Dear Valentina

Dear Valentina,

Thank you for the Samaritans brochure, helpline number and wristband.

Your concern is appreciated.

Janet.

Valentina and I met on a work induction course. When Valentina suggested we escape early to get a drink, I accepted, thinking it was a kind offer from one newbie to another.

It was not a bar I had been to before. It was quite dark and the walls were painted bordello scarlet and gold. Hanging above the bar was a portrait of a reclining naked lady. Moody black and white photographs of shirtless firemen adorned the walls.

The barman was broad shouldered, square jawed, flat nosed, sporting the jet black hair of an Apache warrior and the eye make-up of a Pharaoh. This combination gave the effect of an Easter Island statue head sitting on top of a beer fridge.

I ordered a Tanqueray gin and tonic.

“We make our gin,” the rectangular shaped bar tender grunted.

“Any gin is fine. May I have it in a tall glass with a lime please, rather than a lemon.”

“Only got lemons,” he snapped and handed me a pint of gin.

“Ah,” I said. “When I said a tall glass I meant…”

“Ice?” He said and dumped a handful into the glass. “Fify five quid.”

“We have a misunderstanding over the size of pour…” I began.

“Fifty five quid,” he said beckoning to the bouncer. I handed him my credit card. He rang up the purchase, pointed to his eyes and then to me.

“No more trouble,” he shouted after me as I skulked across to where Valentina sat waiting.

“Well,” she said eying my drink. “Frugal.”

“I got off on the wrong foot with the barman,” I explained. “This should see me for the rest of the night.”

I took a sip. The home brewed gin had a kick like Cristiano Ronaldo. When my eyes stopped watering I blinked fast. No, still seeing it.

“Valentina,” I began. “Is this a themed bar?” Or had we strayed into the red light district, Scantily clad young women were adorned around the bar with strapping young men in leather trousers and open shirts. A number of the men and women appeared to favour liquid eye liner.

Valentina laughed. “I’m meeting my daughter here in an hour.”

Gosh. Very different from the relationship I have with my mother.

“She’s a dom,” said Valentina casually.

“A dom?” I asked once I stopped choking on gin.

“Dominatrix,” said Valentina. ‘You know BDSM. Bondage, discipline, fishnets, whips…”

“Your daughter?” I asked. “She uh…”

“Disciplines men severely,” says Valentina. “And women too, but mainly men.”

I took a gulp of my gin. And another.

“Isn’t that a little dangerous?” I asked finally.

“She checks for syphilis regularly so no harm no foul. There are perks in it for me too. She makes her current sub mow my lawn and do the gardening to earn her regard. My petunias are flourishing …”

I gulped down half a pint of gin. As Valentina’s lips moved all I heard was Bananarama as my brain tried to process what she was saying without success as 60% proof gin drunk swiftly from a pint glass stunned my neurons.

 “Na na na na. Hey hey hey Goodbyeeeeee…”

Was “mow my lawn” a euphemism?

“Luckily leatherwork is a hobby of mine,” said Valentina. “I make the collars…”

My glass was near empty and the world was spinning. In my internal juke box Bananarama had moved on to The Kingsman. “Louie Louii, oh no, me gotta go Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, baby…”

“Gotta go,” I choked out.

“You must come over for a barbeque,” Valentina said. “You can meet Lexie. I can probably persuade her sub to mow your lawn too.”

I swayed towards what I thought was the door and met the bartender. He rolled his eyes.

“This way,” he said shooing me in the opposite direction.

I somersaulted down the steps, threw up outside the bar and woke up some hours later in the mulberry bush outside my house.

                                                         #

Dear Valentina

Thank you so much for inviting me to your family barbeque and making me feel so very welcome.

I apologize for leaving so abruptly. Thank you for understanding that my sobriety is my number one priority..

I hope we can do this again sometime.

Janet.

The bare-chested young man wearing a leather collar gave away the location of Valentina’s barbeque. He was pushing a mower up and down the lawn chained by the collar to a washing line.

“Good afternoon,” I trilled in a broad minded tone.

The young man stopped and squinted at me. I gave him a friendly wave and tentatively he waved back.

“Oi, back to work you,” A long legged young woman sprinted over and gave him a sharp smack with a cane.

“Yes mistress,” he mumbled and returned to pushing his hand mower.

Not a euphemism, I was pleased to note. He was indeed mowing a lawn. And by hand mower I meant exactly that, no double entendre intended.

“If he’s good I might let him use the strimmer later,” said the flame haired beauty I took to be Valentina’s daughter Lexie. She was a stunning girl in her early twenties. Her long legs were encased in fishnet stockings teamed with a tailored tuxedo jacket. “Welcome to the suburbs.”

A man in a Haiwaiian shirt who I took to be Valentina’s husband Phil was barbequing. He gave me a convivial wave. Lexie introduced me to neighbors Beatrice and Roger, a middle aged couple with a habit of finishing one another’s sentences.

Valentina was arranging the entertainment, but Lexie welcomed me warmly and left me with Beatrice and Roger while she saw to the gardener.

Roger poured a glass of red wine and I began to relax. I wondered why I had been so nervous. Valentina was a free spirit, and her daughter had chosen an interesting life style but I told myself I needed to loosen up. Just not with a pint of gin this time. I took a half a sip of pinot and appreciated the complexity of the grape.

“They’re wonderful neighbors, Phil and Valentina,” Beatrice was saying. “Just…”

“Wonderful,” said Roger. “At least now they’re back on track again. After all that…”

“Odd business,” said Beatrice.

Oh dear.

“But it was all the fault of Phil’s brain hemorrhage. All that unpleasantness…”

“With the photos…”

I took a brave sip. “Photos?”

“Porn,” said Roger.

“Creative artistic posing of Victorian ladies," added Beatrice. "Art."

"But a little bit pornographic," said Roger. "Valentina was not pleased."

“But turned out it was all because of the pressure on his brain from the hemorrhage.”

“Isn’t the brain a mystery,” said Roger.

“But everything’s sorted now. One quick spinal tap and Phil’s back to normal.”

“Brilliant,” said Roger clinking glasses with Beatrice.

Unlikely, I thought. Valentina deserves better.

Phil took a break from the barbeque turning the stereo to top volume. Sub was released from his lawnmowing and joined us on the back lawn as the sounds of Sam the Sham’s one hit wonder Woolly Bully blared from the outdoor speaker. Valentina was ready to make her grand entrance.

She was wearing pink silken harem pants and a sequined top exposing her midriff wobbling in time to the beat. Watch it now. Watch it. She mingled her way around her guests with swaying hips, undulating torso, thrusting, lifting locking dropping, quaking and shaking.

“Marvellous,” said Rdger.

“Multi talented,” said Beatrice. “She took up the belly dancing classes only a few months ago…”

“After the pole dancing was such a success,” said Roger nodding along with the music as Valentina shimmy shammied around her captive audience.

“Bravo,” I managed and grabbed the bottle of pinot and took a shot.

“Darling,” Valentina stopped in front of me aghast. Phil flicked the stereo off. “She’s an alcoholic, Roger dear. No more wine for you Jan.”

“Alcoholic,” repeated Beatrice and firmly took my glass.

“Oh she’s the one who knocked back all that gin…” Phil joined us.

“Sshhhh,” said Valentina, although by now all their neighbours had stopped talking and were leaning towards us. “She’s in recovery. Well done you, lovey.”

My face grew red as everyone stared at me. “One day at a time,” I mumbled.

“Righto,” said Phil and shook a fishbowl full of keys. “Drop ‘em in, Jan”

I stared blankly at him. Then looked to Valentina for help,

“Key party, babe,” she said.

Still not on the same page but getting there slowly… I glanced at my phone and did a quick google.

“Oh,” I said. “Oh dear.” They looked at me. “I cycled here, No keys. I’m late actually. For a,,,,a ,,,, meeting.”

“Oh well done you,” said Valentina. “AA meeting.” She gave me a broad wink. “Janet can’t stay.” She announced. “She has to get to her meeting. Lets show her our support, people. Yay Janet.”

I made my way to the front gate through a ripple of supportive applause.

                                                            #

Dear Valentina

You are a good friend but in our work situation I really wish you would not hug me.

Thank you for understanding the discomfort this causes me.

I am sure I can rely on your discretion.

Janet Peters

Commercial Finance Manager

As a commercial finance manager I was responsible for reviewing contracts. It came to my attention Valentina had signed off a new statement of work with a contractor firm that had not been included in the budget or ratified by the Board. I would have to speak to her and remind her (again) she had no authority to contract in this way.

It was Christmas and we were encouraged to decorate our office pods in lieu of a decent Christmas party. I splashed out on a mechanical flamingo that sang “jingle bells”, nodding its Santa hatted head in time with the music. The talented young peoplethat worked in our company of course outdid themselves building hobbit caves, enchanted forests, gingerbread houses and laser light shows.

To my surprise Valentina’s pod was decorated in tasteful traditional style. Holly, tinsel, a little Santa sleigh running on a miniature rail across her monitor. She wasn’t at her desk which was a relief because I was going to have to be quite stern about this unauthorized commitment she’d signed us up for. I turned to go back to the Finance side of the floor and Valentina burst out of the stairwell.

“Janny,” she greeted me with a beaming smile.

“Valentina,” I cleared my throat. “I’m very disappointed in this.” I waved the contract at her. “You know you aren’t authorized to sign contracts without an approval from the board.”

“P’shaw,” she said.

“P’shaw?” I echoed.

“No brainer. Just did it. Made it so,” she sloganed without really explaining herself.

“Valentina, you don’t seem to realize you don’t have the delegated authority to sign contracts without endorsement from the board. This is a governance issue…”

“Are you cross about this, Jan?” Valentina looked at me quizzically.

“Yes,” I said. “I am very cross. You need to be more responsible. This is quite serious…”

“Oh dear,” said Valentina. “Bad day, sweetie? Someone needs a hug.”

What? No? What now?

“Valentina no!” I said loudly and heads looked around. “Valentina don’t hug me when I’m telling you off.”

“I think you would feel better…”

“I don’t want you to hug me. Please don’t. This is rather uncomfortable for me Valentina, really. You are undermining this conversation which is difficult enough.”

Valentina broke into a smile. “Oh honey, I get it. Lexie’s been diagnosed Aspergers too   Hates people touching her.”

My mouth opened but no sound came out. I was flabberghasted at her logic.

Valentina mimed Marcel Marceau’s invisible wall. “Personal space, sweetheart. Don’t worry. I understand.” She nodded. “Aspergers. Got it.”

There was a second or two where I could have spoken up.

As a professional, the right response would have been, please don’t deflect. I do not have Aspergers. This is an important matter we need to discuss and hugging me is inappropriate when we are in the middle of a discussion around a breach of governance.

But no. I was a half alcoholic and now it seemed I’d been outed as neurally diverse. Never diagnosed but I’d take it if it meant she would never hug me when I tried to tell her off again.

“Yes,” I said. “Yes. Thanks for understanding.”

“Freedom to be you, babe,” she said and went to hug me, caught herself and laughed. “No touch. Got it.”

                                             #

Dear Valentina

Thank you so much for the leather leggings and the tip to never wear underwear with them. Much better than finding out the hard way.

It was a very thoughtful farewell gift .

Your suggestion I look for future employment as a SAP tester was much appreciated. Perhaps I will come back to you for a reference.

Thank you for being the most interesting work colleague I ever worked with.

Janet

“We need a Health and Safety story for our next Executive,” mused Derek, the Commercial Director. “Janet, maybe you’d like to share the story of your recovery. Inspire the troops.”

“My…my…my…” I cleared my throat. “No. Its not exactly health and safety”

“You didn’t fall out of a bar after drinking a pint of gin then?” Derek asked.

“Technically yes,” I started. Derek raised his eye brows. “That’s when I knew I hit rock bottom. But I have only just started going to meetings. I really can'tconsider that I'm recovered yet”

“No pressure,” he said. “But its no shame to be an alcoholic. Four of my ex wives were alcoholics. You at least sought help.”

“I really can’t speak to any kind of sobriety just yet …”

“Well you hang in there,” said Derek. “Well done. Wouldn’t catch me swearing off booze. The shock would kill me. But go you.”

“Yes,” I said. “Whoop. Hurrah for me.”

When news of my supposed alcoholism began to wane, fidget spinners began to appear on my desk. Derek dropped a box of matches in front of me and asked me to tell him how many there were. It was becoming too late to back track on my fake Aspergers. I gave up and started to wear the tee shirts Valentina had made for me with supportive slogans

“Kiss my Assbergers.”

“Please be patient, I Have Autism”

“Aspie Power”

She would on occasion wear a sweatshirt printed “Proud Best Friend of Aspie Girl.”

Once Derek the Director established I didn't have Tourettes (by asking me how often I swore in MacDonalds trying to order a burger) he promoted me to neurally diverse poster child for the company. I attended conferences. I wrote for staff newsletters. I spun my fidgets at every opportunity.

But every time I tried to explain that really I was quite bland. There was nothing interesting or diverse about me. Derek would put it down to denial and send me on another confidence building course.

I finally broke and handed in my resignation. I was too entangled in my litany of lies. I couldn't hope to keep it all straight and when I finally came clean everyone would hate me. It was easier to just run away.

This happens to me more than you would think. I put it down to timidity rather than a tendency to lie like a sociopath. I hated to leave my job and I realized soon after leaving I actually missed Valentina most of all.

We had planned to keep in touch but coffee dates moved further and further out. I did look for her once in the bondage bar and the bar tender this time served me a small glass of port and gave me his number. I was too afraid to call him of course.

It was many months later when I saw Valentina again. She was walking towards me in town with another woman. She greeted me and almost went in for a hug and a kiss and then pulled back.

“This is Janet,” she said to her friend. “I absolutely love Janet but I can’t hug her.”

“Asbergers,” I said. After all this time, I had begun to wonder if perhaps I should just accept that probably I was autistic. “How are you Valentina? I’ve missed you.”

“Oh sweetie, I’ve missed you too. I haven’t been in touch because I have just got back from having my polyps removed. Oh my word. Huge. And the worst kind.” She leaned forward. “Rectal. Can you believe it?”

“Why yes, Valentina, I can,” I said

.                                                         #

Dear Valentina

My AA sponsor tells me she doesn’t think I’m alcoholic at all. Well that is a relief.

I have a little bit of a crush on the bartender at Scotty & Mals Bar and I wondered if we could go there next Thursday perhaps. I am not very good at small talk or flirting so I was rather hoping you could help me out.

I hope your polyps are not causing too much irritation, but I do look forward to hearing all about it if they do.

Your friend

Janet

End