One Look At You

by Hartwell, Sofie

  “Friends, relatives, strangers, freeloaders… who knows?” Mark says.

  “Where’s Joseph?” I ask the obvious question.

  “See that guy over there?” he asks while laughingly pointing to a man busily licking salt from the back of his hand and downing a tequila shot as a group of people egg him on. “I don’t think you’ll even get to meet the man of the hour. As you can see, he has his hands full.”

  “If I hadn’t known your cousin was a genius, I’d think he was one of those irresponsible trust-fund kids,” Melanie snorts.

  “He deserves to have some fun. I’ll bet that on Monday he’ll be keeping his nose to the grindstone again,” Mark says. He then opens the first bottle of vodka and starts pouring into each shot glass. I put my right hand up to stop him but he chooses to ignore me.

  “Livie, we’re here to have fun. Will you just lighten up,” he says in annoyed tone.

  “You know I really don’t drink,” I hiss, but he just rolls his eyes at me.

  “Nobody likes a party-pooper,” Melanie says while staring at me challengingly.

  This is going to be a long night, for sure. So I give up and take a sip of my drink. Not so bad. I think I can get away with pretending to drink while I take a few sips now and then.

  Apparently, Mark changes his mind about dancing and grabs Melanie’s hand to usher her to the dance floor. Jen and I do our best to communicate over the din. Half of the time, we’re shouting to each other, which is not an easy thing, until we figure out that it’s so much easier to ‘talk’ through messaging.

  Jen: Do you see that gorgeous guy at the bar?

  I see a tall, dark-haired man in his thirties, dressed in a tailored suit, his face well-chiseled with a beard stubble roughening up his wide, powerful jaw. He seems to be scrolling on his phone through his email, so either he’s supremely bored or is a surefire workaholic. I really can’t see his facial features clearly from my angle, but I know what Jen means because he exudes class and confidence – the kind only a really attractive man would possess.

  Me: He doesn’t seem to be having fun.

  Jen: You think? Go join him at the bar.

  Me: Are you mad?

  Jen: Why not?

  Me: Because.

  Jen: Because?

  Me: I don’t do that.

  Jen: Why not?

  Me: Stop!

  Jen: What era were you born in? :)

  Me: Why don’t you go join him?

  Jen: I have a feeling you’d be perfect for him.

  Me: You’re definitely crazy.

  Jen: Live a little.

  Me: No freaking way.

  Jen: Melanie’s right. You’re a party pooper. (

  Me: I don’t care.

  Jen: Oh Liv.

  Me: Speaking of handsome. Do you see that guy in a white shirt smiling at you?

  Jen: :) :) :)

  Me: Amused much?

  Jen: Don’t look. I think he’s walking this way.

  I’m about to type my response when I look up to see the guy right in front of our table.

  “Would you like to dance?” he asks Jen, his smile revealing his even white teeth. Jen’s eyes sparkle and there’s a warm glow on her cheeks. She looks at me and I silently mouth my agreement. She bends towards me and whispers “Are you gonna be okay?” and I nod my head. She then stands up to join him, and I can’t help but be glad that at least the party’s not a total waste for her.

  Mark comes to me and pulls me up. “C’mon! I’m all alone on the dance floor. Melanie has abandoned me for some stranger.”

  “Serves you right,” I respond teasingly. Another DJ has taken over and the music now leans towards pop rather than techno. I let go on the dance floor because I’m comfortable with Mark. As I move my body to the rhythm of the song, I feel like I’m in my own little world, oblivious to everything around me. After some time, I become aware that Mark is slyly smiling at me.

  “What?!” I ask loudly.

  “Nothing. You’re quite hot when you’re dancing. You’ve got the moves. And I think you have an admirer,” he says while motioning with a tilt of his head to someone at the bar.

  He’s talking about that man at the bar. Another man is talking to him, yet he seems to be only half-listening and is instead looking in our direction. I shrug off Mark’s comment because, very likely, he’s just imagining things. “Just keep dancing or I’ll do a Melanie and walk out on you,” I tell him.

  After dancing for at least half an hour, I’m thirsty, and I make my way back to the table. I guzzle down my drink. Somehow, I don’t feel my thirst being quenched so I pour some more into my shot glass and drink again. “Whoa! Go easy on that, Miss I-really-don’t-drink,” Mark cautions me.

  “It’s too hot in here, and all that dancing hasn’t helped.”

  “Do you want me to get you some bottled water?” he asks. I’m still thirsty, but a number of people are milling around the bar so I wave him off. “C’mon, let’s just go back. By the way, am I not cramping your style? Wouldn’t you rather partner up with one of the lovely ladies?”

  “Not tonight. Tonight I’m just hanging out with you girls,” he says with a mock bow.

  Mark approaches me from the back and we start dancing that way. I sway my hips back and forth, taking some small steps from side to side. He loosely puts his left hand on my shoulder and follows my lead. I raise my right arm and swing it left to right to the beat of the music. To anyone observing, it may look like we’re dancing sensuously, but for Mark and me, nothing can be farther from the truth. We’re just two friends having a great time moving to the sound.

  At one point, I look up and I see the man at the bar staring at us. A shudder goes through me. Did I just imagine that? For a moment, I feel unsteady on my feet.

  “Time-out!” Mark cheerfully says. Jen and her partner are at the table. So are Melanie and another man. Mark grabs two empty chairs from the next table and we seat ourselves with relief.

  “Everyone, this is Jerry,” Melanie introduces the man beside her. “And that’s Max, Jen’s new friend,” she adds. Jen blushes. Hi’s and hello’s are exchanged, and we start to talk about nothing in particular. The heat. The throng. The talented DJ. Joseph being missing in action. The non-stop flow of wine and liquor.

  Suddenly, I feel the room spinning. I close my eyes and reopen them, and the feeling mercifully comes to a halt.

  “Livie, are you okay?” Mark asks with some concern.

  “Of course. Just tired, I guess.” What’s the point of alarming everyone?

  “The night’s still young so we’re not leaving just yet,” Melanie says, and everyone raises their glass in approval. Not wanting to be called a wet blanket again, I clink my glass and drink my third shot. I don’t even notice that someone filled my glass again.

  “Ladies, let’s dance!” Jen shouts, and orders Melanie and myself to join her. We go a little crazy with our wild dancing, with Jen and Melanie doing exaggerated sexy ‘come-hither’ moves for their partners. In the meantime, I just twirl around by myself, my body throbbing from some unexplainable inner heat.

  “May I join you?” a deep voice from behind me asks. I turn around.

  ***

  I’m trying to reach Jen, but the call just keeps going to voicemail. Pick up, pick up, pick up. Next, I try Melanie, but my luck fails again. Mark. Mark’s my only hope now.

  He picks up on the third ring. “Livie? Where are you?” He sounds really worried.

  “I’m at the entrance of the hotel,” I say softly, not wanting anyone to hear.

  “You’re at the Rembrandt?” He asks loudly, making my head throb even more.

  “Yes. Where the hell did you think I was?”

  “We looked everywhere and didn’t find you. So we thought you had gone somewhere with the tall, dark and handsome stranger you were dancing with.”

  “Did you really think I would just leave without saying anything?” My voice is a little shrill now, and I no longer care if other p
eople are listening in on our conversation. Then, of course, my heart sinks as I realize that’s exactly what I done – just left without a word to anyone.

  “We combed every inch of that ballroom. Restrooms, lobby, poolside. You were nowhere to be found. You weren’t picking up your phone. What did you expect us to think?” Now his voice is equally loud and his anger is evident.

  “Please come pick me up,” I plead with him. “Mark,” my voice is now soft and tinged with fear. “I don’t remember anything.”

  “I’ll be right there,” Mark says.

  ***

  My relief is palpable as I see Mark driving up to the entrance of the hotel. I quickly get into his BMW roadster. We drive for about ten minutes in silence.

  “Tell me what you remember,” he commands me.

  “That’s just it. I don’t remember anything. I recall drinking, dancing with you, Melanie, and Jen, but I have trouble recalling anything after that.”

  “Let me get this straight,” he says slowly. “You don’t remember the man you were dancing with?”

  “I don’t. I mean, I do remember someone asking me to dance, but I can’t remember the rest.”

  “Livie, where were you all night? Were you dozing off in the lobby or something?” I know that Mark is doing his best to hide his exasperation.

  “I woke up in someone’s suite.” I feel my face turning red at my admission.

  “Was it the guy you were dancing with last night?”

  “Maybe…I don’t know… I mean, it makes sense to think that way, but when I looked at the man this morning, my mind was a total blank. He looked familiar, but I can’t say I actually recognized him, so I ran away as fast as my legs could take me.”

  “Well, we didn’t see you with anyone else but that man last night. No offense, but when you were dancing with him, it seemed like some kind of foreplay that was bound to end up in bed.” He looks at me now to see how I’ll react to that.

  I cover my face in humiliation. Oh God, what did I do? How could I have been so out of control?

  Mark reaches for my hand. “Liv, don’t make too much out of it. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Alcohol can have that effect on some people. That and the heat, and whatever it was you had going on with him.”

  “Mark, I’m freaking out because I don’t know if…” My words trail off.

  “I’m not gonna judge you for having a one-night stand, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He sounds hurt as he says this.

  “If only… Look, I woke up with just my top and underwear. He was still sleeping next to me, and I was so shocked that I just ran away instead of staying and talking to him like an adult.”

  “It’s a normal reaction. Besides, you don’t even know him, so it’s not like you’re expected to have a mature early morning discussion.”

  I look at him, wanting to say more, but he cuts me off. “Let it go, Livie. You’ll never see him again. No one need ever know. You don’t even have to know. Just thank your lucky stars someone didn’t take advantage of you.”

  Take advantage of me? Is he thinking I was in the right frame of mind when I went up with the guy to his suite? Did something happen between us? How is it possible that I don’t even know, can’t even tell? My brain is about to burst from all the questions. I take a deep breath and dissemble unconcern.

  “You’re right. I should just put this behind me.” He nods in agreement. “Thank you, Mark. Thanks for the ride. Most of all, thanks for just caring.”

  “Sleep in for the rest of the day. You’ll feel better.”

  I say nothing, but I know a big part of me wants to remember exactly what happened.

  CHAPTER 2

  I hastily wave at Robert, the concierge, as I walk through the huge lobby. Tower 88 is one of the dozen tallest high-rises in Los Angeles. It’s a postmodern edifice built by the world-famous architect, Lucas Palermo. Everyone in the financial district simply refers to this tower of glass and off-white steel as ‘The Tower.’ Its forty-eight floors house some of the biggest names in banking and industry. I work at the national headquarters of Gallo’s, the third largest coffee chain in the world, and our offices are on the top floor in the penthouse.

  In my senior year in high school, I was fortunate enough to be hired on as a trainee. Mitch, the night manager, liked my work ethic. He put in my name for one of the corporate scholarships. I was one of the ten chosen that year, and as a result I managed to graduate with a business economics degree from UC San Diego without having to take on a crushing student loan. I was then offered a job in the finance department of Gallo’s, where I’ve been for the past three years.

  John Bailey is my immediate supervisor. He’s in charge of Accounts Payables. I’ve been his assistant for a little over a year. John is a hard worker but, at the end of the day, he can’t wait to go home to his lovely wife, Ana, and their three year old toddler, Kent. Ana is only eight years older than me, but she fusses over me like a mother hen. Her favorite pastime is trying to fix me up on a blind date. I adore her but, sadly, her efforts have been fruitless.

  I go into John’s office. “Good morning, John. Did you have a chance to go over the spreadsheet last night?”

  “And a good morning to you, too, Liv. I haven’t even had my first cup of java and you’re already raring to start?” He smiles good-naturedly.

  “You know how Mondays can be so frantic. Might as well start with the big stuff.”

  “True. But today we have bigger things to attend to,” he says with a frown creasing his forehead.

  “Bigger things? Like what? It took me a week to get all the numbers for this file. What can be bigger than that? Is the Board having a special meeting or something?”

  “No. No board meeting or anything like that. But Ralph is leaving, and his successor is asking for a bunch of reports.”

  “Mr. Donaldson is leaving? And someone’s ready to take over?” I’m surprised by the turn of events. Ralph Donaldson has been Chief Financial Officer for over ten years. I would have thought that it would take some time to find his replacement, and yet it seems that they already have someone lined up.

  “I know. I couldn’t believe it myself when they called this morning.”

  “Why is he leaving, though?” John and I have an easygoing relationship, so I know he doesn’t mind that I’m indulging in gossip right now.

  He lifts an eyebrow and says, “Well, rumor has it that he’s been recruited to head RKM Food Group. We’ll find out soon enough, I guess.”

  “So who’s taking over?”

  “Unconfirmed. He’s officially taking over next Monday. Ralph has emailed the department heads to prepare the reports that the new CFO has requested. I’m afraid you’ll be having no social life for the next five days.”

  “What else is new?” I respond flippantly. “What do you want me to start with?”

  John hands me a printed list and I study it carefully. “Wow, the new CFO doesn’t ask for much, does he?” The man is detail-oriented and obviously familiar with the operations of the corporation.

  “Is it someone who’s being promoted from the ranks?” I ask the logical question.

  “Negatory,” John says as he shakes his head vehemently. Of course, he would know, since he would be one of the top three contenders for the job.

  “I’ll start right away on your laundry list.” I am now in full professional mode and I head to my desk, situated right outside John’s office. One of the things I love about my work is the flexibility I’m afforded. My boss simply gives me a few directives and leaves it up to me how to best accomplish the objectives. John is laid-back in that way, and I do my best to step up and anticipate what needs to be done.

  Gallo’s has 18,000 locations in fifty countries. To come up with the required reports means accessing the data we receive on a weekly basis from each of these locations. We measure and compare almost anything one can think of. We know what the average order is in dollar amount, how long a customer stays in the store,
how many buckets of bleach are used in one day, how many milligrams of sodium are in a slice of pie, which mug designs sell well during the holidays, how many nuts are in each butterscotch bar we sell…. The list goes on and on. But the new CFO is asking for data that has never been fully examined before. We have the data, I know, but we’ve never utilized it to increase our margins. Since John heads AP, we now need to do more intensive reports on our suppliers to get all of this together for the new hire.

  I’m actually getting excited as I start looking at the information. I briefly wonder if Cassie, Kayla, and the other Finance assistants are working on their respective reports. We all have lunch once in a while, and I know how fiercely protective most of us are of our bosses. Oh, the competition is on, for sure. I quietly chuckle as I picture them clickety-clacking on their own keyboards.

  Several hours pass and my tummy starts to rumble. I have completely forgotten lunch, and now it’s past four in the afternoon. The first report is a humongous one. It involves going back five years in time and analyzing the income statements, cash flow, and statements of retained earnings from our suppliers. We carefully screen our suppliers but, based on this new report, management probably wants to go one step further and retain only those who are liquid and financially in good shape. I’ll probably finish this report two days from now.

  “Livie, take a break. I know you won’t have the preliminary figures until Wednesday anyway. Have you had lunch?” John is about to leave to pick up Kent from his Karate class. He takes care of his little boy on Mondays and Wednesdays because Ana has decided to go back to school and complete her doctorate in Philosophy.

  “Relax, boss. I’m about to order pastrami from the coffee shop. What about you? Don’t let the little dude wait or you’ll be in trouble,” I jokingly warn him.

  “He can wait a couple of minutes,” he says, though he doesn’t sound too confident.

  “Sure he can,” I say mockingly, knowing how Kent’s going to berate his Dad for being late.

  “Fine, I’m gonna go. The minute you have the preliminaries, please put them on my desk.”