Steelhead Brokerage was having a good Monday morning, if still the awful lunge back into five days of the grind. Traffic was light, the dawn view of the Cascades clear, early birds brewed good coffee, and there was none of the sullen resignation of a company in trouble or going down. Jason Villadovich perked along happily with a quarterly report and Hawaiian coffee, while his division partner Valarie Scanlon sulked efficiently.

Kurt Baslin, professionally cheerful and quick, breezed around the corner to Jason’s open cube office, opposite of Valarie’s. “That Heritage report is ready today, right Jason?”

Jason grinned. “Just a few minutes, Kurt.”

Kurt nodded quickly. “How’d it go this weekend?” he asked with an arched brow of mischievousness.

Jason’s smile split to show fine white teeth. “Learned a little Braille,” he said.

Kurt smiled broadly and raised a outreached palm, slapping it down to Jason’s automatically open hand. “My man!” he said.

“Cashmere,” Jason replied easily, Kurt laughing and waving a hand as he walked back to his office. “See you at eleven,” he called back happily, glad that Jason worked at Steelhead.

“What was that about?” Valarie asked wonderingly across the aisle.

“Nothing,” Jason said quickly.

“Jason,” Valarie said firmly. “It was obviously something, Kurt laughed at good news.”

“It was nothing, Valarie,” Jason said with outward calm serenity, inwardly instantly on maximum alert at that tone in her voice.

“Jason,” Valarie repeated with a trace of impatience. “Come on, I want to know.”

“It was just coded dude talk, Valarie, that’s all, nothing,” he said with an acted innocence.

“We are friends, Jason, I want to know,” she repeated.

“I know we’re friends, Valarie,” he said evenly. “Some things are not discussed at work, that’s all,” he said with a airy confidence.

“Oh yeah, not unless it’s in some stupid man-code,” Valarie said impatiently. “We went over this last week, did we not? Would I go whining off to HR at something sexual we would talk about?” she asked.

“No,” he said shortly.

“Would I break our confidence as friends and blab to my co-workers some sexually harassing or incorrect thing you might tell me?”

“No,” he said flatly.

“Isn’t it true that your lack of faith of me in these areas in fact demonstrates some kind of half-assed friendship without trust?”

“Yes,” Jason said, sighing.

Valarie opened he hands. “Well?”

Jason looked at her defiantly. “You’ll think less of me,” he said with quick certainty.

Valarie tilted her head in faint exasperation. “No I won’t, I’m over twenty-one,” she said.

“Yes you will,” he said.

“No, I will not,” she said a little louder.

Jason shook his head. “Yes, we did go over this last week, and when I finally did tell you you damn well did think less of me,” he said strongly.

Valarie rolled her eyes to the heavens. “Yes, it was such an edifying experience to learn tuning that woman’s engine in facilities had nothing to do with her car,” she said, shaking her head.

Jason opened a hand. “See?”

“Ja-son,” Valarie replied earnestly. “It was the context of how I heard it, remember? I’m no prude,” she said defiantly. “I thought you were being chivalrous, that you were talking about doing something nice for her and car, not on your ability to bring her to multiple orgasms,” she said.

“So you say,” Jason sighed, wondering how he could get out of this.

“We’re friends, Jason,” trying a warming tone in her voice.

“Amanda Marcotte is right, Billy Crystal in When Harry Met Sally is full of shit, men and women can be friends,” Jason said wearily. “I know.” He slightly worked his head to a side in one of his tics. “You’re not a morning person, Valarie, I really don’t think it’s a good idea,” he said dismissively.

“Low blow,” Valarie replied with instant hurt. “Questioning mental ability is a tactic of mean desperation, and you know I’ve been working on it,” she said with a little more pain, secretly very glad he had crossed the hurt line. Jason tried to make up for it when it happened, every single time.

Jason looked at the walls in quick succession, as if they were crowding him. “Fine,” he said at last in exasperation. “I protest. It’s meaningless dude talk but you will think less of me,” he said firmly.

Valarie looked at him with slight affection, waiting.

Jason looked at his printer. “Not a good idea,” he said, as if the machine could magically stop the explanation.

“Jason,” Valarie said with a serene exasperation. “For fuck’s sake, spit it out,” she said.

Jason sighed with a few short nods, finally looking at her with an open honesty. “Okay,” he said. He shook his head again. “Well, many women have these little dots on their nipple areola’s, they’re exactly like raised Braille dots.” Jason worked his head to the side again and looked at her a little abashedly. “If you learn her Braille, well, obviously there was some nipple exposure,” he said.

Valarie stared him with her mouth slightly open, amusement and incredulity flitting across her face. She finally threw up her hands. “Where!” she demanded.

Jason looked back her, saying nothing.

“Where do you get this shit?” she asked wonderingly. “My god, the level of objectification there…” She placed her hands on her hips. “And cashmere?” she asked acidly.

Jason squirmed. “Fine--” he began.

“Wool!” she finished with an incredulous disgust. “Jesus Christ, it would have to be that after the Braille nipple-reading.”

Jason sighed, looking at the carpet. “A terrible idea, and you do think less of me,” he said resignedly.

Valarie raised her chin. “No I don’t,” she said as plainly as she could.

“Yes, you do,” Jason said a little more firmly.

“Nope,” she said nonchalantly.

“Valarie,” Jason plainly. “Objectification, boastful male conquest, code-talk to exclude females, you don’t approve and of course you think less of me.”

Valarie looked at him thoughtfully. “Some juvenile sexual exhibitionism in there too, don’t you think?” she asked.

Jason looked at his clock. “Certainly,” he said with resignation.

Valarie flipped a hand to the air. “I don’t think less of you, and you did tell me.”

“Yes,” he replied. “I did not want to, but we’re friends,” he said firmly.

“Yes,” she said herself. “We are friends.” Valarie quickly wheeled in her chair back to her keyboard. “I’ve got my own stuff to finish before eleven.”

____________________

Catherine Trevor, a middle-aged, supremely capable and happily serene admin that every good company seemed to have was pleased to see Kurt Baslin stride down the corridor, so very glad this handsome young black man worked for their company.

“Morning, Mr. Trevor,” she said with a perfectly mocking formality.

Kurt smiled back. “Morning, Catherine,” he said, pausing beside her cube. He slightly jerked his head toward the back of the office where, once again, muted animated chatter and gesticulating arms where the norm in that small division.

“They’re in love, aren’t they?”

“Those two?” Catherine said. “Oh ya.”

Kurt nodded. “How long before they admit it?”

“Those two?” she asked, enjoying saying the phrase again. She sighed and looked at her hands. “Maybe too long,” she said.

Kurt nodded. “Yeah,” he said, turning on a heel and walking on to begin his day.