by L. P. Dover
“Hey, girl. How’d it go?”
“Remember the guy I stepped on after our meeting the other day?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s the other owner of the radio station. I had lunch with him today.”
She whistles. “Nice. He’s totally into you. And he’s hot too.”
“Which is why I need your help. What should I wear to the masquerade ball?”
“I don’t know,” she says, and even though I can’t see her, I know she’s grinning devilishly. “But it has to be something uber sexy.”
The wheels in my mind turn and then it comes to me. I know exactly what I want to wear.
Four
Owen
In my life, I have never had the urge to jack off in the fancy bathrooms at work or in my office, but after having lunch with Ensley, the woman of my pornographic dreams is leaving me with a very uncomfortable situation in my pants. There is something seriously wrong with me. No woman, not even any of my former girlfriends, have made me feel like this. I’m starting to think I need sex therapy for an addiction I didn’t realize I had until now.
When I enter Damien’s office, he has the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. “Did you take her in the back of the Range Rover? Like the Halsey song?”
I sit down across from him and pull my leg up to rest my ankle on my knee. “First off, the song you’re referring to is by the Chain Smokers and featured Halsey. It’s called Closer. Their performance at the VMA’s was hot.” While we both love music, I’m more of an aficionado and am on the cusp of the music scene.
He nods. “Oh yes, the almost nip slip.”
“Eh,” I say. “Halsey used tape under her shirt. There was never any concern of slippage.”
Damien laughs. “Maybe next year, I’ll go with you to the show.”
“And what, miss classical night on PBS?” I ask with a laugh. Damien throws his pen at me, and while my reflexes usually are spot on, the damn thing jabs me in my rib cage. I don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he inflicted any sort of pain though. And, he knows I’m joking. Damien’s music tastes are well rounded.
He slides a sheet of paper toward me. “I made a list of songs for the DJ.”
I take it and read over the songs. Each one is sexual in some way. “Nice, I like the way you think,” I tell him. “Damn, it’s been in forever since I’ve heard “Take Me on The Floor” by the Veronicas. We need to have a “sexy dance party” on the channel. I think people would like that.” I pull out my phone and search my music app for The Veronicas. They have some sexy songs, and I need them on my playlist, especially for this ball. I want to dance with Ensley and feel her body against mine, in more ways than one. I’m going to have to go through my old iPod and see what kind of hot, sweaty, sex inducing music I can find. “Sex on Fire” by Kings of Leon definitely comes to mind, along with Ne-Yo, and we must add Britney Spears with G-Easy, “Make Me”. I’m going to make sure every person at this ball has the hottest playlist to dance, including me.
“I’ll look at the schedule and see where we can fit it in. Maybe lead up to it so listeners can submit their song requests.”
Damien jots down some notes on his sticky notepad and slaps it on his monitor screen. “I’m assuming everything went well after I left?”
“With the exception I wanted to set Ensley on the table and have my way with her, everything went great.”
“Didn’t know you were into public sex.” Damien laughs at his statement. I’m not, but at this point, I might be if it means I can be with Ensley.
“Definitely not something I’d be into, especially with Ensley. I wouldn’t want any other guys looking at her.”
“I’m curious, how do you know she doesn’t have a boyfriend?”
“We slept together last month,” I point out.
Damien shrugs. “Doesn’t mean she doesn’t have one now. You could be doing all of this for nothing.”
I stare at my friend and business partner. Part of me wants to punch him in his smug face for saying that, while the other half of me refuses to believe Ensley has a boyfriend.
“Shut up,” I say as childishly as possible. Standing, I say, “I’m going to my office to put the tickets online.”
“How much are we charging are employees to go?”
His question gives me pause. For every major gala or event I have been to, the employees buy tickets to attend, which seems to be normal practice. But on the other hand, the reason for the party is so I can get into the party planner's pants because I’m too chicken to ask her out and come clean about our one-night stand.
I stand near the door for a moment and think about what I’m going to do. “Our single employees get a free ticket, it’s only fair,” I tell him. “Non-employees will pay.”
“Sounds like a plan to me. Just make sure you tell Ensley.”
“Why?” I ask.
Damien shrugs. “Because it’s an excuse for you to call her. Hell, at this point, I think you should make up a bunch of blunders just to get her to go to lunch with you again.”
“I’m sure she’s busy, Damien.”
“You’re right. It would be best if you just install a GPS tracker in her purse, so you know where she is at all times.” He laughs as I flip him off.
On my way to my office, I scroll through my phone, looking at Ensley’s website. She and her partner, Jordan, have a series of pictures of themselves at various events, but sadly there aren’t any pictures from the ball where I met her. I wish there were because I’d give anything to see her in that green dress of hers again. I’m going to have to request she wear it to bed, once I tell her who I am.
As soon as I sit down at my desk, inspiration hits me. I decide to send Ensley an email. I don’t want to call her if she’s busy, but an email can be professional, and at the end of the day, despite my actions now, I’m a businessman running an empire. One I won’t jeopardize with my bedroom antics.
It’s been two weeks since Ensley and I had lunch, and it’s the longest fourteen days of my life. I never knew I could miss someone I barely know, but this is the case when it comes to her. I never realized that party planning was such a demanding job. A few times, Ensley and I had plans to meet up for lunch or a cocktail, mostly because I acted like I didn’t know what I was doing, and she took care of my worries via email with a quick phone call. I tried not to take her brush off personally, but I’m carrying around a bruised ego.
There’s a happy vibe going around the office. Most of the people who work for us are young, single, and freshly out of college, so tonight will be a lot of fun. The only issue is my nerves. I’ve asked Ensley a few times what she plans to go as, and at one point, she mentioned she wasn’t sure she’d be able to attend because of a family situation. My heart about sank when she told me. I think I paced in front of my office window so much; there’s a permanent indent on my floor.
However, she put me at ease when she emailed the final headcount and told me she had secured her costume. Although, in my mind, I wondered what costume because I was planning to go as James Bond and just put a mask over my eyes, hoping she’ll recognize me from last time. I mean, it makes sense she’s wearing a costume, but all I can think about is one of those plastic things we wore as children, with the face mask meant to suffocate us on Halloween night.
On the floor where mine and Damien’s offices are, it’s decorated to the max with Halloween décor. The staff really went out of their way to bring a lot of liveliness to their workstations. Black and orange cover every part of the walls, cubicles, and windows, and someone has spooky music playing.
I love the ambiance.
As I walk around the floor, people are laughing, chatting, and discussing their costumes. Many of the staff are eager for the ball and hoping to find someone to spend their night with. Hearing this and seeing their excitement reminds me that while my ulterior motive was to suit my own best interests, Damien and I have done something nice for our staff. We try to take care of them
as much as possible. We do want them to be happy.
When I get to Damien’s office, I don’t bother knocking. There has been a time or two when I wish I had, but today could definitely be a mix of both—Damien’s dancing around, with his back to the door. As deftly as possible, I pull my phone out and start videotaping him. I’ll need this later for some epic blackmail session we’re sure to have.
Damien turns around, and that’s when I lose my calm. I bend at the waist, hysterically laughing while he calls me a mother fucker. Something hits the side of my face, and out of the corner of my eye, I see a black pointy ear lying on the floor.
“B. . .ba. . .Batman?” I finally say through laughter.
“Bruce Wayne,” Damien corrects me. “At least I was until you started mocking me.”
I take a deep breath, right myself, and shut off the video. Damien flips me off, which I’m guessing has to do with the fact I’m holding my phone. “First off, no one knows Bruce Wayne is Batman. Second, what’s up with the dance moves?”
Damien groans and leans back in his chair. “I started thinking about you and Ensley, and I got a little jealous. I was hoping to find someone tonight.”
“That doesn’t explain what I walked in on.”
“I was trying to learn the Batdance.”
“I’m sorry, the what?”
“Don’t you remember when Prince created the Batdance?”
“Yes. . .” I let the word linger in the air, afraid of where this might go.
“The DJ called to let us know there will be a line dance or two, so I suggested the Batdance.”
I don’t know what hits my face first, my palm, or my fist. “Damien, what the hell? No one knows the damn Batdance.” I pick his mask up off the floor and toss it at him. Before I leave the doorway of his office, I say, “If that dance happens, I have a feeling you’ll be by yourself out there. Not sure anyone will want to talk to you after that unless there’s a Catwoman who was obsessed with Michael Keaton.”
After I leave Damien’s office, I gather my things and head over to the hotel. I have a room for the night, and after the party starts, hotel staff will come in with a bottle of champagne, some strawberries, and they’ll spread rose petals around the room. I have high hopes, and if this fails, I don’t know what I’ll do to get her attention. I’m past the point of telling her the truth.
It takes me just over two hours to get ready. Every second my heartbeat raced faster and my nerves felt as if they were trying to poke out of my body. When the alarm on my phone goes off, I silence it, stand in front of the mirror, fix my suit jacket, adjust my mask, and hold my empty martini glass in my hand. I hold the glass up in salute.
“I’m one sexy looking Jay Gatsby,” I say to my reflection.
I step out of my room and into the hall. Others are walking by, dressed up. I keep my head down, not wanting anyone to recognize me, just yet. I want to look for Ensley through the crowd and not find her randomly in the hallway.
By the time I reach the lobby, it’s packed. The line to get in is out the door. “Holy shit,” I mutter as I look at every one. I make my way to the ballroom, and my mouth drops open. The entire space has cobwebs coming from the ceiling, each high-top table has dry ice on it, so it looks like they’re steaming. Fog machines are doing their job and hiding everyone’s feet. But what gets me is the lighting. I expected orange, but Ensley and Jordan decided to go with purple. I never thought of it as a Halloween color until now.
With nothing left to lose, I make my way around the room, looking into the eyes of every woman I stop and talk to. A couple of them ask me to dance, and when I politely decline, one woman says to me, “If you don’t find your Daisy, maybe you like Anastasia better.”
I don’t have a clue who Anastasia is, but she doesn’t have green eyes, so she’s not the one for me.
Five
Ensley
The party is a success.
The ballroom is decorated from top to bottom and it’s a full house. The bartenders are going to make serious bank tonight with all the tips they’re getting. As I walk around, I listen in on some of the conversations. People are getting to know each other and having fun in the process. It wouldn’t surprise me if all the hotel rooms get booked up tonight. There’s something about the anonymity of a masquerade party that gets the endorphins going. Granted, most of these people are probably exchanging names, not like what I did with my mystery man a month ago.
I walk over to the bar station and order a glass of Riesling. Jordan comes up beside me, dressed as a sexy pirate. “I’ll have a glass of the same,” she tells the bartender.
We take our glasses and move to the side of the ballroom out of everyone’s way. I take a sip of my wine and smile. “Where’s Captain Hook?” I ask.
She snickers. “Up in the hotel room. He says he’s going to plunder his booty when I get in there.”
Tilting my head back, I burst out laughing. “Okay, then. That’s nice to know.”
Jordan winks. “It’ll be fun. With all the sex we’ve been having I’m hoping to get pregnant soon.”
I tap her glass of wine with my finger. “You could already be. Might want to stay away from the alcohol.”
Her eyes widen and she hastily hands me her wine. “True. I need to be careful just in case.”
Now I have two glasses of wine. The last time I drank on the job, I ended up in a hotel room with the sexiest man I’d ever laid eyes on. What’s crazy is I have no clue what his face looks like, only his eyes. They were gray with a gold rim around the pupils. His mask covered his forehead and down over his nose and right cheek, almost like the phantom in The Phantom of the Opera, but made completely different. It was all black and elegant.
I finish off one and set the empty glass down on the high-top table. Jordan giggles and places a hand on my shoulder. “I’m surprised you haven’t been bombarded with men tonight. You’re looking sexy as all get out right now. Who are you? Daisy Buchanan?”
I look down at my shimmering silver flapper dress and smile. I even pinned my long red hair to make it look like a bob. “I didn’t really like her in The Great Gatsby, but the woman has style.”
Jordan nods. “That she does.” She bumps me with her hip. “All right, I’m going to make some rounds and talk to people. Will you be okay here all alone?”
I hold up my glass of wine. “I’ll be fine by myself. Go have fun and mingle.”
She disappears through the crowd just as the DJ plays “Thriller” by Michael Jackson. The crowd goes wild and rushes to the dance floor. I’m curious to see if anyone knows the actual dance. Some of them are close, but others flail around in their attempts. It’s the funniest thing I’ve seen in a long time.
“Having fun?”
I’m so engrossed in watching the dancing I didn’t realize someone had come up beside me. The guy is dressed as Ferris Bueller, complete with the gold and black vest and a tan jacket over top of that. Instead of wearing a mask, he has on sunglasses. I have to say, he nailed the look.
“I am having fun,” I tell him. “Are you?”
He shrugs. “I would be if you dance with me.”
Over the years, if you pay attention, most people become more knowledgeable about others. Take for instance, first impressions. I’ve gotten to where I can tell if a guy is a dirtball by his demeanor and the way he speaks. I’m definitely getting the sleazebag vibe from this guy. My mother always says to trust my instincts, they’ll never steer me wrong. My instincts haven’t let me down yet.
“Thanks, Ferris, but I don’t think so right now. Enjoy the party.”
His smile falls and he backs away. I’m thirty-two-years old and still single. Granted, I’ve dated a lot, but none of those men had the full package. Some might say I’m picky, but after being with my mystery man last month, I doubt anyone will ever compare to him. I haven’t been with anyone since. I’ve had a few lovers in my lifetime and none of them come close. It’s a little discouraging to think that way, but it’s th
e truth.
Once I’m done with my wine, I walk around the outskirts of the room. In a way, I’m envious of how much fun everyone is having. Most of the guests look to be in their early to mid-twenties, still young and full of life. All of my friends are married and having kids right now. On the weekends, if Jordan and I aren’t hosting a party, I find myself just sitting in my living room with a movie and a tub of raw chocolate chip cookie dough.
There’s a dark corner just behind the DJ station so I go over there to stand. The Batdance song by Prince comes on and it’s strange because everyone starts to move away from the center of the dancefloor. That’s when Batman comes into view. I’ve seen the line dance on video, but never before in person. Whoever the guy is on the dancefloor is a hoot. Everyone watches him with utter fascination.
“You either have to have a lot of guts or just be outright insane to do what he’s doing.”
My breath catches in my lungs. That voice. I know I’ve heard it before. Slowly, I turn my head and there he is, wearing the same mask he wore a month ago and staring at me with those gray eyes of his. His gaze roams up and down my body. “Guess I chose right being Gatsby. I see I’ve found my Daisy.”
He’s a very sexy Gatsby, indeed. His suit fits him perfectly. His slicked back hair in a high comb over was a popular hair style for men in the twenties. “I wondered if I’d ever see you again,” I say. His smile makes everything inside of me tighten. The need to have him is real and intoxicating. Maybe it’s because it’s been a month since I’ve had any kind of release.
“Same,” he replies, edging closer to me. “I have to admit, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.” His eyes fall to my left hand. “I don’t see a ring. Hopefully, that means you’re still single.”
