Chapter One: Nola

Opening chapter to a novel.

The first time she went to the breakroom for her morning coffee, Nola realized she had to find another job as soon as possible. Everything from the sticky, blank white walls that seemed to sweat with generations of evaporated coffee to the conspicuous bottle of Tums with a long overdue expiration date in the corner next to the percolator seemed to groan with aching permanence. She watched with numb horror as two old men - neither a day under seventy - argued over who was to drink the swill left in one of the coffee pots before a new one could be brewed. She noiselessly slipped in next to them and began to prepare the next pot when one of them took hold of her shoulder, and with a lascivious twinkle in his eye told her that he'd get it. Nola had to repress a shiver as the cold, wrinkled hand gripped her, though she felt her nose twist up in unchecked repugnance. She took a step back, breaking the old man's grasp, forced a smile, and backed out of the breakroom, figuring she could come back in twenty minutes and get her coffee without being molested. A sign above an old fiberboard table upon which sat an ancient-looking microwave and even older toaster caught her eye: "Please use ONLY ONE (1) of these appliances at a time."

 

The whole goddamn building is falling apart, she thought to herself as she trudged across the green speckled carpet back to her cubicle, her coffee mug dangling empty and limp from her right index finger.

 

About half an hour later, with a fresh cup of Cheap and Tasteless sludge perched on her desk, Nola picked up the manual she was to rewrite and thumbed her way through the major headings. A hot pink Post-It note had been slapped far too enthusiastically on the front with a "due by COB Friday" written in the most sickeningly cheerful script she'd ever seen. Her supervisor had been in a different chapter of Nola's sorority, which Nola suspected factored in her favor during the hiring process, though now she was beginning to regret bringing it up in the interview. A crunching sound came from behind the cubicle divider; when she leaned back, a chipper-looking young blonde with a fishbone braid and nude-colored Jessica Simpson pumps was chomping on celery sticks while entering timesheets into what appeared to be an online database. Nola glanced at the clock on the wall (no doubt standard issue office supply clock that ticked louder when you were trying to get actual work done), and was slightly sickened to see that it was only 9:45. She leaned forward and tried to focus on the manual instead of the bizarre eating habits of the rabbity data entry clerk next door and the loud clock which pounded away the seconds with migraine-inducing ticks.

 

“I see you found the coffee.” Nola’s chin slipped off her hand with a jolt at the sonorous male voice which interrupted the incessant ticking. She turned slowly in her swivel chair to see a surprisingly young, rakish, and disarmingly attractive man leaning against the wall of her cubicle, his hip jutting into the partition as he folded his arms in front of him. He looked south Asian, maybe Pakistani, but he spoke with a natural American accent. His warm brown eyes were framed by square, modern-looking glasses, and his curly, jet-black hair only added to the general appeal of his face, with its square jaw and perfectly manicured stubble. His cologne was intoxicating. Nola, realizing that she was staring, grabbed her coffee and held it up, mentally scrambling to find something clever to say. She hadn’t expected to see a man her age here. He smiled and leaned in, dropping his voice to a low murmur. “No one expects you to drink that, by the way. We usually have one of the interns bring in Starbucks.” He pulled out his smart phone and began to text rapidly. “What’s your poison?”

 

“It’s okay, really,” Nola assured him, though she could already feel the swill churning in her stomach. “I’m fine, but thank you.”

 

The man tipped his head and arched an eyebrow. “Come on, now, newbie; don’t feel like you have to suffer your first day! Let me guess,” he looked Nola up and down, affecting a comical narrowing of the eyes. She felt naked: naked and kind of turned on. She slapped herself internally as he smiled again triumphantly. “Soy latte, double shot, annnnnd "” he paused, pretending to scrutinize her further, “I wanna say whipped cream but I’m gonna say you take a Splenda.”

 

Nola, having regained her lexicon and a semblance of wit, retorted wryly, “Ahh, so close! Alas, no cigar.”

 

“So you do take whipped cream!”

 

“No. I don’t drink espresso. And I prefer whole milk.” A look of dramatically feigned disappointment flashed across his face, but even in jest, Nola didn’t have the heart to totally take the wind out of his sails. She tilted her head slightly. “But you were right about the Splenda.”

 

He chortled. “So I’m not a total hack! Excellent!” He started to text furiously, and when he sent it he dropped his phone casually into the pocket of his trousers, took a large stride into the cubicle, and held out his hand. “My name’s Aamir.”

 

“Nola,” she replied, shaking his hand. It was big and warm. She didn’t want to let go.

 

“Nice to meet you, Nola.” He smiled and turned to walk out of her cubicle. He began to walk down the corridor when he called back over his shoulder. “Your coffee will be here in twenty minutes!”

 

“Thank "” Nola began, but he had already turned a corner and disappeared. “You,” she muttered to herself, turning back to the manual on her desk. She felt a massive grin spreading across her face. She shook her head. “Aamir,” she mouthed to herself, pondering the name.

 

Sure enough, twenty minutes later a sweaty, nervous-looking intern raced into her cubicle. “Nola?” he breathed heavily. She nodded, and he pulled a paper cup out of the cardboard tray and placed it gingerly on her desk before running back out, ostensibly to finish his rounds. Nola picked it up, looking at her name scrawled in black Sharpie on the side of the cup. She took a sip: café au lait, one Splenda. Perfect.

 

“Did I get it right?” Aamir had resumed his position leaning against the partition, the corner of his mouth turned up expectantly as he looked at Nola.

 

“Spot on,” she replied, surprised at her own suavity. “So other than being the resident coffee guru, what is it exactly that you do around here?”

 

Aamir shrugged casually, unfolding his arms and shoving his hands into his pockets. “This and that, right now I’m in the middle of a goat rope with one of the execs on the tenth floor who don’t understand the concept of a case-sensitive password. That,” he looked around, making sure no one was around to hear him before he muttered “a*****e tried about ten times to login with the caps lock on and triggered the system to wipe the entire drive.” He stopped and grinned at Nola, who was becoming entranced by the sound of his voice. “And you probably don’t give two s***s about what I do, so I’ll leave you to your work.” He moved to turn away, but Nola, still not entirely sure who this man was, called after him.

 

“I do, actually!”

 

Aamir turned around. “You do, what?”

 

“Give two s***s about your job,” she said, a touch too loudly if the indignant glare from an old woman across the corridor was anything to go by. Aamir chuckled to himself and came back.

 

“Off to a great start already,” he smirked. “But hey, a couple of us are grabbing drinks at the Blue Monkey after work, you should come.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” she replied. Nola had no idea what or where the Blue Monkey was, but she wasn’t about to turn down a drink with a man who correctly guessed her coffee order (even if it was only on the second try).

Author's Note

Is Nola too much of a Mary Sue? How about Aamir? What could I do to flesh them out a bit more?

Reviews

[Danomaly1983]

Great first chapter, Hilary :)
I wouldn't say Nola is a Mary Sue, since she, in your words, has "a lexicon and a semblance of wit". Aamir does seem to sweep her off her feet with his confidence and not to mention "sonorous" voice. As the chapter states, this is Nola's first day at work, so that's probably why she appears a little bit lost.
I like the descriptions of the worn-down restroom, with the bad coffee and the ancient kitchen stuff (which can only be used one at the time). The old man who grabbed her in the beginning of the chapter was well written; Nola clearly did not like it, and it showed very well too.
The room where her cubicle was doesn't sound like a place I'd want to work. The "migraine-inducing ticks" from the clock was bad enough.

It is a short chapter, so the reader doesn't get to know much about Nola and Aaamir. He did invite her out for drinks after work, so there we'll hopefully get to know more about them. She is clearly into him.

Well written, Hilary :)