February 14, 2002, 2:56 p.m.
"Happy Valentine's Day...Cheers, Andrew."
That's what the card said. A dozen gorgeous, long-stemmed red roses waiting in the office as I went to pick up my mail. They took my breath away sitting on top of the orange formica counter, being admired by the clucking hens of the secretarial pool who were gossiping about who Andrew could possibly be.
"Ms. Biensoul!" cried a shrill secretary's voice, and I knew I would be putting them on my desk soon enough, "Are you going upstairs? Could you give these to Ms. Johnson, please?"
They weren't for me. Stupid cliche red roses. I wouldn't want them anyway.