Secret Comfort of Women: Cathy

Adrienne


We have a secret, we women. We have, through the ages, been able
to comfort the men in our lives. No matter how far we go
professionally and how much respect we demand and command, we
will always have that secret. We will always know the secret of
getting close enough to offer comfort, yet retain our distance
lest we upset the delicate balance of our roles. It is bred into
our bones, engraved on our hearts, and it gives us our strength.
We are the nurturers. And sometimes even the strongest men need
the softest of touches...

Sam is afraid of me. I make sure of it. Too many men like him
get spoiled by being worshipped by their staff. Sam is just too
good looking, too smart and too sweet not to get spoiled by too
much petting. So I don't pet him. I terrify him instead.

Just because I terrify him doesn't mean I don't care. I care for
and about him in my own way. It just isn't in me to do so
openly.

Sam was looking particularly lost this week. He reminded me of a
puppy left outside in the rain to fend for himself. I had to
harden my heart; Sam is not some kind of fragile being who needs
to be kept wrapped up in tissue paper to keep him safe. He is as
tough as he needs to be.

I found out easily enough what the problem was. His father
cheated on his mother for nearly three decades. Obviously, Sam's
dad is nowhere near as nice as Sam. Or as intelligent.

"Where the hell is it?" I heard Sam yelling. I usually ignore
the yelling that goes on in this office. With Josh's constant
shouts for Donna and Toby's temper tantrums, I just tune it out.
I don't put up with that kind of crap from anyone.

Still, Sam raising his voice is unusual, unless he's in a meeting
with Toby on a rampage. So I casually saunter into his office,
ready to help find whatever it is Sam has lost.

Sam was standing behind his desk, lifting every bit of paper on
it and making a right royal mess out of his careful stacks.

"What are you looking for?" I asked him. He didn't stop his
frantic search and I could see tears of frustration leaking out
of the corners of his eyes.

"My stapler," Sam muttered. "How in hell can I get this
finished and in the right order if I can't find my stapler?"

I went over and looked with him. The stapler was right where it
always is, next to the telephone. I reached for it at the same
time he did and our heads collided. He stepped back and rubbed
at the sore spot, looking even more like a lost puppy. Without
thinking, I tiptoed and kissed the spot, just like my mother used
to do for my bumps and bruises.

Sam looked wildly startled. I picked up the stapler and handed
it to him.

"Cathy, I...," he stuttered. I just looked at him, watching him
founder in confusion.

"All better?" I asked.

"Um. Yes. Yes, it is," he replied. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

Sam started to smile.

"No, I mean it. Don't mention it. To anyone," I warned. Sam
laughed. He was laughing at my expense, but I let it pass. A
small price to pay to hear that laugh. I glared, but my heart
wasn't in it.

I made sure that everyone kept out of Sam's hair for the rest of
the week. Leo; Josh; Toby; CJ; everyone. They know better than
to cross me. Even Sam's afraid of me. I make sure of that.

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