I kept my fingers and toes crossed until this lucky but soon-to-be-badly-bruised new recruit arrived. And to my utter surprise, he showed up exactly a week later. The director of Human Resource Department introduced him as Steve Berk. As I stretched out my hand to shake his tender hand, something fluttered in my heart. What I hated to admit but was real right now washed over me: crazy love at first sight! My whole body shook feverishly as I stared into his seductive, blues eyes. Those eyes held rare enchanting influence on me. His hair hung loosely on his round and beautifully shaped head. His gold-rimmed glasses shone brightly in the morning sunshine glow.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Be…erk,” I stammered. This was quite unusual for me, stuttering in front of people.
He held my quivering hand longer than expected, and I could feel electrical emotional discharges flowing from him to my body. This sensation seemed real and unreal at the same time. His presence was gradually suffocating me, despite not clutching his beautiful fingers round my skinny neck.
“It’s a pleasure, Ms. Bellview,” he said. And his voice, thick and jarring, had scattered my brain. And what remained of me was nothing but a shadow of my past self.
The director of Human Resource, a gentleman of enviable caliber, might have probably noticed something strange in my behavior.
“Please intimate Mr. Berk about the daily routines at your office once you are settled,” the director said, politely. Once you are settled. Those meaningful words rang louder in my head for minutes, and I quickly brought myself together.
“Ok, I’ll do just that,” I said and watched him close the heavy oak door behind him, leaving me alone to deal decisively with my fear or nemesis.
“Here is your seat, Mr. Berk,” I pointed to the wooden chair and table next to mine.
“I like the environment here; it looks comfy,” he soon complimented.
“Oh, really?” I said, smiling cheerfully.
He took off his jacket to ease the effect of the summer heat on his already sweaty body. His perfume flowed in the air unhindered and hovered over my face like an apparition. And those huge, sexy biceps under his azure blue shirt were swoon-provoking. Oh my God, something must be wrong with my thinking right now, my dirty thinking. When was the last time I had felt so owned, so consumed by a man without any traces of reservations? And for a virgin like me, the experience didn’t appear real; it looked like a scene from one of those badly edited romance stories that most readers found to be overtly erotic.
“If you want something to drink, please don’t hesitate to help yourself to something in the refrigerator,” I told him.
“OK,” he nodded slowly as he inspected the length and breadth of our office. The small smile that played on his well-formed lips confirmed that he felt pleased or satisfied with the interior decorations here.
When Mr. Russell showed up in the office at 10a.m that day (he usually started his workday at 10 a.m.), I accompanied Steve, as he preferred to be called, to the CEO’s inner office in what I presumed to be his first meeting with him. But I was wrong: as soon as we went in, I heard Mr. Russell’s clear his throat and shout out his name in a way that seemed they had possibly met each other before now. “Steve! How are you finding things around here so far?” he asked, jovially.
Steve smiled and replied in similar ecstatic manner: “Fantastic! More so, Ms. Bellview has been quite helpful in explaining stuff to me,” Steve explained.
“Oh,yeah, you need to learn the ropes as fast as you can,” Mr. Russell advised him.
“I’ll do my best,” Steve responded, smiling.
Steve Berk sounded very polite, confident and conscientious during his brief chat with Mr. Russell. Unlike the drug addict I group-dated (or had I already assumed he was without any confirmation?), Steve appeared to have been properly brought up by parents who valued courtesy and obsequiousness. Since he came into our office he never, even by mistake, used any cursing words, and he was true and genuine to the core.
I took him to the Italian restaurant where most of our bank’s employees had their lunch. Located about fifty meters down the street, we needed to trek for ten minutes to get to the restaurant. Being a tall guy with well-shaped legs, Steve strode gallantly down the road in quick, long steps. To catch up with him, I had to walk as fast as my short legs could carry me, panting slightly to take in lungful of fresh air. His perfume choked me whenever I fell a foot or two behind him. I couldn’t get angry because his fast pace seemed to be his natural gait; he sometimes slowed down to kindly allow me catch my breath.
But what truly got on my nerves and made me very angry was the way other ladies at the restaurant stared at him as we walked to a table close to the entrance. Something in me, strangely enough, began to be torn into pieces by jealousy. I started to be protective as if Steve and I were already in a relationship. It was as if their long stares on him would remove his handsomeness, just like how little pecks from a pack of ravenous vultures could devour any bulk of meat.
I ordered my regulars: a small plate of pizza with deep fried chicken nuggets. Maybe in the spirit of oneness, Steve had also gone for the same menu. We avoided each other’s eyes as we silently munched on our portions.
I could barely concentrate on my own lunch; my roving eyes searched here and there for stubborn ladies who wouldn’t take their eyes off him. Sometimes I smiled or frowned depending on the manner of their behavior to me.
My actions began to appear quite funny to myself. Why on earth was I cheaply selling myself to a guy who hadn’t made the slightest move or shown any interest in me other than the fact that we became colleagues just today?
“It would take you at least a week for you to get familiarized with the way things are run here,” I told Steve after we returned from the Italian restaurant.
“I’m a fast learner,” he replied, courteously. “Feel free to throw anything at me,” he said, jokingly.
Feel free to throw anything at me. In my mind, I had wanted to ask: how about throwing myself at you?
“You’re a fantastic person to work with,” he said. “I’m so lucky to have been given the chance to work for this bank,” he said.
I acknowledged his compliment by nodding gently and smiling.
Towards the end of our workday, I noticed that Steve was struggling to get something out of his chest, but from all indications it appeared he would rather choose to keep it inside his mind than taking a risk to say it. I wondered what that could be.
“Excuse me, how about…? I’m sorry, I have forgot what I had wanted to say,” he did that for like twice and I knew immediately that he had a statement he was afraid to utter.
Was he going to ask me out on a date on our first day of working together? What a cool idea that would be? In this case, I was ready to put everything on the line to get Steve. Why shouldn’t I take risks to win the heart of a guy that had made my day rambunctious? Since he walked into our office in the morning, things had never been the same. I had gushed over him, doted upon him and crazily fell in love with him at first sight. I could feel, in my body, some unknown sex hormones rising up in my body every time I stared into his blue eyes. This kind of sensation was new entirely to me. It was sometimes electrifying, sometimes crushing. I was fast losing my consciousness because of this very beautiful guy.
What in the world was he hiding in his chest? A wedding proposal? That would be insanely too fast? But, nothing is impossible in the world we are living in, I told myself. All sorts of things we could never envisaged people doing many years ago have now become fashionable!
Done for the day, Steve Berk unhooked his jacket and was slowly putting it on when his cell phone suddenly came alive.
“Is it OK if I answer this call here?” He asked, politely.
“Sure.,”
From his short conversation, I deduced that he was discussing with a very close friend of his. A man or woman, I couldn’t definitely decode that. But I discovered he was previously living in Dallas before hurrying up to New York
to take this job.
“So, you’re a Texan?” I asked immediately he completed his conversation.
“Not really. I was born and raised in South Carolina. I only went to Dallas to work on a project for five years,” he explained.
“This is probably your first time in New York, I presumed?” I asked, with enthusiasm.
“That’s correct,” he answered.
Knowing fully that he was new to New York City and all the antics in the Big Apple, I thought it would be a good opportunity to catch him right now and get into his head before he could slip into another desperate lady’s hand. Steve was beautiful enough that he could get hit on by, at least, three sexy ladies per day.
He was ready to leave for his rented apartment in Brooklyn after we closed for the day when I summoned all the courage in me to prod him into action. “What is it you’ve been turning in your mind for minutes?” I asked.
“Oh, my! Nothing much: Are you a mind-reader?” He wanted to know.
“Sort of,” I bluff.
“Yeah, I was wondering…,” he stopped abruptly.
“About what?” I nudged him on.
“Whether it would be OK for you to hang out with me tonight,” he finally dropped the unexpected bomb!
“Of course, yes! What’s wrong with that? Since you are new to New York, it’ll be my great pleasure to help you settle down here, as fast as possible.
We agreed to meet at 9p.m. that night, meaning we had both got only a couple of hours to get to our respective apartments, take a short rest, had some snacks (if necessary) and dressed up for the meet-up. In my imagination, I could categorize this as my first real and important date. Judging by the time we had agreed upon, I knew it was going to be an all-night dating experience. What do people do on such a date? I asked myself. Enjoy dinner together, get drunk, touch each other’s flesh, have sex and wake up the next day on the wrong or right side of bed? I couldn’t wait to see how ours would turn out.
Life Is So Good
It would be hard to exactly describe in words the feeling bubbling in my chest at the moment. But one thing was very clear to me: it seemed that Steve had appeared at the right time to fill a certain vacuum in my life. Though, it might be difficult to identify what this “vacuum” was. Because everyone who knew me understood that I never doted upon men. They understood that what mattered to me were tangible things: education, career, future and personal pleasures. But, to be honest, Steve had shattered that self-imposed lukewarm attitude towards men.
Steve appeared at my apartment in a light green Bugatti at 9 p.m., right on time. I was going to call him a rich boy when he quickly disclosed that the car wasn’t his: he had specifically rented it for this occasion.
“Not a bad idea though,” I complimented his effort. I knew it would be great sitting in a Bugatti for the first time. In fact, it now seemed like a subtle achievement because no one in my entire family had sat in such million-dollar car! I also appreciated his honesty; other guys would have pretended they owned it.
We headed straight to a fanciful night club he had selected for our dating. It was located in central Brooklyn.
“How’s your nightlife like, Janet?” He asked as we drove through the ever busy Highway 100. His sharp eyes were on the road as he maneuvered the car through the late-evening traffic congestion. My gaze rooted on his face that shone from light cast on him by oncoming vehicles.
“Terrible,” I confessed. “At college, my friends stopped inviting me to their night parties when they noticed that I always left before the events wrapped up,” I said.
In what seemed like a thirty-minute drive from my apartment, he swerved into a boulevard and proceeded straight to the edge of the street where the nightclub, a two-story structure, stood at the center of a huge ranch.
I looked around and noticed that the fleet of cars in the parking lot consisted of the best set of cars in the world: Bentley, Ferrari, Bugatti, and so on.
“Oh, wow, I think the appropriate name for this club should be “who-is-who” club,” I jokingly said.
“Do you know what?” Steve’s eyes came alive as we walked away from the parking lot. “Look at the signpost over there,” he pointed to a large, billboard-like metal signpost ahead of us. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I read that “who-is-who” nightclub was actually the official name of this place!
“All manners of professionals flock here to relax after a very busy day. Here you can meet famous musicians, athletes, entertainers, politicians, and bank executives,” he explained.
But when he mentioned “bank executives”, a part of my heart suddenly dropped cold. Something—a bit of ice—settled in the lowest part of my stomach like menstrual pain. I knew it would be another grave mistake to run into Mr. Russell for the second time dating another man—his newest employee.
I walked with unsteady steps behind Steve as he led the way. He kept on talking excitedly about how grand the interior of the club was, and how it was important to visit the place once in a while to meet in person American celebrities, people one could only see on TV or in magazines. I nodded continuously pretending to be following his interesting revelations about the club. But down in mind, I was afraid what could be the repercussion on my career if we unfortunately barged into Mr. Russell in the club. He was probably going to accuse me for seducing his new employee. The recent event involving his “druggie” friend’s son might have given him bad impression of me. He possibly would be thinking that I normally acted with little or no discretion when it came to men’s affairs. But all these were not true about me. As far as I knew, only randy dogs went around hitting on other dogs without discretion.
I couldn’t love the beautiful environment inside the club more. The walls were all painted blue—my favorite color and an emblem of love! The drinks served in this club were expensive and exotic. A bottle of wine here, I was told, cost almost a third of my monthly salary. Barbecued fish, beef (steak) and chicken were on sale. The club served no food or desserts, except alcoholic drinks and pieces of barbecued meat.
I had been a sucker for barbecued fish since I was a toddler. It was one of the staples in our home. When they came for my order, I was shocked that the fish on their menu were rare and exotic ones, and very expensive, too. I had never tasted any of them in my life. But I summoned courage and requested for stingray fish barbeque, believing that all fish tasted or smelled the same. As long as it wasn’t a poisonous fish.
“Two pieces of barbecued stingray fish,” the very pretty waitress repeated. Everyone working here was undoubtedly hot. I couldn’t but think that the managers of the club had deliberately hired beautiful people that would keep their customers coming. The waitresses’ curves were sexually arousing; their waiters, in those tight-fitting blue T-shirts that revealed their attractive muscles were, no doubt, wonderful eye candies for single nymphs and corrupt housewives. The waitresses’ buttocks alone could make a weak-hearted male customer masturbate on the spot!
Steve was a “beef” guy; so, he had gone for three chunks of beef steak. I didn’t like alcohol at all, but I had had no option since there wasn’t any soft drink on display in this club. So, Steve and I had got Remy Martin. And despite taking my glass of Remy sip by sip to avoid becoming a colossal disaster after intoxication, I noticed that a burning liquid was releasing fires into my vein as it moved around my entire body. My eyeballs became smaller and my vision started to blur.
The mere thought of losing myself into the hands of a stranger terrified me. To some extent, Steve was still an unknown stranger to me—in fact, we just met this morning and unnatural chemistry made us stick together since then.
“I’m gonna stop drinking this,” I raised my glass and jingled the remaining drink in it.
“No problem, Janet. Don’t force yourself to it if alcohol is not your thing,” he advised.
I knew that something wasn’t alright with me at that moment; I felt like there was some chemical imbalance in my body. The worms in my stomach crie
d helplessly as they had probably been scalded by Remy Martin. My eyes began to dilate, and my fingers trembled feverishly, even without catching a cold.
“Let me drink this last drop and we’ll be gone,” Steve said, having noticed my uncomfortable situation.
I knew I was still much in control of my senses, but I had no idea how much percentage that could be. Putting my hand in the hook of Steve’s arm, like newlyweds, we shuffled slowly back to the parking lot. Steve had decided to drop me at my apartment first before heading to his. The music of Lionel Richie, Hello, Is it me you are looking for blared from the FM Stereo in the car.
Our ride to my home was unexpectedly quiet except for the music. Steve didn’t say anything rather than nodding to the alluring Lionel Richie’s classic. This was quite unusual; if everything I had heard from my friends or read in romance novels was anything to go by, I should be expecting the next phase of enjoying a romantic night with a guy I had fallen head over heel for. The idea of a romantic night, I learnt, comprised of these steps, not necessarily in chronological order: have an expensive dinner together, enjoy sex, and sleep off in each other’s arms. But there was little or no possibility that my date would end up that romantic tonight. Apart from the fact that I was slightly intoxicated, my date was too timid or disinterested to make any tactical move in that direction.
I checked my wristwatch and was angry to have noticed how long I had stayed outside. It was already 11:30p.m; for an early riser like me, going to bed early had become my habit since high school days. Only on rare occasions had my parents allowed me to stay outside that late.
He parked the Bugatti in my garage and came around to help me into my apartment. I badly needed him to hold me tightly, so I had pretended that I was so drunk, like a dense mosquito on human blood. I laughed inside of me as his hairy arms grabbed my waist, lifting me out of the car. His face accidentally touched my right breast, leaving a tingling sensation that lasted for minutes.
Wall Street Blues (Swashbuckling Romance) Page 3
