Simmer Down

when. But we would have tonight. Snacker had insisted that Josh spend the night at my place, since the two of them would see plenty of each other at work. Snacker knew where his new apartment was, and Stein would be there to welcome him.
    “Josh,” I said when we got into bed, “I am really happy for you. Simmer is going to be so perfect. You’ve worked so hard, and you deserve this. Gavin obviously knows what he found in you, and he appreciates how talented you are.” I set the alarm to five thirty for Josh and turned the light off.
    “Yeah, we’ll see how everything goes. I wish we weren’t opening on New Year’s, because that adds more pressure to a first night, but it’ll all work out. Forty-eight hours from now, the opening will be over. Gavin’s a good guy. But he can be tough, and he definitely has set ideas about certain things.” Josh let out a big sigh and rolled over in bed to cuddle me.
    “Like what? The ‘obligatory steak’?” I asked. Then I kissed him.
    He kissed me back, slipped my T-shirt off, and moved on top of me.
    “You don’t want to know.” He slipped under the covers.
    I didn’t. No, not right now.

NINE

    AH, the Boston Organization Against Sexual and Other Harassment in the Workplace! My home away from home. It was December 30, the morning of the day before New Year’s Eve. Why was I stuck spending school vacation here? I looked around at the dreary office, which showed evidence of my failed efforts to organize the Organization. I had arranged and rearranged the few pieces of furniture, attempted to file the millions of papers floating around the room, and lined up the shoe boxes that Naomi used for the few office supplies we had: four staplers, two tacks, seven thousand rubber bands, and a green pen. The monthly budget for office supplies was about three cents, and the board of directors had not approved my lively proposal to renovate the depressing two-room office. Envision an inspiring decor... tropical colors and accent lighting... Consider the research that demonstrates a strong correlation between the physical environment and emotional health... The board, however, had evidently decided that cheesy industrial felt carpeting, concrete walls, and battered cafeteria tables provided a work setting suitable for an agency devoted to helping the harassed. The board must have felt that since our hotline callers never saw us, the office could continue to look like a disaster area, and no one would be the wiser. In the hope of hanging one of my mother’s wreaths, which were hideous but colorful, I had tried to force a nail into the concrete. After many failed attempts with a power drill, I’d left a bent nail, sans wreath, hanging sadly from a concrete block.
    I scooted my chair closer to what served as my desk. The folding chairs and folding cafeteria tables gave the impression that we were some kind of covert agency that might suddenly need to pack up quickly and disappear. I picked up the phone to check for messages, found that there were none, and flopped back in my chair. As much as I griped about social work school and this internship—pardon me, field placement —I really did want to accomplish something while I was here and consequently found myself wishing that somebody would call for help. It seemed to me that very few people knew about this organization, whereas I was pretty sure that throughout Greater Boston, women were being harassed at work and needed help. Nobody deserves to be frightened or, in some cases, terrorized at work. It occurred to me that if I didn’t loathe Hannah so much, I could pick her brain for marketing ideas to let women know that we were available. The one request of mine that the board had granted was for high-speed Internet access for the computer, so I speedily searched the Web for ways to “get the word out.”
    I had a few hours to kill before I had to go meet Adrianna, so I called Josh, who said I could pop into Simmer on my way.
    Just after I hung up, Naomi burst in the door. “Good morning, Chloe!” she said breathlessly, her arms laden with binders and notebooks. What she did with all these materials was beyond me.
    “Morning, Naomi,” I said, quickly looking for something on my desk to suggest that I was engrossed in work and not fantasizing about what Josh might make me for lunch.
    “We obviously need to have a staff meeting after the horrible evening we experienced together. Let me put my things down, and then