Alicia bailed on us to do some packing. I felt bad and really should have helped her. She insisted that I go out with Amber. We picked up Jemma to replace her. It never occurred to me that Alicia might be tired. I hadn’t really processed what I had agreed to—or what I was giving up yet. I realize now my dear college friend had.
The next day Jemma followed me into the fashion trove. Both of us were unusually quiet, and remarkable sober—for the week.
“Well that was interesting”, my fiery friend broke the silence.
“Which part?”, I responded in earnest.
“Ya…”, Jemma’s confusion turned to an impish smile.
“I’m pretty sure you known Amber was a lesbian, right?”
“Yes, knew that.” She paused before continuing. “Not my first, second or thirtieth time at a lesbian club, either…” her voice faded off but her smile increased.
“First time at a leather…” I couldn’t believe the honest, but mistaken words coming out of my mouth. “No, not the first of second time being at a fetish party… either”, I corrected myself and buried my head into the computer.
“Apparently not your first time either.” Her grin was bigger than the Titanic.
“Neither of us did anything…you can’t prove a thing.” My unconscious grin betrayed me.
“Oh, I think I might be able to—just not with a bunch of chicks around…”
“So, what did you want to borrow from the company for tomorrow night?”, trying to change the subject.
“I’m impressed by you Alex. We’ll have to chat later.” And with that my observant friend let me off the hook. And for the record there were dudes at the pace last night—even if they were totally gay.
The big problem we faced was whether to go out classy or trashy. At first we thought it would be fun to go out in crazy ball gowns oozing glamour. It seemed like a neat way to leave a final impression on a bunch of people I probably would never see again. Besides when ever would I have to opportunity to wear such a gown or ever have access to do so.
So engrossed in searching and looking at pictures we missed a third person ‘sneaking’ in. Nothing like being caught by your boss while looking at fashion porn. Unless your boss knows all the best fashion porn to look at. It occurred to me that I would no longer be caught in this room by Nico anymore. The room would be split up or liquidated and I wouldn’t even see her anymore. It was starting to become real.
“Oh, I don’t think I’d wear that to the last party. That’s not how I’d want to be remembered by my peers”, Jemma’s voice brought me back to real space.
“No silly, that’s the back. Someone took a picture from the wrong side”, my boss said leaning between us and clacking on the keyboard. “Though it would make quite an interesting spectacle wearing it that way since the scoop is very lower back.
Nico turned her head towards me almost kissing my cheek. “It’s a party and we are going to celebrate. So lets find party dresses and maybe I’ll forget you two were in here and took anything out. And with that Jemma pushed our boss away from the computer and began a new search.
The night before the last company party I helped Alicia do some packing. She told Me I didn’t need to help her, but I think we both knew I did. Not that she needed help packing, she was a boss at that. No, we needed some sober time to pay tribute to our tiny rent controlled apartment and the time we shared in it. Well fairly sober as a bottle of chianti might have met its end that night.
It was nice talking with Alicia. It was another thing I had taken for granted and would soon be gone. It was nice that Jemma had volunteered to entertain Amber, so I could reflect quietly with my friend on not just the last few months but the years before we had muddled through young adulthood together.
Now we were growing up and becoming responsible adults, but we’d be doing it thousands of miles away from each other. I nonchalantly told her about my Vancouver job. She was ecstatic for me. No seriously, I think she was more excited for me than I was. She mentioned how we’d still be on the same coast and that maybe she could get work on some of the TV or film stuff going on up there. I hadn’t thought of that, and it did cheer me up a bit.
Until I mentioned that Enrique had asked me to go with him to Paris. To say Alicia is not a romantic would be an understatement. “Follow him to Paris for what?” It wasn’t a rhetorical question to me. And maybe it hadn’t been to Alicia either. I decided to fill in my soon to be ex-roommate on some of the things I might have forgotten to tell her. My thinking was she would then instruct me to throw away my carrier and move to the city of lights with a guy that looked like he stepped off a romance novel cover.
Not a romantic. Move to Paris with no job and when things when pear-shaped I’d be down and out in Paris. Move to Vancouver, enjoy the change of scenery, lest my bonus vest and see if there aren’t any ex-models having about a place nicknamed Hollywood North. Unfortunately her advice was sound, but not romantic.
I’d miss frank talks and sound advice. I’d miss the most responsible person I knew, who still could and would draw faces on drunk and sleeping house guests. I’d miss my caring and compassionate roommate. I’d miss my friend, I already did as we finished the last box.
Tomorrow the movers would come and take away the boxes and as I partied with my soon to be ex-co-workers, Alicia would be on her way to the airport. I’d come home to a half empty apartment. Amber would be sleeping on the…$#!+, they’d be no sofa. Small talk over tea and it dawned on me, next week I’d be packing up my life and be gone.
As a last gift Alicia did my hair and makeup. While I was sitting for her I was questioning why I let my crazy soon to be ex-boss choose a dress for me. I could say I was a ticking wardrobe malfunction, but as I sat having my face painted I was an actual one. If my first party was about picking the perfect dress and fantasy lingerie then my last party would be about convincing people I was actually wearing any. Problem was the dress didn’t really allow it.
Jemma had described it like That Dress…you know the one that Liz Hurley wore when she dated Hugh Grant. I’ll take her word for it, but later I did a Google search for it. After said search I think Liz got the more substantial dress. For my dress the pro was that it was floor length. Pretty much everything else was a con. The slit that went from floor to hip. The fact the slit didn’t technically end at the hip since the side was held together with safety pins. Seriously Versace, what is it with you and holding dresses together with safety pins? Maybe it was the fabric that looked like one of those safety pins had given away to the exposed bodice. You know the black sheer bodice that save for one piece of taupe padded fabric exposed everything but the coloured part of my breast. It was matched with a very nice nude heel.
So why would I wear such a crazy excuse for a dress? In a word, Enrique. When my boss just casually mentioned it loved this dress it just became a matter of talking myself into it—literally. Don’t get me wrong, it is a beautiful dress and I’d be in awe of someone famous wearing it. And after all I’ve been through you’d think I’d actually be ready, no destined to wear it. The first indication I got that maybe I was when I stepped out to show Alicia.
She did not laugh. I was very relieved at that. What I had not been prepared for was actually making her speechless. Her and Amber. And lets face it, not even super glue can make Amber speechless.
The second indication was said mouthy friend wanting picture with me after Alicia had woven her magic. I hadn’t yet seen her work, but having Amber post said picture unfiltered to Instagram made my heart flutter.
My friends held my hands as I stood in front of the full length mirror. Where to start… Unlike the first time Alicia had painted my face, I was quite recognizable as me—an idealized version of me. My first thought was, Alicia you cannot go to Hollywood, I need you to do this every day for me. My face looked simple. She had spent time making me, more like me, well you know the way you fantasize you look in your mind when you think of the things your fantasizing about. She put my hair in a playful ponytail. She said it made my eyes the focus, which Amber gleefully agreed.
Oh yes, and the dress. In some respect I maybe wished my friend had made me look like someone else. But seeing the dress—full length—with hair and make up… OK, there was a small part of me screaming that I couldn’t or at least shouldn’t go out in it. But strangely most of me was very gratefully that Nico had confidence in me. Confidence to organize the black hole of fashion. Confidence to run her partner’s office. Confidence to steer her company into a blockbuster merger. Confidence to wear a crazy sexy dress that supermodels might not have been able to carry off. One thing for sure, he wouldn’t miss my in this dress.
That was until I went down stairs to the car picking me up. Jemma was waiting for me. She told me to wait, she wanted to have a look before we went off to our going away party. And as she stepped out all I could think of was, how dow I compete with this boobs. I swear the plunge in her neckline went down to her navel. OK, it didn’t, it stopped at the base of her sternum. That train of thought was derailed by her silent stare then a genuine show of awe. My confidence was restored by three simple words, “I hate you”—spoken in admiration. And with that we got back into the car and began to ply platitudes on each other.
On the way over I found out it had taken half a bottle of Merlot to get my self-assured friend into her daring dress. It had taken her the other to get out the door of her apartment she joked, not joked. At the time I kind of wondered why, she looked stunning in it. I had been so wrapped up in the dress and my friends dolling me up I never really had anytime to ponder the idea of the last company party.
On thing tipsy Jemma is though—along with amazing balance, better than mine sober—funny. She started to wonder if we were wearing these dresses, what Nico would be wearing. After designing a dress in our head where the neckline ended at her hips and the slit went up to her waist—or at least the rings holding the front and back together, and it was a halter dress so it could be backless to the top of her impossibly taut @$$; Jemma decided that probably she would wear and Empress dress.
I can’t believe I seriously asked her what an Empress dress was. She said it with a straight face so I thought it was a thing. With absolute conviction my friend described a dress made of a material so soft you couldn’t feel the fabric next to your skin and so iridescent it was almost sheer and it clung to your body like a second skin…ya, I got it. I mean I still laughed at the thought of my boss showing up in her birthday suit. And with my boss it wasn’t just funny, it was a possibility, which somehow made it seem even funnier.
When the car finally arrived we both stopped and stared. The outside of the club looked like some movie premiere. I guess we now knew where those stoplights in the clouds were coming from. Then it was our turn to be stared at. We walked down the red carpet arm in arm with flashes going, like we were the stars. I think I got way with getting out of the car without incident. I hope those fake paparazzi weren’t taking actual pictures just in case.
I had been to a few other company parties since my first, but the slack-jawed look on Jemma’s face assured me that whatever this was was not the usual party. I think a co-worker later referred to it as Moulin Rouge (I love Ewan McGregor!) as interpreted by an Ibiza nightclub. It was fancy. It was freaky. There were go-go dancers of all genders. And there was pounding dance music. Also, there was an open bar.
If at first I was a bit worried about my dress, but I sure wasn’t now. OK, I was still worried as people from the office craned their heads as Jemma and I went by. Everyone was dressed up for a party all right. And dressed may have been an overstatement. Actually, many of my co-workers were very nicely dressed, so long as you didn’t remember this was an office party. Some others looked like they might have thought it was an Ibiza party. You know once you see some things, you can never unseen them, or think of the quiet, shy intern then same way ever again.
And then there was Enrique. I make it sound like we waded through the writhing crowd who parted just for us and ended at him. If they ever make a movie of my diary I totally want that shoot in it. Actually we made our way through the crowd, picked up some champagne—Nico’s own estate— and then were intercepted by our bosses flanking Enrique.
Oh my God I totally lost my train of thought. And I know that my writing isn’t going to do it justice, but he was wearing a divine suit, black shirt and red tie. I couldn’t tell you the brand because, as I later found out it was custom. His hair was perfectly tussled and meticulously groomed stubble implied a bread and moustache without one actual gracing his tanned face. Sandwiched between two beautiful woman, which I idolized in boarding school and which at that moment they could have been naked—or zombies—and I wouldn’t have even noticed. OK, I might have been on my second glass of champagne, and an empty stomach.
There was much congratulating and hugs, but not from the one body I wanted to held by. And until Nico mentioned it I had forgotten about the dress she had picked out for me. Christine whisper-yelled in my ear that I owned the dress. I’m pressure sure she meant I filled it out nicely, not so much as she was transferring ownership of it. Though, I’ve yet to give it back. She looked at Enrique then Nico and smiled back at me. She said we’d sign papers Monday at a luncheon before wishing me a wonderful evening. Nico kissed both my cheeks and said, “You’re welcome”.
Next think I knew my two bosses and friend had dispersed leaving me alone with him. There was a smile on his face that promised danger. A few months ago I would have ran to the bathroom, nay, back to my house. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the dress. Maybe it was just about time, but I walked over to him and planted my lips onto his beautiful and soft mouth. I finally felt his arms around me and the one hug I had ached for. We stood in the middle of the dance floor kissing as time stood still. Actually it kept moving though one and a half songs.
I had never really wanted to come tonight, but now I just didn’t want to be here. He must have sensed it because he asked if I wanted to leave. Twenty minutes into the biggest party I had even been to and a celebration of both of our hard work we slipped out into the alley. Well slipped out as in only an anemic alarm went off.
He asked if I was hungry. I wanted to say yes, but not for food. Sadly I was a bit hungry. Things slowed down as we shared some pasta and red wine. I can’t say it wasn’t fun. Actually it was very neat being very overdressed on the small patio, attracting a disordinate attention. But most of all it was great just being with him, no one else around—yes, other around but no one we knew.
I crashed his small talk by blurting out “I’ve been offered Vancouver”. I wanted to judge his response. I make it sound like I was all clinical and button pushy. Actually I just was seeing where everything was going. OK, maybe a bit button pushy to heat up the stakes.
The word Vancouver got a genuine reaction from him. He didn’t immediately respond, like he was trying to figure out his next move. It was very like him, the chess master he was.
“Are you going to take it?” It was a genuine question. It needed a genuine answer.
“The pay is good. The job is boring and if I can last 24 months I’ll be a millionaire.
“Can I come work for you?” There it was, the witty response that didn’t miss a beat. My God was he handsome. I thought of all the ‘work’ he could do for me.
It’s funny because he must have been offered the same bonus, though I didn’t ask him—ever. It was funny. We sat next to each other, almost a couple, sharing food and wine and all the while knowing where things were headed—both for the evening and the long-term. We reminisced over the longest piece of tiramisu. There was a kind of sadness of inevitability riddled with desire.
We hailed a cab and made out the whole way back to my empty apartment, at least I hoped it was empty. I had been right in that Amber was gone—someone else’s place for the night—and we burst through the door alone in an empty apartment.
And that’s where the bodice ripping began and the pent-up savagery took over. Actually he was very prudent with my borrowed dress, though he made quick work of it. On the other hand I had to work to get him naked. Jacket, vest, tie, suspenders, shirt, shoes and finally his pants. Seems he was as happy to see me as I was to see him—naked.
The the movie version of my diary we make love in the middle of the room on a bed of roses with soft sensual music playing to the shimmering of a glitter ball. But that night we were all over each other. I kissed down his perfect chest as he grabbed my hair. It wasn’t a curtsy, my hair was still in a ponytail. It was rough and dirty and I liked it. And on a bare clean hardwood floor I took him as I had fantasized since that fateful night—what seemed an eternity ago—in his apartment. I no longer could blame the wine or the dress, now it was purely me gobbling him up. That sharp slap on my ass did not deter me in the slightest. I wonder if he could read my mind or was just so in tune with it.
OK, in the dirty cable version movie of my diary there was candles lit around us as we explored each other’s bodies with our mouth. In the real version I was exploring him with my mouth and he was exploring me with his fingers. Before long he was taking me from behind holding on to my ponytail.
I could complain about the quickness or the ferocity, but there was very little to complain about if you know what I mean. It was just what I needed just when I wanted it. I remember laying naked on him, skin on skin, on the floor. No words were exchanged, none needed to be.
It was hard to know if it was a beginning or an end. Months of being so close exploded in a short period of time…a few times that night. Intimate kisses and nibbles were interspersed with conversation. The only light was from the street and though I was naked, I had never felt so bare before.
I asked him what this job in Paris might entail. I teased him as I asked if it was a personal assistant job. It was hard for him, but I think he loosened up as I took a grip of the situation. Though he seemed a bit distracted his back and forth was candid. In my heart of hearts, I longed to do this in Paris, night after night.
He grabbed my face and lifted my head to his. He prefaced his question with a soft kiss. I answered yes. What was I supposed to do? He was all naked in his underwear model glory. Was my response what I really wanted or what I thought was necessary to continue the evening’s pleasure. Either way we continued well into dawn alternating between hard and soft. We fell asleep naked in each other’s arms.
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