New Year’s Steve

by Carter, M. E.

  I hide it by sipping from my mug.

  “Going somewhere later?” I ask her, settling in for a quick chat. The diversion is welcome since I have to go hunt down the maintenance staff, and besides — maybe she can point me in the right direction.

  Sheila knows everything.

  She nods. “I met someone on Christian Singles. Dwight and I are going to a jazz bar after I’m done cracking skulls.”

  Did I mention she thinks she runs this place?

  “Oh, online dating?” My brows go up. “Me too, how’s it working out for you so far?”

  I peg her to be about sixty-two or three years old. Snarky enough to be my grandmother and sassy enough to cause a bit of mischief within the office.

  Sheila shrugs. “Eh, some of them only want to bone. It’s hard to know, just gotta ask.”

  The milk in my mouth almost comes spitting back out at her mention of the word ‘bone,’ and I die a little inside, wishing I was as unfiltered as her.

  Bone.

  I shake my head. “Is that your polite way of saying older gentleman just want to have sex?”

  She tilts her head. “You have no idea how many unsolicited wiener pics I get.”

  From old men? Ew!

  “Should I be insulted that I hardly get any?”

  She fluffs her frizzy mane, long jingle bell earrings jingling. “No one wants to see a wrinkled wiener caused by the little blue pill.”

  I try not to grimace as I blink back the visual images running through my brain. “I don’t even know what to say about that.”

  Sheila looks me up and down. “You can’t tell me you’re not having any luck.”

  I smile, conjuring up Steve’s broad chest and well chiseled chin and what I imagine the rest of his face to look like, considering I’ve only seen half of it. Ha!

  “It’s going… slowly but surely, but you know what they say. Slow and steady wins the race.”

  “That’s what losers say,” Sheila informs me. “You have to get out there and date, date, date. It’s a numbers game at this point. The odds are better the more men you meet.”

  “Maybe.” I shift my stance. “But I think I’m about to get lucky—I might have met someone. We’ll see. We have a date tomorrow night.”

  “A date on New Year’s Eve? What kind of a fellow takes a woman out on the most romantic evening of the year?”

  My eagerness deflates a little. “I don’t know? I’m hoping it’s someone who’s genuinely interested? We have tons in common…”

  “What’s this young man’s name?”

  “Steve.”

  Sheila thinks for a second. “You have a date on New Year’s Eve with a guy named Steve?”

  I nod, grinning. Who knew Sheila and I had a stellar sense of humor in common?

  “New Year’s Steve.” She cackles, earrings making that ting ting jingling noise. “Get it?”

  Sheila is laughing so hard now, a single tear forms in the corner of her eye and makes its way down her cheek before she swipes it away with the tip of her finger.

  “Oh girly, I haven’t had a laugh like that all day — and I saw Frank in his under britches on the last Zoom call.”

  Now I’m grinning too, and both of us are laughing, and I pray to God I don’t continue to call him New Year’s Steve in my head. Knowing me, I’ll accidentally say it out loud.

  A snort comes out of my nose.

  “Better not be doing that on your date tomorrow,” Sheila wisely intones, now sage with dating wisdom. “Men folk don’t like a lady who sounds like a pig. Not unless they like bacon.”

  “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” I suddenly remember that I’m on a mission and hit her up for direction. “Hey Sheila, would you happen to know where the maintenance office is? I’m having an issue with my lights and no one is returning my calls.”

  She makes a ‘hmm,’ sound. “Office manager hasn’t helped you with that?”

  Er… Do I mention that I bypassed the office manager after the first request because I thought it would be quicker to do myself?

  No. No I don’t.

  “Uh, I did once. Was I supposed to just drop the subject?”

  The receptionist levels me with a stare. “Sweetie, don’t try to be a hero. Let the office manager do her job.”

  Okay, but she’s not doing her job, otherwise my light would be fixed. I am woman hear me roar and all that jazz.

  “I know, I know. And I would if I wasn’t on such a time crunch. I only have until the end of tomorrow to meet this deadline and the lights in my office are tripping me out.”

  Sheila gives her head a little shake. “Your timing is horrible. I could be wrong but I’m almost positive the maintenance staff isn’t working this week.”

  I sigh. “But you at least know where Skeeter’s desk is in the building, right?”

  “First floor, suite 102.”

  “Thanks. I’m going to jog down there and see if he’s around.”

  She tips her head, puzzled. “Why would you jog when you can take the elevator, dear?”

  “I was being…” I wave a hand. “Never mind. You’re right, I’ll take the elevator.”

  Better to just agree than to argue over it.

  “Don’t get those bunny ears caught in the door,” she hollers after me as a race away.

  “I won’t, thanks!” I yell over my shoulder, mug, granola bar and banana in hand in search of Skeeter and the gang. Punching the elevator button with gusto, I’m confident that I’ll find at least one person who can help me.

  2

  Harrison

  She thinks my name is Steve.

  Harrison Steven McGinnis, in actuality, but I wasn’t about to put that in my dating bio.

  Way too searchable, way too rare, way too easily recognizable.

  In my defense, Steven is my middle name, and because the whole online dating thing creeps me out, I used it to create a bit more anonymity to go along with my cropped face photos and torso shots.

  Lame, I know, but there are way too many shady people out there, woman included. Once they find out what I do for a living, they all start creeping out of the shadows. Hence the fake name.

  Felicity.

  Her name sounds like a ray of sunshine; something I need in my life. Not that my life is terrible, it’s just that I can get lonely like everyone else and dating sucks.

  Admittedly, I haven’t done tons of it, because let’s face it — I don’t exactly have the time to meet new women every weekend. Nor do I have any intention of sleeping with random strangers just to get my jollies off. Not worth the headache and the chance I’ll wind up banging a Stage Five Clinger I can’t get rid of once she’s been to my condo in the sky, or seen my expensive car, or had a taste of the good life I can provide.

  I’m in search of something meaningful, not a gold digger. Unfortunately, there are plenty of those around. I’ve known that type almost all my life.

  My grandfather Len McGinnis founded this company when I was a boy; a sports enthusiast, his best buddy played for the Mets back when players were cheap and baseball was America’s favorite pastime. All Grandpa’s friend wanted to do was play ball. Mostly uneducated, he’d played in a farm league and had a tough time signing and understanding the players contract. Luckily, Grandpa could, and helped him work through it and…

  The rest is history.

  I’m not about to squander a legacy for some woman who just wants a meal ticket; these days, it feels like that’s all they’re here for.

  My phone pings and I swivel in my desk chair — twenty-eight floors above the city — with a smile on my face, that familiar buzz that could only be associated with LoveSwept.

  Felicity: Is it ever acceptable to double dip a chip at a party?

  I laugh.

  She’s so adorable with these goofy questions.

  Me: Only if you break it in half.

  Was that a dumb answer? What the fuck do I know, I double dip all the time. I have no manners, despite the silver
spoon that some may think is in my mouth.

  Felicity: What kind of chip and dip are we talking about here? What’s your favorite?

  Me: Why, are you going to feed them to me tomorrow night?

  Felicity: You flirt! LOL. It would be so weird if I showed up with food…

  Me: Au contraire, showing up with food is NEVER a bad idea. Always good. Never bad. Good.

  Felicity: So what’s your flavor?

  It’s as if she knows the way straight to my heart — with food.

  Me: Shit, that’s a tough one. I’d say tortilla and salsa, but that’s too predictable. Eh, maybe queso?? I also wouldn’t kick a good taco dip out of bed…

  Felicity: I would kick you out of bed if you showed up with chips.

  And here we go with the rapid fire questions. It’s one of our favorite ways to communicate. Quick, simple, to the point, and lots of fun when you’re avoiding the regular demands of the day. It’s like speed dating with one person. So far, it’s always confirmed we have lots in common, and just enough differences to make things interesting.

  Me: What about crackers when I’m sick? Can I eat those in bed?

  Felicity: How sick are we talking about?

  Me: The flu

  Felicity: Would you settle for crackers on the couch instead?

  Me: Possibly. Are you rubbing my feet?

  Felicity: Possibly. Are you wearing socks?

  Me: Possibly. Did you get them for me as a treat to make me feel better?

  Felicity: LOL yeah, furry pink ones…

  Me: I don’t mind wearing the color pink. It flatters my complexion.

  Felicity: Same, LOL

  Pink. Nude.

  Whatever works.

  Me: How do you feel about men wearing socks with flip flops?

  Felicity: Um… Are we talking about OLD men? Cause that’s acceptable. If we’re talking about YOU, then I guess I’d have to see it before I decided.

  Me: I could add the photo to my bio so you can see it.

  Felicity: **eye roll**

  Me: Yeah, you’re right. I’ve never done that.

  Me: Yes I have.

  Felicity: LOL you’re funny today.

  Me: It’s been a slow day so I’m feeling pretty good heading into the weekend. Tomorrow I’m taking a rare day off.

  Felicity: What are you going to do?

  Me: Haircut, jog in the park, grab lunch with one of my buddies. Then, I don’t know — I have a hot date at midnight. Wouldn’t it be cool if it were at the top of the Empire State Building?

  Felicity: Like that one movie from twenty years ago? That WOULD be so fantastic… wind whipping my hair in my face, getting stuck to my lipstick. Shouting at each other because we can’t hear a thing the other person is saying. SO romantic.

  Me: OOKayyy so a little too high up for you?

  Felicity: Maybe. LOL the building I’m in would be more my speed, only thirty floors. Wink wink.

  Me: Thirty sounds about right.

  Felicity: Do-able.

  Felicity: Ugh, I hate to cut this short but I’m on a mission to get some things fixed in my office before I can get back to work. Wish me luck, I have a man to go hunt down.

  Me: Another man?!

  Felicity: Now, now… don’t be jealous. I’m a one woman man.

  A one woman man.

  That makes me smile.

  For a long time.

  I’m still smiling like a friggin’ moron when Sheila sticks her head in my door, frown on her face, long gold earrings jingling.

  Sheila was a hire of my father’s, who had my position before retiring and leaving the agency’s empire to me, and I’ll be honest: sometimes she scares the shit out of me.

  She is the one person in this place who doesn’t put up with bullshit — and believe me, when you have a company built around the egos of some of the world’s best and biggest athletes, egos are served up on sterling silver platters with a hefty signing bonus.

  Sheila could give a shit.

  She doesn’t care how much someone’s contract is worth, where they’re from, where they’re going, or what they’re wearing— she treats everyone the same.

  The woman really gets around.

  Technically she’s supposed to be on the floor below me, but there is nothing she loves better than to float. And by float, I mean walk around gossiping and interrupting everyone while they work. What does she actually do here again?

  It doesn’t really surprise me considering we’re from an entirely different generation. My dad used to do the same thing. He called it “boosting team morale.” I called it leaving the actual work to me. I ended up with his job so I guess I can’t complain.

  “Hey Sheila, what’s up?”

  “A few of the gals were wondering if you wanted the New Year’s decorations taken down before the weekend, or on Monday when we get back.”

  “And by ‘few of the gals,’ do you mean you?”

  She’s a stickler, this one. Nothing gets past her and disapproval from Sheila — the real boss — means the fun is over.

  “No, smart ass, Donna.”

  Literally the only person here with the balls to call me smart ass to my face. I squint at her. “Remind me again who Donna is?”

  “She’s the assistant to your office manager, Beth.”

  “Oh.” I rack my brain for an inkling of an idea who she’s talking about. Donna must be new. I can’t keep up with all the new hires these days. I give up and shrug. “I guess it doesn’t matter when the decorations come down. Maybe it would be easier if they were left up until Monday. Let everyone enjoy them tomorrow.”

  Sheila nods her approval. “That’s what I told her.” She leans against the doorframe. “Any plans for the weekend?”

  “Are you asking if I have anything going on for New Year’s Eve?”

  Nosey.

  I lean in my desk chair, letting the springs creek until it’s almost all the way tipped back, and stretch before responding.

  “I have plans with someone, yeah.”

  No way am I going to tell her what those plans are, or with whom. I don’t need every woman in this office to know my personal business. Not to mention, Sheila has a tendency to also gossip with our clients. Like I need Lebron Sutton — Super Bowl MVP two years in a row — gossiping with the receptionist and knowing I haven’t been laid in four months.

  Which has happened before.

  Lebron + Sheila = huge pain in my ass.

  She’s blinking at me silently, waiting for more detail.

  Nope. Sorry.

  No.

  I barely share this shit with Adam, my best work friend, let alone the sixty-five-year old watchdog who patrols the hallways like she’s security. The bars downtown should hire her to throw people out, she’s that damn formidable.

  I raise my brows.

  She raises hers.

  It’s a battle of wills she will not win. I am not backing down.

  Finally, “Are you coming in tomorrow boss?”

  My head goes back and forth, wishy-washy. “Probably not. I’m having lunch with Adam. We’ll see if he meets me or not.”

  Sheila nods. “He’s still dating that McClaren girl. I wonder how long it will be before they bless us with a McGinnis baby.”

  Oh boy. Here we go.

  If there’s one thing Sheila loves besides gossip, it’s babies. And if there’s one thing she loves more than babies, it’s pushing me to have one.

  “Does this someone you have plans with tomorrow like children?”

  Yes. “Don’t most people like children?”

  Sheila shrugs her bony shoulders. “Not me.”

  That makes me laugh. Of course she doesn’t like kids. Babies, yes. Kids, no.

  “So just babies then?”

  “Just babies.” She pauses. “But only to hold for a few minutes, then I give them back. I am not a nanny.”

  Right.

  I’ll remember that.

  “Has this person you’re going out wit
h tomorrow night been to the office?”

  I narrow my eyes. Wow, she is really good at this. “No.”

  Shit. Did I just give away the fact that it’s not someone from work that I’m going out with tomorrow night? Will she put the pieces together and realize it’s a first date?

  I cough.

  Hint, hint, time to go.

  My phone buzzes loudly and I use the opportunity to dismiss her by lifting a finger. “Oh, better reply to this.”

  She is not deterred. “What kind of an odd notification sound is that?”

  Um. A dating app sound? “It’s my, um. Doctor’s office.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “They’re calling you during the holiday?”

  Buzz, buzz. “It’s technically not a holiday yet, Sheila. I really have to reply to this. If you’ll excuse me.”

  The receptionist eyes me like a hawk a few more seconds from her place at the door before turning her head and strolling away, on to find her next victim.

  I exhale, body relaxing.

  Sheesh.

  II

  Friday

  AKA: New Year’s Eve

  3

  Felicity

  Welp.

  Skeeter was nowhere to be found, and trust me, I looked for him good and long yesterday before heading back to my office to crank out more work.

  I finally gave up looking because I was wasting so much time, strolling around in my bunny slippers and cradling my mug of milk. No one would understand the amount of pressure I’m under. They just see a whack job roaming the lobby; all I’m missing is a bathrobe and a few cats trailing behind me.

  Although if my date tonight doesn’t go well, I might consider going the crazy cat lady route. Steve seems absolutely perfect on paper, er, or online. Whatever. If he turns out to be a dud though, I’ll have lost all faith in the dating pool.

  That’s probably not true. I tend to be a glutton for punishment when it comes to eating out, so eventually I’ll get up to try, try again. I’m just so damn excited to finally meet the man who could be “the one”. I can’t let that one percent of doubt put a damper on my mood.