“Damn, that woman is joyous,” I say to myself. Or I think it’s to myself. Unfortunately, I sometimes forget I’m in constant communication with Gill, my second-in-command.
“Joyous. That’s the perfect way to describe her, boss. I’ve been watching her a little bit; she’s entertaining as hell,” Gill says with a laugh. “Did you see her try the caviar?” he asks.
I give my head a little shake to bring myself back from my thoughts. I know Gill knows I’ve been watching her, because my glasses aren’t just a fashion statement. There’s a small camera on the frames so Gill can see what I see on his monitor in our communications room. Our communications room is in a small office adjacent to the party room where I’m standing. I shake myself again and ask him, “What did she do?”
He starts to laugh even before he can tell me. “She put a heaping blob of that shit on a cracker and took a big bite. I watched her face turn an ungodly shade of green. She grabbed a napkin and spit the entire thing out. She rolled it all up into a ball and shoved it into that tiny purse of hers. I bet that stuff is going to smell like shit later,” Gill concludes.
“Later?Probably right now.” I laugh. I watch her as she checks out the food table. She picks up a plate and passes the large bowl of caviar, heading straight to the meats and cheeses. “Atta girl. Stick with what you know,” I mutter.
“The girl can’t stand still for two minutes either, boss.”
“I take it she’s here with the blonde woman. Did you see a date? She’s too pretty to be here alone.”
“Sure, she’s pretty, but she’s a hot mess. She’s a square peg in a round hole. That friend of hers is a looker, though. I wouldn’t mind?—”
“Okay. I got it.”
He ignores me and continues to talk about Red, “Did you see her when she started swigging the Bud right out of the bottle?” Gill asks with humor in his voice. “I bet she watches WWE wrestling. My kind of girl.”
Mine, too. Not the wrestling part, but the rest, yeah. But if she’s here tonight, she’s got to be a rich bitch—I know, I’m generalizing, or is it stereotyping? I move to my left and circle the room in a fresh direction. I look at my watch. In six minutes, I need to do another call out to my crew. As I pass a group, a hand touches my forearm. The toucher is a woman in her late thirties, about my own age. She’s attempting to get my attention.
“Hello there, handsome,” she coos drunkenly. Apparently she’s had one too many glasses of liquid courage.
She’s an attractive woman in a sparkling red gown. Her blond hair is up in a complicated mass of curls on top of her head. She’s got on too much makeup for my taste, and her bright-red lipstick seems to have taken up residence on her chin and her cheek. If she had a mirror, she’d be horrified. “May I help you, ma’am?”
“Oh.” She giggles. “Do you work here?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“Well, silly. You just asked me if I needed help. That sounds like you work here.”
“No. I’m a guest, just like you. I was referring to the fact that you’re intoxicated. I was going to help you to a seat.” Surprisingly, she doesn’t take offense to that.
“Well, aren’t you a gentleman? Why don’t we go over to the corner and get cozy? I’d love to get to know you better, um… what’s your name again?”
“I didn’t give it to you, but it’s Gill. Gill Tillman.” It’s not. My name is Sam Stone, but I’m not giving out any of my information to this woman. Plus, it’ll rile up the real Gill Tillman in the communications room.
“Gill? I’m Clarice. It’s so wonderful to meet you. Are you here with anyone?”
Fishing for information? “I’m here with my boyfriend. He’s around here somewhere,” I say, looking right and left. I hear Gill laughing his ass off in my ear. He’s used to this shit. It’s not uncommon for me to get hit on when we’ve got jobs like this one. I’ve never told anyone I was half of a same-sex couple before, but there’s a first time for everything.
“Well, shoot,” she says, stomping her five-inch stiletto. “All of the hot guys are always taken. I don’t suppose…”
“No.” She’s going to ask if we can both do her. I can see it in her eyes. “We don’t swing that way.”
“Well, pooh.” She stomps again.
“Do you need help finding a seat?” I ask, hoping she takes me up on the offer so I can move along.
“No, Gill. I’ve got it.” She lets go of my arm and teeters off to another group of men. I’m sure she’ll get a taker; it’s just not going to be me tonight.
As I approach the buffet table, I scan left and right, looking for the cute redhead. Gill squawks in my ear, “She’s in the john. She should be out any second.”
Sure enough, I watch her walk into the room, and I cover my mouth so nobody sees my grin or hears my laugh. I walk toward her, pretending to look at my watch. When she passes, I discreetly step on the trail of toilet paper that had stuck to the bottom of her shoe.
“How did she not notice that?” Gill asks between gales of laughter. “Boss, I think I love her.”
No, she’s mine, I want to say to him. But it’s ridiculous. She’s probably a bitch and most likely drunk like everyone else here tonight.
