Grand Cayman

It wasn't because of her looks. She was the Danish version of a supermodel, tall, thin, ample breasts, long legs, devilishly blue eyes and a winning smile. She had all of that, yet best I could tell she never dated a man or a woman. The men in her department knew better than to flirt with her, and others in the company steered clear, just based on her reputation as a general hard ass. After five years, I at least had earned a rapport with her, but we never delved into the realm of the personal.

I handed Doreen the first batch of wire transfers. She took them from me and promised to have them all processed by the 3 p.m. cutoff. I got up to leave when I saw her looking at her computer screen, already moving to the next task on her mental list. I was surprised when she said something as I was about out her door.

"Nice pumps," she commented, loud enough to make sure I heard it.

I turned around to look at her again.

"Thanks." She was already concentrating on her screen again and didn't look at me. Interesting woman. I was sure I would never figure her out.

* * *

I was having a late dinner, eating a salad at the kitchen table, when I heard a retching sound coming from my bedroom. Mr. Pibb was probably barfing up a hairball. I discovered he had barfed up his dinner on my bedroom rug and was looking frightfully ill. I tried to pick him up, but he hissed at me, something he never does. Great. It was already nine o'clock and I wanted to be in bed by ten.

I checked the all-night urgent care facilities for cats and found one in the East Village, about a ten minute cab ride at that time of night. I pulled out a step ladder from my closet and reached for the cat carrier, which was perched on the top shelf. Mr. Pibb would usually hide under the bed when he saw me get it, and I knew he was sick when he looked at me holding the carrier and didn't move. I unceremoniously shoved him into the cat carrier.

"MEOW!" he protested at his involuntary imprisonment.

"It's for your own good, Mr. Pibb," I assured him. I was sure he could understand me and equally as sure that he didn't believe me. He gave me the evil eye from behind the bars of his portable prison.

I threw on my skinny jeans and a shirt and sweater, leather boots and the wool coat my mother made for me. I called a ride share service, and within fifteen minutes I was in the vet's office. A white coated technician took the cat carrier from me and told me to wait to hear the results of the examination. I sat in the waiting room and thumbed through an eight month old People magazine.

The vet came into the waiting room. She interrupted my catching up on the Kardashians. "Looks like Mr. Pibb was a naughty boy." She wasn't telling me something I didn't already know. Her hands were clutching the lapels of her white coat. Forty-ish. Wasn't wearing a wedding ring. Cute. I was wondering what was under the white coat.

"How so?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"We did an x-ray on him. Looks like her swallowed part of a house plant that's poisonous to cats."

Crap, I thought. I was given a plant by a co-worker for my work anniversary and I never bothered to find out what it was. Apparently it was not cat friendly.

"So what's the game plan?"

"The game plan is for us induce vomiting to get the rest of the plant out of his stomach, then to give him IV fluids tonight and let him ride this out. He didn't eat enough to kill him, but he did eat enough to give him a wicked stomach ache. He'll probably get sick a couple more times before it clears."

Poor Mr. Pibb. Probably should have stuck to being a carnivore.

"Can I pick him up tomorrow after work?"

"That should work."

Then I asked another question where I again dreaded the answer. "So roughly, how much is this going to run?"

The vet thought for a moment. I could see dollar signs rolling through her head. "Let's see, with the after-hours office visit, the x-ray, the overnight stay and the IV, I think we're looking at about $600."

Fuck. That was practically the balance in my checking account. It was my fault for bringing the plant back to my apartment and not checking on its toxicity. And I loved Mr. Pibb. "That's fine. Thank you for seeing him and making him better."

The vet smiled. "You're most welcome."

Always the high road for Mr. Pibb.

* * *

By now it was 10:30, and I was hungry. Mr. Pibb had rudely interrupted my supper and my stomach was rumbling. I wasn't dressed for a long walk, and stepped outside into the cold. Most of the stores and restaurants on this block were shuttered, with the exception of the all night pharmacy. I decided to go right, at least towards my apartment if I ended up walking the fifteen blocks.

On the next block was the bar that Grace had mentioned, the one where someone allegedly spotted Doreen. There were no windows in the wall facing the street. There was simply a large, dark hued wooden door with a massive bronze handle that emulated a rope. The name of the bar was "The Tie that Binds." The rope motif was fitting.

I pulled on the heavy door and let a cold breeze enter the bar. The patrons sitting on the end of the long, zinc topped bar looked my way, then went back to their conversation. I caught the bartender's eye, who was washing glasses in the sink.

"Do you serve food here?" I asked hopefully.

"Kitchen's closed," came the curt reply from the female bartender. She went back to her chore, not bothering to ask me if I wanted something to drink. There were a smattering of people in the bar, all women.

Disappointed, I turned around to leave. As I was thinking how I could assuage my rumbling stomach I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"What would you like to eat?" came a familiar voice.

I turned around. It was Doreen. She looked stunning. She was wearing an almost sheer off white silk blouse, black pants and heels. She looked like she stepped off the pages of Vogue. I was tongue tied.

She looked at me with those probing eyes. "It's a simple question. Are you hungry?"

Since my lips didn't seem to work, I nodded.

"Well, that's a start. Anything in particular you want?"

I finally found my voice. "I thought the kitchen was closed."

"I think Maggie was a bit hasty with her reply. The kitchen's open for you."

"Wow. You must have some pull here."

Doreen laughed. It was one of the few times I saw her laugh, and it made her even more becoming. "I would hope so. I own the place."

That took me aback again. "You do? When did you buy it?"

"About five years ago. I've always wanted to own a bar. This bar came up for sale, and it's only a couple blocks from my flat."

"The name's pretty unusual. 'The Tie that Binds'?"

"It's something that I've always been interested in."

"What does it mean?" I asked, demonstrating my innocence.

"It means that I'm into bondage."

"You mean ... like tying people up?"

"Well, it's not that cut and dried. It's really more about the transfer of control. I've been on both ends, so to speak."

I put my hands in front of me, like I was about to be handcuffed. "Did you want to tie me up?" I asked, half in jest but half serious.

A big smile. "No, I think I just want to feed you. So what will it be?"

"How about a burger, medium rare please?"

"Fries?"

This was a special occasion. "Why not."

"To drink?"

"Whatever you're having."

"That could be expensive." Doreen handed me the cut crystal tumbler she was holding. I took a sip. It tasted like a fifteen year old single malt Scotch.

"I'm good for it."

She smiled again. Her smile was infectious. "Don't worry about it. It's on me."

She walked to the rear of the bar, presumably to place my order. She returned moments later, and ushered me to a booth in the back, carrying her drink as well as mine.

"So what brings you here? As I remember, you live on the Lower East Side."

"It was my cat Mr. Pibb ..."

"What a charming name."

"That's another story. Anyway, Mr. Pibb ate one of the plants I was given at my work anniversary party. Turns out it was poisonous to cats. There's an all-night vet clinic about a block from here." I took a sip of my scotch. It took the sting out of my late night vet visit. Smooth, with a slight hint of peat.

"Oh yes, I remember seeing it. I love cats - I had one as a kid - but I'm not home enough to justify having one."

We talked for a while about her childhood cat, a female tabby, and then the conversation meandered to her childhood, growing up in northern Minnesota and its harsh winters. She was engaging and witty, sides to her that I never saw in the office. As she was opening up, my dinner arrived, a generously sized beef patty on what looked like a homemade brioche bun. I took my first bite and closed my eyes.

"It's wonderful."

"I know." She took one of the French fries off of my plate and ate it. "And I love French fries."

Since we were outside work, and we were speaking as friends, not as work colleagues. I decided to push into uncharted waters. "I noticed that there are only women in this bar."

"You have admirable powers of observation," sarcasm dripping from her voice.

"It's one of my many God given abilities," I replied smugly. I took another bite of the burger and then put ketchup on my plate and started in on the French fries, which were steaming hot and delicious.

"I'm a lesbian. Obviously this is a bar catering to lesbians," Doreen finally admitted.

"I'm a lesbian," I proudly admitted.

"I kind of knew that." Everyone in the office knew that. I was unabashed about my sexual orientation in the office. It didn't surprise me that Doreen knew, even though I never told her directly.

"It'll be our secret," said Doreen, now somberly. She took my hand in hers. It was the first time we touched each other, other than incidental contact in her office. The skin on her hand felt silky smooth, and of course she had perfectly manicured nails with blue nail polish that complimented her icy blue eyes.

"Grace has been telling everyone that you've been seen in this bar, and that you're probably a lesbian."

"I've heard it from others. Fuck Grace. She says a lot of things. If you told everyone, they'd believe you." She paused for a moment. I took that time to study her more closely. Her changes from her work attire were subtle, but impactful. She was wearing more eye make-up to accentuate her stunning eyes and her clothes were more tailored, allowing me to drink in her curves.

"I imagine you're wondering why I'm so sensitive about broadcasting that I'm a lesbian. I love my job, but I think it would complicate my work situation. I think it's better to keep people guessing, especially the guys." She stuck out her chest a bit to make the point.

As long as we were finally baring our souls, I decided to share the other tidbit. "You know that people in the office call you the 'Ice Maiden'." I looked at her to see her reaction. She laughed again. It was good to see her laugh.

"I'm aware of that nickname. I like it. I want people to keep their distance. I have a job that requires concentration and precision. Office romances can complicate things. Mistakes can be made. And I'm flattered that people think that I'm attractive."

"You are."

"Thank you. I know we've never discussed personal matters in the office. It was by design. I don't want to complicate my job with personal feelings. But I'll violate my rule just this once. I find you to be very attractive. I let it slip out the other day when I complimented you on your heels. As you know, I never comment on a person's attire but it slipped out. You looked so sexy in those heels and that short skirt."

"I wore those heels to the last Christmas party."

Her eyes sparkled. I wanted to kiss her. "You were the little tart at that party, weren't you?"

I felt my face get hot. I'm sure it was bright red. "Living alone in a small apartment can do that to you."

"I remember seeing that the guys wouldn't leave you alone that night."

"Yeah, even though they knew I was a lesbian, they still didn't give up hope. Penis first, you know."

She laughed again. I could really get to like this lady.

Then I decided to lay all my cards on the table, adding, "I wanted to tell you that I was attracted to you, but I long ago gave up hope that there was anything between us."

"Kristin, there isn't anything between us, and that's for good reason. We interact on a daily basis. We handle millions of dollars in wire transfers every day. I don't want a personal relationship between us to cloud our judgment. You understand, don't you?" She put her hand on mine again. Her hand was warm - and oh so soft. Damn her, so close and yet so far.

I said what I needed to say. I didn't like it. "I understand. Workplace romances can make things complicated. If we weren't working together I'd definitely ask you out on a date." I added the latter statement to make crystal clear my feelings for her.

She reciprocated. "If you asked me out, I'd accept." Then she extended her hand. I took the last bite of my burger. It was as delicious as advertised. "Friends?"

I wiped my hands on my cloth napkin. I shook her hand. "Friends."

* * *

The next morning, when they were performing the daily reconciliation, they noticed a discrepancy in the wire transfer for $1 million I initiated the previous day. Apparently Prisha accidentally gave me an earlier draft of the wire transfer, and I wasn't informed that a second draft, with a different account number at the same bank, was substituted in its place. The bank was based in Grand Cayman, a long-time tax haven and a frequent destination for our wire transfers.

The mistake was caught shortly after the office opened. Doreen called me into her office. I waited outside, watching an animated discussion between her and the executive vice president of the branch, a woman I had never met. I saw Doreen use her hands as she spoke, and the EVP's nodding head. After a few minutes, they were done, and the EVP, still looking agitated, walked right past me in the hallway without acknowledging my presence.

Doreen signaled me into her office and I dutifully entered, pulling the glass door shut behind me.

"Do you know why you're here?" she asked me, maybe to elicit my confession. The friendly tone from the previous evening was long forgotten. This was her business voice and she was all business. Even though she looked gorgeous as usual, I didn't have a warm and fuzzy feeling about it.

"I've heard talk that there was a $1 million error on a wire transfer yesterday." I heard the discussion about it not more than five minutes before I was called into her office. I knew what was coming next.

"You gave me that wire transfer." Guilty as charged.

"I know." It was an easy confession. I was the only person who handled the wire transfers before they hit Doreen's desk. I didn't tell her that Prisha gave me the incorrect form to circulate. No reason both of us should get run over by the bus.

"Do you know who was just in my office?" She looked beautiful as she was about to drop the hammer on me. The woman in her office looked like someone from the executive suite on the top floor of our building. I visited that floor on a frequent basis, as a number of my signers resided there, but I never talked to her.

"I've never met her but I think that she's Natalie Cornstalk, or something like that."

"Comstock. And she's the EVP for our office."

Oh, that Natalie Comstock. "I know that." I really didn't, but it was embarrassing not to know her by sight, especially with me being on her floor all the time. She must stay shacked up in her office all day.

"Then you know she was pissed off that this error happened. She considers it to me my fault." As she said it a tiny bit of mascara flecked off her eyelash. She rubbed her eye, and it smudged her perfect make-up.

"Fuck" she said, as she looked at her reflection in her compact mirror. "I've going to have to fix this. But you ..." She pointed at me, as if there was someone else in the room, "You are going to fix this mess by the end of the day today. Is that understood?"

"Yes," I choked out from my constricted airway.

"And I want hourly progress reports."

I nodded my head.

"Now what about Prisha Reddy? Wasn't she the account manager who initiated this transaction? Did she give you the wrong wire transfer authorization form?"

Doreen had zeroed in on the real problem. Prisha gave me a prior draft of the authorization form, before she corrected the account number. I was already in trouble and could take Prisha with me if I answered with the truth. That didn't make any sense. I decided to take the fall.

"No, it was my fault. I think I took the prior draft off her desk." Prisha would probably never know that I took a bullet for her.

Doreen was skeptical. "That's not like you Kristin. You always double check the information on the form. I'm relying on you to do that."

Another white lie to cover the first one. "I was in a hurry that day. I must have forgotten to cross check the account numbers."

"Well, this one's on you. I can't understand how you let this get by you. It's going to reflect badly on everyone."

I hung my head lower. I took the scolding, and it wasn't pleasant.

She used her hand to tip up my chin so I was looking into her deep blue eyes. "Now go and fix it." She picked up her purse to repair her make-up and followed me out of her office.

* * *

Our firm is tied to the ACH (Automated Clearing House), a fifty year old system that was developed at the dawn of the electronic transfer. I'm sure you don't know chapter and verse on the back office operations of a brokerage house or a bank (and God help you if you do), and even for a seasoned professional like me, I was unfamiliar with the procedures for retrieving money that was erroneously transferred.

I called my contact at the receiving bank and had her send me a list of the documents the bank would require to move the money to the correct account number. They froze the incorrect account so that the money couldn't be withdrawn before the correction took place. Thank God the unsuspecting account holder with the extra million dollars didn't notice the error before the freeze was imposed.

The list didn't appear too daunting. I printed a copy of it and walked down the long corridor to Doreen's department. I noticed she wasn't in her office. Her assistant asked me to wait in her office. I studied her office more carefully than I usually did, and walked around it, admiring the curios that she had accumulated from her trips to exotic destinations around the world - an African tribal mask, a Native American tapestry, and an antique Chinese vase. Her walnut credenza (a real one, not a metal storage cabinet) featured an expensive piece of Austrian cut crystal.

I was standing in front of the tapestry, admiring the colorful pattern, when the door swung open and Doreen stepped into her office.

"Waiting long?"

"No, just a couple minutes."

She noticed I was standing in front of the tapestry. "See anything interesting?"

"I love this tapestry. New Mexico?" I asked. I was in Santa Fe once and almost surrendered a month's pay for a tapestry like hers.

Her eyes brightened at my astute observation. "Yes. How did you know?"

"I almost bought one like this when I was in Santa Fe. It was a bit too rich for my blood."

She laughed, and it was good to see that the problem that morning didn't permanently sour our business relationship (she made it quite clear we didn't have a personal one).

"Don't worry about this mistake. You're bright. Someday you'll have my job."

I was flattered by her vote of confidence, and grateful for its timing just after the snafu.