...it was about 1:45 on Wednesday afternoon and Steve headed back to the office after his lunch at Barangas on the Beach with a colleague from one of his former start-ups, who now owned a small vineyard in the Niagara peninsula.
Steve smiled as he thought of his colleague, friend and now vintner, Declan, loading Steve’s trunk with two cases of a recent vintage – a Pinot Grigio and a very well reviewed White Zin. Steve had kidded him asking if he’d crushed the grapes in the traditional manner – in a large barrel with his bare feet.
“As a matter of fact, I did, Stevie,” Declan had replied, closing the car trunk. And my Planter’s Wart is almost completely cleared up.”
From the time he’d gotten into his car about twenty-five minutes ago, to the time he was exiting the Gardiner Expressway at Jameson, the sky had gone from overcast to a rapidly advancing pall of dark gray cloud, blotting out the daylight, like the end of days.
He leaned forward and looked up and out the windshield at the darkening clouds, menacing and swollen with the rain that would shortly be pouring down in a deluge.
As he turned the corner from Dufferin onto Liberty Street the sky was now so dark it was like night-time. Would he beat the rain? Shit, he thought, it’s gonna be close.
He approached the public parking lot on his left, and a little farther down on the right was Pyrotech’s building – with its Visitor parking right out front, steps from the main entrance, which was rarely full.
He took another quick glance at the sky - and headed for Pyrotech.
The parking out front was strictly for customers and other visitors, but he figured an exception could be made this once to avoid getting soaked in the rain. He wheeled in to a spot right beside a BMW 318 – an older model - noticing the vanity licence plate as he passed: Bokitis. Why would Robert park there when he had an underground spot? he wondered. He swung out of his car and skipped up the couple of stairs to the front door, yanked it open and stepped inside. Alright, he thought, I made it.
Behind the reception desk sat a gentle giant named Jason Potter. Pyrotechnique was a technology company filled with valuable secrets which necessitated a robust bulwark of physical and virtual security. Jason manned its front line. Tall, broad and beefy, a shadow showing where hair might grow on his shaved head, with carefully trimmed goatee, and wearing a well-fitting suit and open collared shirt, Jason greeted every employee by name and displayed diffidence, respect and impeccable manners to all.
Organizations, whether they are made up of pre-historic nomads or 21st century digital magicians, have an oral history of accumulated stories. One of Pyrotechnique’s widely circulated stories involved a young female employee who had been stalked by a former suitor, who, ignoring a restraining order, had followed her into Pyrotechnique’s main entrance lobby one morning. As the story is usually told, Jason looked at the face of the female employee who had said nothing, and then at her stalker, and without a word, came around the desk and took hold of the back of the stalker’s collar in one hand, and slipping his other hand between the stalkers’ legs, took hold of his crotch, and frog-walked him to the Pyrotechnique main entrance doors, then pushed him against the door, painfully, to open it and shoved him out the door and onto the pavement. The young female employee watched through the glass as Jason spoke to the stalker seated on the pavement, unable to hear but understanding what was being said by the body language of each man. In a few moments, the stalker crab-walked away from Jason - who had been standing with feet apart straddling him - then stumbled to his feet and hurried away. The young female employee never heard from or saw the stalker again.
Jason was a modestly paid, humble and highly regarded employee, with limited responsibility, which he took very seriously.
Steve, looking back through the glass door and the darkening day, said to him, “Looks like the end of the world out there, Jason.”
He turned to look at Jason and saw discomfiture.
“Mr. McGregor, I’m sorry, but we have a pretty strict policy about the parking out front. We keep that for visitors.”
Steve reflected that there were about 10 spots, and the only car, other than his, was Robert Bokitis’s old Bimmer. So, the rules were for everybody – except that asshole Bokitis. It was with animosity toward Robert, with none at all for Jason, that he said, “Do the rules apply to Mr. Bokitis?”
Steve saw Jason’s face fall; he saw anger and humiliation distort his features which then recomposed into his usual expression of politeness and duty. Steve could imagine, almost word for word, the interaction between Robert and Jason, likely only moments ago, and could see the effect of Robert’s arrogance and condescension on this loyal employee who didn’t presume to make policy but was committed to his role in implementing it without question.
“The rules should apply to everyone equally, Mr. McGregor.”
Steve felt immediate empathy for Jason and renewed disdain for Robert.
“You’re right, Jason. I’ll move my car.”
Jason held fast to principle, but it was clear from his expression that he took no satisfaction in imposing his will on Steve.
“I’m sorry, Mr. McGregor.”
“You have nothing to apologize for, Jason. We keep those spots open for a reason and everybody needs to fall in. You’re right to point that out to me.”
He saw the relief on Jason’s face as he turned and headed back to his car. Fat drops of rain were starting to splat on the asphalt as he jogged to his car and slipped behind the wheel.
He shot into the street and pulled into the public parking lot, gunning the engine, looking up and down each aisle for an open slot, farther and farther from the street and Pyrotech’s building. He finally found a slot at the back row, then had to run half the distance of the lot to the ticket dispenser, wait for his credit card to clear, and finally tear the ticket from the machine and run back and place it on the dashboard of his car. The rain had started, and he jogged – fast – toward Pyrotechnique’s main entrance. About half-way there, the sky opened up and rain came down in a torrent. He was soaked to the skin in about three seconds. It occurred to him, why am I running? He stopped, held his hands out palms up and tilting his face, eyes closed, felt the rain splatter his face and run down his neck. He smiled, then laughed. It’s only water, he reminded himself.
On the first floor, gathered by the interior side of the one-way, reflective window, unseen by Steve, several women huddled, watching him as he stood in the middle of the street, getting drenched.
“Someone needs to help him out of those wet clothes.”
“Get in line, bitch.”
They laughed and made lascivious comments and chastised one another and generally were having way more fun than the work waiting for them in their cubicles.
About five minutes before that, Judy Somerset had walked by the windows on her way to speak to one of the girls in Receivables and heard these same women, still in their cubicles and looking out the window, grumbling as Robert stepped out of his BMW in the Visitors parking.
“If I did that, I’d be in deep shit,” one had said.
Way to set an example, Robert, she had thought.
On her way back, she chuckled to herself as she watched them pointing and giggling. What now? she wondered, looking out the window and taking in the scene as she approached. She smiled. Poor Steve, he’s getting drenched.
She put on a stern face. “Where do I buy my ticket?”
The women turned to look at her and immediately made a laughable, hopeless attempt to appear indifferent to the titillating scene unfolding out the window. Judy resisted the urge to laugh out loud.
“We were just”–one woman began.
“Looking at the storm,” another finished. “Man, is it ever coming down out there, isn’t it guys?”
The others all made noises of agreement and wonder.
As she walked by them, Judy looked out again at Steve, then turned back and winked as she headed away toward the elevator. The women smiled and watched her, tiny and elegant in her blouse and skirt, tablet in hand.
“She is so awesome.”
“I love her.”
“Hey, he’s coming inside.”
They dashed back to their cubicles.
Now soaked to the skin, Steve walked at a leisurely pace to the main entrance and stepped inside and saw Jason – who looked stricken.
“I’m, I’m –“
Steve smiled at him. “You know, Jason, I take a shower once a week whether I need to or not. I can cross that off my list for this week.”
Jason appeared a little less conflicted, but not much, and offered Steve a combination smile and grimace.
As he walked past the reception desk to the doorway leading to the first-floor office area, a thought occurred to him, and he turned back to Jason.
“Hey, Jason, why would Robert park out front when he has an underground slot?”
“Well, you’d have to ask him that, sir.”
Jason paused but it was clear to Steve he had a theory which he was reluctant to share. Steve nodded to encourage him.
“Well, Mr. Bokitis’s underground slot is farther away from the elevator than the main door is, so, I guess, parking out there – in the visitor section – saves him a few steps.”
Steve shook his head slightly as he thought, what a douche. Jason nodded slightly in agreement, as though he could hear what Steve was thinking.
As he came out of the stairwell on the third floor and walked toward his office, his assistant, Karen, took one look at him and burst out laughing.
“Steve, didn’t anyone ever tell you, when it’s raining, you’re supposed to come inside?”
“Now you tell me,” he said. “Note to self…”
“You poor baby, go on into your office, I’ll get you some things from the logo merchandise storeroom.”
Kelly sat at her desk, tapping her pen against her lower teeth, a hand drawn timeline for the Athena launch in front of her. The product launch was still months away, but she liked to get in front of things, so had started to sketch the marketing tasks and milestones she and her team would need to put together to support the launch, if – no when – Athena was introduced in September. They would need to finalize the spec sheets in readiness for their distribution to their dealers and consultants, but she wasn’t quite sure when the specs would be ready from the development team.
She reached for her desk phone and started to punch Steve McGregor’s extension on the keypad as she held the phone to her ear with her shoulder – then flipped the phone from her shoulder to her hand and plopped it down in it’s cradle.
He was only a few offices down; she could just walk over and talk to him, face to face. And, she needed to stretch her legs, so…
Karen wasn’t at her desk, and Steve’s door was ajar, so she knocked and pushed through – and halted in her tracks.
She hadn’t remotely expected to see Steve standing in the middle of his office, turned sideways to her, hair dripping with water, holding his wet shirt, naked from the waist up.
Noticing her come in, he turned to face her. Seeing him like this - in spite of her shock and mortification - caused her to reappraise him. Fully dressed, he had a slight, slender build, he appeared almost scrawny. Now seeing him in the slanting, grey light from the window, she saw that he was quite muscular, not the bulging body builder type of muscles, or the big, husky athletic type like Mike, but lean and sinewy, with lines and shadows defining their shape.
The heavy rained drummed against the window as they looked at one another.
He was awkward and embarrassed, she could see it in his face, and how he held his body. I should excuse myself and leave, she thought, and stayed where she was.
Feeling the need to explain himself, he said, “I…I got caught in the rain.”
She made a pretense of looking out the window.
“It’s really coming down isn’t it?”
Turning back to Steve, she said, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have barged in like that – the door was open.”
“No, it’s okay, it’s my fault. I guess I should have closed the door.”
His smile was lopsided, self-deprecating. Holding his soaking shirt, he spread his hands in a helpless gesture.
“I’m just what the world needs – a half-naked, middle-aged guy.”
Actually, the world could use a little more of that, she thought, trying not to be obvious in her ogling. It suddenly occurred to her that she finally had a great story for the Sewing Circle.
He had almost no body hair except for a little at his chest and a line running from his belly button down to his – she looked up suddenly to meet his eyes which were looking right at hers. He had just a trace of a mischievous smile – her attempt to be discreet in her leering had failed completely. She felt her cheeks getting warm.
Karen came in just then carrying sweat pants and a t-shirt with the company logo. She started a second when she saw Kelly then walked to Steve and handed him the clothes.
“Sorry boss, we don’t have logo’d underwear, so I guess you’re going commando.”
She winked at Kelly whose cheeks were getting warmer still at being caught out with Steve, soaking wet and shirtless.
“I-I should go…I’ll come back later, Steve.”
Karen, enjoying Kelly’s discomfiture immensely and wanting to draw it out, asked, “Would you like me to book an appointment, Kelly?”
“No, no that’s fine, thanks Karen, I just had a - a quick thing to go over…” she pointed back towards the door with her thumb, “…but I’m going to get out of your way and…and go now.”
She took a few steps back as she spoke, then turned and walked briskly out of the office, turning back only once to look over her shoulder.
Karen looked at Steve and winked. He had a sheepish look on his face. As he fumbled with the dry clothes, she gave him a thorough once over. My oh my, he was a fine specimen.
She gave a little sigh. “I’ll give you some privacy.”
“Thanks for getting this stuff for me, Karen.”
“No worries, boss.”
With some reluctance and a lingering last look, she left the office and closed the door behind her.
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