Longboard (Desk Surfing Series Book 1) (7 page)

              "Haven't had that."

              "You can try mine," said Malia.  Malia sat next to Jessie but I could tell Jessie's instincts were kicking in.  She didn't like Malia.  It was obvious to me but not Malia.  One of the pitfalls of being the new girl.  You couldn't necessarily read the subtitles.  But Malia hung out.  She didn't talk too much but she chimed in.  She seemed preoccupied.  I never spent time with Malia outside work but somehow I figured she'd be more talkative.  I mean she wasn't shy about giving presentations, so I figured she'd be somewhat outgoing.  Maybe she was just running on fumes because it was Friday.  The conversation was light.  It wasn't meant to be heavy.  We talked about movies and fashion and current events.  The conversation didn't go much into guys, mostly because it was two-way.  Jessie and I were talking about a few boys from high school because Jessie had bumped into this dude recently.  But Malia never chimed in when the subject matter was on guys so the conversation fell flat on that topic.  It was about 7:18 pm, when Malia mentioned that we should probably pay up because we had the office thing at
Osmi
.  I told them it was my treat.  So I paid.  Malia asked Jessie if she wanted to come to the office party at
Osmi
.  Jessie declined saying it was an
office
party.  Malia said she understood, which was great because Jessie had never formally declared that she wasn't coming.  I invited her out of friendship, knowing the odds that she would say yes were in the low single-digits. 

              Outside it was kisses to both girls. 
Jessie, I'll call you
. 
Malia, I'll see you at the club.
  The sun was giving up for good and Nuuanu Ave. looked doused in pink glitter.  It reflected on the surface of cars, off of windows and white clothing.  Fortunately, I had my back turned to the setting sun so I could walk without my sunglasses.  When I got back to the parking lot, I could see my car sitting in the same spot where I parked.  But when I saw the car I felt strange.  I didn't realize why until I put my hand on the door handle.  I realized I just walked through two parking spaces to get to my car.  When I looked around the lot, I counted eleven space within eyeshot that were empty.  It was odd because Malia said she couldn't find a space, which is why she was late.  It didn't appear to me that the lot had ever been so full or perhaps all the empty spots were the spots she couldn't see.  Maybe that's why she just drove by.

              I got home at a minute passed 8 pm.  I figured I could relax a bit before getting changed because Kapiolani Boulevard was like five minutes away, a bit more with lights and stops included.  But late night meant less traffic.  I had some
TiVo
to catch up on and I made myself a smoothie.  Watching TV always made me feel like I wasn't worried about anything.  It had that atmosphere of just chillin'.  I was just kickin' it catching up on
American Horror Story
, because I'm a weird chick.  And that's the kinda programming weird chicks watch.  That was my defense mechanism when dealing with dudes, to pretend to be one of those weird Goth chicks.  I was at one point but only for about a semester because I realized boys weren't into Goth girls.  At least, the boys I was into weren't into Goth girls.  And I actually liked to surf in high school.  But that was the whole point of being a teenage Goth girl in Hawaii, to tell them all you just didn't give a fuck.  That bottled-blonde, sun-tanned, surf-toned beach babe was the exact opposite of a Goth chick.  Goth chicks were dyed black or in my case just let the basic color grow out.  They were typically plump or super skinny, not athletic at all.  And they were pale as fuck.  It was an emphatic statement. 
Fuck your standard
.  And that was my pretend mindset.  I was just chilling on my sofa with a smoothie and a
TiVo
episode of
AHS
.  That's not what you'd do if you were anxious about running into your boss because you had hooked up with him.  I wasn't in my closet choosing outfits.  I wasn't already made up.  I was gonna watch my show.  After that, it'd be around 9 pm and I'd try to figure out what I was going to wear and shower, maybe even take a nap.  I wasn't bothered that I would see Longboard again, fuck that.  That was how I tried to handle it.

              The nap came early.  I passed out a little bit more than halfway through
American Horror Story: Coven
episode three.  I liked the idea of a group of witches surviving in a world that wasn't witch-friendly.  I guess it's why I had thoughts of my high school clique when I woke up.  I guess my clique was still together as much as it could be.  Jessie and I were besties.  But I missed Mallory, Amy and Erin.  Like the witches on
American Horror Story
, I felt a certain safety in numbers.  I guess that was the thing I felt in the back of my mind, my safety seemed like it was shifting.  I don't know if that made me less safe.  But I thought about what would be at the office.  If Longboard wasn't interested then what would it be?  I guess I felt safe because he needed me for the presentation on Wednesday.  He couldn't have fired me right then and there because who could he get to cover for me in less than twelve hours.  But I heard stories about some nasty firings.  I wasn't around at the exact moment when Brianna, the old office manager, was let go.  But I remember one day she seemed like she wasn't really working.  And the next day she didn't come back, ever.  I didn't see her after that.  I thought I might even see her at the
Bean Connect
. 
Bean Connect
was a local Hawaiian copy of
Starbucks. 
She liked that place.  And it was three blocks from the office, so you could technically go there without bumping into anyone from the office, maybe.  Brianna wasn't my friend but she liked my working style.  We never had any problems. 

              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.