Simon stood by silently in the corner, his face dark and brooding. Margeaux had taken advantage of his inaction and pounced on a once-in-a-lifetime story. And it stung. Like hell. Simon looked at his Styrofoam cup filled with Coke Light, and found himself involuntarily judging his co-workers as they chugged back drink after drink with careless abandon. He recalled the last time that he had had a couple of drinks, and instantly recoiled at the memory of losing so much control and being at the mercy of his baser instincts and desires. Not gonna happen again! Especially not when he risked the chance of making a fool of himself in front of him. Simon flapping around on the dance floor, barely being able to stop himself from falling over his two left feet was not the most appealing picture. Despite his foul mood, the left corner of his mouth curled upwards slightly at the thought.
Simon cringed when he saw Dillon, who covered the sports section, putting his hands on the shoulders of Tara, one of the subeditors, as his hips swayed out of tune to the music. Every now and then he awkwardly thrusted himself into her backside ‘accidentally’. Poor Tara seemed to be trying her hardest not to punch him in the gut. Simon smirked at their hapless antics and took another chug of his coke, and then he heard the clink of a fork being tapped lightly against a champagne flute as the music wound down.
Ian was about to make a speech. Simon saw that Ian was a bit wobbly on his feet, and he fought the instinct to rush to his side and make sure he was okay. But he didn’t judge Ian. He could forgive that man anything. Ian silenced the crowd with a gesture that resembled turning the dial of a stereo.
“And now, my hard-working and ever-so-conscientious staffers, my knights seated at this here round table, I present to you, the Guinevere of our castle, Margeaux Chamberlain!”
Simon rolled his eyes, disdain and contempt casting a dark shadow on his face, and his mouth twisted into a sneer. Margeaux, true to form, scurried up to the front of the crowd, literally, to Simon’s disgust, with a pivot, a quickstep, and an elaborate curtsy.
“Margeaux, I don’t know how you did it but, yet again, you proved your invaluable worth to our great team. Getting Harry Baleka to agree to do your interview at such short notice is nothing short of a brilliant job. From the bottom of my heart, I would like to thank you for your ingenuity, talent, and skill.”
Margeaux positively beamed at this attention and praise. Her smile couldn’t be wider and, to Simon’s irritation, her head was cocked slightly to the left as she shamelessly took in all of Ian’s well-meaning praise. She took to the floor and Simon braced himself.
“Boss, I couldn’t have done it without my subordinates! I have always said that an organization can only succeed as long as people respond well to direction and instructions, and if those you manage have the self-discipline to heed those orders. And clearly my leadership philosophy has borne fruit.” Margeaux let out a loud guffaw, as if her ostensible attempt at humor was anything but meant sincerely, and Simon found himself even more miserable. He didn’t expect her to give him any credit, but being referred to as a subordinate really stung. His eyes darted over to Ian, to see what he was making of her asinine display. Ian laughed uncomfortably, himself clearly taken aback at her audacity, but proceeded to finish what he had started.
“Well Margeaux, with or without anybody else’s help, the office thanks you for such an amazing scoop, and we look forward to much more of your excellent reporting.”
To Simon’s relief, Margeaux’s arrogance wasn’t being received well by the rest of the crowd, with not an eye was left unrolled in the house, as they responded to Ian’s praise with faint applause.
Simon turned to pour himself another drink, and mumbled under his breath, “Jeez, I don’t know what I expected. A bloodthirsty, predatory leopard never changes her spots.”
“What was that, Northbrook?”
Simon heard a voice behind him, and that husky, deep-toned, warm voice belonged to none other than Ian Peters. He felt his knees buckle ever so slightly, but quickly regained his composure, as he shook his head to make sure his hair fell into place. He felt foolish for taking such great care to maintain the good impression he knew Ian had formed of him, but couldn’t help himself. Simon whirled around and did his best to smile nonchalantly.
“Oh, you know, grumpy old me muttering to myself. Writers write, right?”
Simon’s cheeks flushed at the awkwardness of the unintended assonance in his speech. Why do the weirdest things come out of his mouth when he is talking to Ian?
“That sounds about right! I love what a goofball you are, Northbrook.” Ian laughed generously at Simon’s awkwardness, but Simon felt humiliated nonetheless.
“What are you doing here standing by yourself, whispering sweet nothings to your soft drink? You should be out there having fun, celebrating our success!” Ian slapped Simon’s back as he said this, and Simon almost tripped over his feet. His coke spilled out onto his shirt and he let out a tiny yelp, and frantically reached for a paper napkin to dry himself.
“Aw, crap, Northbrook, I’m so sorry! Here, let me help you out.” Ian grabbed a paper towel from his side of the table next to him and doused off most of the damage from Simon’s chest. Despite himself, Simon felt himself enjoying Ian’s big, powerful, dexterous hands rubbing his body in such an intimate way.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, Ian, please it doesn’t matter.”
Right on cue, like a shark picking up the scent of blood in water, Margeaux swooshed by and hooked her arm into Ian’s.
“Ian, if I am Guinevere, does that make you my Lancelot?”
Margeaux smiled seductively, lowered her eyelids, and raised her one eyebrow. Simon instantly felt his cheeks alight with fury. The only thing Margeaux was more ambitious about than securing the editor position at Ridgemont University Weekly News, was to be Ian’s girlfriend. That was blatantly obvious to even the most casual observer. Even so, Simon couldn’t help but notice that his two-minute long interaction with Ian hadn’t yielded nearly as much fruit as a casual passing remark by Margeaux. With an apologetic shrug at Simon, Ian sauntered off with a gleeful Margeaux by his side, and it took all of Simon’s self-control not to throw the remaining coke in Margeaux’s face.
Simon was comforted by the sound of another familiar voice from behind him: “My honey snookums, my little baby fluffy bear, my gay husband!” Simon looked over as his roommate Olivia approached him with a smile and wide, open arms. He had invited her as his plus one for the party, and she sometimes wrote an advice column for the Weekly’s online edition so he imaged that she would not be out of place. His sour mood started to lift instantly, and with a sudden rush of joy he leaned over to her and embraced her in a tight hug.
“Oh my, somebody is certainly out to make my day! What has you in such a great mood? Hmmm, is it a certain someone someone?” Olivia winked.
“Ha, I wish! Quite the opposite. You-know-who beat me to the punch.”
“Aww, sweetie, I’m sorry to hear it. I swear, that boy has the thickest skull this side of the equator. Why he doesn’t snatch you up at the first chance is beyond me.”
Simon smiled at her attempt to console him. He could always count on his best friend to lift his spirits. They have been thicker than thieves since high school, and Simon could now only smile at his fear that their friendship wouldn’t last after they graduated. They were closer than ever. It wasn’t for nothing that they listed each other as ‘siblings’ on Facebook!
As Simon broke the hug, he had a good opportunity to give her a once over. She was wearing a flowing, floral print, spaghetti strap dress the color of sunshine, her chestnut hair caressing her shoulders, with light makeup tastefully applied to accentuate her gorgeous, almond shaped eyes and generous full lips. While sometimes grating, Simon never found it surprising that people asked him why he never hooked up with his best friend.
“Sailor, I’ve got just the thing to lift your spirits. Justin and I are planning a boat trip on his parents’ yacht tomorrow afternoon. We’d love it if you could join u
s.”
Simon considered this, and wondered whether a nice day of relaxing in the sun would outweigh the awkwardness of being a third wheel to Olivia and Justin. Simon’s brow furrowed as he thought of spending his Saturday holed up in the apartment, with his books and assignment notes staring accusingly at him from his desk.
“Liv, you know I’d love to. That is if Justin doesn’t mind?”
“Get out of here! You know Justin loves you. Besides, if he didn’t, I wouldn’t be saying yes to a certain question he’s about to pop in the near future, now would I?” Olivia giggled.
Simon thought of how perfect Olivia and Justin’s relationship was. They had been dating for two years, and he thought of how hard it was for him to come out to Olivia and to dash her hopes of ever being with him. But were it not for carrying out that difficult decision, Olivia would never have met such a fabulous guy as Justin. And me? sighed Simon inwardly. Where’s my Justin?
Simon’s eyes drifted over to Margeaux, who was happily swaying to and fro in tune to the music; her body grinded up against Ian, who didn’t seem to be resisting. Simon gasped as, during one particularly ambitious move, Margeaux’s six-inch heels were unable to support her and she fell backwards like a giraffe on roller skates. But Simon’s scowl returned as Ian caught her before she hit the ground like a ton of bricks, and Ian equally shared in her hoots of laughter and general drunken buffoonery. Margeaux looked up at Ian with an adoring face as she leaned in and whispered in his ear. Simon just about couldn’t believe his eyes when she pinched his butt! “The sheer audacity!” he seethed. “Ugh, what a schemer.”
“Oh Simon, what’s with the frowny face, sweets?” Olivia asked as she returned from getting herself a drink.
“Same old, same old. Margeaux is pulling out all the stops.” They watched Ian and Margeaux finally regain their footing on the dancefloor.
“That’s it, Simon Northbrook! Time we reprogram those two left feet and let your inner Michael Flatley shine! And this time, I’m not taking no for an answer!”
Olivia dragged a very reluctant Simon by the arm, his every attempt at resisting futile. As disappointed as he was in Margeaux and Ian’s growing intimacy, he couldn’t help but laugh at Olivia: she was slamming her feet down onto the floor, pulling a monkey face, and at the same time doing some very inappropriate gestures. It was a hilarious combination of what not to do on the dance floor. Simon felt grateful for the bond the two of them shared: the many nights staying up over WhatsApp, having pajama parties, gossiping about boys. All of that, of course, changed with the arrival of Justin. Simon was happy that Justin made his best friend so happy, and although he was loathe to admit it, he also felt a little bit jealous. He wondered what the future had in store for their relationship, and whether the idea of such a strong relationship was in the cards for him.
Simon twirled Olivia around, caught her by the waist, and leaned down over her while supporting her back as she raised her leg, and she laughingly looked up at him. Olivia was the only one who could bring out the playful side of Simon, and make him feel slightly less self-conscious. As they got back to their feet, Simon noticed Ian across the room, clearly mouthing something in Simon’s direction. He turned around, but nobody met Ian’s line of sight. Simon frantically faced Ian again, but he was already on his way to the door. Was that just his imagination? Did Ian just try to whisper something to him in secret? Simon felt his cheeks burn hot with the confusion of what the moment had meant. He fanned himself, telling himself he was getting his hopes up over nothing and that he was probably just mistaken.
Simon started to contemplate leaving early before the party became too raucous, and then, right on cue, ever the opportunist, Margeaux drunkenly crawled onto a table, and clumsily managed, by some act of God, to get to her feet.
“Ladies and gentlemen, my humble subordinates... my fellow, my uh…” Margeaux giggled and nearly lost her balance, with an amused Simon struggling to contain his grinning.
“What, I mean, how great was that interview I conducted, huh? Oh, I mean us, I mean that we conducted, of course, my henchmen, my underlings!”
Simon felt his blood boiling to a feverish point, and started to eye the exit. Repeating the same stupid joke? This was low, even for Margeaux. Margeaux, however, had not quite finished, and as she attempted to continue her drunken, slurred speech, her friend Tara strolled over and helped her off the table. Simon looked around to see what had happened to Ian, and was disappointed to notice that he had left. Given Simon’s meticulous, OCD nature, he already knew that he would be agonizing for the entire night over what Ian’s puzzling gesture had meant.
Simon leaned against the nearest wall as Olivia danced next to him. He looked down at his stained shirt, and recalled how Ian gently patted and rubbed his chest in an effort to soak up the moisture. He remembered Ian’s touch: gentle, soothing, yet firm and commanding. Simon sighed. After a few more minutes Olivia called it a night and he watched as the last guests departed, and not that this came as a surprise at all, but he realized that he would be left to clean up the mess. As annoyed as he was, he held his hand to his chest, and a faint smile teased the corners of his lips. His Justin might not be about to pop the question, but maybe there was reason to hold onto hope… right?
Chapter 3