Speeches

As much as I have to do it, I hate writing speeches. I hate being cliché. I am an EVP based in the East. There are six of us. Every December we are rolled around to our allocated territories to give performance reviews. That usually coincides with what used to be called the Christmas party. Now it's the "Year-End" Party, by nonsectarian decree of head office. As the most senior executive at my destination, it's my job to make the after-dinner speech. In the past I tried to be entertaining, humorous, topical and insightful.

It doesn't work. It alienates me. It reinforces the belief that head office is disconnected, we think we are smarter than the rest of the company (which of course we are). But when I praise the locals, tell them how highly they are regarded by the board, how much faith we have in their locally-grown leadership, praise their graduate program, acknowledge their amazing social charities and most importantly call it a Christmas party again and thank the family values that only god-fearing folk know how to instil in a company culture - I receive rapturous applause. The company and its satellites are whole.

In head office alcohol is no longer part of any company function - but not so out in the regions. I had to be careful at these events. The locals like to bring the soft side out of the big bosses. They want to humanize us, trip us up, see us stumble, create some gossip, parry a favor, blackmail us. The guys usually want information, some sort of inside knowledge that might help them at head office. The girls want relationships. Nothing untoward, just someone they can say they know at the top to help them leverage their local power.

It sounds terrible, but I enjoy the politics of it. Big companies are interesting.

This year I booked the same hotel as the party. My stay was two weeks. I purposely set my dates a week before and a week after the party. Experience showed me I have fewer problems at an event if the staff know I have another week in the office with them afterward.

"Great speech Michael. Wonderful. Really appreciate your fine words."

"You're welcome Bob, thanks for all your work."

"Me, too, congratulations on your speech. Kind words," Mary gushed.

"Yes, kind words!" Tom agreed.

"Too much, thank you Michael," Wilson said, shaking my hand.

"Do the board really appreciate us so much?" Cherie blushed.

"Bob, Mary, Tom, Wilson, Cherie. Thank you. Head Office has set you as their example to other regions."

I was making myself sick.

The next handshake, however, was more interesting. Jodie Redden. It was the first time we had met. I'd heard her name; I'd been in the approval chain for her hire into Finance Manager earlier in the year. She was from the competition, and expensive. And the rumors that filtered through about her looks were inadequate. Jodie was old-Hollywood, brunette, stylishly tall, she had a great smile and a full figure that was appropriately shown off. And she was not gushing with wholesome self-indulgence. Dressed formally, Jodie was captivating. I told her so, in the least patronizing way I could.

"Oh, I'm sure this is all very conservative compared to home," she laughed charmingly, waving at her long black dress.

"Appropriately so, and stylish, I assure you."

"Let me buy you a drink," she said, taking my arm, "You've not said two words to me since you arrived in this city."

Bob and the crew smiled at me. "She might look sweet, but you better do as she says, she's unforgiving if she doesn't get her way!"

"You flatter me Bob," Jodie smiled back.

"I don't mean to," he quipped.

"Come, let me give you a tour Mr. Richards," Jodie said, ignoring him.

"Please. Michael. Everyone calls me Michael."

"Mr. Richards, I don't think I could, you're old enough to be my Dad."

"Hey, hey. I'm only 45!"

"Well...you could be, if you started young, Mr. Richards."

"I wish I had," I mused.

Jodie walked me around the main hall and the public areas of the hotel where our staff were congregating as the party aged - the bar, the smoking area outside and the lobby. She told me the inside story on each of the groups.

"The grads are in the lobby. They're waiting to see their managers leave," she told me.

"So they can let their hair down?" I assumed.

"No. So they can leave, too. Can't exit a work function before your boss, not at that age, but they've all got somewhere they'd rather be on a Friday night at nine-thirty."

"Oh."

"And those boys outside smoking, the sales guys."

"Why the sales guys, why are they the smokers?"

Jodie shrugged. "Reckless. Non-conformist. If you hit revenues, you can smoke, drive a truck, shoot fish, all is forgiven."

At the bar Jodie bought us a Shiraz each with cash in her clutch purse. There were free drinks inside the ballroom, why pay out here? I suspected she wanted me to say something, so I didn't.

"Who are those staff over there, what's their story?" I asked instead.

"Which ones?"

"I don't know...how about that group?"

Jodie had a good look at them.

"Ah, they're not ours."

"They're not?"

"You head office guys, you really are disconnected! Those ones...and those ones...and those ones, they're ours."

"Oh," I said, embarrassed.

"My fellow Finance team is over there. They like to drink but not socialize, not outside Finance, so they bring their drinks out here. The three over there are new and probably don't know anyone inside. And those idiots at the end doing shots...more sales guys."

"When did you start with us?" I asked, leaning on the bar.

"Why? You think I have too many opinions for the new guy, Mr. Richards?" Jodie asked, touching my arm.

"Ha. The opposite. I was thinking you are perceptive."

It was becoming flirtatious, I could feel it.

"You want I should read you, too?" she quizzed.

"No, better not do that right now."

"Hmmm. Executive away from home. All alone. Room upstairs. I don't know you well enough to make a conclusion, Mr. Richards."

"Well, I can help," I smiled at her; she really was beautiful in that dress. "I'm the guy that is always away from home and always alone and usually staying upstairs. It's true. I also think that zips on dresses make the most beautiful sound in the world, especially when they are pulling down. But unfortunately I'm also the father-figure, as you put it 'Miss' Redden. People have expectations of me in my role. If I was Head of Sales, then as you said, maybe it wouldn't matter. But I'm the guy who makes speeches. I'm the guy who determines the ratings that determines the bonuses. I'm obliged to behave even when I don't want to."

Jodie stepped back and sized me up again.

"You do make speeches. It's true."

I laughed and drank my wine.

"Perception is reality," she continued, "So is it safe for you to talk alone with me like this?"

"Of course! In public areas. It's always good for the boss to have stylish women talking with him. Come on, drink up. It's my turn to buy. We'll go back inside for it," I laughed.

"You cheapskate," Jodie accused.

"It's the same brand here as inside there. You know that right?"

"Okay, fine, let's go to the free side."

I'm not sure if Jodie walked in front on purpose to tease me. The zip at the rear of her dress ran all the way down below the small of her back. I sighed.

**********

In the ballroom we took a wine each and stood at the back. There were only a few busy tables left.

"Who are all the pretty young girls?"

"Over there? The interns. They are our little princesses."

"Why is that? You screen by looks? Surely not. The rest of the office, they're not exactly..."

"Not exactly what?" Jodie screeched, hitting me playfully.

"Except for you, of course," I appeased.

"You see that guy over there? He does our regular recruitment. He's a lay-missionary, so they say. But. See that guy? The hippy? He organizes the intern pool. Interviews them face to face first, and only sends the line managers the pretty girls."

"Those guys around Malcolm are all HR?"

"Absolutely. They won't leave while there is free beer in the room, they'll be the last ones here."

"Well, HR salaries are tough," I admitted.

"Not like Finance you mean?"

"Yes, exactly," I grinned. "Especially not like Finance."

Jodie was about to launch into a defence of her worth when Bob and Cherie and Tom decided she had seconded me enough. Standing by the wine trolley I held audience with various members of my management team until the end. Jodie was right about the HR guys staying late, but I didn't have a chance to tell her. She had disappeared into the night.

**********

On the way back to my room around eleven-thirty, I was busting to pee but couldn't spot a men's room. On the mezzanine level there was a wheelchair toilet. Looking around I saw no one. It would do. I opened the door and wow! There was a stunningly gorgeous girl in there, she looked something similar to Emma Watson. Her trousers and panties were mid-thigh; she was leaning against the wall. Her hair was completely messed up, her face pushed against the cold tiles. She appeared to be three-quarters out of it. A young guy was knelt on the floor behind her, kneading her ass with one hand and pushing fingers up between her legs with the other. The way his right hand was bunched up it looked like he had at least three up her.

"Hey, you guys really should lock the door...," I said, embarrassed. But hey, was that guy one of ours? Was he out smoking when Jodie had pointed out the sales guys? Was she one of ours? She didn't look in control of what was happening.

"...Hey. Do I know you? Are you in my company?"

The guy did a double take of me, trying to focus, his hand motionless inside her.

"Are you in the sales team?" I asked. That was enough for the guy's penny to drop.

"Shit!" he cursed. Removing his hands from the girl with a squelch, he stood and bolted. I tried to grab him but he broke through and sprinted down through the hotel. There was no point to go after him, especially with the girl there. I stepped fully in and the door closed. I pulled her face from the wall, she was definitely one of ours, from the princess table.

"Are you okay?" I asked. "Can you hear me?"

There was no response. She was nearly asleep, upright.

"Hey, hey, come on, you can't stay here. Time to go."

The girl moved slightly, stumbling, her trousers still down.

"Fuck. Okay, I'm going to have to help you here. Don't scream."

I stood behind and pulled up her panties then trousers. Wow, they were tight. She was a small girl but those things were painted on. She was wearing a white shirt. I lifted it to reach around and zip her but I couldn't do the button without touching too much skin. I left it open.

"Hey. Can you hear me? Where do you live? Are your friends here? Can someone take you home?"

The girl dropped her weight against the wall and slumped to the floor.

"Just let me sleep..."

"Okay. You can talk. That's good."

I stopped and thought for a moment. Opening the door, I couldn't see anyone. I ran back along the hall, down the escalator and into the ballroom. All of our people were gone, even the HR guys.

"Can I help you?" a young guy cleaning asked. "Did you leave something?"

"No, no, just looking for someone."

I couldn't explain why I didn't want the hotel to help. My instinct told me not to involve outsiders, to solve the issue in-house. I didn't want our company image to be staff-passed-out-in-bathrooms.

I rushed back. The girl was in the same spot.

"Come on. Up. Let's go."

She groaned. "Let me sleep."

"Not here," I said firmly.

Even with her dead weight, the girl weighed nothing. I put one arm around her waist, and put hers over my shoulder.

"Come on, you can't stay here."

I pushed then kicked the door open, looking both ways. Nothing. It wasn't difficult to move her quickly, but it wouldn't have looked good if someone had seen us. At the elevator, conscious of the camera, I tried to shuffle her in as if we were both walking. Who knows how it really looked.

Without running into anyone I made it to my room, then inside. She flopped on her back on the bed. The flaps of the white shirt fell apart and I could see the skin of her tight, flat tummy above the open button of her trousers. With her hair off her face, I could see why the hippy recruited her. Stunning face. Small, tight little body, gorgeous flowing brown hair. I don't know why exactly but she looked French Canadian lying there. Or petite London British. She couldn't have been anything more than nineteen years old.

There was no bag, money, purse or ID. Just a phone in her front pocket, one of the small iPhone sixes. I tried to rummage through it to see who she was, or if there were numbers I could call - but no luck. It had a pin lock. Of course.

I looked through my own phone. The only people locally that I had numbers for were men. How I wished I had gotten Jodie's number.

"Hey. Hey. Wake up! What's your pin? Hey. Your pin?"

The girl groaned and moved, but there was no recognition. I opened a whisky from the mini-bar and drank from the bottle.

I should have sought hotel help in the first instance. What would I say now? Could I put her back where I found her? It just goes to show that even the more experienced of us have dumb judgement at times.

"Shit! Your thumb!"

I took her phone and pressed her thumb on the ID pad. Presto! Open!

I rolled through Contacts.

Mom, an East Coast number. Dad a UK number. Shit. That's not going to help.

I didn't recognize any names from work. Under H was Home.

I called the number. It went to voicemail without ringing, a female.

"Who calls landline anymore!" it said, then gave a number for Grace and a number for Michelle. I rang again when I had a pen. The first number went straight to voicemail. Because it was this phone?

The second number's ring changed from the number to the name 'Mish'. It answered quickly. 'Mish' seemed bright and awake.

"Hey babe, what's up?"

"Ah...hello. This is Michael. I'm calling from Grace's phone. Is this Michelle?"

Momentarily there was silence, then, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing really. Grace fell asleep drunk at our office party and I'm wondering what to do with her."

The laughter at the other end was relief as much as anything.

"Oh, that's embarrassing. Just leave her sleep."

"Can't you come get her?"

Again laughter.

"Ah, no."

"Why not?" I asked seriously.

"Well for a start I'm in Hong Kong for another week."

"Shit. Is there someone else?"

"Not really. Why? Is she in the way?"

I looked at the bed.

"I guess not," I sighed. "What about her mom or dad, should I call them?"

"That's not going to help. They don't live there. Can't she sleep it off where she is?"

"Going to have to," I mumbled. "Sorry to bother you."

"Take care of her."

I hung up, then put her phone on my charger. I looked at the sofa in the room. Her or me?

"Bathroom," the girl suddenly said. "Quick."

"Why quick?"

I didn't have to wait for an answer, I could tell from the chest spasm.

"No, no, no, no, no, not here, not here!"

I lifted her by the front and ran her to the bathroom. It wasn't in time. At least we made the tiles, the carpet didn't cop it. But her and I - we were caked in stinky yucky wine-and-dinner girl-spew.

"You rotten horrible...," I groaned, putting her on the floor by the toilet bowl, lifting the lid. She kept vomiting, most of it into her hair and down her front.

"Shit. Shit. Shit. I'm too old for this."

I tried to wash it from myself in the sink. It was hopeless. I pulled off my shirt and undershirt, laying them on the bathroom bench. They would need to be washed properly.

Grace appeared to have thrown all there was to throw. She was resting her head on the plastic seat, flushed. I moved out to the main room to get my own phone and take a photo. I wanted to show her later the pool of vomit she was wallowing in.

Snap. Snap. Snap. Perfect.

"Alright. Let's get you up."

I reached down and pulled the girl to standing, tenuously perched against the bathroom counter.

"Let me sleep," she moaned.

"In a minute," I growled.

I reached forward and undid the buttons on her shirt, having to move chunks of gunk to get to them. Undone, I peeled her shirt back. Underneath was a black bra, sexier than I might have expected having seen her plain purple undies earlier in the toilet. The shirt material was thick, but she must have been cold wearing so little. I pulled off her shirt, trying not to drop too much of the vomit to the floor. I put it with my dirty clothes. I pulled the zip down that I'd earlier pulled up on her trousers. I bent down to take off each black-heeled sandal. While down there I peeled the dirty trousers off and over her legs.

As altruistic as my initial purpose was, the sight of her standing, eyes shut; in just bra and panties was the moment the little devil on my shoulder appeared. Maybe I should...maybe I could? Heaven knew it had been a long time since I'd stood alone with a teenage body this fine. Grace had small tight breasts in her bra; I'd guess a 30B or 30C. Her hips were small and tight, with a sexy gap between her thighs.

I reached around and undid the bra, pulling it down her arms. She didn't mind at all, oblivious to her breasts spilling free. Even when I ran my thumb back and forth across her nipples and softly squeezed her skin she didn't protest. Her breasts were remarkably firm; she didn't need a bra to hold shape. After getting to know her tits, I knelt down to pull her panties down and off her ankles. She had the tiniest fluff of hair. The slit between her legs was close to bare. I put her underwear in the dirty clothes pile even though it was clean of vomit.

"Hey, hey, can you hear me? You are amazing naked. Amazing," I tried to tell her. "Can you hear?"

"Hear what?" Grace said briefly, eyes closed.

I reached around the glass pane and turned on the shower. Thankfully it had a detachable head. I could use it to spray much of the muck on the floor toward the drain. It was distracting, though, having Grace's breasts and tiny soft bush on show. I replaced the shower head and pulled off my own trousers, underwear and wet socks. I didn't mean to be hard, but I was.

I pulled us both into the shower like we were slow dancing, my hard-on running up her middle, burning against her. Dirty as she was, stinky and sickly, it was remarkable to hold her nudity against mine.

In the shower she could stand, facing the wall leaning on her hands. I lathered her hair while my cock pushed against her ass. I used the shampoo and conditioner down below too, as an excuse to explore her vagina. She felt nice soaped up, slippery and smooth with a naturally small and silky slit. I washed her tits with my hands until they shone. I even brushed her teeth to get rid of the stench in her mouth.

I used the blow dryer and my hands to dry her body and hair; I have to admit she felt magnificent.

By the time I led her to bed she had regained some balance and freshness, but didn't realize who she was with or sense her nudity. Into the sheets she crawled and slept immediately.

I considered the sofa, but decided the sleep would be too poor and the company too alluring. I climbed in with her and slept, pushed up against her remarkable young body.

***********

"Good morning," I said, running my fingers through her soft hair.

Grace blinked and got up on her elbows. She looked at me and around the room. She looked under the sheet. Bare breasts.

"You're Mr. Richards," she rasped.

"Yes. And you're Grace," I smiled. I was under the covers with her, both of us naked.

"My head hurts."

"You were very drunk."

Grace looked under the covers again, farther down. Not just bare breasts. Bare pussy.