Not really a romance, but something along the lines of a women's magazine.
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"I just don't believe it!"
"Gerald is gay!"
Just one week since Carl's advice the rumour fairy has turned Gerald from crown prince to crown mince.
"No way!" I exclaim, "I mean, he can't be."
Sam checks left and right before leaning forward, exposing that awful, flabby cleavage, "Well" she begins, "apparently, and this is just what I've heard mind you, Gerald the ladies man is just a front for Gerald the man's man."
She pauses for effect and my mouth belatedly remembers to form an exaggerated "O", "You're kidding?"
"I just wish I was" she says, theatrically, "what a waste, eh?"
I nod, stifling a giggle, and gesture for the new, self appointed office "sexpert" to continue, "They found some flyers for "Camp David" in his desk drawer during a security check-"
"Is that a gay club or something?" I interrupt, still relishing the feel of the five flyers in my hand as I accepted them from the not-so-gay bouncer last Monday night.
Sam nods, catching a breath, "Unbelievable isn't it? Anyway, when they checked his company phone records they found all these numbers to gay chat lines 'n stuff. I heard he ran up Â£100 in a week."
"So what's going to happen to him?" I ask, knowing, despite his protestations of innocence, that he'll pay the bill and accept the inevitable caution. As for being "gay", well, that's just a crime against his ego isn't it?
Sam shrugs, "Dunno, but he hasn't turned up for work today; phoned in sick. There'll be a lot of disappointed ladies at the summer bash on Saturday, I'll bet."
"Suppose so." I agree, knowing that I won't be one of them.
I must admit, I'd forgotten about the company do. I might even turn up this year, assuming I can convince Carl to come; though I doubt that will pose any problems the way we're going.
"I can't believe he phoned in sick," I say, "must be some truth in it then?"
Or is his ego more fragile than I thought?
Sam shrugs and turns back to her keyboard, an indication that she's squeezed the last drop from the gossip lemon.
Donning a furtive victory smile, I do the same. Who's having the last laugh now, Gerald?