by Paul Hina
these kinds of silly histrionics from Michael. They've known each other for long enough now that almost nothing Michael says surprises him.
When Michael first came to the university, he was teaching in the philosophy department with Eric. They had adjoining offices and quickly became friendly with one another, more because of their proximity than their commonality. But then the religious studies program, where Michael worked, broke free from the philosophy department. It started its own department in a new building, and Michael's office moved with it. But they remained friends. In fact, as far as Eric can tell, he is one of Michael's only friends.
Michael has a tendency to rub people the wrong way. Mostly, it's because he's too honest. Michael doesn't like to conform to the traditional social standards that assume that it's our duty to make everyone comfortable. So, there's no social filter with Michael. Eric is pretty sure that this lack of concern for people's comfort stems mostly from the fact that Michael is rarely comfortable in any social setting. And, so, he doesn't understand how anyone can be made uncomfortable in a setting that is innately uncomfortable from the start.
In the past, Eric has always respected this trait in Michael, though it certainly has made for some uncomfortable situations. It's because of some of those past discomforts that Eric has been nervous about having him over to attend a dinner party. But Michael has been asking Eric and Annie to fix him up with their friend, and Eric's assistant, Holly, for months. And Eric and Annie decided that it was finally time to try and get them together. Annie thought it might be best to set them up in a dinner party environment. This way, Holly would not be fully exposed to Michael's conversation unfettered by other social constraints—not that Michael is good at honoring these constraints, but he isn't altogether oblivious to them either. It's not as if Holly doesn't already know something about Michael. He's around their office quite often, usually showing up early for their biweekly lunches so that he can spend extra time waiting for Eric by Holly's desk, chatting her up. For a long time, he was like an awkward teenager around her, stammering over disparate points of conversation, trying to figure out the right things to say to her. But, lately, they've developed a nice rapport. And it's been interesting seeing Michael, a usually fairly aggressive personality, being so vulnerable around her. It's been endearing. Seeing this side of Michael has humanized him in a way that has made Eric like him more.
Still, Eric's not so sure that being at a dinner party will do anything to suppress Michael's foibles. Eric's not sure that anything could stifle Michael's foibles.
"How about some music?" Eric asks.
"That'd be nice."
"Jazz alright?"
"What period are we talking about?"
"All kinds. I was just planning on shuffling my collection."
"Do you play a lot of that post-70's fusion stuff, or any of that late Coltrane-type improvising? That stuff tends to give me a headache."
"It's a nice, breezy mix—nothing too unsettling."
"If you say so."
"Michael," Annie says as she enters the room. "Nice to see you."
"Annie," Michael says, standing up from his chair. "You look… Nice," he says, tempering his compliment just as Sonny Rollins' horn breathes through the speakers in the room.
"You certainly do," Eric says, walking over to her.
"Did you set the table?" she asks Eric.
"What are you wearing?"
"What?"
"You changed."
"Yeah, I wasn't ready yet."
"You looked ready to me."
"Well, I wasn't."
"What was wrong with the dress you had on?"
"Nothing. I just decided to change."
"That's interesting."
"What's so interesting about it?"
"Guys," Michael says, clearly uncomfortable with the tension rising in the room. "Is there any way I could get a drink?"
"Eric didn't offer you a drink?" she asks, but doesn't give Michael a chance to respond. "Would you like some wine?"
"Do you have any beer? Wine tends to make me tired."
"Sure, I think we have some beer."
"No. No, actually, wine's fine," Michael says.
Annie moves out of the room toward the kitchen, giving Eric an accusing look on her way out. And it's clear to Eric from her glare that she's not at all upset that he didn't offer Michael a drink. She's more upset with him for pressing her on what she's wearing, and that he did it in front of Michael.
Eric starts to follow her. Then he stops, not wanting to leave Michael alone. But then he decides to follow her anyway. "I'm going to go help Annie with the wine. Why don't you have a seat?"
"I'm alright standing. I'm too tense to sit," Michael says, moving over to the bay window, giving an accusing look to their Christmas tree.
Eric goes toward the kitchen, finds Annie grabbing wine glasses from the cabinets.
"Would you like a glass?" she asks.
"I find it funny that you changed right after I told you that Max was coming."
"You find that funny, do you?" she asks, pulling the cork from a bottle of wine.
"I do, yes."
"I just changed my mind. That's all. I wasn't sure about the dress I was wearing. I'm more sure about this one. That's it."
"So, I shouldn't read anything into it?"
"What would you be reading into it? Are you implying that I'm trying to make an impression on your brother?"
"I'm implying more than that."
"What, exactly?"
"That you're being purposefully provocative."
"Eric, it's not as if I've never worn this dress before. You've seen it. You've never had a problem with it in the past."
"But you were wearing it for me then?"
"I'm not now?"
"I don't think you are."
"Eric, you should stop while you're—"
"Are you trying to get him to see what he's missed?"
"And if I were?"
"If you were…," Eric says, surprised by the question. "I'd be… I don't know. I'd be upset."
"Well, don't be. Have a glass of wine and relax," she says, handing him a glass of wine, and swaying by him into the dining room with a glass resting in each of her hands.
He watches her walk all the way out of the room, staring at the rhythm of her hips as she moves in that black dress—tight around her thin waist, but with a flowing skirt that accentuates the swing of her steps.
"Oh, God," he says, and takes a drink—a big drink.
As Annie moves into the living room, Michael watches her out of the corner of his eye. She's quite beautiful tonight, and it's taken him by surprise. He's only ever seen her in Eric's company, and never quite looked at her as anything other than Eric's wife. Before tonight, he'd never even considered seeing her through a sexual lens. But, now, in that little black dress, with her hair down, she's absolutely breathtaking.
He takes a deliberate breath and turns his attentions back out the window, not wanting to exhibit the temptation of his curiosities toward her.
"We forgot to plug in the Christmas lights," she says. She sets the two wine glasses on the bay of the window, and bends down to plug in the lights.
Michael tells himself not to look as she kneels down and crawls a little under the tree beside him, but he surrenders to his curiosity and watches her anyway.
"Ahh, that's better," she says, as the tree's lights come on.
"Did you decorate it?" Michael asks, as she gets back on her feet.
"Yeah, Eric picked out the tree, and I did the ornaments and lights," she says, and moves closer to the window.
She's close to him, but not too close. Close enough, though, that he can smell a hint of something on her—something subtle and elegant. For a second, he's so stunned by this closeness that he feels a little lightheaded, and doesn't quite know what to do with his body. Then he wonders if he's standing too stiffly, if he's telegraphing this new, and surprising anxiety toward Annie. He tries to relax h
is legs, consciously breathes easy.
She grabs the wine glasses from the bay, and holds one out to him. "Relax, Michael. You seem nervous."
"I do?" He asks, wondering if she's caught him looking at her. Can she see through his sudden, unexpected attraction to her? Did he let his eyes wander too long?
"Yeah, you're bouncing back and forth like you've had too much coffee or something. You think you can will her here somehow?" she asks, rhetorically. "It won't be too much longer. She'll be here."
"I didn't realize I was so jumpy. It's been a long time since I've… Well, let's just say I've been looking forward to tonight for awhile. Not to mention that I probably have had too much coffee," he says and takes a drink of his wine. It occurs to him, suddenly, that he hasn't eaten anything since breakfast, and that this would explain his lightheadedness, and the faint sense of nausea that's lying on him.
They stand there for a minute, waiting together. Michael's leg starts to bounce again, but he catches it this time. Stops it.
The silence between them goes on for too long. He gets the feeling that they have nothing left to say to each other, and the awkwardness—the weight of finding something to say—is slowly building. It occurs to Michael that they've never been alone together before, and his only hope is that Eric will save them from their silence.
"We were supposed to get hit by a snow storm tonight, but I think it's supposed to miss us," Annie says.
"We must really have nothing to say to each other if you're on about the weather."
"Sorry. I was just looking at the snow on the ground and it made me think of the storm."
A car approaches, and they both gooseneck to see if it's slowing by the driveway. It doesn't.
"Looks like
