures his trousers concealed and if.
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