Rocked by Him

by Lucy Lambert

  “Bud! Call me Bud!” he said, his face going red as he leaned back and spun his monitor around to face us.

  “This doohicky program here lets me see exactly what you’re doing on any company computer. I have to tell ya, I’m pretty pleased with what I saw.”

  I swallowed even as a cold chill ran down my back. No one had told me about this. He could see my computer activity? I quickly ran through my day in my mind, trying to recall if everything I’d done at my cubicle. I hadn’t checked my email, or logged onto Facebook, or anything like that. Just work.

  It felt like I’d just passed some sort of creepy inspection. Though, I imagine Bud would have liked it more if I had done something he could give me a talking to about.

  “And listen,” Bud said, his voice going quiet so that I had to lean in even closer to understand, “There are other ways you can advance around here, a girl like you…”

  I’d put one of my hands on his desk to support myself. He put one sweaty palm over my knuckles and smiled.

  Fight or flight kicked in. Every last part of my body just wanted to get out of there. It took every last shred of willpower to keep from calling him a sweaty old pig and telling him that I was quitting.

  Instead, I yanked my hand out from under his and backed out quickly.

  “Th…thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Loughery!” I said, slipping out of his office.

  “Call me Bud!” his voice chased my out.

  Instead of going home, I went to a bar. It was a little hole-in-the-wall dive on one of the side streets. It was dark inside, lit pretty much by the neon signs advertising Bud or Coors or whatever. So dark I could hardly see the bartender. Not to mention the smell… But it was the closest place I could walk to, and they served rum. I’d downed a double before my mind started calming down.

  The alcohol burned as it went down my throat. I concentrated on that feeling, on the sound of some classic rock anthem blaring from every corner.

  The bartender looked at me as I ran my hand through my hair. I tapped the rim of my empty glass. Oh yeah, I definitely needed another one.

  “Keep them coming,” I said as the clear liquid sloshed into my glass.

  I don’t know how late I stayed out. All I knew was that I’d come into the bar when it was still light out, and left to find the city fighting back the night with all those lights. It was colder, too. Nippy enough that I wished I’d brought something a bit warmer to wear.

  I knew I should have taken the subway back home, but I wasn’t in the mood to figure out where to get off. So I hailed a cab. The driver tried to talk to me, but I just stayed quiet.

  By the time I got back to my building, I felt like crap. All that rum had gone straight to my head, but rather than washing away all the stuff that happened to me that day, it was all I could think about.

  As I stepped into the brightly lit lobby of my building, the concierge gave me a look. I knew I probably didn’t look that great, either. My hair was a mess. My clothes were wrinkled. But I didn’t care. It wasn’t like I had anyone waiting for me upstairs that I had to look pretty for.

  “Good evening, miss,” the concierge said.

  “Yeah.”

  I walked over to the elevator, dreading the ride up. Dreading going into my empty apartment. At least while I was at work, dealing with Bud and throwing myself at my first assignment, I hadn’t been thinking about Jerry.

  The LED screen showed the elevator descend to “1,” followed by a ding. I stepped in as the door slid back, pushing the button for my floor.

  Was there any booze left? Or had Jerry taken it all? It would be like him to come back and steal it all away from me.

  Then an arm shot into the shrinking gap of the closing door. The door halted, then began opening.

  That guy I saw earlier, the one with the bitchy girl, came in. He held hands with another bar tramp with bleach blonde hair and a killer body. They crowded me into the corner as he kissed her, one hand flailing back to try and press the button for his floor.

  I scrunched my nose. Her perfume was cloying in this small space, tickling the back of my throat. So thick my eyes started watering.

  I hated them. I hated him, I hated her. Just because they were able to enjoy themselves at that moment and I wasn’t.

  She ran her hand through his hair, messing it up. He didn’t seem to care that much. His hands were busy messing up a few things, too.

  The elevator dinged at his floor.

  “Which way is your place?” she said, panting, trying to drag him out into the hall. They’d been kissing the whole time, so it was no wonder they were out of breath.

  “Down this way, babe,” he said, letting her pull him along.

  The door started sliding closed behind him. I looked at his back, at that skull stitched onto the back of his jacket.

  Then he looked over his shoulder at me. He smiled and winked, as though we were sharing some secret.

  “Ass…” I said as the door closed fully and the elevator started climbing again.

  But even as I said it, I don’t think I really meant it. Aside from being a manwhore, he hadn’t really done anything mean to me. In fact, all he’d really done so far was notice me.

  ***

  That hangover hung out with me for the entire next day. Also, it was my first day to start taking the subway to work.

  All those flickering lights, that medley of beeps and announcements, the mix of music blaring from cell phones and iPods. Not to mention the smells! Yeah, all that didn’t help with the hangover either.

  There were dark circles under my eyes that I tried to hide with an oil-based concealer. I put so much makeup on that I might as well have had a layer of fondant over my cheeks.

  When I finally did get into the office, the air conditioning felt too sharp against my skin. It was like the middle of winter in there. I walked as softly as I could, trying to avoid that jarring jolt at the back of my skull.

  Each step, I promised myself that I would never drink again. Or at least, nowhere near that much that quickly.

  And no more rum. I swore that stuff was made by the devil himself.

  The fluorescent light cut into my eyeballs, and I almost grabbed my sunglasses out of my purse. Luckily, I got to Lucinda’s desk. I didn’t know whether I should go straight to my cubicle or not, though I realized it was a gamble. I might have to see Bud again.

  She looked up at me, then did a double take, her fingers jerking.

  “Did he do something to you?” she said.

  “What? No. I… I went out last night. Hey, do you mind if we talk quieter?”

  “Sure,” Lucinda said, lowering her voice so that it was just above the level of the office din. “I knew I shouldn’t have left. It’s just… He’s…”

  “I understand,” I said.

  We both glanced at the closed door to Bud’s office. He roared with laughter in there at something, and I winced as his voice cut into my brain like a knife. I really, really hoped that I didn’t have to go in there to get my assignment for the day.

  “I don’t suppose you have my work?”

  Lucinda opened a drawer in her desk, flipping through various folders. She bit down on her lower lip as she squinted down, and I wondered if she needed glasses. Then I had an awful thought: what if Bud didn’t let her wear them? He seemed like that sort of ���60s misogynist prick, wanting a perfectly pretty secretary.

  She pulled a folder out and handed it to me. It was almost twice as thick as the one from yesterday. And I still had a bit of that to get through.

  Then, glancing over her shoulder first, she pulled out a small bottle of amber liquid. Jack Daniels; I could make out the remains of the black label. She kept it hidden by her desk, so that only we could see it.

  “Some hair of the dog that bit you?” she said, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

  I wanted to say yes, but I thought I could throw myself at my job better with a hangover than with a buzz.

  “No thanks. B
ut thank you, really. Maybe after work we could grab something?”

  As I said it, I regretted it. All I wanted to do after this was go home, curl up in bed, and sleep through the entire night. Oh, and pump myself full of aspirin to get rid of that hangover.

  “Sorry, got a date tonight. Maybe some other time?” Lucinda said, sucking her breath in through her teeth and then glancing back to make sure Bud hadn���t heard.

  Relieved, I agreed and then went to my cubicle to lose myself for another eight hours. Though, this time I told myself to actually get some lunch.

  ***

  It felt like I’d only just sat down. I cradled my head with one hand, not caring how it messed up my hair, as I stared at the computer screen. The brightness was turned most of the way down, so that I had to squint just the barest amount to see the PowerPoint presentation opened on it.

  I had a few pieces of paper spread out across my desk, all of them bullet points, talking points, buzzwords about the thermal properties of a new type of plastic. I had to have the presentation done by today, since Bud needed to give it to prospective clients tomorrow.

  If I skipped lunch, I thought I would have just enough time.

  Then the phone rang. I swore under my breath as I grabbed the receiver. I needed to figure out how to turn the volume down on it,

  “Jennifer Snow,” I said.

  “Sweetie! Why don’t you just come on over to my office. I got something I need to run by you,” Bud said, the bluster in his voice muffled only slightly by the phone.

  I looked at the clock on my monitor. I really needed all the time I had. But he was my boss.

  “I’ll be right over.”

  I walked over to his office, shooting Lucinda a questioning look. She shrugged. That instantly made my bad feeling worse. If it was company business, wouldn’t Bud’s secretary know about it?

  Shouldn’t she have been the one to call me to his office?

  Bud headed me off at the pass. Just as I was about to tell Lucinda that I needed a washroom break, he opened the door.

  His face was like a swollen red tomato, the whites of his teeth like a line of mold across the flesh as he smiled at me.

  “Sweetie! Come right on in,” he said, stepping back so that I could move past him.

  Before he shut the door, he said, “Hold my calls, sugar. I’ll let you know when we’re through in here.”

  “Yes, Mr. Lough���”

  He shut the door, cutting her off. It felt like he’d just cut off my only chance at escape.

  “Take a seat,” he said.

  Since the only chair in his office was behind his desk, I knew he meant to hop up on his desk like he enjoyed doing.

  “I’m good standing.”

  “Have it your way, sweetie,” Bud said.

  Sweetie? Why did he like calling me that so much? Did he think I was some little girl? Was he going to ask me to put some pigtails in my hair for tomorrow?

  The hot knife twisting in the back of my skull started going faster. I could feel the blood vessel in my forehead doing its best to pop out of my skin.

  I was hungover, dumped, and in a terrible mood. I didn’t deserve any of this!

  “Mr. Loughery…”

  “Bud!” he broke in, leaning against his desk and clasping his fat fingers over his stomach as he smiled at me.

  “Bud… I don’t mean to be ‘that girl,’ but could you please stop calling me ‘sweetie?’ My name is Jennifer. Or Miss Snow.”

  Bud held his hands up in mock surrender. God, he really must’ve thought I was a little girl.

  “You got it, Jennifer. I wanted to talk to you about yesterday.”

  Was he going to apologize? For a second there, I felt almost happy. Perhaps the world wasn’t such an awful place after all.

  “It’s okay, Bud. We all have urges…” I began.

  “I just wanted to know if you thought it over. You know, my offer? It… still stands.”

  He put his hand on my shoulder, rubbing his thumb into the flesh just below my clavicle. It was an insistent rub. A hungry rub.

  A revolting rub.

  Before I could think, I slapped his hand off me. His eyebrows shot up as I jumped back.

  “You don’t have to be mean about it, sweetie.”

  “Mean? Mean! Mr. Loughery, this is sexual assault!” I said through clenched teeth. The strength of his grip left a lingering ache in my shoulder.

  His phone buzzed. Bud leaned over his desk to push the intercom button.

  “Yes, Lucinda?”

  “Is everything all right, Mr. Loughery? I thought I heard shouting.”

  “Everything is fine, sugar. You just keep on holding my calls. Got it?”

  He let go of the button before Lucinda could reply.

  “Well?” he asked, turning back to me.

  I never understood in movies and books when a character talks about their mouth dropping open out of shock. That just wasn’t how people acted. Or so I thought.

  My mouth did drop open then.

  “No,” I said.

  “Are ya sure?”

  “Never. Not in a million years.”

  Bud sighed. It was a long-suffering, exasperated sigh. A sigh that made me actually feel like I was five, and that I’d just done something to displease a grown-up. I really, really hated this guy.

  “Well, that’s unfortunate. I have a call to make, so why don’t you get back to work on that presentation? Oh, and here’s a bunch of new material I need you to look over and add in. Got it, sweetie?” Bud said, sliding a folder across his desk towards me.

  I picked it up and leafed through it. My stomach dropped. This was going to take at least another two hours to go through! I wouldn’t be able to get out of her until seven or eight, at the earliest.

  “There a problem?” Bud said. He started drumming his fingers on the polished desktop, leaving little, oily prints behind.

  I couldn’t deal with that right then. It felt like evil little critters were behind my eyeballs, trying to push them out of my face.

  “No,” I said.

  He motioned to the door and I left. It took the last of my willpower to avoid slamming the door behind me,

  I thought about asking Lucinda for a nip from that bottle, but she was busy on the phone. Hefting the new folder in my hands, I went back to my cubicle and sat down feeling dirty, violated somehow.

  It was going to be a long night. Though, I thought again, there really wasn’t anything waiting for me at my apartment, was there?

  So, with mixed feelings, I went to work.

  As on my first day, everyone emptied out of the office at five like the place was burning up around them. Someone even started turning out all the lights before I stood and yelled out a “Wait!”

  It was quarter to nine, the warm light of the sun replaced by the harsh artificial light of the city, by the time I stepped out onto the sidewalk. It was still pretty busy, Madison Ave. still choked with yellow taxis and pedestrians clogging the sidewalks.

  At least the subway wasn’t quite as busy as before. The bright light down there hurt my eyes. I knew I’d been staring at that computer screen too long. It was like someone was holding a pair of lights right behind my eyeballs.

  My shoes also seemed to be having a contest over which could pinch my toes the most. I reached down to take them off when the train pulled into my station.

  “Hello, miss,” the concierge in his red jacket said.

  I gave him a tight-lipped smile in return, making my sore feet move me to the elevator as fast as they could.

  The light in that metal box was too bright as well, and I shielded my eyes as I stabbed on finger out at the buttons, hoping I hit the right one. Bed was calling out to me. A date I already felt late for.

  The ding sounded. The door slid open. I walked out, half dazed. It took me a second of looking at the door numbers as I fished for my key to realize I’d gotten off on the wrong floor.

  “Damn it…” I said. I’d
already walked about a quarter of the way down the hall. The walls were a cream color, all the doors a dark-stained wood with little brass plates with the suite numbers engraved on them.

  Then someone started screaming. I froze. It was a woman, and she was pissed. Something crashed, and glass shattered. A lower voice came through. The guy, I guess, trying to calm her down.

  He just made her louder.

  I’d never really lived in apartments before. There was the dorm my first year of college, but after that I lived in a house with a couple friends. Before that, I lived at home with mom and dad. This sort of thing was new to me.

  I almost liked listening to another person’s rage, another person’s anger. Misery loves company and all that. I guess I also enjoyed eavesdropping on people on occasion. Dad said I got it from my Uncle Marc, who made no secret he liked listening to other people’s conversations.

  I could almost make out what she was saying.

  It was when she stormed out through the apartment two doors down on the left side that I realized the time to hop back on the elevator for me was about two minutes ago.

  It was another blonde club bimbo. Right then, her spray tanned face was hot red with fury as she stabbed one long, fake nail back at the open doorway.

  “Asshole! You said you had more!” she screamed.

  I felt like shrinking back, not wanting her attention to fall on me.

  “I’m sorry, babe. Really, I didn’t say anything about having any stuff. You made that up.”

  The sharp-faced guy with the leather jacket appeared in the doorway. Minus leather jacket, anyway. He wore a white undershirt.

  “Die in a fire!” blondie screamed.

  He just crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, giving her a quirked eyebrow and a crooked smile. He looked like the classic badboy, then, like James Dean had stepped off the set into the world of reality and color.

  The sight of it actually made the throbbing in my feet and the burning behind my eyes subside for a few moments.

  Maybe that’s why I did what happened next.

  “What are you looking at, bitch?” blondie said as she spun around to make her dramatic exit. We were of a height. She’d stirred the air with her movement, and the pungent smell of her perfume made my nose twitch.