Chapter 17
ASHA
Staying silent is a lot harder than I thought it would be.
I had to not talk about the Roman parades with giant phalluses, all the brothels (in places that used to be called Cock Lane and Gropecunt Lane which were named for exactly what happened there), and say nothing about the actresses and philandering aristocrats.
It was hard.
(Pun so intended.)
And now Callum is asking me to talk? About John Donne, writer of one of the sassiest pick-up poems in history? It’s too much for one person to have to bear.
“Well…Donne was all of those things. And one of the poems he wrote in the 1590s was called ‘The Flea.’ And the entire poem is him trying to get into someone’s pants, proving this generation did not invent recreational sex.
His argument is that a flea has bitten him, and then this other person, so they’ve already mixed blood.
And that is more intimate than any marriage, so they should be able to bone.
And then he went on to be a priest, after writing one of my favorite poems-slash-pick-up lines. ”
I smile and slump in relief, like I finally got to scratch an itch that was bothering me for hours. Three hours to be exact, which is how long this tour is and how long I’ve been silent.
I was really trying to be good. I was trying to be stoic and professional and dignified and erudite and all those words that people use to describe themselves when they’re boring. It wasn’t easy, and I had to tune Callum out so I wouldn’t be tempted to interrupt.
I’ve been playing Sabrina Carpenter songs in my head on a loop to help.
His words from last night cut a lot deeper than I thought they would.
Because after Rob has rejected every idea I have, very decisively (and with some borderline mocking), I’m beginning to doubt that I will ever be the person who plans the tours at his company.
Hell, I’m beginning to doubt that I can even do the tour guide job that I have much longer.
And hearing Callum criticize me is not helping.
But hearing the group laugh, and seeing them enjoy history, reminds me that I am okay at this.
“And that’s the end of the tour today. You have free time for the rest of the day, and tomorrow as well.
I’ll be in the lobby tomorrow morning from eight to nine if you want tips on what to do or how to get places, but other than that, enjoy the city.
And please be at the lobby at eight a.m. the next morning after your free day for checkout so we can head to Paris!
We’re going by train, so we have to be punctual.
Not that that will be a problem for this group, because you haven’t been late yet,” I say.
The tourists disperse after they ask for last-minute directions and advice, leaving me alone with the Irishman.
I nod at him in goodbye, a perfectly professional and boring coworker goodbye, and turn to walk to the nearest tube stop.
I have some museums in mind for myself, and I’m trying to figure out which one I should go to when I feel a tap on my shoulder.
I turn with a smile, thinking it’s one of the group. Then I see who it is and the corners of my mouth droop down. “Oh, it’s you.”
Callum flinches at the response. Well, too bad. Except I can’t not care about other people’s happiness like he does, so I do feel bad.
Now we both feel bad. I hope he’s happy.
“I was hoping we could talk? About last night? I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine. You have very strong opinions about me, and that’s your right. We obviously do things differently.”
“Are we okay?” The man looks as awkward as I’ve ever seen him.
I do need to stop being mad at him. I feel like shit that there’s someone who doesn’t like me out in the world, but that’s my problem. Not his.
“We’re coworkers. And we will continue to have a professionally cordial relationship.”
He nods, not looking happy about my response. But he never looks happy so who knows how he really feels about my pronouncement.
“Do you want to go somewhere in our free time? See some history together? I can take photos for you,” Callum says.
I hesitate. Being near this man is not good for me.
He’s contrary and kind of hurtful, whether he means to be or not.
“Maybe next time. I have some things I have to take care of.” Like sitting around in the hotel and working on my tour plans that will only get rejected by Rob.
Because now if I run into Callum sightseeing around town, he’ll know I’m full of shit.
It’ll be awkward. Not the end of the world, and frankly, it’s already kind of awkward. So it’s just a matter of how much awkwardness I want to invite onto this tour.
Fuck it, I’ll go to a museum and if I see him there, I see him there.
No man takes museums from me. No matter how nice their accents and forearms are.
I wake up the next morning refreshed. I didn’t run into Callum yesterday, and I had a nice, nonjudgmental visit to a mansion on the outskirts of London, Eltham Palace, done in the Art Deco style with remnants of its medieval palace origin hanging around.
Not that I don’t love me a historic country house, but it’s fun to see something more modern every now and then.
Refueled with the power of history, I’m ready to deal with demanding passengers and a lack of respect from Callum.
I put on a dress with adorable llamas in fancy clothes on it, trying to plan my own adventure for the free day.
Downstairs, I take over a couch and put my coffee and breakfast on the table in front of me, ready for the next hour and a half. I shouldn’t be surprised that Callum isn’t here. He probably doesn’t consider this part of his job, since it’s the group’s free day.
I wouldn’t miss it; this is one of the favorite parts of my job.
And yes, I do have a lot of favorite parts of the job.
But this, when I talk to individual people and groups and figure out what they would have the most fun seeing, it’s like figuring out a puzzle.
And then later tonight or tomorrow morning, when they tell me how perfect that thing I suggested was, and how much fun they had while they show me souvenirs and photos they took, that’s so satisfying.
So I’m a little surprised when Callum walks down the stairs. Looking too appealing in a flannel shirt with the sleeves folded up to show his muscular forearms.
It’s not fair, is all I can say. How can a man who looks that good be so unpleasant when he deigns to have a conversation with you?
“Good morning,” Callum says.
“Hi.”
“I hope you had a good day yesterday.”
“Yeah, it was good. I hope you did, too.”
He grunts, a benign grunt I now know means he’s agreeing with my statement.
“So. What are you doing down here?” I ask.
“You’re working. And this is our tour. So I’m working, too.”
“You don’t have to. It’s technically a free day. I think that means it’s not part of your official duties.”
“I want to.”
He doesn’t look like he wants to. He’s uncomfortable, looking around like he doesn’t know what he should be doing. I help him out because he looks so confused.
“Do you want to get some coffee to prepare for the influx of people? The hotel breakfast is set up over there.”
He nods. “I’ll do that.”
Okay. Whatever, dude.
He’s being very strange today. Unsure. He’s never unsure in his opinions. He’s usually very direct, even when I wish he would be a little less sure, or maybe a little less vocal, about those opinions.
The group starts coming down, with yawns and sleep still lingering in their eyes. Oh guys, we are only on the second city, and this is a marathon, not a sprint.
I ask a few questions and listen as they talk about their likes, dislikes, interests, and priorities. I give suggestions and directions, and soon, the hour I said I would be available is up and the group that came down has dispersed onto their adventures.
Callum spent the time sitting on the couch next to me, watching me work.
I saw him talk to a few people who are more history minded and the families when I looked at him occasionally (okay, it was regularly; I regularly sneaked peeks at him) but would get distracted with the questions in front of me for too long an ogle.
“You’re really good at this,” he says.
“Good at what?”
“Suggesting the perfect itinerary for people. When you give tours you have your favorite things that you like talking about.” I narrow my eyes at him and his eyes widen in response.
“But this morning, you gave the perfect recommendations for whoever was in front of you. I sometimes only give people where I think they should go and historic suggestions. But you think more about the person.”
I nod to acknowledge the compliments but can’t ignore the criticism. It cuts deeper than it should, when it comes from him. “Again with insulting my touring?”
“No. I’m saying you have an encyclopedic knowledge of history, same as me, and Rob wants you to give more of it during the walking tours.”
I deflate. I know this is something I need to work on, despite how little I like having Callum point it out to me. “Yeah. I don’t want to bore anyone.”
“Some people will be bored. But honestly, it’ll make them think they got their money’s worth out of the tour.
If they have too much fun, they’ll feel like they should have learned something and didn’t.
Even if they don’t remember anything from the tours, they want to feel like they were taught things.
People.” He shrugs, not understanding it but acknowledging it.
“That makes no sense, but I know it’s true. Damn oxymoron. And I am working on it. Are you working on your part?” What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.
Callum snorts. “I’m trying. Still getting irritated when people ask me about shopping, like there aren’t stores in America. I tried to tell Maria where she could go to find things to waste money on, but she looked so suspicious I suggested she wait for you to be free to give a second opinion.”
“Did you phrase it that way? About the wasting money?” I laugh at the chagrined look on his face.
“Well, thanks for the business. And for the record, I overheard your suggestions for the history fans, and I would have really enjoyed the days you plan, history and all. And you’re really good finding stuff for the kiddos.
I don’t know where kids would have fun.”
“Thanks.” He rubs his neck at the praise. “Anyway, I was going to visit Hatfield House today. Get a day out of the city. Do you want to come?”
“Oh, I’ve been wanting to see that house.” I was already thinking of going there today in fact. Well, it was one on a list of like twenty places I wanted to see and could have visited today. I was going to decide at the train station.
But that would mean more time with Callum, which yesterday didn’t seem like a cheerful prospect. He’s been trying to be nicer since this morning. He’s given me multiple compliments, awkward and stilted and backhanded though they may have been.
And I don’t know if I would have reacted this way if someone else had said the same thing to me that he did. I didn’t when Rob said basically the same thing before the tour. I might get a little uncomfortable knowing people don’t like me, but this is beyond discomfort.
Maybe it’s unfair to him to put more weight on Callum’s words. I don’t even know why I am. So I should let it go.
Eh, I was never that great at holding grudges anyway. It’s a wonder I managed to keep up this anger for a day and a half. Especially with him making an effort…or an effort for him. “Sure. I’d love to, thank you.”
“Oooh, where are you guys headed?” Jennifer asks as she and her family walk up to the couch.
“We’re going to Hatfield House, the childhood home of Queen Elizabeth.”
“That sounds great! Can we tag along?”
I cough to cover the laugh that wants so desperately to break out. It’s about as successful as a Band-Aid covering a hole in the Hoover Dam, if Callum’s glare is anything to go by.
Because I’m sure this is his worst nightmare.