the charity ball

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...it was Friday after all – in order to have a little extra time to get ready for the Sick Kids Charity Ball, but she still felt rushed as she hurried through her shower. 

She stepped out of the shower stall and wrapped herself in a towel, then stood before the mirror. She finger-combed her hair into a stylish disarray. The ends of her hair were wet, but she knew they would dry quickly. She leaned forward for a close inspection of her face, running a fingertip along the crow’s feet by her eye, as though that might make them magically disappear. She sighed. There was no hiding from it: she was a woman in her 40’s. 

She hadn’t given much thought to what she was going to wear to the Charity Ball, and now felt a little panicky. Through the open door to her bedroom she saw the time on the clock radio: 5:10. She was meeting the others at the Palais Royale at 6:30. She could just make it – if she decided on a dress right now. She could decide while she did her makeup – no, she’d come back and do that – after she’d picked a dress. 

Wearing only a short, blue, silk dressing gown, she examined the dresses in the evening section of her closet. She shuffled through her three little black dresses of varying degrees of length and daring. She always seemed to default to the LBD on the rare occasions when she went out for a formal evening. She considered that there would be dozens of LBD’s in the room tonight. She moved on. She had quite a nice, long white gown; no, too refined, too tame, too something – she was restless; she wanted something a bit more…

She heard the distant bong of the old Anglican Church bell, from a few blocks away, which rang once on the quarter and half hours, and started to panic. Come on, she thought, just pick one. 

She slid a red dress she’d been meaning to give to Value Village along the bar to reveal a dress she’d forgotten she had. It was a brocade silk Chinese cheongsam, in a gorgeous blue-green – teal – colour. It was short – just reaching mid-thigh – and had triangle shaped slits on the hem on each side. The short, round, oriental collar closed at the neck with a silk button through a brocaded loop but opened in the front in a rather revealing tear-drop shaped cut-out. She turned it around. It was sleeveless, and - not obvious from the front - the silk material gathered around the collar at the back in a halter, so the dress had an open back that plunged way, way down. The impossible thought of wearing this tonight, with her friends and work colleagues made her giggle. 

She’d never worn it. She bought it on a whim, in the year she and her husband, Kevin, had separated. They had been in a sweatpants and TV, almost wordless, completely sexless, routine co-existence. She was working really hard – they both were – and she could feel him slipping away, losing interest. She’d seen the dress in a seamstress shop at the Pacific Mall, with her mother and had randomly thought – what? – that it might get her husband’s attention, without giving any thought to where she might wear it. Her mother had nodded and shooed her into the cramped little dressing area behind a curtain. Kelly had rolled her eyes and wiggled into it and stepped out from behind the curtain. The seamstress had fastened the collar and smoothed the fabric down over her body. The dress fit her like a second skin. 

The seamstress and her mother had cooed and chattered approvingly. 

“You wear that tonight, you have a new baby by summer,” the seamstress had said, and they all laughed. 

By summer, her husband had moved out and was living with another woman. 

It was a fabulous dress, but it was not to be. As she swept the dresses on the bar from side to side to make room to replace the cheongsam, she imagined what the others would think and say if she showed up wearing this – her friends, her male colleagues, the new man, Steve… 

She paused. Why did she have to care what they thought? How many times was she going to have an occasion, like tonight, to wear this? She wavered for a moment – then slipped open the belt and let her wrap slide to the floor as she flipped the cheongsam off its hanger. She wiggled into it for the second time and its clinginess gave her a little shiver of – what? Anxiety? Anticipation? 

The Church bell bonged, giving her a little start; okay she had her dress, and she headed for the bathroom to finish getting ready.

Steve parked his car and crossed Lakeshore Blvd to approach the Palais Royale. He’d driven by it countless times and always admired its handsome and stylish exterior but had never been inside. His parents had danced to big bands there in the fifties. Beyond it he could see Lake Ontario, relatively calm and deep blue, offering a moody and mysterious prelude to the evening. 

As he approached the entrance, with the double, leaded glass doors open wide, he watched people – mostly couples – arrive and enter. The men were uniformly in tuxedoes; the women holding their men’s arms to steady themselves on their stilettoes, were in every colour and style imaginable. As he reached the steps to the entrance, two women arrived at the same time; he stood aside to let them pass first and was rewarded with brilliant smiles. He followed them through the doors to the four or five stairs leading up and into the entrance hall. One of the women, in a long green gown on impossibly high heels, lost her balance on the steps and stumbled backward, and was caught in Steve’s arms. Had he not been there, she would have tumbled and ended in a heap of green mortification and purply bruised butt cheeks. In the spontaneous clutch, Steve’s hand had ended up unintentionally cupping her breast. Leaning back into him with her full weight and her feet askew, she looked around and up at him.

“That’s the most action I’ve had in months,” she said.

He smiled awkwardly, and his face warmed as his hand sought neutral territory to set her upright; she gave a full, throaty laugh as Steve helped her back to her feet. She turned and said, “Thanks, handsome. Who says men are obsolete?”

He laughed. “My pleasure. I’m happy to know I’m good for something.”

She winked. “Actually, it was my pleasure,” and she laughed again. “Have fun.”

He smiled, “Well, it’s going to be tough to top that.”

The two women laughed and passed into the throng in the entrance hall. 

Steve hated waiting in line so rather than queuing up to enter the main ballroom, he stood off to the side to let the line thin out, admiring the art deco furniture and wall sconces and other architectural flourishes of this beautiful building. The potted palms were a nice touch and made him think longingly of the Caribbean. 

Kelly parked and looked up into the rear-view mirror. No lipstick smears, no mascara smudges. She fussed with her hair, fluffing, tugging, watching with some satisfaction as a lock fell coquettishly over her eye. Through the window, she could see the Palais Royale lit up, with people streaming towards the entrance. She put her hand on the door handle. 

She took her hand away. 

C’mon, she thought, I can’t sit here all night. 

She looked down at her lap and felt a thrill of anxiety as she saw the hem of her dress had ridden up her legs and you could practically see her undies – which, of course, was a black thong which she’d snapped into in the bravado of the moment and the safety of her bedroom. She took the hem of her dress between her thumb and forefinger and gave it a little flip and there it was, her black lacy business for anyone who might wish to see it. She lifted her butt and tugged at the hem and succeeded in drawing it down her legs at least half an inch. She slumped back in the seat. What was I thinking? 

She looked again at the men and women, mostly couples, making their way into the Palais Royale.

Oh, for heaven’s sake, she thought, what am I, fourteen?

She pulled the door handle, swung her legs out, and stood beside her car. She tugged again at the hem, and now, standing, the hem came to mid-thigh, which was a little better. She shut the door behind her, clicked the lock, dropped her keys in her clutch, and headed across Lakeshore Blvd.

The balmy breeze felt exquisite on her exposed skin, a palpable reminder of just how much skin she was exposing. A fusion of nervousness and delight sent a frisson over her body; the breeze raised goose bumps on her arms; the light friction of the fabric on her braless breasts tingled her nipples and hardened them. 

As she approached the grand entrance to the Palais Royale – with its neon sign, ground lights casting up a shadowy light on the building’s exterior and warm, interior lighting from the high windows creating an elegant image against the dusk – she fell in with others, mostly couples, converging on the open double French doors.

She could sense the stares of men in her peripheral vision as she approached, and when she darted a glance at a few of the couples she saw with some amusement and a little guilty satisfaction as the wives glared at their gawking husbands. Rather than worsening her self-consciousness, the ogling buttressed her confidence and her stride became more self-assured, with even a trace of sashay. 

A man bumped his wife as he gallantly halted and stepped aside to allow Kelly to enter ahead. She smiled at him and successfully avoided eye contact with his wife and trotted up the couple of steps into the entrance hall to join the line waiting to enter the main room. She looked at her watch: 6:24. She was on time.

She glanced around the large, high walled room at the gorgeous panelling and shining wooden floors and deco furniture – and saw Steve McGregor. 

Her poise of a few moments ago evaporated. She felt caught and vulnerable. Naked. Panicking, she looked back at the entrance, judging the distance and her ability to discreetly step out, and then he saw her and smiled. 

But, there was no shock, no snickering ridicule, no judgement at all in his expression. Just a friendly, welcoming smile. A wave of relief washed over her and her body, suddenly rigid with tension a moment ago, relaxed and her heartbeat started to slow down. This was just Steve, from work, a man she was getting to know, becoming friends with. She smiled and gave him a little wave. 

He really looked quite elegant – tall and lean, his tux fit him well and he seemed at perfect ease wearing it. Some men appeared stiff and awkward in the rarely worn, often ill-fitting suit. Not every man could pull off the look, but Steve could. 

She looked around and saw that the line wasn’t moving very quickly, and he seemed content to wait it out, so she stepped out of the line and walked toward him.

Seeing Kelly stilled him: he didn’t move; he didn’t breathe; he managed to smile. She was stunningly, ridiculously beautiful and he savoured every bit of her: the shiny black meticulous mess of hair, her lovely almond eyes, her high cheek bones, blushing with cosmetics or diffidence – and her smile, that smile – that heart-tightening, soul-restoring smile. He marvelled at her gorgeous dress – was it blue, or green? It was some kind of blend of the two. A colour like the limitless, mysterious beauty of the ocean in tropical latitudes. He recognized that it was an oriental design, but this was some kind of dazzling, contemporary, westernized re-interpretation, artfully concealing and revealing her perfect body. 

He took a deep breath and gave his head a little shake. He reminded and chastised himself, that this was Kelly, his colleague, they worked together. An image of her the first time he’d seen her all those years ago, across the dance floor, flashed across his mind; she’d been more simply dressed then but his reaction then was much the same as now.

His disobedient eyes followed the curve of her neck to the coy primness of the dress’s traditional collar, opening onto her bare, delicate shoulders and the sumptuous round curves of her very revealing décolletage. As Kelly drew nearer, he willed his eyes to maintain eye contact with her; instead they willfully watched the movement of her gorgeous, shapely, bare, gorgeous legs. He raised his eyes to take in all of her and his knees weakened. She was like some incandescent archetype of beauty; like phosphorous on fire, almost too intense to view directly. 

Her heartbreaking beauty made his solitude and loneliness achingly real. 

She now stood before him, smiling her greeting. 

His throat was dry. He needed to swallow before he said, “Wow, great dress.”

“Thank you, Steve.”

“That’s a beautiful colour on you.”

She smiled.

“But honestly, Kelly, you could wear a corn flour sack, and you’d still stop traffic.”

She felt a flush of happiness - and a little erotic shiver - and lowered her eyes demurely, then raised them to meet his gaze. 

She realized now that the impulse to wear this dress, the subconscious motivation to put it on rather than put it back in her closet, was to feel again the quiet thrill of men’s desire, the exquisite feeling of power and control over them, the teasing “maybe” that the display of a little skin and a slight, inscrutable smile suggested, to arouse their longing, urgent attention. 

She could see this longing and urgency in Steve, in his eyes riveted on her, in how held his body. His desire for her was so powerful she could almost feel it like his hands on her body; it was an incredibly intense moment totally unlike any of the interactions they’d had in their short acquaintance. It was an inappropriate moment for both of them, co-workers at a work function, but somehow that didn’t seem to matter. They were caught in a kind of spell. 

He couldn’t take his eyes off her and he became aware that he was staring. Again, he reminded himself that this was work and their relationship was supposed to be professional. 

She saw his brow furrow.

“I – I hope it’s okay to say that,” he stammered, “I mean, I hope I didn’t cross a boundary.”

With a little let-down feeling, she felt the moment pass as though they’d slipped out of an embrace. 

She smiled. “Every woman loves a compliment, Steve.”

His bashfulness redeemed what might have become awkward, but instead would be a moment she could savour later rather than a moment to regret. 

She looked at him and was suddenly struck with a kind of recognition, like a puzzle piece fixing into place. Where did she know him from?

“Okay,” he said, with evident relief. “That’s how I meant it. 

“Well”, she said, “Shall we go find our peeps?”

“Sure.”

The line had thinned out and Steve and Kelly entered the Ballroom. The Palais Royale was a beautiful Art Deco building set on the shore of Lake Ontario in Toronto’s west end. The Ballroom was long with a bar and exhibition area displaying items for the silent auction, at the left end; most of the middle of the room was filled with tables, and a dance floor and raised dais for the band was at the right end. Across the room from them, were several sets of French doors leading out to a broad veranda that looked out onto the lake. Kelly could see the light fading through the windows. What a romantic spot it must be out there at night, she thought.

In the open area between the exhibition displays and the tables, people were milling around in small groups, the low roar of conversation competed with music from the sound system, and servers in white shirts with black bow ties and black slacks or skirts, weaved through the groups with trays of hors d'oeuvres and wine glasses. 

As they neared the gathering, Kelly enjoyed the contrast of seeing every man in the room, uniformly dressed in tuxedoes, while the women were a riot of colour and style – smooth silks, shimmering sequins, long and dramatic, short and coquettish – teetering on high heels, carrying their necessities in small clutches.

Stepping in among them, in Steve’s handsome and friendly presence, she felt the happy anticipation of a fun, glamorous evening, just beginning.

They each searched the crowd, this way and that, and then Kelly pointed as she caught sight of their friends, in the middle of the pack, holding wine glasses and chatting.

As they approached their group – Mary Jane, Seema Jindal, a Director on MJ’s team, Dave Ellott, Janice Stevenson, a manager on Dave’s manufacturing team, Judy and Mike. Kelly loved the sight of her friends all dolled up. They all worked really hard, and they all liked each other; it was nice to be able to spend some time together outside of work. 

Judy – with a mischievous smile – said, “You’re a cute couple.” 

Kelly and Steve exchanged a quick glance of mild alarm, each pointing to the other, shaking their heads, and more or less at the same time, explaining that they had just arrived around the same time. Judy winked at Kelly; Kelly admonished Judy with a slight frown.

Mary Jane took hold of Kelly’s arm and turned her to get a full look at her. “Va va va voom!” 

She pointed back over her shoulder with the thumb of her other hand, and said, “Gentlemen, the line starts back there. I saw her first.”

Kelly laughed self-consciously, a little of her earlier anxiety returning. “MJ!”

The other women looked at her admiringly and made noises of agreement with Mary Jane.

“That is absolutely, positively the hottest, most amazing dress I’ve ever seen in my life,” Judy said. “You look beyond fabulous; you look transcendent.”

Mike said, “I have no idea what transcendent means, but I agree with Judy.” 

Everyone laughed, and Kelly’s cheeks warmed. This was the reaction she had been afraid of, but now that it was happening, it was kind of okay. 

“Thanks, guys,” she said, and nervously tugged at her hem. She looked around at her friends. “Everyone looks great,” she said and meant it, and the women began an animated chattering about one another’s great hair, and fabulous shoes and cute earrings and who did their nails.

Mike winked at Steve and they both smiled. They were both very fond of these women and they were pleased to see them having a little fun. 

“That black really looks great on your tux, Mike,” Steve said, largely unnoticed by the women, as Mike chuckled. “And that white shirt, really adds a certain something…”

As the women’s confab wound down, Mike turned to Steve, looked him up and down in his tuxedo, and said, in a sinister, English accent, “I see we meet again, Mr. Bond.” 

In a passable Sean Connery, Steve said, “I must first make love to, and then take into custody, Miss Pussy Galore.” 

Mike said, “that’s great, can you do Sean Connery?”

Steve was the first to laugh and the others joined in.

Not for the first time, Kelly observed how easily men could razz each other, how good natured they were about it, with no undertones or hidden meanings the way women often were with each other. 

Mike looked around the room and said, “What is this, the Revenge of the Giant Penguins?”

Steve said, “I know, right? I hung around the door for a while and started escorting people to their tables – I made fifty bucks in tips.” 

The others laughed as the two men kidded with each other. The wine and elegance and friendly company were settling an amiable mood on the little group.

Appraising each of the three men, Mary Jane said, “I must say, you guys clean up well.”

Dave Ellott, normally quiet and serious, but now somewhat vinous, drained the last of his wine glass, and said, “my wife took me out back and hosed me down, and here I am,” he said, spreading his arms as everyone laughed. 

“Gee, I’m sorry I missed that,” said Mary Jane.

Kelly suspected that alcohol was a factor in Dave’s uncharacteristic drollery, and with the evening just beginning, hoped he had a ride home later. 

Kelly noticed a buxom server in a tightly tailored white shirt, bow tie, and short, black pencil skirt, holding a tray of wine goblets about equally split between red and white, sidle up to Steve and say, “you’re empty handed…” with a coy smile. 

So am I, Kelly thought, but whatever.

Steve looked at his hands in mock-surprise and said, “You’re right. And my grandmother always said, ‘empty hands are the devil’s instrument.’ Then she’d say, ‘it’s way better to be holding liquor.’” 

The server laughed, and the others did too, warming up to Steve, whom they were still getting to know. 

The server smiled, “Well, I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with your grandmother.”

Steve looked at the glasses appraisingly. The server pointed to one of the reds and said, “this is a Chilean Malbec”, then to one of the whites and said, “and the white is a Pinot Grigio.”

Steve nodded, considering her comments. “I don’t want to come across as a wine snob or anything, but there’s one thing I insist upon for any wine I introduce to my pallet.” 

Oh god, she thought, here we go. Prepared to be unimpressed and a little disappointed that this cutie was about to put his pompous, sophistication on display – what was it with men? You put some decent clothes on them and they think they’re Cary Grant – she followed a barely perceptible eye-roll with a smile of polite interest. “What’s that?” 

Deadpan, Steve said. “It must contain alcohol.” 

Not what she expected at all, she laughed and so did the others. “Well, you’re in luck: they both do.” 

His jaw dropping and eyes widening, Steve said, “Whoa, both of them? What are the odds of that? Can I have one of each?

“Sure,” she said, laughing.

“Well, maybe I better start with this,” and he lifted a glass of the Malbec.

He saw her smile at him. She almost looked too young to be serving alcohol, but he guessed she must be in her early twenties. He appreciated her indulging his goofy humour. 

“You were obviously brought up in a good home where you were taught to be kind and respectful to old people,” he said, a little wistfully.

I’d like to get out of here with you and show you some extra special respect, she thought, smiling at him pleasantly.

“Well, enjoy your evening everyone,” she said, starting to turn away when she met Kelly’s frowning eyes, and saw her empty hands. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said swinging her tray over to Kelly, who let her hold the tray in front of her for a moment before reaching for a glass of the white, offering the server a little side eye as she said a flat, “Thanks.” 

She wasn’t catty by nature; was she annoyed that the girl had served a man and ignored her? A barely perceived thought flickered across her mind: was she jealous of her flirting with Steve? The thought went ‘poof’ and was gone.

The server, looking directly at Kelly for the first time and marvelling at how absolutely stunning she looked – easily the most beautiful woman in the room – gave Kelly a contrite little smile, and slipped away.

“So, Steve, I hope you get her number later,” said Mary Jane, coyly.

“Hmm?” He was genuinely surprised for an instant, it having never occurred to him that the server might be a romantic prospect – way, way too young – and he was much, much too old for her. 

“She wasn’t exactly subtle. She was flirting with you like crazy,” Mary Jane said.”

He smiled tentatively. 

“No, she was humouring me. She has to laugh at customers’ lame jokes; it’s part of her job.” 

He looked off to see her disappearing into the crowd. “Believe me, Mary Jane, I’m under no illusions about what a young woman her age thinks of a fossil like me. At best, I’m invisible; at worst, repulsive.”

MJ, Judy and Kelly exchanged covert glances. Were men really that dumb?

“Steve, your naivety is showing.” This was Judy. “You must know plenty of couples with a big age difference.”

Steve nodded thoughtfully. 

“Well, sure. I know there are lots of men my age that would pursue a young woman like her, but honestly, I don’t really get it. Grown women have a lot more appeal to me.” 

He glanced at Kelly. 

“A pretty 20-year-old girl, grows up to be a beautiful 40-year-old woman, with life experience which makes her way more interesting.”

And she’s way more comfortable with her body, and knows what she likes, which makes her way better in bed, he thought but didn’t say. 

“I don’t think I’m the only man who thinks this way, but my standard of beauty isn’t a 14-year-old with an eating disorder. I don’t mind a little plumpness – especially in a woman who’s had children. Honestly, a woman in her early twenties, like the waitress, looks to me like a little girl playing dress-up. And what the hell would we talk about? I don’t know anything about Justin Beiber.”

The women all laughed. 

“I think she’s a little old to be listening to Justin Bieber, Steve,” Kelly said.

“Well, you know what I mean.”

“Don’t you think true love can cross any chasm, Steve, age or otherwise?” said Kelly. 

He considered this. 

“Well, I’m no expert on true love. I guess there must be some of that in these May-September relationships, but I can’t help thinking it comes down to an exchange of youth and beauty and fertility for financial security. It’s a fair trade, I guess.” 

He looked thoughtful again. 

“There may be no such thing as true, lasting love, but I think everyone should have a time in their life when they believe there might be, and the young women in these things seem to miss out on that.”

He looked around at the serious faces and scolded himself. C’mon it’s a party, not group therapy.

He smiled self-consciously. “Sorry, guys, I didn’t mean to hold forth.”

He mistook the women’s impassive expressions for boredom; in fact, he was nourishing their ravenous insecurity. 

Mary Jane smiled. “No worries, Steve. As an old broad, it’s refreshing to find a man who isn’t obsessed with youth.”

Mike slapped Steve on the shoulder. “I couldn’t agree more, Steve. That means more for me.”

The women groaned, as Mike laughed. “C’mon, I’m kidding. Kinda.”

The crowd around them had begun to thin out as people headed to their tables.

Mary Jane gestured to the seating area. “Shall we find our table?”

The little group fanned out with Mary Jane in the lead looking all around for the table with their number. Arriving, they shifted and sorted amongst themselves, finding their places based on the little tent cards with each name. 

Standing behind his chair, Mike drained his wine glass and said, “I wonder if there’s any danger of finding a scotch in this joint, before they start serving dinner.”

Steve set his wine glass down and said, “You read my mind, Mike. I’ll see if the bar can scare us up a couple.” 

He looked around at the others. “How’s everyone else for drinks?” 

All were good with what they had, so he headed back the way they’d come to the other end of the room to find the bar. 

Threading his way back from the bar through the tables on his way to his own, with a rocks glass of Johnny Walker Black in each hand, he heard, “Steve!”

He turned to his left and saw a woman he recognized, but hadn’t seen in a while, and he totally blanked on her name. She strode toward him. He smiled and desperately rummaged through his memory. Colleen, Kathleen, Connie… 

She was a few feet away from him. “Hey you,” she said, smiling brightly. Kristen, Karen – Kerry! Kerry Johannsen, a Microsoft account executive he’d had frequent dealings with over the years.

“Hey Kerry, great to see you.” 

He crowded the glass from his right hand into his left and offered his hand.

She batted his hand away. 

“What’s this? A handshake?” 

She spread her arms for a hug, and Steve, feeling a little awkward, accepted her embrace. The professional social graces between men and women befuddled him. He never offered a gesture beyond a handshake. If he went for a hug, or a kiss on the cheek (except women didn’t actually kiss, it was more like touching cheeks and kissing the air - and which cheek, or was it both like the French?) he worried that it might not be welcome, it might presume a degree of intimacy that she didn’t share, and then what? Awkwardness. The handshake was so much easier. 

But, enveloped in Kerry’s cascade of red hair, spicy and slightly floral scent - very nice actually - and rather magnificent bosom bobbling against his chest, he felt a kind of relief that she had led the way in their greeting ritual. After a half-moment longer than politesse obligated – lost on Steve and all men – Kerry disentangled herself and stood back.

“Look at you”, she said. “You look great. You’ve been spending some time outside.”

Made a little bashful by the attention, Steve said, “well I’ve taken some time off; I like to be outside, sailing, stuff like that.”

“And now you’re back at it, huh? I heard you’d landed at Pyrotechnique. Steve McGregor to the rescue. Well, if anybody can turn it around you can.”

Steve smiled, still a little off-beam. “It’s not as bad there – here – as the blogs and press seem to think.”

Kerry smiled and smiled.

Thirty feet across the room, Kelly noticed Steve speaking with a tall, very buxom, woman with hair the colour of ripe pumpkins. 

The other women intuitively picked up and followed Kelly’s gaze, and watched the interaction between Steve and the woman, feeling the kind of propriety claim on him that groups feel about their members. He belonged to them. What did she think she was doing? 

Mary Jane narrowed her eyes and said, “If she starts humping his leg, I’m going to throw a pail of water on her.”

“What’s the over/under that she drags him off to the ladies’ room?” Judy offered to chuckles and giggles. 

Seema said, “Should I go to the microphone and make an announcement that there’s been a cougar sighting?”

Mike said, “Mmmm, cougars…” 

Seated beside him, Mary Jane smacked his shoulder. “You just finished saying you like the young ones.”

“MJ,” Mike said, smiling contentedly, “I love ‘em all.”

“Oh gawd,” she said. “Maybe I should go rescue him. We need him in one piece - at least until Athena launches.”

Kelly said, “Steve’s a grown man. I think he can manage for himself,” with a lingering look at him and the redhead, nevertheless. 

“A grown man doesn’t stand a chance with a woman like that,” Judy said.

Steve was walking back to their table. He leaned over and deposited one of the glasses in front of Mike who said, “Thanks, bro.”

As he sat, Judy asked, “Who’s the red-headed succubus?”

Steve laughed, as he sat. “She’s someone I used to do business with.”

“Monkey business?” Mary Jane asked.

He laughed again. “No, c’mon it’s not like that. She just wanted to network.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it now?” Judy said, setting off a din of teasing from the others. Kelly watched Steve smile and laugh good naturedly. She saw that he didn’t mind being the butt of a little kidding - but she could tell he was self-conscious. 

To take the focus off him, she picked up a bread basket, plucked a roll and passed it on. The bread went around the table, the complimentary red and white wine bottles on the table were raised and offered around, glasses were refilled, and the group chatted amiably. Kelly glanced at Steve, who took a taste of his whiskey and appeared relieved that the attention had moved away from him. She realized that for all his outward affability, he was kind of shy. As if confirmation were needed, he met her eyes and gave her a shy little smile. Again, she had a feeling, a kind of déjà vu, that he had smiled at her before – a long time ago. It was beginning to bug her as she searched her memory, trying to place him. 

Mary Jane said, “so I hope you guys know you’re on dance duty tonight – and there’s more of us than there is of you, so we’re going to have to share you.”

There was laughter and the other women chimed in echoing Mary Jane.

“Girls, girls, girls, there’s plenty of me to go around,” Mike said.

Mike was a piece of work, Kelly thought, smiling and shaking her head. But it was pretty hard not to like him. 

“I think it’s only fair to warn you,” Steve began. “My dancing’s pretty hard to watch. You may need to avert your eyes.”

“Dance like no one’s watching, Steve,” Seema offered helpfully.

“Those are words to live by, Seema,” Steve said. “But, I have a slightly different life affirming dance analogy. Here’s mine: dance like no one’s being traumatized by the sight of it.”

Everyone laughed.

Kelly announced, “Hey guys, they’ve got an amazing 80’s cover band, called Totally Bitchin’. They can play every song from every band I can remember from back then.” 

There was a general murmur of approval. 

Dave first offered to top up Judy’s glass, on his left, before refilling his own. He was a little older than the others.

“Do they cover any Led Zepplin, or The Who, or Jimi Hendrix?” he asked Kelly, after a generous taste of his wine.

She knit her brows. “I don’t think so. I like those bands too – my older brother had all their albums – but I think these guys are strictly 80’s: Depeche Mode, Billy Idol, Tears for Fears, Cindy Lauper, Fine Young Cannibals…”

“Ohhh, I’m in heaven,” MJ said. “That’s all we listened to at school.” 

The mention of school brought a ripple of nostalgia to Kelly, a collage of university memories… 

Janice took a sip of her wine. At work, she dressed in fairly plain business attire. Tonight, she’d had her hair done in an up do, she had foundation, rouge, mascara, eye shadow, lip gloss, and wore a long white gown. Kelly smiled: tonight was a big deal for her friends, who didn’t do this kind of thing very often. She was glad she’d lobbied hard for Pyrotech’s financial contribution, because of the important work they were supporting, of course, but also because it gave a group of hard working women a reason to add a touch of glamour to their workaday lives.

Janice dabbed her napkin to her lips, leaving a trace of pink lipstick. “I’m going to sound like a wet blanket, but I really prefer classical music. I guess the eleven years of piano lessons my mother gave me rubbed off.”

“It’s all a matter of perspective, Janice,” Judy said. “We all bring our personal bias and preference to everything.” 

Kelly, seated to Judy’s left, saw a quick, familiar twinkle in Judy’s eye. 

Judy continued, “it’s like the parable of the seven blind men and the elephant.”

“I vaguely remember that from when I was little,” Seema said. 

“Well, it goes like this,” Judy said. “There were these seven blind men living in a little village, and one day the circus came to town for the first time, and they brought an elephant which no one had ever seen before.” 

All eyes were on her. “So, the seven blind men decided to go to the main town square to find out what this strange elephant creature was. The first blind man went up to the elephant and felt its side and said, ‘an elephant is a wall’. 

“The second blind man walked up and grabbed the elephant’s tail, and said, ‘no, an elephant is a rope’. 

“The third blind man touched the elephant’s leg and said, ‘no, the elephant is neither a wall nor a rope, it is a tree’. 

“The fourth blind man took hold of the elephant’s ear and said, ‘an elephant is a flag’. 

“The fifth blind man reached up and held the elephant’s nose and said, ‘the elephant is a hose’.” 

She looked around the table and saw the others politely feigning interest. Perfect, she thought. 

“So, the sixth blind man put out his hand and felt the elephant’s tusk and said, ‘no my friends, you’re all wrong, the elephant is a sword’. “Finally, the seventh blind man reached out and took hold of the elephant’s shlong and said - ‘JESUS CHRIST!’.” 

The table exploded in laughter. Mike, head back and mouth wide open, roared and slapped the table so hard, the wine glasses shook. Mary Jane was convulsed with laughter; Janice held her hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking. Judy smiled demurely as everyone around her cracked up. 

Kelly was taken completely by surprise in spite of the twinkle she’d seen in Judy’s eyes. She had been listening closely, remembering the story from childhood as Judy told it, thinking what a good metaphor it was for how each of us experiences the world uniquely, and then – well, at least, this time she got the joke immediately; so often, she knew a joke was funny and off colour by the reaction of others, but she just didn’t make the connection - but laughed along anyway so as not to show her naivety. Steve gave her a quick glance. He was laughing hard and it seemed to her he was like a little boy who steals a look at his mother to see how much trouble he’s in. 

A server tried to set salads in front of them, dodging and weaving as the group leaned back and doubled over. Eventually, the laughter settled down.

“Judy, you are too funny,” Mike said, wiping his eye. 

Mary Jane looked at Janice who sat quietly listening to the others. Janice didn’t often jump into the conversational fray as she had just before Judy’s joke – so funny, so Judy – so she tried to draw her out, picking up on what she’d said.

“So, who are your favourite composers, Janice?”

Janice had a mouthful of salad and became self-conscious as the others watched her chew, waiting politely for her to swallow and reply. She took a big swallow and cleared her throat.

“Well, I really like the French Impressionists, Debussy and Satie. At my first recital, I played the Gymnopedies.”

“Oh, I love the Gymnopedies,” Kelly said. “They’re so – pensive, so

melancholy.”

Janice appreciated Kelly’s affirmation but knew from experience that classical music was rarely a topic of lively conversation. She switched it up.

“I also really like the punk bands from the 80’s – Blondie, The Cure, Blue Peter…”

“Actually,” Dave interjected, holding his wine glass, with his bowtie a little lopsided, “Technically, those bands are New Wave, or post-punk. Blue Peter was a local band. I went to junior high school with the lead singer.”

Mary Jane felt some annoyance at having her maneuver to bring Janice out of her shell hijacked by Dave – mind you, it was out of character for him too, to be holding his own in a group like this. She decided to razz him a little just for fun.

“Thank you, Mr. Wikipedia. Hey, I bet you were on the debating team in high school.”

Without missing a beat, Dave replied deadpan, “As a matter of fact, Mary Jane, I was. And we were great debaters, superb debaters. We were so good, in fact, that the football team called us ‘master debaters’.”

Again, the table erupted in laughter. It was Dave’s turn to smile demurely. Kelly laughed and frowned: she’d gotten the elephant joke; this one just didn’t click. Master debaters, master debaters. She turned it over in her mind as the laughter ebbed into chuckles and sighs. It was at that moment that the pun hit home, and she laughed out loud, like an awkward aftershock. Everyone looked at her, and then they burst out laughing again. 

“Are you sure it’s clear, Kelly,” Mike asked with mock sincerity. “I can show you some diagrams.”

Kelly felt her cheeks warming. Judy put her arm around her and gave her a hug, then looked at Mike and said in an admonishing tone, “Kelly’s a lady. She’s not used to vulgar humour.” 

She paused and then said, “but I am!” and laughed and gave Kelly’s shoulder a squeeze. 

“Okay, okay,” Kelly said. “I know I’m clueless.” She was receiving gentle kidding from her friends and didn’t mind them having a little fun at her expense, but she wished she could just get it right away like the others. 

Given Dave’s uncharacteristic display of wit, Mike pointed at him and narrowed his eyes. “Hey, who are you – and what have you done with Dave Ellott?”

Dave widened his eyes comically and looked around furtively while everyone laughed.

Kelly looked around the table. This was really fun. She was enjoying herself and could see the others were too. And – other than MJ’s brief mention earlier - she hadn’t thought of Athena for two hours. 

One server collected the salad plates as another followed right behind her with soup dishes, and right on her heels, a server with a vat on a tray ladled out the wild mushroom soup. Kelly dipped her spoon in her bowl and took a little taste. It was delicious. The memory of Steve’s kidding remark about the ‘thousand dollars a plate’ a few weeks ago came to her and made her giggle. She looked up at him as he offered the bread basket to Seema saying something that made her laugh, which made Kelly smile. She took a sip - maybe more of a swallow - of her wine and a sense of well-being washed over her. She was having a wonderful time. And she was totally over her earlier anxiety. Her dress – which earlier she’d been as conscious of as an itchy rash – she now barely felt. Her awareness of this, and probably the mellow glow from the wine, made her nipples tingle and stand out a little, but she didn’t care one bit. She was, naturally, fully aware of the covert glances of the three men at their table and felt a mix of gratification and sympathy at their hopeless attempts at subtlety. She felt a million miles away from the Management Committee meeting…

Steve was trying, really trying, not to stare at Kelly, but his eyes were drawn to her irresistibly. He felt fairly sure she wasn’t aware of his darting glances - but weren’t women aware of everything? He had a drop of scotch in the bottom of his glass which he drained to fortify himself to resist Kelly’s allure. He looked over at Mike and had a little inward chuckle as Mike stole a look at Kelly. Poor bastard, he thought. You and me, both, buddy. 

The soup course was done. Judy stood and said, “Well, ladies, I believe I’ll powder my nose.”

It was as if she’d issued a command: each of the other four women dabbed their lips with their napkins, leaving pink imprints of their lips, picked up their purses and stood. 

Steve and Mike exchanged glances. Mike winked. Steve stood followed by Mike and Dave – who, for a precarious moment tilted, then recovered his balance. 

Judy looked around at the other women and said, “Shall we?” and they filed off to the ladies’ room.

The men sat.

“Seriously, “Mike said, “what do they do in there?” 

“And why do they always go at the same time?” Dave added. 

“It’s some kind of social thing for them,” Steve offered. “I remember once, waiting for a woman while she went in there. Then, another woman – a complete stranger – went inside. Several minutes later, the two of them came out, chatting away like they’d known each other all their lives.”

“Well, I can honestly say, I’ve never met a new friend in the men’s room,” Mike said, and the three men laughed. 

“I was in New York a couple of years ago with some guys I worked with - we were pitching our product prototype to an investment bank,” Steve began. “We ended up in a club in the warehouse district that night. So, I walked into the men’s room, and there was a man and a woman, um, getting acquainted.”

“Oh man,” Dave said in mock complaint. “I almost never get laid in the men’s room in nightclubs.” 

Steve and Mike chuckled. 

“I thought, ‘c’mon,” Steve continued, “I was going to wash my hands in that sink. If you have to have sex with a complete stranger in a public bathroom, can you at least use the cubicle like the rest of us?’”

Dave and Mike laughed. 

Carrying the men’s room conversational ball, Dave said, “It’s kind of weird when there’s a couple of guys in the men’s room at work. There’s a kind of work bathroom etiquette. You have to carry on like normal, as if you not dropping deuces and handling your pecker.”

“I know, right?” Steve said. “You act like you’re in a meeting room. I remember one time, years ago, I’d just finished taking a wiz and the guy I reported to came in and stood at the urinal. So, while he’s pulling out his pecker – with me at the sink – he says, ‘so, how’s the project coming along?’ Just as I opened my mouth to answer, a guy sitting on the crapper in a cubicle, let a thundering, wall rattling, mirror fogging fart.”

The three little boys that dwelt inside them, and all men, were convulsed with laughter, wiping their eyes with their hands and napkins. Steve could barely speak and made several false starts to finish his story.

“So, my boss says, ‘that bad, huh?’” 

Judy leaned, arms folded, against the wall by the sink. Kelly and MJ were dabbing at their make-up. Janice was staring fixated at her reflection in the mirror, turning her face this way and that. She reached up and pulled an almost invisible strand of hair into place. The toilet flushed, and Seema came out of the cubicle and stepped to the row of sinks to join them. 

Mary Jane slid the cap back on her lipstick and rolled her lips to work it in. “So…there’s some choice beefcake out there tonight. You can’t beat the look of a man in a tux. They almost look civilised.”

“I’d say we pretty much have the best penguins at our table,” Judy said. “Mike and Steve are very nice-looking men.”

“Dave looks nice, too,” Janice said of her boss, defensively.

“Yes, you’re right, J, I didn’t mean to exclude him. It’s fun to see him loosen up a bit.”

“I just hope he doesn’t loosen up too much,” Kelly said, worried. “I hope he isn’t driving.”

“Okay, so it’s been two weeks. What’s the verdict on the new guy?” Mary Jane asked the group. 

“Mmmmmm,” Seema said, re-applying mascara and the others laughed. 

“He’d certainly do in a pinch,” Judy said. 

Janice looked thoughtful. She was taking this as she took most conversations – seriously. “He has a way of looking at you, looking right into your eyes – as though he’s actually seeing you, and listening as though what you’re saying is worth hearing. I’m so used to being in men’s peripheral vision that it’s kind of jarring.”

Kelly had an opinion about Steve but decided to keep it to herself. 

Seema looked around the group. “Okay, here’s the question of the day.” The general murmur died down. “Mike or Steve?”

A lively confusion of comments and opinions ebbed and flowed. After some moments, MJ’s voice rose up among the din. “There’s only one correct answer to that.” The group waited expectantly. “Both of them.” That got a laugh. “So, the real question is: which one first?”

Seema said, “They’re both pretty cute.”

“They’re a lot alike, in many ways,” Judy observed. “Not physically, but they’re both friendly, easy-going guys, with a similar sense of humour. They seem to have become friends, in the short time they’ve known each other.”

“Men’s friendships seem so simple,” said MJ. “They either like each other or they don’t.”

“So, which is it with Steve and Robert?” asked Janice, feigning sincerity, to laughter and groans.

“Please don’t mention that dreadful man when I’m halfway through dinner,” said Seema. 

Mary Jane had a thoughtful look. “After giving it some thought, I think Steve has a slight edge over Mike.” She had everyone’s attention. “Mike’s great, but he’s a player. You couldn’t trust him out of your sight. I don’t get that from Steve.”

Kelly chimed in, for the first time. “I’m not sure if Mike’s a player. I think he’s just lonely. The right woman would settle him down.”

All eyes were on her; she felt her cheeks warming.

“So,” said MJ, eyebrow arched, “why don’t you settle him down?” to hoots and laughter. “You’re consenting adults, he’s single, you’re single…”

“No, no I didn’t mean it that way, I didn’t mean me. Anyway, we work together, it’s against my rules. I could never get involved with someone from work.”

“Okay so don’t get involved,” MJ said. “Just have a hot night of sex.”

“She could take her pick,” said Janice, enviously but not unkindly. “I bet they’d both snap her up in a heartbeat.” 

“Okay, so then back to my earlier question, Kelly: which one first?” MJ said. 

There was more laughter and teasing.

Smiling and blushing, Kelly said, “C’mon, guys, that’s never going to happen – with either one of them, or anyone at work.”

Janice pressed the point; she was really curious. “But, what if you didn’t work together?”

Again, all eyes were on Kelly. 

At that moment, Kerry Johannsen pushed through the door. She smiled and looked around at them. “Sorry to crash your party.” They smiled politely as she entered a stall.

Kelly was relieved. They wouldn’t continue the conversation now.

Mary Jane said, “Well, I’ve got food and wine and handsome men waiting,” and she headed for the door with the others falling in line.

Heading back to their table, Judy and Kelly fell back a little. 

“Looks like you owe the red-headed succubus a favour, K.”

Kelly smiled at Judy. “I guess I stepped into that one, didn’t I Jude?” 

“Well, you did kind of lead with your chin. You must know Mike adores you.”

Kelly nodded. “He’s a great guy; I like him a lot, but…”

“If it’s not there, it’s not there, Kelly.”

Kelly let out a little sigh. “Sometimes I feel like…like I had my chance and now it’s over. That I’ll be alone forever.”

Judy smiled and shook her head. “Oh Kelly, you’re not even close. There’s a line up around the block of men who’d love to share their lives with you.”

Kelly looked around playfully. “Really, which block? Damn, where’s my GPS when I need it?”

Judy reached up and gave her a one-armed hug as they walked. “My intuition tells me you won’t be alone for long, sweetie.”

As the women approached their table, they could see the men laughing their heads off. They arrived at their table and shuffled to their places, as the men stood, making an effort to compose themselves.

As they sat, Mary Jane said, “don’t tell me. Fart joke?”

The men exchanged guilty glances.

“Oh my god, seriously?” MJ said. 

Dave assumed an expression of wounded dignity. “As a matter of fact, Mary Jane, we were discussing Stephen Colbert’s fine balancing act between satire and bona fide truthiness.” Then he burst out laughing.

“You guys are so busted,” MJ said, giving them a reproving look but amused all the same. 

“Dave, you almost pulled it off,” Mike said.

“I did, didn’t I?” Dave said, reaching for his wine glass. 

“What is it with men and farts?” Janice asked. The fact that it was Janice asking made everyone laugh. 

“Well, in our defense,” Dave said. “It was a very funny fart joke,” and the whole table laughed; the men guiltily; the women in spite of themselves. 

The servers arrived and had an easier time setting the main course plates than they’d had with the salad. 

Kelly picked up her knife and fork and inspected her plate. The main course was herb encrusted chicken breast with a rice pilaf, just as Steve had said when he was kidding her that time when they’d talked about the crap Robert had been giving her about the cost of the event sponsorship. She looked over at him just as he looked at her. He raised his eyebrows and then glanced down at his plate, looked back and smiled. He was remembering too. She recalled with satisfaction, barking back at Robert when he’d hassled her again – and for the last time – about the expense. She acknowledged that she had Steve to thank for that. He’d returned his attention to his plate – to his herb encrusted chicken breast. Again, she had a fleeting recognition, a tug from deep in her memory. Where had they met before?

The dinner plates had been cleared. Servers were moving among the tables with carafes of coffee and tea. Kelly turned her upside-down cup, right-side up, and asked for tea, which was precisely what she wanted at that moment. As servers pouring the coffee and tea finished and moved on, they were followed immediately by others setting dessert plates. The dessert was baked Alaska. 

A server lifted a dessert plate from her tray and plunked it down in front of Kelly and moved on to Judy. Kelly looked at it longingly and placed a hand on her belly, feeling the tightness of her dress. She had eaten just enough. Just enough. Anymore and she would bulge. With another longing look, she lifted her plate, and called out to the busy server, now standing by Dave, “excuse me, I don’t care for this.” 

The server, a plump, middle aged woman with dyed blond hair, stepped back to her place. “You sure?” she asked. “It looks yummy.”

Kelly sighed, and said, “Yes, I’m sure,” smiled and handed it to her. The server placed it back on her tray and was gone. Kelly looked around the table as her friends devoured the baked Alaska. She watched enviously as Mike plunged a ridiculously large spoonful in his mouth without the shadow of a second thought. She would definitely run tomorrow morning. 

She looked across the table at Steve, who had taken a few bites but had placed his fork on the plate and pushed it forward. What was it about him that seemed so familiar? Following the back and forth of conversation at the table, his glance roamed, and their eyes met. He smiled at her. Those blue eyes. That smile. She’d seen those eyes before; he’d smiled at her before, before he came to Pyrotechnique. But where? Had it been high school? Was he one of her brother’s friends that she’d had a crush on? She made a note to ask, Will, if he’d known Steve. Or, she could just ask Steve if he’d gone to their high school or had grown up near them. This was really bugging her, and she was determined to figure it out. 

Dave Ellott tinged his half empty wine glass with his spoon to get the tables attention. When, the group had fallen quiet and were looking at him expectantly, he contorted his face into a caricature of Robert Bokitis, with a fixed stare that he slowly panned around the table, stopping briefly at each of them. There were low chuckles and giggles. 

Then he picked up his glass and raised it, saying, or rather, slurring, “My fellow masochists, let us raise a toast to the provider of this fine repast, Robert Bokitis – the nastiest son of a bitch in the known universe.” 

The others, a little tentatively raised their glasses and sipped their wine, smiling uneasily, with concerned expressions for Dave.

Mike put a hand on his shoulder, and said, “Dave, it’s 84 hours, 18 minutes and 32 seconds before the next MC.”

Steve took advantage of Mike’s distraction to discreetly slide the wine bottle down the table out of Dave’s reach. Dave blinked, and smiled self-consciously and snapped out of his PTSD moment. 

“Actually Mike, I think it’s 84 hours and 17 minutes.” 

Mike made an exaggerated show of checking his wrist watch. “You’re right, Dave.” 

The tension eased considerably, and chuckles went around the table. 

You can always count on Mike, Kelly thought. 

Kelly glanced around and saw the band, Totally Bitchin’, on the raised dais at the end of the room, picking up their instruments. 

She saw Mary Jane push her dessert plate away, half eaten. Judy’s plate was as clean as if she’d licked it. She smiled. Diminutive little Judy – elegant and conservative in dress at work – was rocking a little black dress. Licking her lips, Judy met Kelly’s eyes and winked. 

The room was suddenly filled with music. Lights came up on the dais as Totally Bitchin’ belted out an awesome cover of “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.”

Mary Jane grabbed Steve’s wrist and said, “C’mon, Steve, you heard the lady, and these girls wanna have fun,” and she pulled him up and towards the maelstrom erupting on the dance floor. 

Judy took Dave by the bow tie and pulled him up – discreetly taking his elbow as he steadied himself on his feet – and led him to the dance floor.

Mike stood and offered a genteel hand to Kelly who smiled and took it; he pulled her chair back and they followed Judy and Dave. 

As Kelly neared the dance floor, the music, the rhythm, the sight of the dancers in a happy abandon filled her and drew her into the chaotic mass of writhing bodies. Her eyes half closed, and she fell into the warm waves of music and rhythm and dance. She caught and connected and acquiesced to the beat and lost herself in it. It felt so good to dance. She briefly tried to think of the last time she’d danced, then abandoned the effort because she didn’t care: she was dancing now. She willingly surrendered to the music and let it carry her away. 

Mike smiled as he watched Kelly dance. It occurred to him that he was witnessing pure happiness. He accepted his role in her bliss: the only thing that prevented his complete irrelevance was the convention of partnered dance. He didn’t mind: it meant he could see and savour her beauty up close without the need for subtlety. 

“Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” ended and blended into “Angel in my Pocket” and Mary Jane yelled out, “Okay, one, two, three – switch!” and the couples mixed and emerged with different partners. Judy danced with Mike; MJ danced with Dave; Kelly danced with Steve. 

Steve tried not to be obvious but trying not to look at Kelly was a losing proposition. Apart from her glorious beauty, watching her dance – so completely into it, so happy, sometimes mouthing the lyrics, utterly unselfconscious – was an absolute joy. He could just look at her and be happy. 

For the second time in their acquaintance, he was reconciled to his role as dance partner to Kelly – accessory might be a better description; he was nevertheless perfectly content to awkwardly twist and move to be able to enjoy the sublime pleasure of watching her dance. He felt he was undoubtedly a ridiculous site if anyone cared – but no one did. 

Kelly brought her eyes to Steve and saw him looking over to their table where Seema and Janice were sitting by themselves. She saw him catch Mike’s eye and indicate their table with his head. Mike saw, looked back at Steve and nodded. He took Judy’s elbow and gently moved her toward the others and placed his hand on Dave’s back and herded them all into an easy group dance in time to the music, into which Kelly effortlessly blended. He and Steve then danced walked back to their table and Steve offered his hand to Seema who leaped up and laced her fingers around Steve’s neck and slipped effortlessly, on the spot, into the rhythm of the dance; Mike offered his hand to Janice who shook her head and smiled self-consciously and waved him back toward the dance floor. Mike tilted his head and gave Janice a “not gonna happen” side-eye look. Janice shook her head again as Mike came around behind her chair and pulled it out. Seeing this, Steve took Seema by the wrists and disengaged himself, and joined Mike as each took hold of a side of Janice’s chair and picked her up in her chair and carried her toward the dance floor as she shrieked and laughed and covered her eyes with her hands while Seema clamped her hands on Mike’s shoulders from behind in encouragement. Steve and Mike gently settled Janice’s chair at the edge of the dance floor and Mike came around the front, again offering his hand. Janice was flustered and laughing and shaking her head to the amusement and applause from the nearby dancers. Mike plucked her up out of her chair and over his shoulder as she shrieked and laughed, and he danced her over to their group and set her down. Mary Jane took one hand and Judy took the other and Janice caught and surrendered to the rhythm of “Angel in My Pocket” and a moment later was completely into it.

Dancing and watching all this, Kelly felt a sublime happiness. How great to see Janice – shy and insecure – getting attention from these two hunky guys. Looking from Steve to Mike: two easy-going, kind, fun – and yes, hot – guys, being so nice to Janice, her heart filled with what could only be described as a kind of love. What a wonderful evening this had turned out to be. She was among friends and the music was all around her and through her, filling her with confidence and exhilaration and happiness and she lost herself in its rhythmic embrace. 

Smooth as a DJ, Totally Bitchin’ faded “Angel in My Pocket” and transitioned into “I Wear My Sunglasses at Night”. 

As the song ended, the singer – herself a blonde from either birth or bottle – asked the crowd, “Does anybody like Blondie?” which was answered with cheers and applause and the band lit into “Heart of Glass” strictly speaking a 70’s tune Steve thought – actually, kind of disco - as he remembered Dave’s musicology mini-lecture at dinner and his very unexpected – and clever – humour. He reminded himself that you should never close the book on anyone, thinking you’ve read him – you’re bound to turn the page on a new chapter. 

The disco beat reminded him of a high school dance which was where he realized the boys who were too cool to dance – a masquerade for their self-consciousness and fear of ridicule from other boys – missed out on a perfect opportunity. A girl had come up to him and grabbed his arm and pulled him onto the dance floor filling him with panic and the certainty that girls would laugh at him and boys would disdain him from that moment on. This was the late 70’s so disco was what was happening, and it was surprisingly easy to get into the simple, pounding disco rhythm. He remembered looking around at the mostly girls dancing with one another – with the boys watching from the periphery – and none of the girls laughed at him. Many of them smiled at him – and they started to kind of encircle him. The girl that had asked him to dance – or rather dragged him onto the dance floor – was joined by other girls until there were a whole bunch of them dancing together as a group – just like his friends tonight – except he was the only boy. In his feeble, fumbling, newly forming understanding of girls, he noted that girls loved to dance. Dance with them and they’ll be happy; dance with them and they’ll like you.

Kelly looked at Steve and saw him looking at her and smiling, which made her smile. Once again, a quick shadow of recognition drifted across her memory. Where had she seen him before?

She leaned in to speak. “You know, Steve, I’m sure we’ve met before. I know your face, but I just can’t place it.”

He smiled. “I get that a lot. I guess I have one of those faces that looks like everybody.”

No, you don’t, she thought. 

She narrowed her eyes trying to bring his features into focus and recognition. He had a mischievous grin. It suddenly occurred to her that he knew very well where they’d met. She stopped dancing for a moment and planted her hands on her hips in mock admonition. She wagged her finger at him. 

“We have met before and you know where!”

He was busted but laughed to cover. 

“Well, I could tell you, but where would the fun be in that?” 

The truth was that he would really have rathered that she came up blank on the memory. 

She started to move again. She wrinkled her nose and said, “Okay, smarty, I don’t need your help. I’m going to figure this out.” 

Then with a note of contrition, “I’m sorry, Steve, I’m embarrassed that we’ve met before and you’ve remembered me, and I haven’t remembered you.”

“It’s okay, Kelly. Honestly, I’m not that memorable…and when we did meet, I don’t think I made much of an impression on you,” 

He had a slightly rueful look. 

She sifted through her memory with no luck. 

Changing the subject, he leaned in and asked, “Are you having a good time?” 

She smiled. “I’m having a wonderful time. How about you?”

“Same here. It’s been a great evening. This is a fun group to hang out with. Thanks for including me.”

The blonde singer channeled Debbie Harry belting out, “What I find is pleasing and I’m feeling fine, Seemed like a real thing, but I was so blind.”

She leaned in and said, “You guys are good sports to dance with us.”

Steve laughed. “You know, men are always saying they don’t know how to make a woman happy. It’s not so hard.”

This was the kind of male preface that was often followed by an off-hand, patronizing statement and Kelly instinctively raised her guard a little. 

With a sidelong glance she said, “It’s not, huh?” and waited to hear it, her brain like a like a boxer, loose and ready to counterpunch.

“No, not really,” he said. “Listen to them. And dance with them.”

She opened her mouth automatically, ready to deliver the “oh please” response that her brain would have normally, effortlessly served up to the anticipated simplistic platitude it could shred on auto-pilot, but instead her brain paused, frowned a little and said to her, ‘actually, he’s kind of right.’

A little disappointed at having to stand down, but a little pleased at a man who seemed to sort of get it, she asked, “How come you know so much about women?”

He shrugged. “I pay attention.”

Hmmm, she thought, smiling as she watched him dance with the same kind of earnest lack of self-awareness as her dad at family weddings. 

The song ended and Totally Bitchin’ started playing The Bangles’ “Walk Like an Egyptian”. All around the dance floor people started bobbing their heads and moving their arms, holding them in right angles at the elbows, dancing like Egyptians, as they had 20 yeas before. Kelly looked around laughing and joined in. Steve was gamely trying to pull off the Egyptian dance moves and looking like a complete spaz. She put her hand to her mouth and laughed. He laughed too but carried on. 

“Hey, I warned you,” he said.

“You’re doing great!” she said over the music. 

She loved this song and had mastered the whole Egyptian moves thing when the song played in pubs and parties at university. 

At university. 

Suddenly, she looked at Steve and it dawned on her: she had known him, briefly, at university. 

She couldn’t conjure up a clear image of his face from then, so looking at him now, she imagined what he must have looked like 20 years ago, the first time they’d danced. 

She remembered: he had walked across the dance floor and right up to her with a kind of sheepish grin on his face. He hadn’t been aggressive or macho at all but more shy, like he’d had to screw up his courage. She remembered thinking he was cute and was happy to accept his invitation to dance. They danced for a few songs and then the music had changed to a slow song. He had opened his arms in invitation and she had stepped into them. It had been easier to talk, at that distance, and he had asked the usual things of her: where was she from, what was she studying. He was friendly and polite and a pleasant change from so many of the boys who were just moving from girl to girl until they found one ready to jump into bed. What was the song? She knew it was one she loved, and she searched her memory until it came to her. “Hello”. It was Lionel Ritchie’s “Hello”. The slow, sad rhythm seemed to draw them closer, physically and emotionally. She smiled as she remembered him kissing her when the song ended. She hadn’t been angry; in fact, she’d kind of liked it. Then, she felt another jolt as it occurred to her that the boy who had kissed her then was the man she was dancing with now, after all those years. She smiled and slipped back into her reverie. He had suggested they step outside for some fresh air and, warm from dancing, she agreed. Once, outside, he’d leaned in and kissed her again. She watched him dancing now, self-conscious and probably feeling very silly but soldiering on. He saw her looking at him and he smiled, “great song!” he shouted over the music. She laughed. She liked the fact that he was making the effort. She narrowed her eyes and tried to resolve this grown man’s features into the face of the boy from all those years ago. 

“Walk Like an Egyptian” was in its last chorus and Steve noticed that after four or five songs, the dance floor was thinning out as people took a breather. Above the din, Mary Jane said, “Can you believe I have to pee again?” and headed off the dance floor. 

“Walk Like an Egyptian” faded and “Time After Time” calmed the frenzy on the dance floor as some couples came together and others headed back to their tables. Mike, Judy, Dave, Seema and Janice disengaged themselves from the music and headed back to the table in a ragged formation, pleased, perspiring and smiling. 

Kelly wasn’t even close to being danced out and remained where she was. She saw that Steve also hadn’t moved from the dance floor. She smiled at him and gave him a questioning look; he returned her smile and opened his arms in invitation. She felt a sudden déjà vu which passed immediately as she moved toward Steve – then something in her intuition held her for a moment – was it the invisible do-not-cross line between professional and personal that briefly halted her – or was it something else? C’mon, she thought, it’s just a dance, and she stepped forward as Steve placed his right hand properly on the small of her back and took her right hand in his left. 

It was nice to dance like this with a man; it had been a very long time since she last had. He smelled nice – the spice and sandalwood she remembered from their first meeting in the elevator. But, that wasn’t their first meeting…She tried to reconstruct their brief acquaintance all those years ago. She smiled as she remembered writing her phone number on a scrap of paper – then holding it back as he reached for it, making him promise to call. She didn’t hand out her number very often and didn’t like being trifled with. And he had called, as promised. He’d asked her out for the following Friday evening. He’d called for her at her residence building on campus. She vaguely remembered feeling some disappointment when he showed up in jeans and a school sweatshirt, a little unkempt; he hadn’t seemed to put much effort into it, when she had done her hair and chosen a nice outfit. 

They drove downtown in what was really a crappy old car. He seemed embarrassed by it, but he was a student – what did he think she expected? 

She remembered feeling – not nervous – but ambivalent. He had seemed remote and had a kind of edge to his conversation. She was now recalling that she wondered if he even liked her, and if not, why would he ask her out? Had it been out of obligation, because he had said he would? 

She came out of her reverie when Steve’s foot grazed hers as they danced, and he drew back with an apologetic look. 

“Sorry”, he said. 

She just smiled. It was an odd feeling to be touching this man, one hand on his shoulder, the other in his hand, whose younger self she was trying hard to remember. She grazed over the new memories of their recent acquaintance, and tried to reconcile her image of Steve, now, with the boy he had been long ago. They seemed like two different people. 

He had taken her to a movie, something very funny – she remembered laughing out loud. 

After the movie, they’d gone to a bar downtown and danced a little. She ran into some friends from her residence who sat with them for a while.

And that was pretty much it. They left the bar and walked to the parking lot. She recalled that the poor guy’s car wouldn’t start which she knew embarrassed him. She took charge and they headed back to the bar to catch a ride with her friends. Her friends dropped him off and as he stepped out of the car she remembered he looked dejected. She stepped out too to say a polite goodnight. There was no spark or chemistry of any kind. After an awkward moment, she gave him a quick hug, said “thank you” and slipped back in the car and away. And that was the last she had heard of him. And the last she had thought of him, until now. 

Again, she tried to reconcile the vaguely remembered image of a taciturn, unpolished, kind of bland guy, with the well groomed, well spoken, interesting, funny, and really rather charming man who was now trying not to step on her toes. 

Cyndi Lauper’s voice softened to a whisper in the final refrain: “Time after time…time after time…”

Steve and Kelly eased apart and stood for a moment, smiling, a little awkwardly.

“Thank you for the dance,” Kelly said. Then, on impulse, she laid her fingertips lightly on his chest. 

“I’ve figured it out,” she said, and winked, detecting a shadow of alarm on Steve’s face. 

“I need to pee,” she said, turning and heading off the dance floor. 

The dance floor filled again and bobbed and weaved to Blondie’s “Call Me”. 

Steve stood alone, motionless, watching Kelly walk away; the pleasure of observing her swaying hips in that breath-taking dress, was tempered by ambivalence: she had remembered him, somehow; would she now look at him and see the dufus from school; would she see only his lame attempt at courting her and epic fail? 

He weaved through the dancers and walked toward their table but then turned right toward the French doors leading to the veranda. 

Warm from dancing, he felt pleasure in the rapidly cooling, night air as he stepped outside. It was a beautiful, clear night: the sky was indigo, and stars twinkled their million-year-old light. The moon was almost full, and its reflection dappled the ripples on the lake. It was perfect. It reminded him of being at anchor in a Caribbean Island harbour, on deck, looking lazily out into the night and hearing the music across the water from the shore, as he was hearing it now drifting from the ballroom. It occurred to him that the next time he heard music from across the bay of a Caribbean Island, the Athena dilemma would be resolved – one way or another. 

His gaze wandered down the balcony where he saw Mary Jane, vaping and looking up, mesmerized by the clear night sky, and he headed her way. 

She smiled as he approached. “Having fun?”

“I am,” he said. “It’s been a great evening.”

She looked back over the water and sky, exhaling a plume of vapor into the night. “Such a beautiful spot, so romantic…” Her smile was wistful. “Now, all I need is the romance part.”

There wasn’t really anything to say to that, so Steve said nothing, only smiled. 

She brightened, “Hey, so now you’ve seen your peers outside work, howling and making merry. What do you think? Not too shocked, I hope?”

Steve laughed. “Not even close. It’s a great group. I’d hang with you guys even if we didn’t work together.”

She knew he was being sincere. Gosh, he was cute – but she thought of Kelly’s prudent policy about workplace romance: he was off limits. She sighed. 

Steve leaned forward, resting his elbows on the iron balustrade. 

“I can’t help thinking that if the people sitting around our table tonight ran things at work, without”–he started to choose his words carefully, then thought what the hell, this is MJ –“without that matched set of assholes fucking it up, we’d have a real shot at launching Athena, on time.” 

Then he stood back and looked at Mary Jane. 

“Sorry, MJ, I know we all agreed not to talk about work.”

“No worries, Steve. I already mentioned Athena, before, when you were – ahem – networking with that redhead.”

Steve laughed. He guessed this wasn’t the last time he was going to hear about that. 

“I guess we don’t need to beat around the bush,” Mary Jane said. “They make it way harder than it needs to be.”

She didn’t need to name them. They both knew who they were. 

Mary Jane opened her clutch and dropped her e-cig into it then snapped it shut. 

“I guess I’ll head back in. I should work the crowd a bit. I may be able to eyeball some new talent – assuming we get approval to hire anyone ever again.”

“I’m going to hang here for a bit,” Steve said. “I’ll see you back in there.”

“Okay,” she said, smiled, turned and headed back to the French doors leading to the muffled music and warmly lit ballroom.

Steve turned back to the night sky, again resting his elbows on the balustrade, his thoughts a melange of Athena and Kelly. 

Approaching their table from the ladies’ room, Kelly saw that only Janice and Dave were seated there, in an animated conversation. The others in their party were likely mingling with clients they’d invited to the Charity Ball. She looked to her left and saw the sets of French doors leading outside, which looked very inviting, and she veered toward them. 

Just as she was about to step through the open doors, Mary Jane appeared on the other side, returning to the ballroom. 

“Hey Kel, there’s a very nice view out there,” MJ said, with what seemed like a sly look, that Kelly couldn’t decipher. 

“I could use some fresh air,” Kelly said. 

“Enjoy,” Mary Jane said, giving Kelly’s forearm a squeeze as they passed one another.

What was that? Kelly thought as she walked slowly across the stone floor of the balcony, feeling the cool, heavenly breeze on her warm skin and gazing up into a magical sky. 

Clusters of people, couples and small groups, stood chatting, some smoking, and a few solitary people stood at the balustrade facing the water and she walked to the balustrade to become one of them. 

As she approached, she saw a man from behind who – despite wearing the male uniform of the evening – had a familiar shape, and realized it was Steve McGregor. She laughed to herself, now understanding MJ’s meaning. Great view, huh? 

She stopped short of where he was standing, torn between not wanting to intrude on his solitude, and anticipating a pleasant moonlit moment of conversation with him. She also had butterflies knowing they would undoubtedly talk about their long ago brief encounter. How did he remember it? She didn’t think he’d liked her all that much then. How was he reconciling his memory of her younger self with what he saw of her now? Had his feelings – whatever they were – drifted over the expanse of time? He seemed friendly enough, but what did he really think of her? What did he feel? 

Curiosity trumped reticence and she walked up beside him. 

She touched him lightly on the arm, which brought him out of his reverie. 

“Hi,” she said. “Am I intruding?”

“No, not at all,” he said. He stood up from leaning on the balustrade. 

Seeing her in the soft light, her face half in shadow, the scent of her, the bareness of her arms and shoulders and legs, and that amazing dress, affected him as it had earlier in the evening when he first saw her. 

She was exquisite.

His genuine intent prior to joining Pyrotechnique, to try to establish a good, professional working relationship with Kelly, possibly becoming friends, with no thought of anything beyond that – and why would he, given the outcome of his long ago attempt to woo her – was being teased and taunted by the increasingly helpless realization that the instant, intense attraction he had felt on first seeing her all those years ago, hadn’t been a momentary infatuation, like a lightening flash, bright and brilliant then gone, but had lain dormant through the years, like a cat slumbering in a sunbeam, to awaken and stretch and prowl for mischief, mocking and disdainful of his resolve to establish a friendly working relationship. 

The truth was that his resolve was a feeble adversary to the yearning desire that ached for her. Not just sexual desire, although that was a powerful part of it, but it was more than that: he wanted her in his world, in his home, in his life…

He swallowed, hard. “Beautiful night,” he said, annoyed by his banality. thinking, seriously, could you be any lamer?

She nodded. Yes, it is beautiful, she thought, arcing her gaze across the sky, taking in the moon, and its fragmented reflection on the water, the stars, the balmy breeze, with the 80’s music – they were playing “Drive” by the Cars – making her nostalgic. 

Kelly stood beside Steve and set her clutch on the balustrade. She thought about how to start the conversation. She was truly curious about him, and she had sensed some uneasiness in him when she’d announced that she’d solved the mystery at the end of their dance. 

“You’ve changed since the last time I saw you - a lot.”

He smiled timidly and fidgeted a little. “I have? I guess I must have.”

Looking into his face now, she saw his eyes, blue-gray even in this low light. His eyes were the one recognizable thing about him: she recalled that they were the first thing she saw when he’d approached her then. 

“You’ve barely changed, Kelly.”

“Oh please,” she said. “I’m an awful lot older; I must look it.”

He smiled. “You have the ageless beauty of a Chinese woman. I remember you as a very pretty 19-year-old girl. And you’ve grown up to be a beautiful 40-year-old woman,” he said, echoing his earlier remarks to the group.

She was flattered, and a little flustered. “Try 41 – almost 42.”

He laughed. “Okay then. Forty-one – sorry, almost 42. You’d never know it.”

“Thank you, Steve.” His flattery tingled her body and warmed her cheeks.

“I also remember thinking that you were really smart, and full of potential. It’s great to see that you’ve realized it so fully.”

What a sweet thing to say? she thought. In a few kind words, he’d acknowledged the years of study and work, the long, stressful days, and sometimes sleepless nights, to achieve some degree of success – at least professionally. She swallowed a lump that was forming in her throat. 

“Thank you, Steve. I really have worked pretty hard. But, tell me about you. How has your life been up to now? Have you been happy?”

That was a question he wasn’t accustomed to and he didn’t have a ready answer. 

“Well, sure, I guess. You know, ups and downs – like everybody. What about you?”

Hearing the question posed back to her made her realize that the answer – anyone’s answer – to that question was as complex as the question was simple. 

“Same, I guess.”

They stood silently for a moment, adapting to this new dimension to their relationship. She still felt some embarrassment that after all this time, he had clear memories and impressions of her, and she hadn’t remembered him, other than a faint and fleeting recognition that she’d put down to coincidence. 

“Steve, I’m sorry, but truthfully, I haven’t thought about you much”–had she been truthful, she would have said, ‘I’ve never thought of you’–“since we – since the last time we met.”

“That doesn’t surprise me, Kelly. Actually, I’m still getting over my mild shock that you remembered me at all. I don’t think I made much of an impression on you. Honestly, I kinda hoped you wouldn’t remember.”

She met his eyes and listened, interested.

“I didn’t want your first impression of me, all those years ago, to bias your attitude to me, now that we’re working together. I didn’t want you to think, ‘man, do I have to work with this goofball?’ I didn’t want it to be weird.”

She laughed and placed her fingertips on his chest. “It’s not weird, Steve – and I definitely don’t think you’re a goofball.”

He glanced away abashed. “Actually, I kind of am. But, as I get older, I’ve gotten better at masking it. I’m kind of a late bloomer.” 

His humility was endearing. It was kind of hot, actually. This handsome, intelligent, funny, interesting, kind and successful man didn’t have an ounce of swagger – and he was a man who had earned swaggering rights. An image of Mike came to mind. He did swagger – but he was so likeable that it wasn’t off-putting. Robert, on the other hand, acted like he could do whatever he wanted, that he was always right, and that he did you a favour to merely tolerate you. And that was off-putting. Her mind had wandered, and his voice brought her back. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I guess I kinda wasted your time, that night I invited you out.”

“No, don’t be silly. We were kids. It’s all part of growing up.”

He turned around and leaned against the balustrade, facing the water. “Actually, it’s kind of a funny story.”

She came up beside him at the balustrade. He looked at her and she could tell he was seeking a cue about whether to continue.

“Tell me,” she said. A breeze from the water gave a little ruffle to his hair and caressed her face and shoulders making her shiver in spite of its mildness.

He’d had lots of time to recall it over the last few weeks and had summoned back much of the detail. 

“Well, I was in fourth year, I would have been 22 – 14 in man years – and you were in first year, so you must have been about 19. I was really psyched, really happy when I called you – after you’d given me your phone number the previous Saturday - and you agreed to go out with me. That was a Tuesday or Wednesday night. I had a major assignment due on Friday morning. It was a group assignment, but the other members of the group spent most of the time talking and arguing about the content, so I was doing most of the work. We were way behind, and I ended up working all night on Thursday and through Friday morning to finish it and hand it in by the noon deadline. Then I had classes in the afternoon and more studying to do in the library. By the time I got home, I was beat. I felt like crap and briefly thought of calling you to cancel thinking I wouldn’t be very good company, but I’d been looking forward to seeing you all week – you were the light at the end of the tunnel – and besides, it would have been impolite to cancel at the last minute. So, I took a shower and left to pick you up in my shit box car – so right off the top I made a fine impression. 

“As we drove downtown, I remember doing my best to charm you, to be clever and witty, but, somehow…it just seemed to come out wrong. I’d try to be funny, but it came across as sarcastic and cynical. The harder I tried, the more I seemed to lose you. And, I just couldn’t get it back on track. It just seemed to go downhill from there.” 

He looked out on the dark water, remembering. 

“Someone once told me that my sense of humour is whimsy with an edge. If that’s true, I guess I had too much edge and not enough whimsy.”

“I didn’t think you liked me.” 

He gave her a wistful smile. 

“It was the exact opposite.”

He paused, and she saw him look into the dark distance, remembering.

He sighed. “Anyway, that was pretty much it.” 

He gave a little melancholy laugh. “And to top it all off, my crappy car wouldn’t start, so you had to get your friends to drive us home. Perfect.”

As she had imagined, the car trouble had been a blow to his self-esteem. It had mattered much more to him than it had to her. 

“After your friends dropped me off, even though I was exhausted – I hadn’t slept in 48 hours – I couldn’t fall asleep. I lay awake thinking how badly I’d wanted to impress you, to make you like me. And I’d blown it completely, and I’d never have another chance. I was heartsick.”

Their eyes met, and each smiled shyly at the other. A shadow of the pain he’d felt then crossed his face and moved her. She had had no idea that he’d given her another thought when they’d parted that night. She felt a tenderness for his pain then that crossed his face now like a shadow.

“You should have called me,” she said, in a quiet tone.

He gave her a lop-sided grin. “C’mon, you didn’t want to hear from me.”

That was true, then, but now…

After a moment, he said, “If I had called you – and given you the explanation I did just now…would you have given me another chance?”

She struggled again to summon the memory of that evening and vaguely remembered not having the slightest interest in seeing him again. But now, seeing him here in front of her, all these years later, having had no idea of the effect she’d had on him…it had meant nothing to her, a slight annoyance at an evening wasted…but for him…she thought of him lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking of her and – what? – yearning for something badly wanted, and lost…she could identify with that, anyone could. 

His face was searching hers, waiting for her answer. 

“Of course,” she said, and meant it, smiling at him. 

He gave her another wistful smile. “Would you do me a favour?”

“Sure.”

“Would you…” he turned his hip toward her, “Would you kick me, in the ass, for being an idiot.”

She laughed. “Sure. But with these shoes, it’s really gonna hurt.”

“Well, I guess it should hurt”. 

They lapsed into a silence where they each thought their own variation of “what if…” Her thoughts followed a newly discovered path; his, led him down a path that was becoming a well-worn, deeply rutted track. 

She watched him look at her. It was as if his long ago want of her, his need for her, maybe reawakened now but held in check, defined an invisible wall of her loneliness. It was totally inappropriate, and it would have broken all of her rules, but in the quiet, moonlit darkness, with a balmy spring breeze from the lake, she had a momentary, but powerful wish that he would take her in his arms, and – do what? – hold her, tight, and tell her she was wonderful, that she was the love of his life and that everything was going to be okay…

After several moments, the silence lengthened into awkwardness. They both laughed.

“Well, I – I guess we should head back in.” His thumb pointed back to the French doors.

“Right.”

“Hey, don’t forget your purse,” Steve said, picking up her clutch from the balustrade and handing it to her. 

They re-entered the ballroom to loud, up-tempo music, but the dance floor had thinned out, and the room had a saggy feel. 

The evening was coming to an end.

But, what a wonderful – and intriguing – evening it had been, Kelly thought as she and Steve took their seats at the table. Just a few minutes later, the group began gathering up purses and phones, standing, saying their goodnights with tired but happy smiles, and heading for the front doors and home. 

“Steve?”

Steve glanced at Dave in the passenger seat who had been so quiet for the last ten minutes, Steve thought he had fallen asleep. Dave had initially declined but had eventually agreed when Steve offered to drive him home. His hair’s gonna hurt tomorrow, Steve thought reflecting on the amount of wine Dave had drunk.

“Yeah, Dave?”

“About Athena…”

Steve listened as Dave organized his thoughts. 

Dave cleared his throat. “Sorry, I know we all agreed not to talk about work tonight.”

“No worries, buddy. The party’s over.”

“Yeah.” 

It was clear to Steve that this wasn’t casual shop talk coming from Dave. He was troubled. Steve waited.

“Seriously, do you think we’ll make the launch date? I mean with the full product, everything ready?”

“Well –“

“Steve, I’m 49 years old. If Pyrotech goes down the shitter, I’m screwed. You turn 50 and it’s like you’ve got leprosy. You’re treated like you’ve forgotten everything you knew, like you’re feeble, like you’re useless. I’ve got nowhere else to go. I watched it happen to my dad. He turned 51 and all of a sudden, the company ‘was going in a different direction.’ Jesus Christ, he worked for a fucking gravel company. They take big rocks and crush them into smaller rocks. What kind of ‘different direction’ can a company like that take? He was a still a young man, we weren’t rich, he had to work. No one in his industry would hire him even though he had experience and expertise and a great reputation. He’d become a fucking leper. He ended up working at grocery store stocking fucking shelves until he died at 61.”

Steve looked over at Dave and saw despair in his face. After a stuttering start, Dave was pouring it out; Steve said nothing and let Dave tell it.

“I’ve got kids in school. I’m the sole provider for my family. I’ve got savings but it’s too soon to start living on them, they’ll run out before I’m dead and my wife will probably live for another 20 years. What’s she going to do? My Pyrotech stock is practically worthless and I can wipe my ass with my stock options.” 

Dave was never going to set the world on fire, but Steve knew he was very good at his job. He ran a tight ship in manufacturing and had served the company well for many years. But, he’d seen it too. Men and women he knew, engineers and sales and marketing people, getting a little gray, their clothes and hairstyles a little out of date, and companies gave them ‘early retirement’, packaged them out, and they were never heard from again. He unconsciously ran his fingers through his hair, which was showing some gray. He was lucky that he was okay for money; but he dreaded the thought of losing – what? – purpose and validation – which he knew haunted Dave as much as the prospect of financial insecurity. There was a hell of a lot riding on Athena; and it all seemed to be riding on him.

Dave sighed. “Sorry, Steve. I didn’t mean to dump my bullshit problems on you.”

Steve glanced over. “It’s okay, Dave.” 

He hadn’t answered Dave’s question. He was tempted to gloss over the truth to try to make Dave feel better. But, he knew it would ring false: Dave was in the MC meetings; he knew the score.

“Honestly, Dave, I don’t know if we can get Athena ready in time for September. But, I’m going to drag my sorry ass out of bed every day and do everything I can to get it done.”

“I know, Steve. We’re all in it together. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

Steve glanced over again and saw Dave force a smile. 

“It was a hell of a party, wasn’t it?”

Steve smiled. “Was it ever. And we’ll have an even bigger one in September, when we launch Athena.”

“Great. I should be sober by then.” 

They both laughed. 

But you’re going to have a hell of a hangover, tomorrow morning, Steve thought sympathetically.