Leila Fadel had not been to headquarters in a long time.

Her little recording booth closet in Cairo had become a sanctuary from the drama and blood lust of this viper’s nest. Looking at the chrome and burled wood of the news announcing booth she longed for the chipped paint by the light switch of her modest flat. She longed for the feel of her hanging clothes swaying against her hair as she recorded a voice over into her laptop.

Inside the booth, Craig Windham was announcing the news at the top of the hour. Watching him from the back, she could see he’d let his hair grow slightly long and shaggy, not doubt the result of Inskeep’s merciless ribbing. She always liked Craig. His voice contained a meaningful frown. Craig always treated her like a little sister, but little did he know he could have treated her as so much more. Alas.

On she strolled. Her meeting with the brass wasn’t for fifteen minutes. But being so conspicuous left her open to several awkward conversations, conversations about David Greene… conversations with David Greene. She had tried to schedule her meeting for the middle of Morning Edition, but of course it wound up being right afterwards when the office was at its zenith of daily mania. She would have to cut a circuitous route through the desks to avoid any high traffic areas where David might pass.

This took her right past Inskeep’s office. There was a commotion inside. Voices lifted. Loud World music. Since last she was here, he’d hung beads in his doorway and had the actual door removed. Wait, that isn’t World Music. Someone was actually playing bongos in there.

She would have to be quick walking by. It wouldn’t be easy. There was no mistaking this for Steve Innskeep’s office.

“Leila!” Busted. “What are you doing here?” He was shirtless, leaning on his beaded door frame.

“Oh, hi Steve!” She brightened as instantaneously as she could. “Doing a story for ATC about middle eastern embassies here in DC.”

“Far out. Hey, have you ever met Steve Vai?” The legendary guitarist leapt to his feet from the paisley futon in the corner. Both he and Inskeep were wearing faint, glittery eye shadow.

“It’s an honor,” she managed.

Vai tapped out what seemed to be the rhythm of ‘nice to meet you’ on the bongos. Boo-boo-BAHP-boo. He offered his hand, and when she offered hers, he only pinched her fingertips and wiggled them a little.

“Okay well, you guys have fun, the international staff is probably waiting,” she said, shifting her bag to the opposite shoulder for no real reason other than to telegraph to Inskeep, pleeeease let me go.

“Right on, Leila. Come on by after your meeting, we’re just getting started. Steve brought some jazz cigarettes.”

“Thanks Steve,” she said and backed down the hall, turning only when she realized Inskeep was going to keep smiling and smiling at her until she was out of sight.

Maybe she could spend the remaining the minutes before her meeting in the women’s room. She took a quiet hallway towards the most out of the way bathroom she knew of. And that’s when, turning a corner, she bumped right into David Greene.

“Leila!”

“Hi David.”

“I had no id–”

“I know…”

Now would be when to hug. They certainly couldn’t shake hands. Not after two Octobers ago in Amman.

“Do you want to see my new office?” asked David. “It’s right here around the corner.”

“I shouldn’t. I may need head space for this meeting.”

“It’s only right here. And everything  is running late today because of the White House presser.”

He led her around a corner and opened a door onto a windowless former broom closet.

“David Greene, you have arrived.”

“Right?” They laughed. A desperately needed easing of the steam that was building up in their gaskets the longer they remained in each other’s presence, the longer they went without touching.

He flopped behind his desk. Instinctively she grabbed the door knob to close the door, then caught herself. Is this untoward? He’s married now. Then again he was engaged in Amman. She caught his eyes clocking her hand on the doorknob, then an imperceptible curl of his lip. Now it would be more awkward not to close it. And maybe we’re fine now. Maybe that was just an amorous dalliance.

She closed the door. The click of the knob CLACKing so loud it made her short of breath for a second.

“I only have a few min–” she turned. He was standing again. He was standing right in front of her.

“I missed you,” he said, and she felt his arms come toward her for a hug. She leaned forward into him to avoid mashing their crotches together and pushing too much of her breasts into his chest. But he stepped forward into her until everything down to their knees rested on each other. Time stopped. She remembered how well their bodies fit together in Amman. She used this moment to record every nuance of his body against hers. When they withdrew from one another she could not be certain whether they’d hugged for three seconds or for three minutes. And had she perceived some… movement, some… certainty between his legs?

They sat again, and he awkwardly tried to apologize for not inviting her to his wedding. She awkwardly tried to shush it away. They made hypothetical plans to have dinner sometime while she was stateside so she could finally meet his wife.

She stood. “Don’t get up,” she said, “I’ve got to run.” She grabbed the knob again, opened the door and stood in its frame. “Shall I leave this open for you?”

“Oh,” he said, a smile crawling across his face, “leave it cracked.”