KATE
Chapter 2


Get into the office. Wait for the elevator. Throw the wrapper from my breakfast burrito away. The paper is pretty empty this early in the day. Take the elevator up to the fifth floor. Exiting the elevator, I see that I was right: there aren't a lot of people around. Dick, one of our photographers, waves to me. "Hey, Kate. The pictures you wanted are on your desk."

"Great, Dick. You coming to the movies tonight?"

"Yeah, hopefully. If the dragon lady lets me out of her sight," he says, rolling his eyes skyward. Sally Kane, aka The Dragon Lady, is one of the greatest bitches that anyone on staff has ever met. They'd fire her, but she gets results. She and I are...not on great terms. She seems to think that being in a wheelchair makes me less of a journalist. Y'know...plus I kind of told her she was a hack with no ethics. Anyway, things are interesting.

"She got you burning the midnight oil?"

"Yeah...I've put out some pretty good stuff, but she keeps at me to spruce it up more. Anyway, I should be able to make it. Sheila, Roger, and Alanna, are coming as well, right?"

"I can only hope."

"Oh...hey," he says as I'm just about pull into my desk, "Did what's-her-name, you know, the brunette, call you back?"

"You're the second person," I say, sighing, "And no...no Amanda didn't call me back."

"Ah well. She wasn't worth it."

"It's all sour grapes, I guess. Anyway, thanks for the photos. See you later?"

"Yeah...I should get back to work as well, good luck with the story," Dick adds over his shoulder as he walks back to the elevators.

"Thanks...I'll need it," I chuckle, sorting through the stuff on my desk. Dick's photos are pretty good, there are a couple that I'll definitly put in with the article to use. I turn on the computer, check my email. Work stuff. Alanna reminding me about the movie tonight. Mom asking if I can get time off to come home for a while, nattering about the dangers for a single girl living on her own (it's not even about me being disabled, it's about Mom being Mom), the usual. Doctor Royce reminding me I'm due for a checkup next week; I'll have to call him back later. Nothing from Amanda (figures).

I shuffle through my notes when my editor, Ross, walks over to my desk. "Kate," he says.

"Ross. Something I can do for you?"

"Yeah. We're grabbing you for a sports story. Jim called in sick. You're doing the Raptors game tonight."

I sigh, "Shit, Ross, I already made plans for tonight with the guys."

"Yeah well. Life goes on. But hey, free Raptors tickets."

"Well, ONE free ticket. Not as great if I'm not going with someone." I say, sighing again and going back to my notes.

"I'm sure you'll find someone. Anyway, back to work," he says, grinning and heading off. I go back to shuffling papers around. Ross really reminded me about Amanda, so I've gone back to feeling pretty down again.

Finish up some calls for the article, set up a few interviews, but my heart's not really in it; not today, at least. When thats done, head off to the washroom. Wheelchair stall. Short's down, untape my diaper, transfer over to toilet. Clean myself up, insert catheter, go through my bowel routine again. Roll up the diaper (just wet this time) with the wipes I cleaned myself with, and tape it into a ball. Remove a fresh one from my bag, unfold it on the chair. Ditch the used catheter tube in a plastic bag (I'm prone to urinary infections, so I take extra care with changing and cathing) along with the soiled diaper. Transfer to chair, pull the clean diaper up around me, firmly tape it back on, shorts back up, seat-belt back on. Wheel out of the stall, throw the bag into the trash, wash my hands thoroughly. Head back to my desk. It's about 10:30am now.

And...there's flowers on my desk. Just a couple roses in a bundle. With a card: "From your secret admirer" and a pride flag. Wow...I have a secret admirer...and it's a she (well, presumably and not someone putting me on). I take a good look around, but I can't see anyone that might have left them. Of course, I was in the washroom for twenty or thirty minutes, so that's a lot of time for someone to leave something on my desk. I wheeled over to the desk of Florence, our secretary.

"Hey, Florence. Did someone ask for where my desk was?" I ask.

"Hmm. I'm not sure. Why do you ask?"

"Someone left flowers on my desk. I was just wondering who."

"Oh! Yes...I think there was a girl, looked like a bike messanger. She had some flowers with her. *Now* I remember. Do you have a secret admirer now? Maybe some beau you haven't told us about?"

I laughed, I think just a little nervously. "Yeah...sure. Thanks, Florence."

"No problem. If you DO have a boy...bring him around the office some time, why don't you? You look so lonley sometimes."

I say something non-comital and go back to my desk. I don't know any bike couriers, at least I don't think. Of course, that doesn't mean much. It could have just been coincidence that the courier was female...but then again, how many bike couriers deliver flowers? It's going to keep bugging me all day, I just know it. I hate mysteries, that's why I became a reporter in the first place. I bundle the roses up and put them to one side of my desk so that I'll be able to get them when I go home. Then I head out for lunch.