The Offic(e)ial Story Ch. 02

About a week after the CWNH, I found myself alone in a conference room with Laszlo--this was the opportunity I'd been waiting for. As casually as I could, I said,

"Hey, I was thinking about-- Can I ask you a question about-- Y'know that conversation we never had?"

"What conversation'" asked Laszlo, "do we never have?"

"About, uh, y'know, our colleague?"

"What one?"

"The female one, with the sex dream, and all that."

"Oh yeah, this one."

"Any chance you could tell me who it was?"

"I can't. She making me promise not to tell you unless that--"

"Unless that what?"

"Unless you will say yes, then she contact you."

"Sure, I get that. I'm just-- I mean, I thought about it, and I'm kind of interested, but I guess I need to know if--"

"I always think if no one find out about it, then it's OK, right?"

"I guess, if it's really gonna--"

"It's solid. I know, because she ask me something about doing it before with her AND her friend together."

"Really--wow."

"Like I said before, I think if no one knows, it's I think OK, right?"

"So... I have to think about it..."

*****

But...who?

Well before the CWNH ever took place, I had admired (read: fantasized about) two co-workers, Dorian and Lisa. Both tall, willowy blondes, they were, respectively, the company's current and previous sales managers. Both, however, were also married to good-looking Wall Street types (who, I felt certain, played squash together), and both had a bunch of school-age kids. So I was quite sure that--had they even been "in the market"--either one was a bridge too far for me.

So I whiled away the hours of my daily commute, mentally sorting through the rest of the people with whom we worked directly, and narrowed the list of possible candidates down to four...

Marlene

A tough-as-nails personal trainer, Marlene was also a yoga teacher, and a massage therapist, at the health club on the 15th floor. I'd observed that, as such, she dressed almost exclusively in form-fitting athleisure wear, which left little to the imagination (well, at least, to my imagination). I had also noticed that whenever we happened to be riding the elevator at the same time, she seemed to end up standing right next to me. I dismissed this, assuming that her job(s) had, perhaps, made her less sensitive to other people's personal space.

One day, however, as I stood in the elevator deleting emails from my phone, I realized that:

a) the car was completely empty, but for Marlene and myself,

b) I had completely lost my train of thought as I caught the scent of her perfume,

c) she was again standing a little too close,

d) I could actually feel heat radiating from her voluptuous, taut, just-worked-out body, and

e) I was getting an erection.

--

Julianne

Always vivacious, often deadly serious, and occasionally quite funny, Julianne was the managing editor of technical books. As I was the resident so-called "expert" in theatre and production arts, this was my area, and we worked closely together. Julianne also held a seat of honor, as the most-frequent guest, at our Thursday after-hours "meetings."

Laszlo, Julianne, and I had numerous meetings every week, some scheduled, some ad hoc, but all congenial and relaxed. At first I thought I'd imagined it, but over time I came to believe it was something purposeful. Whenever we sat opposite one another, Julianne had a habit of slowly crossing and uncrossing her legs, in a subtle, but--I felt--distinctly performative way.

--

Simone

Pert and pixie-ish, Simone was a rising star, and a protégé of Julianne's. Newbies in the field were either writers, hoping to "get insight into" (read: make contacts in) publishing, or aspiring editors hoping to discover the next Sally Rooney or E.L. James. Simone, I discovered, was a bit of both.

Simone was--there's simply no other way to describe her--adorable. Barely more than 5' tall, with a soft, curvy body, she had a sweet, bubbly manner, but a mature, raspy voice that belied her age. (She was, I later found out, only a few years older than my eldest child.)

--

Raina

Several times a week, Laszlo and I hit up the cafeteria, around 3:00pm, for a pick-me-up. Coffee, however, was only part of our motivation. The afternoon cashier, despite her generically ill-fitting, brown polyester uniform, exuded a deep sexiness. (I also imagined that she had numerous sexy tattoos, concealed by the long-sleeved t-shirt she always wore under her uniform.)

Her nametag read, "Hi, I'm Raina," and her look read "This is my day job, I'm actually an artist." This was attractive enough in its own right, but Raina also happily engaged in very witty (and rather flirtatious) banter with us. In fact, she usually initiated it.

--

I spent the next month or so analyzing and deconstructing every interaction I had with these four women, looking for evidence in their body language, their dress, our topics of conversation, whatever... Under actual scrutiny, I found little or none (Simone even gave off an almost asexual, "straight-A student" vibe), so I'd pretty much concluded that it must be Marlene. Then something unexpected happened.

*****

The company's annual holiday party always took place on the first Friday night in December, at a large pub near the office. Although Laszlo and I had "occasionally" been known to put it away after hours, I never, as a rule, drank a lot at company events. I would have a glass or two of white wine, a weak vodka-tonic or scotch and soda, then keep replenishing my glass with plain tonic, ginger ale, or seltzer.

The party was quite pleasant. I caught up on family news with some of the folks with whom I worked. I had a few words with two of the higher-ups, who put in an appearance to imply that they had the common touch. I was introduced to a couple of people from other offices, whom I'd never met, but whose names I frequently saw on emails. The usual.

I was turning to leave the bar after getting a refill of seltzer (which, though it was still early, I had already decided would be my last), when I bumped into one of The Four.

"Hey," she said brightly, "I haven't talked to you all night!"

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, "you know how these things are."

"So not fair," she said, with a little pout, then asked, "Wanna go sit down," indicating a banquette away from the bar, "over there?"

"Sure."

We moved across the room to an area that was considerably less noisy. Simone looked excited; I guessed that she was dying to tell me something.

"So, you know," she said, "Jack Wilson from Marketing?"

"Yeah, a little."

"Well, I just found out that he's having an affair with that red-haired temp in Accounting, Ann-Marie, or whatever her name is."

"Wow!" I said (in truth, this did not surprise me, as Wilson had quite a reputation as a ladies' man), "how do you know?"

"I overheard some of the admins talking about it at the bar."

"Not very discreet, are they?"

"Apparently, neither is Ann-Marie. She literally told one of them that she and Wilson did it in his office--right on his desk!"

"Jeez, seems like an HR issue waiting to happen, don't ya think?"

"Hah! I mean, he's pretty good-looking, I guess."

"I suppose."

"Not that it matters, but I always thought he was gay."

"He does kinda give that vibe sometimes. Maybe it's just a good cover."

"Hmmm, yeah." She appeared to think about it for a moment, then added, "You know all the women in the office think you're pretty hot, too, don't you?"

"Oh, let's not go there."

"No, it's not bad."

"OK."

"Actually, you should hear some of the things they say in the ladies room--talk about vivid imaginations!"

"About--? Now you're embarrassing me!"

"Nooooo...don't be--it's all in fun."

"Alright."

"Although, I have to say, some of these gals," Simone said, scanning the room as if to indict her colleagues, "I mean, they just blurt stuff out about, like, each other's boobs, and, like, the sizes of their boyfriends'--and other guys', too--like, y'know..." She suddenly looked a little flustered.

"OK, now," I interjected, "IAM embarrassed!"

"Yeah, I get that."

"Listen," I said, standing up, "I've got to get going--see you Monday?"

"Yup," she said, reaching up to give me a quick kiss on the cheek, "bye-eee!"

It was another half-hour or so before I could extricate myself from the party, what with all of the necessary and appropriate farewells and holiday wishes. As I made my way toward the door, I spotted Marlene at the bar, wearing a rather revealing (and rather short) dress. She was chatting with one of the interns--a tall, awkward guy who had recently graduated from an Ivy League school. I watched for a moment as they raised their glasses in an unheard toast, then she winked--at me--and I saw him start visibly as her other hand disappeared under the bar. Turning just before I stepped out the door, I saw Simone talking with Julianne, who already had her coat on, and was smiling and nodding vigorously at whatever she was being told.

At the nearest corner, I looked up the avenue, thinking I might take a cab, when I heard a voice behind me say,

"Hey Ted--wanna get a nightcap?"

"Alright," I turned and replied, "but just one. Moriarty's OK with you?"

"Actually, I live a block from here, literally. We could go to my place?"

I considered the implications for a moment, then said,

"Alright, but just a quick one. And I mean ONE."

"I promise!"

*****