Longboard (Desk Surfing Series Book 1)

by Davila Eggert

  I tried to find a time device. I had no clock on any wall. I called it being modern. But maybe it was being lazy or trying to get my deposit back by not making holes in the walls. It was either a watch or my cell phone. That's how I kept track of time. When I found my phone, it said 9:43 pm. Not the longest nap but it was good to get it in. I was planning on being fashionably late. I figured Longboard would be on time, so I didn't want him to think I was desperate or desperately looking for something. Strolling in any time after 11:20 pm would strike a balance between responsible and fashionable. Plus, I wanted to say high to everyone from the office before Osmi got really packed. Then it'd be hard to locate everyone. And not saying hi to someone would affect my ability to play office politics. People cared about that kind of thing. I don't know why.

  Looking through my closet, I didn't want to try something from college to see if I still could fit it. I didn't want my ego getting ahead of me. Plus, my style had changed from college. But I did wear cute stuff to college parties, no lie. I went classy over sexy, no cleavage showing cuz I didn't have any. But I showed arms and legs. I put myself in an all-black sleeveless T-shirt dress. It could have come off too girly but I minimized the bling, no watch, just an X-patterned leather wristband. I parted my hair down the middle, with brown heeled-sandals to match the wristband--not the dress. I put my credit and debit cards in a red wallet-purse, along with my ID and phone--no lipstick or gloss. Then I sat down and tried to find the part of the American Horror Story episode where I had fallen asleep.

  Chapter 4

  It was 11:03 pm when I jumped in my Mazda Protege. It would take about ten mintues to get to Osmi and then another six or seven to park. By my estimation, I'd walk in the door at about 11:25. It worked out almost to the second. There was a line, but basically they were holding people outside to make it look like there was a line to get in. Like Longboard said, there was a list and we only had to drop the name Key Way Insurance to be on it. The bouncer was one of the biggest Samoan dudes I'd ever seen, which made me glad I was on the list. He wasn't so much tall as he was wide. The two white guy bouncers were taller but the Samoan guy had shoulders for days, for weeks. I had to look back to see what the back looked like. Without facial features he looked like a half wall from behind, barely any curvature for a butt. There was just this mass standing there. I walked down the black hallway toward the blue curtain that hung at the end. I could hear dubstep playing and felt what sounded like a medium-sized crowd. The music was mixed up with some European accented English, sung by what sounded like a very skinny chick. Whoever she was, she had a good voice.

  I just focused on the no-name singer because I needed something to orient myself. It wasn't my first time at Osmi but it was the same thing as any night club, every night was different. That's why it's called a club. I just wanted to locate the office people to get the hellos out of the way. The rest of the night would be like a game of Jenga. Things could collapse based on how things shifted. With that in mind, I surveyed the place. Not much had changed since my last time. Osmi had a stage not so much a dance floor. The stage had two ways to access it, steps on each side. The stage was visible from just about anywhere in the main room, even the tables upstairs. Downstairs had some couches for the people who were tired of dancing on stage. But all the paid-for parties were upstairs in the loft area. Longboard was pretty tight with cash but he realized it couldn't be all work and no play. The man wasn't stupid. And that was always on my mind, the fact that I didn't hold that many cards. And Longboard knew how to play his. He wasn't a billionaire by accident. The idea that my job could be on the line was always at the forefront of my thinking. Longboard was a shrewd businessman. Whatever became of the situation, I didn't want to become a liability for the company. I didn't accept Jessie's analysis that it was just a bang, somehow stress-related. I thought of Longboard as someone more method. I didn't think he was the kind of person that would let himself get so overcome by business. And he wouldn't incidentally have sex with one of his employees in his office cuz he needed an outlet. But then I didn't know Longboard outside of work. That was also on my mind.

  The upstairs loft was like the downstairs stage, it had two access stairs on either side. I didn't know which table was for Key Way employees so I just took the stairs closest to me. The light was low and there was a green and purple laser strobe gyrating. It made it hard to see faces clearly, unless they were stung by the lasers. I saw Dave, an actuary. He sat in the corner of one of the couches, in front of a table with two ice buckets and some glasses, but no bottles. It was nice to see Dave because I didn't really see much of him at the office. He worked on the other side, with the number-crunchers. Not that number-crunchers and marketers don't mix, but we didn't. Dave was sitting next to someone from actuarial services whose name was either Stacey or Stephanie but I wasn't sure. I played up Dave's name because I knew it.

  "Hi, Dave. I'm Dawn from Marketing. I'm not sure if you remember me."

  "Of course," said Dave, "This is Stacey, she works with us on the other side. I'm not sure if you've met."

  "I think so," said Stacey.

  "Definitely. At a Christmas party or so." It was one of those encounters that had to be short because there was no point in screaming over loud music with people you didn't have frequent contact with.

  "Are we waiting on drinks?"

  "They should be bringing the bottles in a moment," said Stacey.

  "Ok. Mind if I sit?"

  "Not at all," said the duo. I sat on the couch next to Stacey. The loft area had the feeling of a smoke room. There was metal railing all around to prevent a happy-go-lucky from falling to the second floor, creating a third entrance to the dancing stage.

  Apparently, the three of us were it as far as the cast of characters from Key Way. I felt oddly disappointed. My idea of being fashionably late was like uncooked casserole. I didn't wait long enough. But the bottles came, so I had my choice of what to mix. I did a rum coke to keep it smooth and simple. I put the tip of the glass in my mouth and let a bit of rum and coke slide in. I was planning on using that cocktail for the entire night. I never overdrank, not since college. I engaged in the oddball conversation about work with Stacey. Dave was too far to be heard over the music. It was the basics. How long have you been with the company? Do you know what's his face? Last year was a good year on our side, how about you guys? It was just dry conversation, which made the rum a good choice. Rum was a wet alcohol. More people showed up. They were more bean-counters, which made me feel like I should just slide over and let them talk. That's what I did. After enough rum was in my system, I stood up and asked if anyone would like me to put a request in because I was about to go request something from the DJ. I was declined all around but the dancing stage had like fifteen people on it, which meant I wouldn't be alone but I'd still have space to move. As I descended the stairs, I saw my first real familiar face, Camille.

  "Put your stuff down. We're headed to the dance floor."

  "Now?" said Camille.

  "It's just the accountants here."

  "Ok," said Camille. She had a shoulder bag. Maybe it was because she was young and didn't realize you don't really do shoulder bags at night clubs. More likely she was fresh out of college and didn't have much of a wardrobe. Perhaps it was a bit unfair to strong-arm Camille like that. Maybe she had walked a bit to get to Osmi and wanted to rest her feet. She was an intern trying to land a permanent spot, so she pretty much complied with whatever I told her. But it was after hours. She had a right to do things the way she wanted. But I didn't want to sit at the table, feeling out of place when Longboard showed up. On the end of the couch sipping a self-made cocktail just felt like desperation. Camille came back quick and with a twenty-two year-old's energy. She seemed ready to hit the dance floor. The line of people waiting outside was just flooding in, which meant we arrived on the dance stage just in time to get some room. The DJ made his adjustments because the music turned to songs you could dance to. Camille started doing
that little kick your feet maneuver in cork heels. I could never do that little dance but she made it come off so cute. Plus, she had a tube top covering her chest, which made her massive fake rack look explosive. Even I wanted to reach out and touch them. She was dressed well though. She had a light green long tube top and jeans with cork heels. No stomach showing, it was young and simple. She was a cute little dancer. She didn't try to dance seductively. She did high school prom moves. To see her enjoy herself made me like her more. She had her hair down so it just sort of flowed with her as she moved. I tossed some of my best moves in the fray, which made me notice a difference between her and I. I had better hip and leg movement. She had better arm movements. Her arms didn't look like they were castaways. They looked like they belonged. I watched her move and I realized something. For someone twenty-two years old, she must've had implants for a few years. The reason she could dance so well with her arms is that they were restricted to what they could do. Camille's boobs weren't ginormous. But they were big. Clearly she didn't tell the surgeon to push the limits or he advised her against it. But her boobs were free-standing. They didn't really sag and get in her way when she tried to exhibit the free-range of motion that could benefit a girl on the dance floor. She learned to move her arms with restrictions and I guess that's what dancing is all about--not motion but restricted motion. It was more how she didn't move than how she moved. She kept her arms straight more often than not and she moved her shoulders. She only bent her arms when it was appropriate, which gave less of an impression that she was flaying her arms around. Using her shoulders, let her stay on rhythm without bouncing around too much in her tube top. She had to adjust it up every two minutes or so. It would have been worse, if she didn't isolated her movement to her arms and shoulders.

  I guess we complimented each other because a semi-circle began to form around us. It wasn't that twinning effect that is so common. We both danced well but in different ways. Four years before, I was $4K richer and two cup-sizes flatter. So I had the body-roll and twerk down to a science. I learned to do it when I could do it unobstructed, so I was good at it. Fake boobs didn't really hinder me much and they weren't cannon balls. It wasn't too different dancing post-op, as it was back in college. It just felt a bit sexier because I had boobs. Camille dipped her right shoulder in and I realized she was headed around back, so we could dance back-to-back. So I leaned to my left, did a twirl and we ended up doing scissors. It was just so much fun because it had been a while since I danced, outside of the shower. And it was nice I got to hang out with Camille, when her personality really came out. She warmed the hell up to me in the months she was at Key Way. At first, it just felt like she was trying too hard to be liked, boob job and all. I always considered my augmentation surgery a bit necessary. I used to have more nipple than boob. Then I became a respectable 34C, nothing too alarming. But Camille was a fake blonde with a fake rack that would cause you to ring the alarm. I always felt plastic surgery should enhance your look, not be an enhancement in and of itself. But dancing with Camille made me realize how short she was. She was about 5'4" in cork heels, so she was a legit 5'1" flat-footed. But she was just doing her thing, tiny though she was. If she had to buy herself some big boobs to gain a little ground, then more power to her.

  I don't know how long we were on stage but we both got tired around the same time. We both noticed our moves getting a little less emphatic and Camille was pulling up her tube top more frequently. Not that it was falling, I think she was trying to fight boob sweat. I threw my arm around her and told her we were taking a break. We exited the dance stage on the right side and as soon as I stopped moving I could feel my muscles. We walked straight to the back of the club and went up the stairs to the loft. The loft was much more crowded than when we left. Our table was full, not just with bottles but also with Key Way staffers. The couch I was sitting on was full. People were standing. People were swarming. People were making the rounds trying to say hello to this one or that one. I saw Belinda. The one person I was shocked to see was Romy, our receptionist. I saw her at the Christmas Party two years ago but other than that she never really socialized. She had a husband and a son, so she was busy. And the rumor mill said her husband was controlling, so she was in the dog house if she stayed away from home for too long. But Romy was a big girl. If she stayed with her hubby, she obviously saw some future in it. I didn't worry about it. One person I didn't see was Malia. I expected her to be there shortly after me but I looked around and didn't see her. It didn't mean she wasn't around. Longboard was there though. Ironically, he wasn't the center of attention. He wasn't seated but he was sitting on the edge of one of the armchairs next to the table. It struck me as weird because it prevented anyone else from sitting, but then he didn't seem like he wanted to sit. Camille was being her sweet charming self and I thought about that promotion again. If I got it, she'd get it. I didn't know if I could give her my job, if I got promoted to office manager. But I would definitely do everything I could to make sure she got taken on as permanent.

  I was still sweaty from my turn on the dance floor. The AC in the club was always cranked. HECO must've had fun sending them their electric bill because the club was open until three in the morning. And the cold air stayed on. The cold air stung my skin but it stopped the sweat in its tracks. It cooled me down in minutes after I stopped dancing. Camille walked around working the tables but didn't sit. I tried to greet all the co-workers I recognized, in case they'd be under me in short notice. Plus, I was trying to cool off. Guys didn't like their girls sweaty unless they made them that way. I couldn't go near Longboard soaking wet. And getting that office manager gig, suddenly became more important. I don't know if it was maternal instinct or not. But I wanted to do anything possible to increase my chances of getting that gig. It wasn't just about me desk surfing or trying to climb the Hawaiian social ladder. Something in me wanted to look out for Camille. I could give her tips as a marketing manager. But as office manager I could make sure she got what she deserved. She did work hard. But she was still in her probationary period.

  I wasn't really sweating anymore. I was barely damp. I had been off the dance floor for about two minutes and I didn't really feel like I was dancing for long. My skin was cool but my muscles were still warm. The cold air couldn't hide the fact that I had a workout. Twerking, jerking and working it was all I needed to stay a size four. I didn't deal with the gym, didn't like the recurring expense. I didn't like giving up my cash to a business. I myself am a business. All the cash I got paid per salaried hour was my daily turnover. But I wasn't done with work. I saw a lot of guys from different groups drinking beers because beers were cheap. Domestic beers were really cheap. I didn't waste my time with them. I looked for the guys in their shirts, rolled up sleeves and a cocktail, not a daiquiri. Daiquiris were for professional drag queens who came to clubs for ideas by watching women's styles. I didn't waste time on that bluff. They weren't interested in what I was selling. Guys drinking straight whiskey were usually at a high point in life, unless they drank to excess. But they were on the fence about how much they wanted to spend.

  Red Bull was the tell-tale. Guys with drinks were using it as liquid courage. But Red Bull was for those who knew what they wanted. They were usually company higher-ups. They watched the girls dancing on stage to get their juices flowing. They didn't want whiskey-dick so they didn't mess with whiskey or any other alcohol. They liked Red Bull for the caffeine and the kick. It worked like a performance enhancing drug. Performance was a 100-dollar word at Osmi. A lot of guys were there for hook ups. I told myself I could make a few contacts. One because I was in marketing and two because if I didn't get the office manager job, I might just start looking at options at another firm. You did that by making contacts.

  I was never into the concept of desk surfing, so don't judge there's a story. I just did the normal: went to college; stacked up student loans; stopped by career services; picked up the handouts; posted resumes on Monster and CareerBuilder; s
ent out somewhere between 500 and 600 resumes. That got me nowhere. Jessie invited me to a social thing at her parents’ bungalow, which is practically a mansion. And I started meeting people. Jessie was like this is my girl Dawn, she's so smart. And I started making contacts. What do you think makes a better impression? A piece of paper with a list of accomplishments or a young co-ed fresh outta college, who is smart enough not to drink red wine because that stains your smile. I found my smile got me more job offers than my resume ever did. It's the system. I was always in the library during college trying to work hard. Wasn't gaga over boys unless I really found a dude who rocked my boat. I thought being one of the last ones to leave the library meant I was going the extra mile. It doesn't matter if you go the extra mile if no one knows it. You gotta make an appearance, get some face time. And that's when the idea of desk surfing became more relevant, as I tried to move my way through the working world. A lot of girls I knew dated whatever. Like I said, there are a lot of hot bods on the Island. So many wave-stoker types with like 7% body fat were around. But they were just bros, up to nothing more than being beach bums. Some were trying to make a pro team but lacked the talent or work ethic. They just worked in the hotels, bumming tips from tourists. Others were trying to open some kind of surf shop but that only went so far. There wasn't much branding going on in a shop. If you were a mainstay, you were good. But if you were an upstart, you had to have a lot of wave-cred to become an instant classic. Kelly Slater could. Hobgood could. But your average wave-rider couldn't. So I just woke up one day and had the idea that if I'm gonna be hooking up with dudes anyway, might as well aim high.

  I saw a thing on Youtube about a Russian girl who was living in London and only dated high-profile officials and dudes in high circles. She was dating such high-profile dudes that she was prosecuted as a Russian spy. But she wasn't a Russian spy. The girl just aimed high. And she was diversified. That's what I was doing. Aiming high and staying diversified. Longboard got a free-be but he would have to comp me for the next one. It was the same business model as drug-dealers used. And people who operated outside the law were usually the savviest businessmen because law enforcement was their competition. They had to be creative as hell. I wanted to let Longboard see me mingling with guys from other companies, for his own sake and mine. I met a guy named Alex who was in the promotions business. We had a lot to talk about because we were both in marketing. But his deal was more about new product promotion. He promoted things that never really existed before, like surf boards made from some new material that made them cut water better. Marketing for an insurance and investment firm was more about explaining our philosophy and approach to managing our float and why that was a proven strategy, nothing new.