Ernie joined the bar line behind a woman in a long blue dress. Chestnut-brown hair done up in a bun. She turned to him, “Lucky we’re not dying of thirst,” the woman said, rolling her eyes. Big brown eyes; “Even with three bar stations, look at this line.”
“Yeah, it’s been a while since I’ve been to anything this big,” Ernie replied. He checked the low cut of her dress. Nice.
Brushing back a wayward strand of hair, she asked, “Are you in the Boston office?”
“No, I’m with a vendor, a marketing consultant in Manchester, New Hampshire. We do project work for Benfield. My boss had to cancel, so he sent me.”
—
Leroux stopped by Ernie’s office last week. A conflict had come up – his daughter’s school play – so he couldn’t make the Benfield holiday party. Would Ernie like to go in his stead? “The invite is yours if you want it; these Benfield affairs are always a blast,” said his mustachioed boss; “And we’ll get you a hotel room so you don’t have to drive home late.” Boston was a solid hour from Manchester.
Since Ernie’s messy split with Nicole, Leroux had gone out of his way to cheer him up. Ball-game tickets, taking him to lunch… Leroux was that kind of boss who cared for his employees beyond the workplace. So despite some doubts about going solo to a big bash, Ernie accepted. At a minimum it would get him out of his apartment for a night.
—
He heard the woman in line speaking again. “Tough assignment, representing your boss here.” she said, smiling; “And all the way from Manchester! That’s even farther than me. I’m in our Worcester office. I’m Louise, by the way.”
“Ernie,” he said,
“Nice to meet you, Ernie.”
She looked about his age, maybe a bit younger – late 20’s. No ring. “So, you’re a marketing consultant,” she asked. “What do you do?”
“Well, we’re a small company so everyone does a little bit of everything,” said Ernie, looking into those big brown eyes. What was the term? Doe-eyes? “I started on the account management side,” he continued, “But now I spend most of my time on new business development. And you?”
“I’m in compliance,” Louise replied, “Making sure we are meeting regulatory requirements. Everything from state regulators to the SEC. You’re lucky as a small company you don’t have to deal with it.” She went on before he could respond, “Sometimes it gets crazy. Like this afternoon. I wasn’t sure I was going to make it here tonight, Right after lunch I got this assignment from hell that had to be done by end-of-day. Cleaning up someone else’s mess.”
He wanted to sympathize but Louise beat him to it, starting in on her boss, “Some people would say she’s weird, but once you get to know her…”
Then the bartender interrupted, “What can I get you?” They’d finally made it. A dark-haired woman outfitted in red and black, the bartender proceeded to fill their orders: a chardonnay and a ginger ale for Louise and a Sam Adams for Ernie.
“Chaser?” Ernie asked, nodding at the ginger ale.
“Oh no, It’s for my friend Ginger. Will you join us?”
“Sure, that would be good.” He was glad to find some company at this sprawling extravaganza.
“There’s Ginger,” said Louise, nodded toward a woman with short blond hair sitting at a high-top. Louise introduced her colleague, who smiled.
“Nice to meet you, Ernie.”
“Likewise,” he replied. Ginger wore a burgundy dress with a halter top.
“You came a long way,” she continued, “But this has to be worth it. This party just gets bigger every year.”
Ernie started to respond until Louise cut him off, “Oh yeah, it’s so big that you could have friends here and never know it.” She sipped her wine and went on, “Like Cathy, my contact in Boston; she’s supposed to be here, but I haven’t seen her. Oh well, we’re here; that’s what counts.”
From the party she segued to the Celtics, “Nine in a row they’ve won!”
Louise was nice looking but way too much of a talker, Ernie concluded. Ginger made no effort to break in. At one point he could have sworn that she rolled her eyes at him. Now Louise was going on about some movie. Ernie let his attention wander. He looked around the room for a familiar face. No sign of Smith or Maroney, his two Benfield contacts. Maybe he should roam about. Louise broke his reverie, “Hel-lo … Want to dance?”
“Sure,” said Ernie. By the time they reached the dance floor on the other side of the big hall, he knew he’d made the right decision. The live band was way too loud to carry on a conversation. So, he could dance with Louise without the chit-chat. Her long skirt swished and swayed as they gyrated to an old Rolling Stones rocker. Lifting his eyes, he stole a glance at the low cut of her dress before meeting her look. Those doe eyes smiling at him.
When the band segued into a slow number, Ernie feared his luck would run out. But Louise remained quiet as a mouse as they moved into the traditional ballroom pose and danced close, Forget your worries, Ernie told himself, you’re having a good time.
Waltzing on, Louise pressed in closer and he reciprocated. Still silent. A while ago, he wanted to escape this woman. Now he just wanted their dance to continue. The band cooperated by playing one slow number after another, as if cued to their drama. As a new tune began, Ernie felt Louise’s hand rise on his back. Checking her watch. “Oh my God, it’s past 10,” she exclaimed; “I need to get going.”
Ernie had his response ready, “Do you have to get home tonight? It’s a long drive.”
“What do you mean?” asked Louise, confused; “What else am I going to do? You have a long drive, too.”
Ernie looked into those big brown eyes, “I’ve got a room here. The boss covered it so I wouldn’t have to drive back late.”
Louise pursed her lips and replied, “My, you move fast! We only just met and now you’re asking me to spend the night with you.”
Ernie detected a suppressed smile on her face. “Well,” he countered, “You wouldn’t have to make the long drive home. There are two beds. So, if you want, you can have one, and I’ll take the other.”
“Oh sure! Why don’t you just say what you’re really thinking,” said Louise, smirking. “’We’ve danced all night, had a great time, so now let’s go to bed.’ That’s your hook, right? Well, what if I don’t bite?”
He didn’t answer. They waltzed on until Ernie felt Louise’s lips on his neck. “Yes,” she said softly, “I’d love to stay.”
—
On the elevator to the 14th floor, Ernie was paying silent thanks to his boss when his thoughts were interrupted, “Sorry if I annoyed you back at the table,” said Louise softly; “Sometimes I talk too much.”
Smiling into those doe eyes, Ernie put a finger to his lips.
“Shhh.”
Stephen Brayton is a former journalist and communications consultant. His short stories have appeared in The Fictional Café, CommuterLit, and Flash in a Flash. This is his second story for The Raven’s Perch. Steve is a director of his hometown historical society in Dedham, MA.
