A Place to Belong

"What the hell am I doing here?" was all that Marti Hampton could think. This wasn't where she belonged. She was standing at a bar, ordering a drink, looking around her like she knew what she was doing. But Marti had no clue what she was doing and she knew it.

It had seemed innocent enough to begin with. Marti was in town for a convention with the hosiery industry. She needed a break from the conference atmosphere and had decided to go for a walk. When she had seen the bar, conveniently located in the lobby of the hotel where the convention was, Marti decided a drink was in order. After all, all of the typical executives that she knew would do just that -- hit the bar and order a drink.

But Marti wasn't typical. She was a 37 year old introvert with almost zero exposure to such practices. Avoiding looking back at the bartender, who Marti was sure could tell that she was faking it, Marti rolled her eyes at her own foolishness. She ordered her drink, quietly paid for it and headed toward a booth in the back. Yet the bartender kept staring at her, as though he knew exactly what she was up to.

The booth Marti had chosen was situated in such a way that, although she would be secluded from prying eyes, she would still be able to look out at the crowd. Marti snorted in derision as she sat down, squeezing her body onto the bench. Sighing to herself, she thought, "This booth was probably built here by someone with about the same amount of social energy that I have!"

As she studied the people milling about inside the bar, Marty mentally kicked herself, once again, for her intense introversion. She had spent far too many years cooped up in the hosiery mill, focused on the product and how to perfect it. Now, she was paying the price. Her father, who had always handled the personal interactions with clients and business partners, had decided to retire and take a cruise around the world with his new bride. A cruise around the world??? Who really did such a thing? Obviously a 75 year old man with a 72 year old sweetheart.

That all meant that, six months ago, Marti, who had been the technical backbone of the company for the past 15 years, was suddenly thrust into the role her father had occupied -- her very extroverted, handsome father. But Marti was trying to make the best of it -- after all, she was good at what she did. But sometimes it was all she could do to keep from laughing in the faces of her so called business associates who had no idea what a dropped stitch was compared to a cross stitch. How could they compete with her for contracts? The world of textiles was her world -- it was where she belonged. She knew knitting machines inside and out.

But the real truth was that the others could compete with her because they had social skills. And Marti didn't. She didn't look the part and she didn't know the games. In fact, just in order to buy the drink in her hand, she had literally had to hide behind a fake tree, pretending to talk on her cellphone, until she heard someone at the bar place an order for a drink that looked interesting. She didn't even know what kind of drinks they served at bars. And she was determined not to order a coke! So when the cute girl with the short skirt batted her eyes at the bartender and asked for a gin and tonic, Marti had decided to follow suit!

And now Marti was hidden in a corner, sipping a drink that somehow tasted a lot like pine sap smelled. Why did people drink this stuff??? Wrinkling her nose in distaste, Marti watched the people walking around, mixing and flirting throughout the bar.

It was mid afternoon so the bar wasn't too crowded. Marti watched the cute girl whose drink she had copied, twirl the straw in her glass as she laughed with an older man Marti had met at the convention. Marti wondered if the younger woman really found the man to be as exciting as she appeared. It was only a moment though before Marti saw the woman laugh just a bit too loudly and cut her eyes over to where a handsome young waiter was bent over, cleaning off a table. Ah -- so it was his attention she was trying to catch. Marti laughed to herself, noting that the waiter was far more interested in the stain on his table than the cute blond trying to get his attention.

How Marti wished she could just pick up her glass and float around the room like that young woman, though - a confident butterfly. When Marti had a sudden vision of herself floating about, a rotund butterfly with short little wings attached to her ample body - she suddenly burst out laughing. At least it would have been a laugh had it not been at that very same moment that she was taking a sip of her drink. As it was, the liquid went the wrong way up her nose and, within moments, Marti was snorting and coughing like she was dying.

Grabbing at a napkin that seemed to appear out of nowhere, Marti finally manged to get her cough under control. She used the napkin to cover her mouth, wipe off her nose and absorb most of the remaining drink from her face. Realizing she was going to live, Marti momentarily wished she wouldn't. Feeling the heat in her cheeks, she knew that it wasn't just from the rush of alcohol into her nasal cavity, or the lack of oxygen during her coughing fit -- she was feeling the flush of embarrassment at having drawn attention to herself. Hell, she was trying to hide, not cause a commotion.

Lowering the napkin from her face, Marti looked up to see who had been kind enough to offer it to her. Although she would have preferred to have been left alone during her moment of potential asphyxiation, she knew the expectation was that she should thank the person who had come to her rescue. Standing in front of her, with his eyebrows quirked in obvious amusement, stood the bartender -- the same one she had only moments ago refused to meet his eyes.

"A bit stronger than you are used to?" he asked smugly.

Catching herself just short of rolling her eyes again, Marty lowered her head to look at her half empty glass and quietly said, "Ummm . . . yes. That's what was wrong alright."

It wasn't that Marti was trying to be rude to the bartender. But the man was obviously trouble. Not only did he look like a Native American storybook character with his jet black hair and tan skin, but when you threw in the blue eyes and the body -- well, he was more than Marti could stand to look at long.

This whole scenario caught Marti by surprise. It wasn't that she didn't like men. She just didn't have much experience with men. She had been far more focused on the thread quality for the socks that had always come first in her life. Men were too complicated. So Marti always assumed an air of feigned boredom around men. Since college, she had never found any man who interested her anyway.

Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that she had never found one who she thought might be interested in her. It was a well established fact that men only liked petite, pretty girls with big . . . eyes. And Marti wasn't petite, had never been called pretty, and her . . . eyes. . . well, they were big enough, she supposed! But that wasn't enough to ever convince Marti to actually engage in a conversation with a man about anything other than her beloved socks. It was too difficult. Over time, her protective practice had become a part of who she was - Marti just chose to ignore men.

It came as a shock to Marti though, when she realized that her attitude wasn't having the desired effect on this man - this bartender hadn't walked away. She was giving the man her best dismissive attitude. Other people went away when she ignored them. Why was he still standing there?

When the bartender suddenly flipped the chair beside her booth around and straddled it, Marti's eyes felt like they were going to pop out of her head. From the view she had with her eyes lowered, she had a clear shot of the man's legs. His thighs strained the material of his jeans and Marti thought she was going to melt. Good God -- was this guy real or had someone created him after taping into Marti's fantasies -- ones she hadn't even admitted to herself?

Realizing that she really needed to be looking somewhere other than the man's thighs (and the surrounding area), Marti quickly raised her head to look the bartender in the face. But as soon as she did, she realized that it was obvious where she had just been staring. The mirth in the man's eyes made her squeeze her own tightly shut. Her face flamed into color again.

It was the sound of his laughter that made Marti open her eyes again. She felt like a school girl staring at the first guy she had ever had a crush on. The man was simply beautiful and his laugh was perfect to her ears.

"Well, Marti Hampton, can I interest you in a less toxic drink?"

Confusion etched Marti's face. The man had called her by name. Questioningly, she said, "Do you know me?"

Again the bartender laughed, only this time is was a quiet and intimate laugh. "Well, I did fill your drink order, ma'am. And you did put it on your credit card. Forgive me for taking the opportunity to scope out your name. But I just couldn't pass up the opportunity."

"Opportunity for what?" Marti blurted out before she even thought about it.

"Opportunity to know if your name fit you," the man answered.

"Oh," was all Marti could muster as she found herself lost again in the bartender's blue eyes.

Marti never knew how long she sat there staring at the man. She was startled out of her revelry by the sound of someone coughing discretely. She raised her eyes to see the waiter from earlier standing at the end of the table. "Ty, I hate to bother you, but the orders are piling up," the young man said hesitantly.

Marti watched as her bartender (when exactly had he become "her" bartender, she wondered), stood up and nodded in her direction. "If you need anything, just let me know, Marti Hampton." Then he walked away, following the waiter back toward the bar.

"Well, you handled that like a pro!" Marti chided herself. Face to face with the first man who ever yanked the carpet right out from under her and she hadn't even said anything remotely sensible. "Great. . . " she muttered.

Deciding that she had just had about all the excitement she could handle, Marti pushed aside her drink and scooted out of the booth. "Well, remind me to never attempt this kind of little adventure again," she said out loud to no one in particular. Then she headed for the door.

Realizing that she really needed the comfort of her secure world of socks and hosiery machines, Marti opened the door back into the convention hall. She had almost made it to her display area when she became aware of a conversation going on at her kiosk.

Marti recognized the voice of one of her own salesmen, "Then Mammoth Marti declared that all the products were subquality to her highnesses expectations . . . I don't know what the bitch expects. Just because she is suddenly sole owner of the entire corporation, she thinks she can use all that "college" learning of hers to talk down to us. Well, I tell you what -- I for one won't do what she says. I will just stand up in her face and tell her - "

In all of Marti's days, she had known herself to be a lot of things. She knew that she was a strong person, with a good mind and a strong sense of who she really was. Marti was aware that she had her flaws -- the recent encounter in the bar was a prime of example of that. But she also knew what she was good at -- and she was good at her business. In fact, she was the best. With a backbone that she had always known she had, but never shown to another living soul, Marti stepped around the final wall panel that separated her from her salesman and his small audience.

"Tell me what?" Marti's voice was as cold as steel and her eyes were flaming.

The entire group turned, as one, to face Marti. If the subject matter hadn't been so critical, Marti would have laughed at the comical sight of the entire group then turning, as if one again, to face her salesman. But this was no time for laughing.

It was obvious that Marti's salesman, Mike Richardson, was trying to decide just how far he should push this and what his next step should be. Apparently realizing that he had just burned his bridges behind him, the slightly intoxicated Mike decided to go for broke. "Tell you, bitch, that you are going to ruin this company. You are nothing more than a daddy's girl and this company will fail, because of you. You are so backwards you haven't been out of that mill for ages. Wake up -- people like you don't make it in the real world!"

Silence swept over the group as everyone waited for Marti's response. In the background, the loudspeaker announced that the convention would be breaking for the evening in 20 minutes. Marti decided that it was time for Mike's convention to end right then. Reaching over onto the table, she pressed the makeshift button that rested on each display table. It sent a loud buzzer to the security check point, indicating that assistance was needed. The group looked questioningly at Marti as she stood with her hands on her hips, in silence.

As the security guard approached the group, Marti stepped through the few members of the group who separated her from Mike. She calmly reached up and jerked off his convention badge. Speaking over her shoulder in the direction of the officer, Marti said, "This man has just been fired. Please have him escorted off the premises."

Mike stood, looking down at the spot on his shirt pocket where his badge had hung moments before. The action had been so calmly and quietly done, it was obvious that he was having trouble grasping what had just taken place. As the security officer took hold of his arm, it all seemed to click. "What the hell?" was all that Mike managed to get out before the guard began pulling him toward the door. Realizing that he was being thrown out, Mike managed a few more obscenities, as the pair progressed across the room, but Marti wasn't paying attention to them.

Instead, she was looking around the group who had been Mike's audience. With a controlled voice that she hoped conveyed the depth of her boiling anger, Marti said, "Now, I have to tell you, I have never been as angry as I am at this moment. You have each one stood here and stabbed me and our company in the back by allowing that little display to have begun in the first place.

Marti continued, "Although this convention is scheduled to go on for two more days, our booth will be dismantled tonight and we will be going home tomorrow morning. You will each report to me in my office at 8:00 sharp on Thursday morning. If you are not there, your office will be packed up and your personal items will be at the front desk when you do show up. It is wake up and shake up time and you are all on notice as of right now. Get this display taken apart and packed up. I will be back in 30 minutes and I expect this to be taken care of."

As quickly as possible, Marti made her way out of the convention hall. Her legs were shaking with the adrenaline rush, combined with the intensity of her emotions at that moment. She knew she had just done something she would be proud of in the days and weeks to come, but at that very moment, she was quite concerned that she was about to throw up!

Because of her state of mind, Marti wasn't paying the best of attention when she exited the hall. It was only when she physically ran into a solid body that she realized her path was being blocked. Looking up, Marti found herself face to face with Mike Richardson. The interim few minutes had obviously added fuel to Mike's anger, because he looked as though he were about to explode.

Pain suddenly shot through Marti's arms. She realized that Mike's fingers were digging into her flesh. He had grabbed her and was now shaking her. In a voice that was evidently fueled by alcohol and anger, he was screaming at her that she wasn't going to ruin his life -- that she would pay for being such an arrogant bitch.

For Marti, Mike's words were not really an issue at the moment. But his shaking her was. Marti had been headed toward the bathroom anyway, and when her current physical state was combined with the unexpected motion Mike was providing, it was inevitable that things were about to come to a rather unexpected resolution. With no way to give Mike any warning (and no real desire to do so anyway!), Marti closed her eyes and gave in to her stomach's need to empty itself.

There were about twenty people milling around in the hotel lobby, mostly from the hosiery convention. Mike had drawn everyone's attention to them when he had begun screaming at Marti. Several of the men had started toward them in order to separate them. But even they stopped in their tracks as it became apparent what was happening - the entire room watched, in fascinated horror, as Marti threw up all over Mike's shirt and pants.

Even in his intoxicated state, the situation managed to filter into Mike's brain. He stood staring in disbelief, first at his clothes and then at Marti. Almost in slow motion, he dropped his hands from her arms and stepped back, his face contorted into revulsion at the vomit dripping down the front of his clothes. Somehow, everything had managed to land squarely onto Mike, leaving Marti herself unmarked. As Mike struggled to pull himself together, and say something coherent, his body was suddenly jerked upright from behind.

Marti watched, wide eyed, as the man she had met earlier in the bar, lifted Mike practically into the air by his shirt collar. Spinning on his heel, the bartender half dragged, half carried Mike to the doors of the motel. Although what he whispered in Mike's ear shortly before shoving him through the door was too low for anyone else to catch, the intent was obvious to everyone. As the door slammed behind Mike, a general sigh floated through the room. Within moments, conversations started back up, as though nothing unusual had happened.

Everyone was moving on with their day -- everyone but Marti. Marti was standing, still stunned, in the middle of the room where Mike had stopped her. She couldn't believe what had just happened. Her legs were still shaking, although her stomach had stopped churning. As she tried to figure out exactly what to do next, she found herself being gently pushed toward a soft chair at the corner of the room.

Turning her head to see who was doing this, Marti found herself looking into the eyes of a very attractive woman, about her own age. The woman whispered, "Over here, that's right. Just sit down." Then she handed her a wet washcloth. After Marti was seated, the woman gave her a glass of water.

"My name is Janice. I am the manager here. It's going to be ok."

Marti took a few sips of water and rubbed her forehead with the washcloth. Trying to make a joke, she turned to the woman and said, "Honestly, my dad never mentioned this part of the convention to me!" Of course, the woman had no way of knowing anything about Marti's dad, but she chuckled politely anyway. Marti couldn't think of anything else to say, so she simply sat there with the woman as her body calmed down. After a few minutes, Marti took a deep breathe and sighed. "Well, I guess I should go see about my booth."

At this, the woman clucked her tongue. "I don't think you need to go back in there this evening. The convention is closing up right now. I really believe you should just go up to your room and rest a bit. Why don't you let me send up room service in a bit? Go shower and take it easy."

Marti was surprised at the woman's generosity, but her offer was extremely appealing. Quickly pushing aside the voice inside her head that said she shouldn't let a single responsibility slip, Marti decided to take Janice up on her offer. Thanking her, Marti pushed herself up out of the chair and headed for the elevator. Calling after her, Janice promised to send up supper in about 30 minutes.