Page 8 of Out of the Blue

“I can’t believe you haven’t been able to get the goods out of him,” I note.

She pushes her glasses up her nose. “Not for lack of trying, I’ll tell you.”

A hunger pain chooses this moment to make its voice heard. Perhaps there will be free snacks at this shindig? “What’s on the menu?”

“I hear Apex is going all out for Hunte. Open bar and a spread fit for a king. Or a queen.” She winks at me.

She had me at open bar. “Sounds more appetizing by the moment. I think I will join you.”

Rita pops off my desk. “Great. I’ll stop by your desk around five so we can walk over together.”

“Sounds good.”

Rita strolls back toward her cubicle, and my mind flits back to my money woes. Another email pops up on my computer screen. Maybe I can get absorbed in work rather than stew about where this fictional monetary windfall will come from. I click on the email icon and read a message from one of our account reps. Managing travel and logistics for the label isn’t too demanding, but at least it provides a paycheck. Wish it had more zeros attached.

Like when I worked for Big Rolls. Back then, I handled the social media marketing for his dealership. Damn, I loved my job. And I was good at it, too.

Closing my eyes, I shift my focus from myself to the work at hand. No matter what, I can’t afford to lose this job. Even if all it encompasses is calling bands with their schedules like I did the other week for the band opening for Hunte tonight. Or arranging for a block of hotel rooms for a band, like this email requires.Keep your eyes on the mundane, Cordelia.

At five o’clock exactly, Rita stops by my desk, purse slung across her shoulders. “Ready?”

The possibility of good food makes me nod. “Closing down now.” She waits while I turn off my computer and grab my purse. As I stand, she advances toward the exit and, like a Pied Piper, most of my co-workers follow.

While they talk among themselves, I unbutton my shirt to expose my t-shirt that says, “Do I Look Like I Care?” So apropos. I face straight ahead. Other than Rita, I don’t have a relationship with anyone else in the office. And, honestly, she’s done most of the heavy lifting between us.

As we make our way to the venue, my stomach gurgles in anticipation. Maybe they’ll have sliders or potato salad, or even ice cream. Oh my God—dare I dream of flan? My mouth waters at the visions dancing through my brain.

At the entrance to Madison Square Garden, Rita presents me with a lanyard indicating I’m with Apex. Not for the first time, I thank my lucky stars for these perks. We pass the restrooms on our way to the reception area and my mind darts back to a recent encounter I had in one in a Jersey City bar. I linger on memories of the best sex of my life, but they evaporate when we turn the corner and the buffet tables beckon. I hoof it across the room. First in line. Hell, someone has to be Numero Uno.

I scan the buffet. Finger sandwiches, lots of different salads, and some desserts at the end I can’t make out. Not what I had been hoping for, but I can make this work.

Ignoring the rest of the gathering, I snatch a plate and pile it high. Glee races through my body when I notice my absolute favorite dessert, flan, and grab several. Without a backward glance, I cruise toward the corner, scarfing two slices of flanen route. Desserts can be eaten first when you’re an adult.

When I reach the wall, I lean onto it, surveying all the people congregated as I stuff my face. I recognize many of them from the office, while some are unfamiliar. Probably with the radio station that held the contest I called the opening band about, or maybe with magazines. I shrug and pop another slice of flan.

One of my fellow Apex employees claims some wall space next to me. “Nice spread, huh?” Alan, who works in accounting, notes.

Turning my head, I ascertain he’s talking to me. Not interested in anything other than feeding my hunger, I nod.

He checks out my plate. “Wow. I’m down for some of those brownies. Are they any good?”

Swallowing the rest of my flan, I reply, “Dunno. They looked appealing.” Because he’s watching me, I deposit a piece of the brownie between my lips. Around my full mouth, I say, “Yeah, it’s tasty.” I don’t care if I’m being rude. Food takes precedence.

“Think I’ll get one.”

Using my fork, I wave it at him as he walks away. Good. I don’t do colleagues as that shit can get messy. I shovel some couscous salad into my mouth and watch Alan as he snags a brownie and goes to talk with another co-worker. Guess he got the hint.

Once my plate is clear and my tummy full, I look around for the bar where free drinks are being poured. No water for me tonight!

Leaving my now-empty plate on a tray, I approach the bar. Before I snag the bartender’s attention, my boss touches my forearm. Though it’s after working hours, I am at a work function. Suppressing a sigh, I stare at the well-groomed man in his mid-fifties, at least thirty years older than me. If I hadn’t sworn off any sort of relationship thanks to Big Rolls, if he wasn’t working with me,andif he weren’t married, I might’ve been tempted to tap him. He’s easy enough on the eyes, in any event. My life is back to random hook-ups, like the hot one the other night in the Jersey City bar’s bathroom. I prevent myself from fanning my face and address my boss. “Hi, Mr. Tenley.”

“Cordelia, so happy you’re here. I was just thinking about the new band we have coming in on Monday. Did I ask you to book them rooms at the Omni?”

Mentally, I scroll through the emails and calls for today, but none were for this band. Shoot. There go my free drinks. For now. At least I got to eat. “I don’t think you did.” This shouldn’t take me too long, and I’ll be back to the bar well before it closes. When he doesn’t say anything, I pipe up. “Do you want me to go back to the office to confirm everything for you?”

He offers me a lopsided smile. “So sorry to pull you away, but it is really important.”

With a forlorn glance to the bar, I say, “I’ll be right on it. And I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

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