“Alright. Meet you back here?” It sounded weak and begging, and he regretted saying it.
She laughed, and he couldn’t tell if she was mocking him or pleased.
“Maybe later,” she said. “I want to talk to Cynthia again about something, about a decision I’ve made.”
“Alright,” Thomas said warily, wondering what she meant. “See you later, then.”
As he watched her go, Thomas shook his head. She was so slim, so pale, like a sliver of moonlight glinting off a knife. He thought of Kara, his most recent sexual partner; next to her, Orianna was an ivory goddess.
And she was seventeen years younger than him. He sighed and chomped down on a hushpuppy.
“May I have your attention, please?” Vernon blared from the front of the room. Everyone quieted slowly, though the teenagers, in the way of teenagers when anyone asks them to quiet down, took longer than the others. “It’s now… Secret Santa time!”
Whoops and applause, and sinister laughter from those who’d gotten a gag gift for their assigned person.
“Ya’ll know what to do — well, some of you are new, and don’t know, but you’ll figure it out. Grab these here gifts and let’s get to unwrapping!”
All of the presents had been stacked, not too neatly, in a corner of the conference room. Several people surged forward and acted as the de facto gift-distributors, and soon there was an assembly line delivering each gift to its intended recipient. There was much tearing and tossing of wrapping paper, and exclamations of delight or mock disgust, depending on if the person had opened a “real” gift or a gag one. As with the gift-unwrapping at the Copeland/Dowling Family Christmas Get-Together, Thomas felt mildly uneasy, but the Secret Santa aspect of this affair did add some much-needed novelty.
Eddie had gotten his gift before Thomas, and had opened it incredibly quickly. He was already in Thomas’s face, bawling like an agitated goat.
“A pack of socks? C’mon, man, that ain’t very original. I got so many socks, lemme tell ya…” He tried to think up an analogy, but failed. “…well, I got a bunch.”
Thomas smelled alcohol and onions on the breath Eddie was blowing directly into his face, and he could feel spittle flecking onto his cheeks. He took a step back and frowned.
“You’re lucky I didn’t get you a gag gift. Would you rather have something idiotic that you’ll just throw away?”
“Hell yeah! At least I’d laugh! And I wouldn’t throw it away, I’d put it somewhere and laugh about it every time I saw it!”
“Well, next time I get you — if there is a next time — I’ll remember that.”
“Socks! Man, oh man. Socks!” He’d had three beers, which meant he was far into the danger zone. He would either sit down and doze off, or say something rude and get into a fight. These were the only two possibilities.
“Man oh man,” he said, wobbling and trying to focus on Thomas. “Think I need to sit down.”
The first possibility asserted itself, and Eddie slumped into the nearest chair and was asleep within seconds.
Thomas’s gift finally made its way to him. To his surprise and alarm, it was from Carly; the text on the tag was written in glittery pink ink, with the ‘o’ and the ‘a’ in Thomas’s name turned into smiley faces. It was a medium sized package, wrapped neatly in snowflake-covered paper, with a red bow. Thomas looked over at Carly, but Noah again had her captured — though no captive had ever been so foxy. Thomas tore through the wrapping paper and opened the white cardboard box inside. Boxers. She’d given him boxers. Not just any boxers, either: each one was decorated with a bevy of swimsuit-wearing bombshells contorting themselves into various sultry poses. Thomas grinned and shook his head, then walked over to Carly.
Noah regarded him much as he would a cockroach who’d gotten into the cupboard. Carly, however, was grinning in a way Thomas had seen porn stars grin before they began a particularly mouth-stretching blowjob.
“Thanks for these,” Thomas said. “You have a great sense of humor.”
“You’re welcome,” Carly purred. “I was going to put my image on all of them, but it was too complicated and cost too much.”
Noah, ignorant at first of what they were talking about, finally saw the boxers in Thomas’s hand, and understood all. He clenched his fists and tried even harder to erase Thomas with his stare.
Thomas looked at him, unconcerned. His own look said: What are you going to do? Noah’s look responded with: Just you wait and see. Thomas: I’m waiting. Noah: Keep on! Thomas: I’m still waiting. Noah: To hell with you! Noah finally looked away, muttering.
“Would you have liked that, Thomas?” Carly asked.
“Liked what?” His staredown with Noah had knocked him out of the conversational flow.
“If it was me on those boxers, instead of those average-looking girls.”
Thomas looked at the boxers, and then at the real woman in front of him. Her body was so pressed against her blue dress that he could almost see every pore. He glanced quickly from full chest to tight belly to muscular leg. It was a fine sight, but unlike Noah, he wouldn’t be drawn into an endless string of empty flirtations with this temptress.
“Nah, these women are fine.”
Carly pouted elaborately, and Thomas started to walk away, not bothering to ask what gifts the two teenagers has recieved. Noah immediately sought to regain Carly’s attention: “I would love to have some boxers, or anything really, with your beautiful self on it.”
Carly tee-heed: “But you already have photos of me. Some very provocative ones, too.”
Noah fumbled: “Yeah, but, uh — I can never have enough!”
Thomas sighed at the pathetic futility of the kid and moved to the beer cooler. Someone(s) had swiped a few bottles of his beer, but that happened every year. He wondered who the culprit(s) was/were. Was it one of the teenagers who had mysteriously disappeared during the festivities, only to reappear a few minutes later slushy-eyed and wobbly-footed? Or was it a cheapskate adult? Or both? It didn’t really matter. There were three Bud Lights left, and that was plenty for him. He used the bottle opener on his keychain to crack one open, and took a big gulp. It was incredibly refreshing in this hot room and after the gorging meal he’d eaten.
“I hope you’re not going to get drunk like some of our co-workers.”
Thomas turned to the piercingly pious voice, and saw Peggy staring at him. She was not quite frowning, which would have been surprising, if it had been a normal day or night. But this wasn’t a normal night: this was the Christmas Party, and even Puritans such as Peggy, to whom life was a constant battle against atheism, non-procreative sex, cursing, and other sins, found themselves (almost, very nearly) smiling.
This wasn’t to say she had put her Crusade on hold, even temporarily. The Devil lay in wait for those who let their faith slacken. She would still consign people to Hell, but she’d do so almost happily.
“And what if I do get drunk?” Thomas asked. “What will you do?”
“I’ll pray for you.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Thomas scoffed. “Talk to the air all you want. That’s all you’re doing, you know.”
“If you only knew what He has done for me,” she preached, “you wouldn’t be blaspheming like you are. After my husband died, if it wasn’t for Him, I’d’ve been overcome with grief and probably would’ve just curled up in bed and wasted away.”
“Instead, you’re the highly-functioning, lovable person you are now.”
If Thomas had mocked her like this normally, she would’ve railed against his “disrespectful foulness” for a good ten minutes. Her vocabulary increased five-fold during these tirades, and when she quoted Scripture, Thomas could almost see the fire and brimstone of Hell, which was, of course, supposed to be his final destination. But again, this was a different setting, and all Peggy did now was snort, scrunch up her lipless mouth, and say: “You’ll learn one day not to make fun of your elders.”