I slowly opened the door, calling out. “Mr Doyle, it’s me. Are you… oh.”

He was passed out on the floor. It wasn’t a surprise really, but I had no idea how he got the blow-up children’s pool past me into his office.

“What? Huh?” he sat up startled. He glanced at his watch, still holding a drink. “It’s still early.”

It was eleven in the morning. He slammed the drink back, and threw the glass through the open window. My mouth dropped open.

That was new.

Stretching he mumbled, “That’s okay though Jacinta. I feel fan-bloody-tastic.”

“It’s Alendra sir. You weren’t even close that time; I’ve been working for you for…” I drifted off, finally taking stock of the situation. “Are you wearing a coconut-shell bikini?”

“What?” He looked down at his chest. “Huh. Looks like it.”

I sighed. It was going to be one of those days.

I had been working for Mr Doyle for the last eighteen months. Eighteen long months, and during that time we’d come to an understanding. I wouldn’t spring an intervention on him, and he’d try to wear pants. Sure he didn’t always keep up his end of the bargain, and I had to treat him like an attention-seeking man-child, but slowly he’d grown on me. He’s a brilliant man, if a little lazy and self destructive, and he has a beautiful mind when it isn’t pickled like a foetus in a jar. He has the ability to take olilolo to the top, if only he’d sober up and wrest control from that lecherous Stu.

“Want some prawns?”

I snapped out of my thoughts and looked down at Doyle. He was gesturing at me with a less than impressive looking shellfish. I could see more of them floating around him in the water.

“Uh… no thanks. Not today.”

“Your loss,” he tossed it out the window.

“Why did you do that?” I stammered.

“I’m allergic. You know that.”

I rubbed my temples, longing to be at my yoga class.

“Okay Mr Doyle, fair enough. It’s time to get up.”

“Get up? What on earth for? It’s November. Stu’s doing that silly challenge thing, and you and I can sit back and relax for a while. Now grab yourself a piña colada, and get back to doing nothing.”

“But Mr Doyle, it’s…”

“No buts… there’s plenty. Now where’s my Cold Chisel CD? Cheap wine and a three day growth…”

His singing was always grating.

“The challenge is over!” I spat out. “It’s December 3rd. You were meant to have had an article in by now.”

“December third?” He sat up suddenly, a wave of water emptying onto the carpet. “Shit, I missed the Pearl Jam concert!”

“Pearl Jam? That’s what worries you right now?”

“Damn right,” he muttered reaching for the rum bottle. “I bought these babies for five hundred bucks on eBay! You know how long it took me to filtch that much coin from Stu?”

“Well, sir, you have to have an article in… today. It won’t write itself”

He peered into the empty bottle, tipping it up trying to get the last drops into his mouth. “What? You’re right. Why didn’t I think of it before. It won’t write itself. You’re a genius!”

He jumped out of the wading pool and embraced me. My brand new pant-suit was ruined.

“Right,” he said triumphantly. “I’m off to the bottle shop.”

I nearly lost my composure then. “The bottle shop?” I asked rather impatiently. “What about your article?”

“What article?” he looked at me dumbfounded.

My head started to spin. Had he finally lost it? I couldn’t afford to lose my job because my boss had cracked.

My face must have betrayed my disbelief. Laughing he said, “I’m just kidding Alyssa. I remember the article. it’ll be done today… because you’re going to write it.”

“Me, sir?”

I never considered myself the creative type, more a nurturing soul, but I thought it could be a rewarding experience. Good for the CV at the very least, and Mr Doyle had that determined look on his face. I knew there was no swaying him on this.

“Are you sure?”

“Yep. Never been so sure of anything in my life. Now, I’m off to the bottle shop!”

“Uh, sir.” I interjected. “One last thing before you go.”

“Anything,” he said with a cheerful grin.

“Put some pants on.”

olilolo has been on hiatus now for several months. It was meant to be a time of reflection. Where we could post articles outside the office. In our homes. On our travels. A time spent with family and friends. Meeting new people. Meeting you, the reader.

The olilolo team were to go their separate ways and find themselves. There was no guarantee that they would come back together.

Disco Stu travelled the world in search of a country that would allow him to marry his 14 year old bride. Occasionally a news story would pop up on the BBC or Bangkok Telegraph or Johannesburg Press; among many, many others; before the company lawyers had it quickly buried. I had them pinned on my wall as a keepsake.

Peter moved interstate to pursue a career in hentai. Last I heard from him he was crying down the phone-line, muttering about his poor innocent kitty-love, the tentacle cocks and vaginal teeth. I think he’s enjoying it.

Ben… well Ben never came into the office much being semi-retired. His motorcycle stuntman act got shunted off the main stage though by some roller skating chimps. He tried to get back into pole position by performing his tricks while a Rhesus Monkey, clinging for dear life, made and handed out balloon animals to the crowd. Simply put it didn’t end well, but he’s expected to make a full recovery with only minimal scarring to his face, and the children watching.

Bruce spent time in Paris, quickly becoming known as the creepy-hairy-foreigner as he would wander the streets, decrying the end of the world in poorly accented French. He garnered quite a following, and held his pantsless mass at dawn beneath the Arc de Triomphe… much to the disgust of authorities, locals, and even a few of his more weak-stomached devotees.

Me? Well with a baby at home and a wife who’s given up the last little amount of work she ever did, I stayed at the office. With most of the staff on indefinite leave I had the place mostly to myself. Shuffling about cubicle to cubicle, office to office, rifling through people’s possessions aimlessly. I was master of all I surveyed.

Until today…
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My eyes shot open.

Where am I? I looked around the room fervidly. This wasn’t the office! There was a nagging recognition in the back of my head but I couldn’t quite work it out. I lay back down trying to ease the rising panic but it didn’t work. I looked over and saw I was not alone. I nearly lept from the bed.

As my eyes focussed it finally hit me. She was my wife, and it was my bedroom.

Huh.

No wonder it wasn’t familiar. I got up and stretched. My body ached. It had been a while since I had slept in a bed. I quietly made my way out of the room, trying not to wake her. It was easier this way.

I made myself some breakfast, a gin and tonic, and got in the car. The sun was excruciating but my sunnies eased the pain.
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(Part 1 found here - or scroll down the blog a bit you lazy bastards!)

I almost… liked it. Being first to a meeting. Not having to try to subtly sneak in, hoping no one would notice.

I was always late. I had tried to make it funny at first… commando rolling to my chair. Slowly raising my eyes above desk level. My pupils darting back and forth in my camouflaged face. Dirty strip of red cloth tied around my head. It was a lot of effort but it lightened the mood. People had laughed. After the seventh time though the laughter was gone, replaced by coughs and uncomfortable silence.

I strolled around the board room, peering up at the portraits of my fellow olilolo’lians. I stopped in front of Stu’s and shuddered. The eyes followed you accusingly.

I sat down in my chair at one end of the table, slowly allowing myself to sink into it’s warm embrace. I wondered how long the others would be. My thoughts wandered to the beautiful bottle of scotch in my office, and the sweet oblivion it would bring. I lent back and closed my eyes, steadying myself for the meeting to come, calming myself for…

Startled I opened my eyes. Bruce was standing above me. I looked around the room and found everyone sitting down, staring at me.
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I lifted my glass to my mouth but nothing came out. Confused I looked at it closely. Empty. When did that happen? I rose from my desk to pour myself another scotch, but I was forced down again. My legs weren’t responding to my wishes. Probably been sitting too long, I thought.

Using the desk for leverage I slowly made my way over to the liquor cabinet. I lifted the decanter, but stopped when my eyes focussed on it. Empty.

“Bastard!” I exclaimed, thumping the wall with my fist.

My new assistant opened the door slowly and asked timidly, “Are you okay Mr Doyle?”

I looked up at her in shock. Why was she still here? Hadn’t she gone home yet? That sort of dedication was scary.

“Amanda. What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you have left hours ago?” I felt embarrassed for her. Did she think she needed to be dismissed before she left?

Her face was full of that worried glare most of my assistants got before they stopped turning up. “Uhhh…” She seemed uneasy. “It’s Alendra, Mr Doyle, and I did leave… Yesterday. It’s 9.30 in the morning.”

I swung around and reefed open the blinds covering the window by my desk. Sickening sunlight burst into the room. Outside the city was alive with people going about their morning. My head throbbing, I quickly closed the blinds again.

“So it is,” I said making my way to the couch clasping my temples. “Of course. I got in early and just forgot. Working too hard and what not.” I was slurring my words, and I knew it.

“Of course Mr Doyle.” She sounded unconvinced. “Is there anything I can get for you. A coffee?”

I sat, thinking for a second. A coffee was tempting but it wasn’t quite what I needed.

“Thanks Alita but no. I think I’m going out for awhile.”

“Alendra, and you have a meeting scheduled at 11.”

“Meeting?” I racked my brain, then it hit me. The special presentation dick-features Stu had called. “Of course, yes. That meeting. I’ll be back before then. Don’t you worry.”

“Yes sir,” she said scurrying out of the room. I grabbed my sunnies and wallet and headed out behind her.

***

As I stepped out of the lift on the ground floor, I was hit again by the full force of natural light. I donned my sunglasses quickly. They helped, but not much.

I made my way down to the closest bottle shop. The owners face lit up when he saw me. You could almost see the dollar signs in his eyes. I grunted hello, grabbed the closest bottle I could grasp and shoved money in his direction before stumbling out again. I think it was a fifty, could have been a hundred. Whatever he didn’t come out looking for more. That’s all I cared about.

Back at the lift I stopped. Now how to get it up to my office?

It wasn’t that I couldn’t have alcohol in my office. As a co-founder and equal partner in olilolo I could do what I bloody like… but Disco Stu had been going on and on about my drinking lately. Seems he thinks it was affecting my work and bringing down the rest of the office. Something about how morale and excessive vomiting were mutually exclusive or some shit. Personally I think he’s just being a nancy-girl… but I was sick of hearing about it so lately I’d been sneaking it up so no saw it.

I’d tried many methods to varying degrees of success. Sneaking it up in a coke bottle was a good idea. Sneaking it up in an large hat was not (seems I don’t have very good balance). Waste of money that one.

I frowned thinking of the last attempt. I had to pay the homeless guy who hangs around outside the building to mind my grog, while I rushed up to my office and lowered a basket down by a massive rope. Giggling to myself, I slowly drew it up. It was a lot of effort but it was genius. I was the sneaky master, and Stu was none the wiser… until someone on one of the lower floors freaked out, called security and they burst into my office. In shock, naturally, I had released the rope and the beautifully malted liquid plummeted to its bitter death. The sight of the homeless guy far below, sucking up the remnants off the footpath brought a tear to my eye.

I sighed. Of course if I was smart I would buy it after everyone had left the office. By then however I’d be half way through the baby I was holding right now and would either be hitting the town or, maybe, heading home to see the wife. Whichever it was, I wouldn’t be doing enough thinking to nut out that complex idea. So I’d be in the same situation again tomorrow…

Bugger it, I thought. Let tomorrow Doyle deal with that one. Today Doyle has problems of his own.

As I was considering different locations in my body to stash the goods, I had a brain wave. Taking out my phone I called the only person in the building who had to help me.

The phone clicked as she picked it up. “Alexandra!” I nearly screamed in desperation down the phone.

“Mr Doyle? Its Alen…”

“I need you! Come down to the foyer on the ground floor… and bring your hand bag.”

I hung up before she could answer. I paced back and forth in front of the lifts, brooding. If Peter and Bruce were real friends I could call on them, but it seems for once they were on Stu’s side.

As the lift doors opened I took her into a deep embrace. “Oh thank you!!”

Silence.

Slowly I let go of her. Her eyes were filled with fear. I wouldn’t be seeing her tomorrow, I thought.

“Mr Doyle. Why am I here?”

“What? Oh Right. I need you to take this up to my office in your hand bag,” I said shoving the bottle into her hands. “I’ll be up in a few minutes. Don’t want to make it too obvious.”

Without saying a word she took the bottle and hurried back into the lift.

I paced again, and considered heading out to get a kebab but in the end impatience got me and not a few minutes after she left I pressed for the lift.

I reached my floor and charged over. The feeling of heading back into my office was like ecstasy. My assistant tried to jump up and stop me but I pushed her aside… until I quickly noticed the bottle was no where to be seen. I turned around and found Anita standing in the door looking sheepish.

“Sir, your 11 o’clock is going to start in a few minutes. I will see you after it.”

Normally I would have been driven to rage, but after the fallout of the last meeting I thought it best to heed her advice. I could learn to not hate her.

I nodded determinedly, and said “Then grab me a coffee Amelie, and make it strong… and make it Irish, because I’m going to need it!”

To be continued (here) – Next time the meeting.