Mrs. Diane O'Neil was special. She was one of those rare creatures who is beautiful, inside and out.
In her forties, she was lovely to behold. She had a slim waist that accentuated generous curves. Her hair was a pale blonde, kept in a short, modern bob, and she always dressed stylishly. She was lovely in manner as well. Mrs. O'Neil was polite, and pleasant, with a lilting laugh. She was nice to everyone, I remember, although not everyone was always nice to her.
I was a young intern at the time. Many years ago now. My first job out of school! I was very new to the big city, having grown up and been educated on the prairies. I put on a brave face, but I was terribly nervous, on my own far from everyone I knew. Perhaps that is why I immediately liked and trusted Mrs. O'Neil. An administrator for the firm, she had come from a small coastal fishing community many years before. I imagine that she understood how I felt. As I said, she was a beautiful person, and she made efforts during breaks and at lunch, to include me, and make me feel like part of the team.
Everyone seemed to have crush on Mrs. O'Neil. Certainly many of the interns did, but it seemed like everyone, from the accounting staff right up to VP's had a special interest in Mrs. O'Neil. She seemed to be wholly unaware of her admirers.
I certainly admired Mrs. O'Neil a great deal, although from a far. We had spoken often, and we became friends, but I was very careful not to let my true feelings show. I was from a small town, and there were manners and propriety to respect! I had never met Mr. O'Neil, but I was certain he must be a fantastic fellow, to have gotten a wife like her! I had also been made aware of harassment laws when we did case studies in school. I certainly didn't want to upset my friend and ally by telling her I thought she was wonderful, or that I had dreams about her that left me aching and sweaty during the night! She had enough on her plate, I figured.
The company, while powerful and successful was one of the last hold outs of the 'Old Boys Club'. Everyone in authority was rich, white, and male. The overpaid sales staff was fat and lazy, strolling in late to read the newspaper at their desks. Lunches often included a 'barley sandwich' or three for the executive team. Women, sadly, could not raise above a certain scale in the company, and endured a great deal of sexist treatment.
I was disgusted. I sat quietly through many a racist monologue from one senior staffer or another, during breaks. I am of mixed heritage, but was able to fly under the radar. I wish I had been stronger, or smarter, sooner, and had drawn the line at this sort of behavior. But I was new, and young. I was also very poor - my intern salary was not large, I had a large student debt and a small apartment I could barely afford. For months I did not rock the boat.
Until one day I did.
It was Mrs. O'Neil's birthday. At lunch the company had brought in a cake for her, and as she cut and served it (yes, she cut and served her own birthday cake!) plans were made to celebrate after work at a fancy establishment down town. Normally I would not have afforded such a place, but it was a Friday, a pay day, and Mrs. O'Neil's birthday. I went home to shower quickly, and rode my small motorcycle through traffic to the pub.
The drinks had already started when I got there. Mrs. O'Neil was at the center of the table surrounded by 'gentlemen' from work. They were pressed around her, proffering drinks and trying to charm her. She had a glass of white wine and she seemed to simply let their efforts slide off of her, as she always did. She never stopped smiling, and laughing. Her brown eyes shone with amusement, and somehow none of them really got to her. She caught my eye and smiled as I came in. I waved and looked for a place to sit. Of course, as the new guy, and with so many people focused on Mrs. O'Neil, I could only get a spot at the end of the table.
I felt invisible. Both to most of my co-workers, and to the wait staff! I tried flagging the waitress down a number of times before I gave up and attempted to join in the conversations around me. I eventually found an untouched glass of water and sat back to watch. I didn't want to stare at Mrs. O'Neil, as lovely as she was, instead I turned slightly to scan the crowd. I quickly became lost in thought, marveling at the change in my life! It seemed like not that long ago I was driving a patched up tractor on my parent's modest farm. And now here I was, out of my league, trying to fit in in the big City, thousands of miles from home.
"Can I buy you a drink, Sailor?" came a warm voice from beside me, followed by a musical laugh. I turned to see Mrs. O'Neil's round hip almost touching my shoulder! Shamefully my eyes dragged slowly up her lean middle and lingered on her large breasts before settling on her laughing brown eyes. I felt her beauty right in my chest! My heart surged and a lump formed in my throat! I could feel my face blazing as I managed a weak smile and a nod.
Before I knew what was happening Mrs. O'Neil had pulled up a chair, and pressed a glass of beer into my hand! I tried to protest her buying me a drink on her birthday, but she would have none of it. I found myself in the middle of the party, right beside the woman of the hour! Skillfully she drew me out in front of the crowd. She got me to tell stories about life on the farm. Lots of people seemed amused by my tales of escaped calves and swimming in the dugout. I could see that some of the people judged me for the hay in my hair. With Mrs. O'Neil smiling and laughing beside me I had new confidence, and did not care!
The evening wore down, and many people left. Soon there were only twos and threes. Mrs. O'Neil was telling me about dulse, a dried seaweed that was a delicacy from her home, when Mr. Sanderson slid behind her chair and started rubbing her shoulders!
"Guess who?" he sang out drunkenly. Mrs. O'Neil's smile slipped.
"Hello Garry," she said in a sing-song, long suffering tone. Mr. Sanderson was a VP of Accounting, he was small and ugly, and a very powerful man in the company.
"Do you like your birthday massage?" he slurred as his pale fingers slid dangerously low down her front before he clumsily pinched her shoulders up. Her face wrinkled with distaste as his massage pulled her skin up and down, causing her breasts to rise and fall provocatively.
"Please Garry," she said softly, "stop." Garry shook her shoulders back an fourth, again making her breasts jiggle.
"But it's for your birthday, Diane" he protested, his face by hers, looking directly down Mrs. O'Neil's blouse as he pulled her skin again lifting her breasts.
"Mr. Sanderson!" I growled as I stood up so quickly that my chair tipped behind me. Mrs. O'Neil's eyes were closed tightly and I thought I could see tears forming. At over six feet tall I towered over the middle aged accountant. He barely looked my way before dismissing me.
"This is none of your concern, Boy," he growled waving his hand dismissively at me. I grabbed his wrist tightly. I hadn't been gone so long from the farm, my hands were still calloused, and I had a grip borne of milking cows before and after school.
Mr. Sanderson's pale watery eyes swung toward me finally and he let out a surprised grunt.
"Sir," I said in a low and grave tone, "it is time for you to go home to Mrs. Sanderson." He started to growl and me and attempted to jerk his wrist free. With a cold rage I tightened my grip on his clammy wrist until I heard him gasp. I jerked him away from Mrs. O'Neil and leaned close, "Now, Mr. Sanderson." I grated.
"Do you know who I am?" he started to mutter. A waitress was walking by and I caught her attention by calling out in a deep voice,
"Ma'am, this gentleman would like a cab!" I was loud enough that the remainder of the staff turned to look at Mr. Sanderson and I. I slackened my grip and Mr. Sanderson tore free and scurried to grab his coat. Massaging his wrist he left, but not before throwing me a murderous glance.
