Okay if I smoke? Michael asks afterward. Before Celeste can answer, he lights a cigarette. She frowns when he passes it to her. She has not smoked for seven years. Still, she is grateful as she sucks the poisonous wisps deep into her lungs. Smoking always helped her thinking process; at least this is what she claimed to her ex-husband. She finally quit, after the divorce.
I need to get out of here, Celeste thinks, passing it back to Michael. Away from the large presence of this man with his long body and full head of hair, big knuckled hands and taut neck meat. She feels ridiculous next to him, typical, middle aged. A shower is what she needs but how to proceed. Celeste does not want Michael to see the back of her thighs, her behind.
Celeste slides out of the bed. She gathers sheet around as much of her as possible before standing up. Her arms fold over her fading chest and she smiles. It feels huge on her face, foreign. It may fall and shatter. Myeah. So. Im going to take a shower, so help yourself to something in the fridge, before you, well
Want me to wash your back for you, he asks. He props himself up on his elbow and looks at her, all over her. She feels naked despite the sheet.
No, thanks, she says, trying to walk backward with nonchalance toward the bathroom. I shouldnt be too long, she adds, hoping he will get the hint- he has just enough time to get the hell out of here.
Okay. He smiles. He probably appreciates this, her offering this free pass to him, providing an out that will preserve the dignity of them both.
On the other hand, she thinks, turning on the water as hot as she can stand, it gives him the impression that Celeste has bedded many underlings from the office and this is her routine to avoid a scene. Under the scalding shower, she scours away the fourth and fifth drinks she had at the bar, lip crushing kisses and petting in the taxi ride to her apartment, and she wont allow herself to recall what happened in her room last night or shell wash herself invisible, down the bathtub drain.
She scrubs her belly.
Out of the shower, her skin red and shiny, she still feels unwashed. The scent of Michael and his youth sticks to her skin, permeates her to the bone. She takes inventory in the mirror. Celeste is forty-five years old. Her breasts have always been plump and never too perky. Right now, they look fifty-seven. She turns around and twists back to look at her behind. She cups it and gives it a little lift. She aint what she used to be, she thinks to herself and lets it fall back to its place. Curse you, gravity, she mumbles then sits on the edge of the tub, trying to think.
You really did it to yourself, she talks to herself. She has to tell him something; tell him to leave, that this was a mistake and apologize. It is bad enough hes close to twenty years younger than she is but he works in her office. At least hes not in my department. Still, she is in a position of authority. They will see each other. Oh God.
Michael, she whispers to herself while wrapping her robe around her body. I had a nice time but this was a mistake. I had too much to drink and considering the fact that we work at the same office and that I am in management, I feel that we have put our integrity in jeopardy-
Maybe nice is the wrong word. The sex was not profound yet welcomed after seven years of being untouched, laying in a bed that was too big for her lonely body. It was good enough until she realized that she was getting her brains screwed out by a subordinate, a younger subordinate.
She drops her head into her hands. He wouldnt have false hope. Thats wishful thinking. She shakes her head then. Why would I want him to have hope? It would be nice, if he wanted me, but he doesnt. Celeste feels crazy. It is nuts to be disappointed that he might not want her. She does not want him to want her. He cant! She needs Michael to be typical.
A knock at the door. I made some eggs, Michael says.
Ill be right out. He put on his pants and sits at the table, waiting for her. There are two plates of scrambled eggs and toast. Oh, God, hes made coffee, she thinks. Looks good, thanks, she says, taking a bite, feeling like an idiot. Michael, we need to talk, she says, her mouth full of eggs.
He puts his fork down and says, Look, last night was good but we were both a little drunk.
Celeste feels outraged by this and puts a hand up. That was what she was going to say. Yes, she says. It was a mistake. There are boundaries and we- I crossed them. Its just that, like you said, I was a little tipsy. Not that that is an excuse. She touches his arm with the concern of someones mother. She hates this feeling. I still should have behaved differently. I hope that youll accept my apology.
There was something going on under the skin of his face, with the muscles, a ripple of tension, a clenching in his jaw. I didnt think it was a mistake, Michael says. Her stomach gurgles with eggs and acid. In fact, he says, I was hoping we could go for coffee sometime. Maybe lunch. He snorts at his plate then looks up at her. I know that seems ridiculous after last night but-
Excuse me?
Id like us not to be drunk and just talk. Get to know one another. He wants something. Celeste can see blackmail in her future, a sexual harassment suit, unemployment. Still. I dont think so, Michael. I am sorry, but I think that would be very inappropriate. Id also appreciate it if you didnt mention this at the office. There. Tactless.
Michael looks down at his plate for a moment and says, Sure. He drinks his coffee down and says, Hey, Im sorry but Ive got to get going. Thanks for, well, everything. He goes into the room, grabs his shirt, and shoes. Celeste stands by the door and offers her hand to him. She feels stupid, shaking his hand after they have been all over his body. Its like weve just closed a deal, she thinks.
He takes her hand though, in both of his and holds them as if he has caught a butterfly, light, careful. See you Monday, Ms. Nichols. Out the door.
At the office, she is nervous. Celeste sees Michael when she comes in. He is talking with a coworker and smiling, laughing, joking. He notices her and the smile on his face straightens a little. Its this same look that got her at the bar, digging her like loose earth, touching with violent fingers. Was he talking about her? Hes seen me naked! She looks away and heads for her office. Fast, embarrassed.
Celeste sits at her desk. She wants to kiss him. She wants to call him to her office and claw him and chew him. She daydreams about coffee with him. What would they talk about? Work, she thinks and turns her attention to the spreadsheets before her on the desk.
(copyright 2007) c. A. Hughes
07.09.07
Revised 07.28-29.07
I need to get out of here, Celeste thinks, passing it back to Michael. Away from the large presence of this man with his long body and full head of hair, big knuckled hands and taut neck meat. She feels ridiculous next to him, typical, middle aged. A shower is what she needs but how to proceed. Celeste does not want Michael to see the back of her thighs, her behind.
Celeste slides out of the bed. She gathers sheet around as much of her as possible before standing up. Her arms fold over her fading chest and she smiles. It feels huge on her face, foreign. It may fall and shatter. Myeah. So. Im going to take a shower, so help yourself to something in the fridge, before you, well
Want me to wash your back for you, he asks. He props himself up on his elbow and looks at her, all over her. She feels naked despite the sheet.
No, thanks, she says, trying to walk backward with nonchalance toward the bathroom. I shouldnt be too long, she adds, hoping he will get the hint- he has just enough time to get the hell out of here.
Okay. He smiles. He probably appreciates this, her offering this free pass to him, providing an out that will preserve the dignity of them both.
On the other hand, she thinks, turning on the water as hot as she can stand, it gives him the impression that Celeste has bedded many underlings from the office and this is her routine to avoid a scene. Under the scalding shower, she scours away the fourth and fifth drinks she had at the bar, lip crushing kisses and petting in the taxi ride to her apartment, and she wont allow herself to recall what happened in her room last night or shell wash herself invisible, down the bathtub drain.
She scrubs her belly.
Out of the shower, her skin red and shiny, she still feels unwashed. The scent of Michael and his youth sticks to her skin, permeates her to the bone. She takes inventory in the mirror. Celeste is forty-five years old. Her breasts have always been plump and never too perky. Right now, they look fifty-seven. She turns around and twists back to look at her behind. She cups it and gives it a little lift. She aint what she used to be, she thinks to herself and lets it fall back to its place. Curse you, gravity, she mumbles then sits on the edge of the tub, trying to think.
You really did it to yourself, she talks to herself. She has to tell him something; tell him to leave, that this was a mistake and apologize. It is bad enough hes close to twenty years younger than she is but he works in her office. At least hes not in my department. Still, she is in a position of authority. They will see each other. Oh God.
Michael, she whispers to herself while wrapping her robe around her body. I had a nice time but this was a mistake. I had too much to drink and considering the fact that we work at the same office and that I am in management, I feel that we have put our integrity in jeopardy-
Maybe nice is the wrong word. The sex was not profound yet welcomed after seven years of being untouched, laying in a bed that was too big for her lonely body. It was good enough until she realized that she was getting her brains screwed out by a subordinate, a younger subordinate.
She drops her head into her hands. He wouldnt have false hope. Thats wishful thinking. She shakes her head then. Why would I want him to have hope? It would be nice, if he wanted me, but he doesnt. Celeste feels crazy. It is nuts to be disappointed that he might not want her. She does not want him to want her. He cant! She needs Michael to be typical.
A knock at the door. I made some eggs, Michael says.
Ill be right out. He put on his pants and sits at the table, waiting for her. There are two plates of scrambled eggs and toast. Oh, God, hes made coffee, she thinks. Looks good, thanks, she says, taking a bite, feeling like an idiot. Michael, we need to talk, she says, her mouth full of eggs.
He puts his fork down and says, Look, last night was good but we were both a little drunk.
Celeste feels outraged by this and puts a hand up. That was what she was going to say. Yes, she says. It was a mistake. There are boundaries and we- I crossed them. Its just that, like you said, I was a little tipsy. Not that that is an excuse. She touches his arm with the concern of someones mother. She hates this feeling. I still should have behaved differently. I hope that youll accept my apology.
There was something going on under the skin of his face, with the muscles, a ripple of tension, a clenching in his jaw. I didnt think it was a mistake, Michael says. Her stomach gurgles with eggs and acid. In fact, he says, I was hoping we could go for coffee sometime. Maybe lunch. He snorts at his plate then looks up at her. I know that seems ridiculous after last night but-
Excuse me?
Id like us not to be drunk and just talk. Get to know one another. He wants something. Celeste can see blackmail in her future, a sexual harassment suit, unemployment. Still. I dont think so, Michael. I am sorry, but I think that would be very inappropriate. Id also appreciate it if you didnt mention this at the office. There. Tactless.
Michael looks down at his plate for a moment and says, Sure. He drinks his coffee down and says, Hey, Im sorry but Ive got to get going. Thanks for, well, everything. He goes into the room, grabs his shirt, and shoes. Celeste stands by the door and offers her hand to him. She feels stupid, shaking his hand after they have been all over his body. Its like weve just closed a deal, she thinks.
He takes her hand though, in both of his and holds them as if he has caught a butterfly, light, careful. See you Monday, Ms. Nichols. Out the door.
At the office, she is nervous. Celeste sees Michael when she comes in. He is talking with a coworker and smiling, laughing, joking. He notices her and the smile on his face straightens a little. Its this same look that got her at the bar, digging her like loose earth, touching with violent fingers. Was he talking about her? Hes seen me naked! She looks away and heads for her office. Fast, embarrassed.
Celeste sits at her desk. She wants to kiss him. She wants to call him to her office and claw him and chew him. She daydreams about coffee with him. What would they talk about? Work, she thinks and turns her attention to the spreadsheets before her on the desk.
(copyright 2007) c. A. Hughes
07.09.07
Revised 07.28-29.07
