It’s not quite 9:00am, and Stacy and John have been arguing back and forth for the last half hour, and the exchange has drawn a crowd. Ashley, Bob, and Gunther from IT watch, as Claudia, Deshaun, Smirha, and Greg rubberneck from sales. No one from HR is there. That’s what Ron and Glenda are doing. They’re on security detail.

            “You’ve never even exchanged more than five words with the guy,” Stacy shouts. “How can you honestly say, without a doubt, you know Sven is gay?”

            “We’ve got ten to Sven here,” Ron texts Ashley. She texts back, “What else is new?”

So far, John has asserted that any man, keyword: man, (as Stacy points out in his argument) that dresses in body-length suede pants is really screaming, “I’m a giant fag.”

            “He might as well be holding up one of those ACME signs from the Road Runner cartoons or, shit, what are those things called again?” He taps the fingers of one hand on his desk as he raps the others against his forehead and then shouts, “SANDWICH BOARD!” as the image and name collide in his mind.

            Stacy groans. “And that’s the exact kind of archaic hetero-normative bullshit that has me and everyone else on the other side of the glass ceiling, you ass!”

 “No need to get testy, toots,” he says, wheeling himself over to her desk. But before he can get halfway, Stacy sticks one of her legs out and pushes him back.

            John collides with his office furniture and spins around to face Stacy.

            “I think Stacy maybe has the hots for Sven. What do you guys think?” He motions to the other officemates.

            “I think we should all just mind our business and get back to work,” says Ashley.

            Stacy flashes her a lukewarm smile.

            “I can fight my own battles,” she says to Ashley. Ashley turns red in the face.

            “It doesn’t matter who Sven is behind closed doors,” Stacy says, getting back to the point, “That’s not why human resources hired him. If it was, you would have been fired for being a dick a long time ago, John.”

            John raises his hands in defense. “All I’m saying is, no normal guy would wear clothing like that.”

            “And just what is normal, John?” Stacy fires back. “A five-dollar tie and a ten-percent-off cotton button-down from Kohl’s?”

            The office laughs.

            “There are worse things,” he mutters, staring down at his wardrobe.

            “I think Sven is nice,” says Ashley, smiling approvingly at Stacy.

            Stacy rolls her eyes and tosses her voluminous brunette hair.

            “He holds the door for anyone,” says Pam in reception.

“He makes the best blueberry scones,” says Jim in accounting, “You can’t even tell they’re Vegan.”

            “So, the guy can prop a door and operate an oven,” John chides, “That doesn’t make him a saint. Everybody knows vegans are faggots. Who the hell cares what we eat?”

            “No,” Stacy says, fed up, “It means he’s nice, which is more than anyone can say for you.”

            John laughs. He says, “Whatever.”

            “Don’t you ever wonder what people say about you behind your back, John?” she asks as people begin filing back to their desks.

            “What makes you think anyone says anything behind my back?”

            “You think Sven knows what you’re saying about him right now?”

            John stares down at his desk and then scans the rest of the office. Ashley shoots him a passing glance that’s less than enthused, and perhaps even a little condescending. She says, “Sandwich board,” and walk away shaking her head.

            John turns to Stacy. “I don’t have to answer that,” he says snidely, swiveling around to meet his computer’s gaze and immediately clicking at nothing to appear busy.

            But his clicking stops at the unmistakable sound of Sven’s voice rising over the rows and rows of blue upholstered cubicles, greeting each of his coworkers individually, one at a time, by name, in the shrill and piercingly lippy squeak of a voice John likens to rusty car doors grating.

            Please don’t be wearing suede, he hopes, mercifully. PLEASE don’t be wearing suede. Please, please, please don’t be wearing suede.

            “Karen, how are you!”

            “Gunther. I made that stew you told me about. Marvelous!”

            “Pam, darling, your hair looks gorgeous. New conditioner?”

            About three minutes later, Sven walks right up to John’s desk, red-faced with excitement and a giant smile accenting bright-red suede pants and a red suede vest covering a white cotton button-down with the collar turned up. His hair is tipped and frosted, making his scalp look like a snow-covered mountaintop against the dark contrast of his tan skin.

            “Mooooorning!” Sven sings out as he greets John.

            “It is,” John says back very matter-of-factly. “We’ve got a quick one here!”

            He turns to the rest of the office for reactions, but only a three people hear him, and two of them groan and roll their eyes, the other does their best to ignore him.

            Sven just smiles. “Well, here’s to it being a great day.” Then he scans John quickly, which John can’t ignore. He knows what’s coming.

            “I like your tie,” Sven says stately. “Did you get it at Kohl’s?”

            Ashley turns to look and notices out of the corner of his eye she has a hand cupping her mouth. She’s trying to hold back laughter that’s doing good job of fighting her best efforts.

            John narrows his eyebrows and gnashes his teeth momentarily, then looks back up at Sven standing over him like a walking Dr. Seuss tree.

            “Yes,” he says with a sigh, admitting where he bought the piece of apparel.

            It’s at that moment both Stacy and Ashley lose it and are heard laughing from the other side of the room.

            Sven, oblivious, to what’s taking place, nods and says the tie makes him look cute. John makes to mouth the words, “Thank you,” but the muscles in his mouth fall short and his jaw simply bobs in place.

            Stacy and Ashley snicker even more.

            “Oh, Ashley!” Sven shouts as he lifts his gaze from John to the cubicle down the way. “You look absolutely adorable this morning!”

            John winces as Sven walks away. Sven’s suede pants whisper audibly, swishing, almost like a zipper being worked, as he leaves.

            His reaction is cut short, however, as he watches Sven plant Ashley a polite but passionate kiss on the lips.

            Stacy watches, too, warmly, hand over her mouth, and looks back at John with an expression just begging him to say something; to offer some state-of-the-universe truth like he always does and put into place, in very neat, clever phrases, the way things work and how things are always going to be, but he doesn’t. He can’t. All he finds himself able to do is watch Ashley and Sven talk about their plans for the evening with a sort of glow hovering around them.

The next morning, as Stacy logs on to her computer and turns on her desk lamp, she hears a familiar swish coming down the corridor of cubicles. She turns to greet Sven, but finds John standing at his desk with his arms folded.

Stacy almost can’t believe what she sees.

“They had a sale at Kohl’s,” he says, almost sheepishly, dressed in a giant, red-suede jumpsuit.

Stacy brings both of her hands to her face and laughs. She laughs so hard tears stream down her face. She laughs so hard she hiccups. She says things like, “Oh my,” and “My oh.”

“I can’t wait,” hiccup, “to see what Sven says when he gets in?” she says, wiping her eyes, ululating. “Oh my.”

John swishes as he sits.

“Good,” he grumbles, “I’ll be in the bathroom.”

---

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