Rumor Has It

The next morning I showed up to work late, blood shot and bleary eyed. I forgot my security pass so I had to ring the bell in front of the large, heavy mahogany doors. I struck a pose, arm akimbo and a tired smile, for the girl answering the door.

"You look like shit," my coworker said when she saw me.

I felt like shit and I smelled like an ashtray. It was the single most unprofessional moment in my life. I sat down at my desk and opened my purse, only to discover last night's clothes stowed away. I shoved them in my desk before anyone could see. As one of the remaining single girls in the office, this kind of behavior is always expected of me, but I've never taken anyone up on it until now. I knew I would be fine as long as I got my work done and didn't make this a frequent habit. As Harvey always says, "If you're going to be a man at night, be a man in the morning."

I sat very quietly at my desk before I opened up my e-mail. Waiting for me was an invitation from the Tattooed Boy. Margaritas, it read, After work.

Sweet Jesus, I can't think of anything I would like less at the moment. I wasn't the only person on the e-mail invitation; I also noticed First Baseman's name as well as Girl from Irish Pub. That's the rough part about making new friends: when you are first invited to things, you always have to accept until you are sure you have received the standing invite. It's a lot of work.

I looked in the corner of my screen and saw Statham's green light by his IM status. I haven't spoken to him at all that week. The drama of almost being caught had scared him off. I clicked on his name and started typing.

By the way, you were right.

About what?

The rumors were about Clemson and not you.

When the Leader was sitting next to me last night, I followed Statham's instructions. "Hey, you said that you heard I hooked up last week. I didn't do anything with Clemson," I said. That way I could find out to whom he was referring without incriminating Statham.

"Oh... haha... I didn't mean sexually," the Leader back pedalled.

Later that night when I was in Clemson's bed, I asked him why he told everyone I spent the night.

"Who did you hear that from?" he asked.

"Leader, Girl from Irish Pub," I swallowed. "Statham."

"I didn't say anything to the Leader," he replied. "I told Girl from Irish Pub because I was asking her advice, and I told Statham."

Statham never told me he heard it directly from Clemson. And from what I infer from the way they talk about each other, they aren't friends.

Clemson paused. "When I told Statham, he was really inquisitive. He told me y'all went out to dinner. He said you have the best taste in the city."

My eyes fluttered open from resting on Clemson's shoulder. I was shocked. Statham, the boy who didn't wish me a happy birthday and has been out of contact for most of the week, was curious about my whereabouts. He had liked me. At least at one point in time he did.

The IM I received from him this morning, however, did not allude to the same feelings.

Thanks for clearing that up, it read. I closed the window and moved on to my morning.

That afternoon, I got an angry e-mail from him: I mean, yes, I am very upset about the whole "rumor" thing... it caused such a ripple effect of drama... but, you apologized... and since people weren't actually sitting around at a bar spreading lies about me, I guess I shouldn't be upset.

I raised an eyebrow. First of all, the "lies" are true. Secondly, I brought something that I thought was relevant to him; he's the one who panicked and called several people telling them about the rumor, including his ex-girlfriend. He should have let it go until I got confirmation from the Leader. I tried to warn him: Statham doth protest too much, implying his own guilt.

***

After work, I headed to happy hour hosted on the roof of a building and met up with the Tattooed Boy. Girl from Irish Pub was already seated.

"Y'all I do not feel well," I said as I slumped in a chair.

"You're telling me," she laughed. "I got so drunk last night that I was throwing up until 5 a.m."

I immediately felt better. Funny thing is, we were not out together. She was at another bar with First Baseman re-enacting my night. She even arrived at work at the same time I did.

Another couple arrived, then First Baseman and then the Tattooed Boy. The six of us shared stories of our respective nights out and laughed.

Then Statham teetered in.

He took a seat one chair over from me. He then didn't make eye contact with me for the first 20 minutes he was there. He leaned in to Girl from Irish Pub and whispered something. She whispered something back. I knew he was talking about me; I recognized this behavior from when he did it to me about his ex-girlfriend.

Statham was so worried about being caught with me that he was now denying my very existence at a table for seven. Un-fucking-believable. Who's the bitch in this relationship? It isn't me. I interacted with everybody the same as I normally would, including Statham. Only then did he finally warm up to me.

The Tattooed Boy then asked if anyone would like to move to a second location. I accepted while everyone else ducked out. First Baseman slipped a few dollars in my hand and told me to tip the rooftop guitarist. People stood up from the table. I leaned back and whispered to Statham, "Walk me to my car?"

He grimaced and then accepted.

I waited until we left the building and were alone in the parking lot.

"How mad are you?" I asked. "You understand that it was a misunderstanding on my part, right? That's what I want to convey to you," I said.

"Yeah, but the damage is done," he said. "It's like the accusation of rape: it's harder to clear your name with a rumor like that."

"I took it to you. It was your choice to run with it and tell everyone else about it," I said.

"To be honest, I don't know you well enough to trust you, so I called the people that I've known for years and do trust."

I looked to the ground. It was dark out and the parking lot was near-abandoned. I could hear Queen's "Fat Bottomed Girls" echo from the guitarist back on the rooftop patio. I told Statham that his over-compensation in respects to his non-interaction with me had hurt my feelings. I said that I knew he was trying to protect his ex-girlfriend, but to just remember that I am a person too. It's not fair to treat me like shit because I accepted his advances.

He agreed and apologized, but I knew it wouldn't change anything. "It's just that because of the almost-rumor, I am so afraid of doing anything else; it hasn't even been a month yet. I've been laying low and letting everything die down." He said he respected me for telling him how I felt instead of letting it fester.

"I didn't know you were going to be here tonight," he said.

"Yeah, I figured that."

"I heard you came with the Tattooed Boy."

I tilted my head back and laughed. So that's what Girl from Irish Pub whispered to Statham. "Ridiculous." It was probably the only rumor I've enjoyed so far; let Statham think that I'm highly sought after.

"I don't regret what I did with you, but know that I don't normally do this. You're the only person I hooked up with from the league."

It was just rhetoric to me. Statham says the right things, but his actions of ignoring me were still in the forefront of my mind. Because he's shorter than me, usually I stoop or lean on something when I'm with him. I felt myself arch my back and tower over him.

"You're the only person I've hooked up with as well, despite what you may hear about Clemson, or the Tattooed Boy," I paused, "Or whomever you hear about next week," I added for good measure.

"That's right, the Tattooed Boy is waiting for you," he said. "And Clemson-" Statham cut himself off. "I can't do this. I got to go." And he turned on his heels and walked away.