Open Writing

During the morning coffee break on the first day of the sales conference Cosgrove was approached at his corner table by Kirsty, from head office.

He half rose, out of politeness.

'No, no,' Kirsty said, 'please don't get up.'

She sat down opposite him and took a sip of her coffee.

Then she said, 'You were with that cheap bitch last night, weren't you?'

He was startled. 'But surely,' he stammered, 'I was ... er... with you.'

'No, you were not,' she said.

She patted her neat blond hair and went on, 'I suppose she got you to sleep with her, didn't she?'

'Well, as a matter of -'

'I thought so. I could have told you what she was like.'

Cosgrove decided to play the game, if it was a game.

'Actually,' he said, 'I've even forgotten her name.'

She focused her large blue eyes on him. 'It's Kirsty,' she said, 'and I am Christine, as you must know.'

In fact he didn't. The only name he knew was Kirsty - from the moment she'd introduced herself to him in the bar last night.

Christine took another sip of her coffee. For the next few minutes she told Cosgrove about Kirsty's insatiable appetites and reckless exploits.

Others moved closer but they couldn't hear what she was saying. They probably thought she was talking strategy.

'Of course,' she said, 'I'm not like her at all, am I?'

She seemed really stern at that moment.

'No, you're not,' he said. In his eyes she was now the very pattern of a head office executive. 'Please meet me in the bar tonight,' he said.

'Well,' she murmured, looking less stern, 'I don't suppose it will do any harm ... but we mustn't let that cheap bitch spoil it, must we?'