Stacey and Julie never went hiking, but I didn’t find that out till Stacey came into work at twelve-thirty. However, I did give Julie the whisky, in a mod little gift bag tufted with purple paper. I got it on her desk before she arrived–I can always count on Maddox to get us there early–then shakily changed out of my cycling togs in the bathroom. Changed, I checked the schedule: Julie on the desk, I with the pick list. So Julie was out of the workroom, and if I could get the pick list printed and get out there.... I wasn’t eager to see Julie; I was sure I’d done a stupid, inappropriate thing, and I didn’t want to be confronted with "What the hell is this about?" But I was still at my desk when Julie strode up to it and effused, "Thank you so much!" her eyes sparkling. "You didn’t have to do that. That was so nice of you!" I don’t think I managed to stammer a word, but just grinned, and probably blushed . "I’ll have to save this for a special occasion." I chuckled meekly. She’d reacted as I’d only dreamed she would, and I couldn’t have been more embarrassed about it. It was an excruciating day from that point on. I was trapped. I couldn’t speak to her, could barely look her in the eye. The jig is up, I told myself. The Fool has trumped the Wise Man.
Why I was believing this, I don’t know. Shouldn’t I have been high on that face she presented me? I went away with the pick list and cart glad that I hadn’t said something stupid, but each following minute brought a new charming rejoinder to Julie’s gratitude and a new regret for leaving it unspoken. I saw myself in her eyes as an awkward, developmentally arrested dolt that she couldn’t possibly love. For most of the day I beat myself up like this.
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