The Office Party 7

I was staring at my computer screen and counting the seconds until quitting time when a female voice penetrated my thoughts.

“Knock, knock.”

“What now?” I mumbled to myself. It had been a busy week, and I was perfectly content to spend the rest of my Friday afternoon staring at the monitor and daydreaming. The last thing I needed was for someone to come to me with some problem that had to be solved right away. I rolled my chair back and turned to see Aimee Sinclair standing at the entrance of my tiny cubicle.

“Hi!” I said, pleasantly surprised. Aimee worked in a group that had very little interaction with my own, so I was relatively sure that this was a social visit. “What brings you here?”

“I had to drop something off with Mike up the aisle, and when I walked by and saw you working so hard I thought I would drop in to visit.” We both smiled. It was obvious that she had witnessed me sitting around doing nothing. “How have you been?” she asked with her slight northern accent.

We continued to exchange idle pleasantries and catch up with each other for the next few minutes. Even though we had been working for the same company for over a year, it was the first time we had spoken to each other in a couple of months. The corporate campus consisted of several large buildings, each housing a few thousand employees, and we had jobs that didn’t bring us into contact. It was a shame, because I had known Aimee for just over seven years, and we had always enjoyed talking to each other.

We’d first met in high school at the beginning of my senior year. Aimee was a junior and her family had just moved to the area from Pennsylvania. She was a very cute girl who had instantly caught the eye of most of the boys. I met her when she started dating a friend of mine. The relationship didn’t last long, but the two of us had continued to talk occasionally. The next fall, I went off to college, and a year after that she started at the same school. It wasn’t much of a surprise since there aren’t many options for aspiring engineers in the south. Thanks to lack of ambition and a little too much partying it had taken me five years to graduate. My GPA was far from spectacular, so when the company I’d interned with offered me a position I jumped at the chance, even though I knew the job would be stressful and mundane. Aimee, on the other hand, had been an excellent student and was one of the elite few to get out in four years. She had ended up in the executive training program with the same multimillion dollar international conglomerate that employed me and about 20,000 other Atlanta residents.

Our conversation continued pleasantly, and I actually was able to forget about my clockwatching for a few minutes. Aimee was about five and half feet tall with a great smile and trim figure, so she was pleasant on the eyes. Plus, she was very witty and just fun to talk to. She was even uncharacteristically polite for a northerner. She was talking about the unseasonably warm weather when I noticed the rock she was wearing. “Wait a second,” I said. “What the hell is that?”

It took her a second to realize where I was pointing. She looked a little embarrassed. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she said. “I got engaged last month.”

“It’s nothing?” I said. “That sounds like something to me. Who’s the unlucky guy?” I joked.

“No one you know,” she responded. She looked a little nervous as she talked. “A guy named Gregory that I met a while back. A friend of a friend.”

“And what kind of work does young Gregory do?” I asked in my best nosy neighbor voice.

“He’s a lawyer,” she answered, “And he’s actually not very young. He’s in his late twenties.”

“Well, an older man and a lawyer. Congratulations,” I said. “And you’re on the fast path to being the company’s next vice-president, and all of this at the ripe old age of 22. Mama Sinclair must be proud of you!”

“Thanks,” she said. Once again I got the impression that she wasn’t comfortable with the subject. “I guess she is.”

There was an awkward silence. Despite my sincere wish of congratulations, I couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. I’d always been interested in Aimee in a romantic way. I had known several girls that were prettier than her, but I hadn’t met many women with her combination of good looks, intelligence, and great personality. Still, I’d never acted on my impulses, and now it looked like the time had passed.

The gap in the conversation seemed to go on forever before Aimee ended it. “Well, I have to get back to work,” she said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Don’t forget to invite me to the wedding,” I said teasingly.

She gave a half-hearted laugh. “Yeah, I won’t.” She turned to leave then paused. “Are you going to the company Christmas party tomorrow night?” she asked.

There was no way in hell that I planned on spending my free time at a work event, but I chose a more appropriate answer. “I haven’t decided yet, how about you?”

“Yes,” she said. “We’re going.” I assumed she was referring to her fiancé and herself. “Well, if you’re there maybe I’ll see you then.” She turned and walked off. I took another moment to lament the fact that she was now ‘off the market’, and then I went back to staring at my monitor. Less than a minute had passed when I was interrupted once again.

“Knock, knock,” called a female voice.

My first thought was that Aimee had returned for some reason, but my brain quickly processed that the soft spoken northern accent had been replaced by a gruffer, Bostonian intonation. This time it was Melody Brown blocking the entrance to my little prison cell. Melody was the human resources representative for our area, in charge of such important tasks as promoting company events and boosting worker morale. She had also interviewed me for my job. Of course, at that time she had been wearing an elaborate engagement ring and gold wedding band on her hand, and now she was two months removed from an extremely messy divorce. Still, whenever I saw her she flashed me that big fake smile that every HR person seems to possess.

“Hi Melody, what can I do for you?” I asked.

She flashed me that shit eating grin before she began. “Well, I was just up the aisle and I thought I overheard you say you might not make it to the Christmas party.”

“You’ve got good ears,” I responded with my best fake smile. “That’s what I said.”

“Why not?” she asked with a mock frown. “It’s going to be a lot of fun. There will be food, dancing, and an open bar.”

The open bar sounded inviting, but it still wasn’t enough to get me excited. I searched my mind desperately for an excuse. “Well,” I said, “I kind of forgot about it, and now I don’t really have time to find a date.”

“Well, that’s kind of good news,” Melody said. This time her smile seemed more authentic.

“How so?”

“Well,” she said. “I wanted to know if you wanted to be my date?” I had first met Melody about four years earlier, after my sophomore year in college, and this is the first time she had ever seemed less than 100% positive of herself. That surprised me almost as much as her offer. Melody was about five foot ten and very attractive. She had short curly blonde hair, bright green eyes, long legs, and a very tight, athletic figure that she obviously put a lot of time into. What made the offer so shocking is that she had just turned 30 years old in November, making her 7 years my elder.

I was so taken aback that I didn’t know what to say. It came as a shock to my brain when I heard myself own mouth say “That would be cool.” My response was greeted with her ‘authentic smile’, and we talked for the next few minutes making arrangements. Mostly she talked, while I continued to marvel at her surprising offer and my more surprising acceptance.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” Melody finally said. She gave me a wink then turned sharply on her heels and left me alone with my astonishment. No one came to my cube for the rest of the day, so I had plenty of time to replay the sequence of events that had led me to making a date to a company party with a recently divorced, thirty year old woman who happened to hold a job that I had absolutely no respect for.

Friday evening was spent with a group of friends, a deck of cards, a carton of smokes, and several large bottles of liquor. When I woke up the next morning on my friends couch with a throbbing headache and a sore throat and a stiff neck I thought things couldn’t possibly get and worse, but then I remembered the company party. I sorted through the discarded cigarette boxes until I found one that had somehow survived the rowdy evening. For the most part, I had quit smoking after college, but for some reason I was having a major craving. I woke up the other guys who had crashed in various locations, and after a greasy Waffle House breakfast I went home to my rented townhouse. After a short nap and a shower, I started to feel a little better.

I still wasn’t keen on the idea of attending an offsite company function, but I was intrigued by my date. I had finally gotten over the shock of Melody’s proposal, and I was able to look at it in an analytical fashion. The age difference was definitely part of the surprise, but what had really gotten me was that the offer had come from out of the blue. I couldn’t recall any instance in which Melody had shown an interest in me. We rarely spoke to each other outside of saying “Hello”, and the conversations we had shared were mostly comprised of the kind of idle chit chat that goes on between coworkers more out of courtesy than interest. The only reason I knew about her divorce was from hearsay and gossip.

Curiosity was causing me to look forward to the party. Plus, even though I could only to be around Melody in small doses, there was no denying that she was very attractive. Her body was fit and lean, and she had a sophisticated yet sexy way of presenting herself. On more than one occasion I had favored her with a second look, and I had actually caught myself ogling her a few times in long meetings or presentations. The thought of walking into the room with her on my arm made me smile. I also new that it would cause the company rumor mill to work overtime. Not only would there be the normal gossip about an interoffice relationship—all the nosey people would also be spreading theories about a May-December romance. As I continued to think about it, I realized that the evening would not be that bad.

A few hours later I followed the directions Melody had given me to her house in the suburbs. It was a modest sized place that she had no doubt inherited in her divorce settlement. I felt like Regis Philbin in my dark suit and shiny tie, and I had actually bothered to run a comb through my longish brown hair for the first time in weeks. I didn’t bother to take a razor to the two days worth of stubble on my face though. The dress code for the party had been purposely vague. Apparently some genius in HR had realized that not all people liked to dressy fancy, so they had told people to just dress as they see fit. Melody has chosen to go with a conservative business look instead of a ball dress. It’s would I had anticipated from the consummate professional. She was wearing a pale pink suit that was comprised of a short skirt and matching three button top. She had a pair of stockings on her long, muscular legs, and white heels capped off the ensemble. She greeted me with a polite kiss on the cheek and I took her arm to escort her to my car. I felt a little awkward and worried that we would have nothing to talk about because of the age difference, but Melody proved capable of diffusing the situation by starting a polite conversation that continued through the entire drive back to the center of the city.

When we got to the hotel I handed my keys to the valet and escorted my date into the large ballroom. I was absolutely shocked by the number of people that were there. I had expected it to be a room full of HR people and brown nosers looking to score some points with the executives, but the turnout was actually rather large. The room was packed with people, most of whom I didn’t know. The majority of the guys were wearing shirts and ties, but a few had went all out with their tuxedos, and a handful of slackers were sporting the business casual look, which I had contemplated myself. The women, on the other hand, were dressed in an array of outfits. Like Melody, some had chosen a professional look, but there were plenty of women in formal dresses, and large amount dressed in trendy outfits. Lot of them were showing there Christmas spirit with colorful red or green ensembles. I stood taking in the spectacle until I noticed the bar on the other side of the room. As Melody rushed off to talk to a friend I introduced myself with the bartender, tipped him ten dollars, and told him he would be seeing a lot of me. I took a couple of quick shots, then went wandering back through the crowd with a mixed drink and a glass of champagne for my date.

As I rejoined Melody, the DJ who had apparently been on break returned to the microphone and proclaimed that “Eighties Eddie was ready to take this party up a notch.”

“Beautiful,” I mumbled to myself. Nothing makes a bunch of half drunk middle aged people happier than singing along with Paula Abdul and MC Hammer. As if he were reading my mind, Eighties Eddie got things going with a little “Can’t Touch This.”

“I love this song,” Melody said as she grabbed my arm. Somehow I knew she would. She took the glass of champagne and I chugged the rest of my drink as she whisked me off towards the dance floor. She led the way with me in tow. “Do you want to dance?” she asked with a big smile. Fortunately, it was an authentic smile and not the HR face. Apparently she had left that at home for the evening.

“Thank God for small favors,” I muttered inaudibly. Then I gave her my best fake smile and said “Why not?” as we joined a hundred other couples on the parquet floor.

Two hours and several drinks later I finally sat down at a table to rest my legs. I was drunk and Melody was getting there. We had been dancing and mingling constantly and my legs were killing me. Out of the handful of guys that I spent time with at work, only one had been lame enough to come to the party, so most of the people we’d talked to had been Melody’s friends. The conversations were about as exciting as watching paint dry, but the cautious whispers and veiled stares were enough to keep me intrigued. Almost everyone we talked to had to resist the urge to do a double take when I was introduced as her date. Thanks mostly to the alcohol, I was actually having a good time, and Melody has apparently left her more annoying personality traits back at the office with her fake smile.

I sat at the table watching the crowd of people while Melody went to get us a couple of drinks. I was starting to wonder what this date was going to lead to when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.” I looked up to see Aimee standing with a tall good looking fellow.

“Hi, how are you?” I asked. “This must be the infamous Gregory.”

“That it is,” her date said as he extended his hand. I stood up to shake it and introduced myself.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” I lied.

“Don’t listen to any of it,” Gregory joked.

“Are you here alone?” Aimee asked.

“No, here comes my date now,” I responded as Melody came up beside me. Aimee tried to hide the surprise on her face and failed. Everyone made their introductions after Gregory started talking about his sore legs the couple decided to join us at the table for a few drinks. Everyone chatted, mostly about work, so naturally I had no interest in the conversation. As Gregory explained the rewarding feeling that comes from working on a big case, I couldn’t help checking out his fiancé. Aimee had went with a party girl look. She was wearing a bright red halter top that tied behind her neck, and short gray skirt with vents on each side. Her brown hair, which she normally wore in a pony tail, was now pushed back on each side with ornate combs. She sat pushed back from the table with her legs crossed, and her short skirt and stocking really showed them off. It was also very obvious that she wasn’t wearing a bra. The outfit was somewhat revealing for winter, but it had been unseasonably warm, and it was extremely hot out on the dance floor.

For the most part, Gregory and Melody were dominating the conversation, with Aimee chiming in occasionally. I was in my own little world, concentrating hard on not paying attention to anything that was said. I was actually surprised when something Aimee said caught my attention.

“Ooh!” she exclaimed. “I love that song.” Eighties Eddie has just announced that it was time for the doves to cry. Apparently his taste had improved slightly over the last few hours. “Honey, let’s dance,” she said as she stood up.

“Dear, my legs our killing me,” Gregory responded. “I really need this breather.”

Aimee flashed Gregory a pouty face that I thought was very cute, but it seemed to annoy him. “Why don’t you guys go dance?” he said looking in my direction. Gregory wasn’t the only one with sore legs, but the idea of taking the dance floor with Aimee was somewhat appealing.

“Yeah honey, go ahead,” Melody said. I wasn’t entirely pleased with being called honey.

“Would you like to dance, my lady?” I asked Aimee in a eloquent manner.

“Certainly, kind sir,” Aimee said as she mocked a curtsy. I stood and took her hand and headed to the floor.

“You kids have fun,” Melody called out. I winced at being called a “kid” by my date. It didn’t escape Aimee’s attention.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” she began, “but what the hell are you....”

“Don’t ask,” I said. “I don’t know the answer.”

Aimee looked a little confused, but she shrugged it off as we made our way to the center of the dance floor. That first recognizable guitar riff was starting to squelch out of the large speakers and Aimee took my hand and started to move. I started up with the normal bad moves that defined my horrific dancing ability. It was somewhere between John Travolta in “Pulp Fiction” and Michael Jackson circa 1983 and had been cultivated in the midst of one of many drunken college parties.

As the music filled the air, the differences between Aimee and my date were immediately noticeable. Melody was a decent dancer, but everything was very controlled and appeared to be premeditated. Aimee, on the other hand, just seemed to move with the music. Every move seemed natural and graceful, and she exuded youthfulness and femininity. I was suddenly very aware of her as a woman. She was sensual, yet it was completely unintentional. She smiled and giggled at my own pathetic moves, but in a polite way that made me feel less self conscious. I let go of my restraint and just started to have fun. Aimee placed my hands on her hips and reached up to my shoulders. Her sensual dance moves combined with my awkward ones and they seemed to blend together, and suddenly I found myself chiming in with the Purple One as he asked “Why do we scream at each other?” My singing ability had always been the polar opposite of my dancing, and Aimee beamed brightly as I continued to sing along.

I had sung that song at least a thousand times in my young life, but for the first time I was keenly aware of the sensual lyrics. Aimee had moved closer to me, and I was singing almost directly into her ear. I suddenly felt as if we were alone on the dance floor. The hard dance beat seemed to fill the room, and every few seconds our bodies brushed against one another. The room seemed to be spinning, but it wasn’t caused by the alcohol.

The song stopped, and the room was once again filled with people. We were so deep in the crowd that I could barely see our table across the room. As the people shuffled around I caught a glimpse of Gregory and Melody. They appeared to be totally engrossed in their conversation. I started to walk in their direction as the next song started. I felt a hand on my shoulder.